౨ lils ৎ

tuesdays were always training days.

every tuesday of the week, campers would flock towards the training ground, celestial bronze weapons in hand, picking fights with straw dummies in bronze armor. oftentimes, campers who grew bored of the non-moving, stationary strawmen flocked together and decided to use themselves as their own training dummies. this became a new, innovative method of melee fight teaching, and has carried on to the present day. 

this demigod versus demigod training brawls always happen on tuesdays.

it was an unspoken tradition, written in the minds of these orange-clad campers like it was law. tuesdays were always training days. for the rest of camp, it was a day to hone and develop new skills, to have a better chance at defending themselves against monsters that were prevalent outsidecamp half blood’s borders. it was because of this reasoning that the campers got far too carried away with their training. 

for the apollo cabin, it’s the worst day of the week. 

with the influx of injured campers—all with injuries ranging from pin-sized papercuts to almost amputations—the infirmary was almost always full. more often than not, training days meant that the apollo cabin had to be spread thinner to accommodate the number of people who needed medical attention. 

the apollo cabin holds a mild dislike for tuesdays. you do, especially. 

you often regretted saying yes. after leaving camp half blood years ago, you thought it’d be a nice few years in the mortal world—pursuing your education and bettering your skills away from the world of deadly prophecies and gods and goddesses. it would have been a nice break, until chiron reached out to you privately, asking for a small favor. 

according to him, before you left and for a while after, the tuesdays system was never this bad. apollo could manage it enough; they didn’t need to spread themselves out so thin to treat injured campers.

the system worsened after chiron asked percy jackson to train the campers in swordfighting. this led to a staggering increase in injured demigods. 

you thought it was a false cause—post hoc ergo propter hoc, or whatever. but, after you said yes to chiron’s plea to come back to camp and help apollo manage injuries, you saw with your own eyes that chiron wasn't just incorrectly assuming that because one event followed another, the first event caused the second.

you saw how the poor campers were tripping over themselves and nearly getting mauled because of their efforts in swordfighting. and—upon asking a patient with a finger that almost fell off—it wasn’t because of his methods of teaching. no, it was because the kids wanted to be like him so bad, they went to extremes just to get better, to be like their hero, percy jackson.

the apollo cabin held a mild dislike for tuesdays. you? you loathed them. 

this tuesday, however, is an exception. 

“jackson…” you pause. you have to chastise yourself. healers aren’t supposed to sound this horrified upon seeing their patients, no matter how battered, bloody, or bruised they are. they aren’t supposed to sound horrified at all. you try to mask it with a cough. “what…happened to you?”

threre’s a gash. no, not even that—to call it a gash would be an insult to the mere magnitude of it. it was an ugly, jagged line, the origin at the dead center of his chest. it curls around his pectorals, and you can see it end on a point between his armpit and his bicep. from a blunt weapon, most likely. blood is splattered on his chest like a bad watercolor painting, but thankfully, the wound isn’t gushing out any blood at all.

he’s led to the bed—thank you, you tell his companion—and when he’s sat down, the muscles of his abdomen flex ever so noticeably.

my gods, was his body always this defined? 

a traitorous, unserious voice in your head points that fact out, and heat immediately rushes to your cheeks.

he straightens at your gaze. 

“you should see the other guy,” he tells you, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

your eyebrows furrow, your mouth curls into a wince just thinking of all the healing you’ll have to do to this poor other camper. “i hope i don't get to see the other guy at all.” 

you glance at the pitcher of lukewarm water used to clean wounds. 

percy is the son of poseidon. the pitcher would be an easy way to heal him—you wouldn’t need to spend so much cleaning his large wound and sewing it up. you probably wouldn’t even need to consume the entire pitcher to make the wound disappear.

it’s convenient, the voice in your head says, but it comes at the cost of you not seeing or touching percy’s muscles.

it’s a moral and ethical dilemma.  

you shake your head and turn to the cabinet above you. from there, you pull out sterile gloves, cotton balls, antiseptic, a needle and thread, and some nectar. in the end, the traitorous voice prevails.

after you put the gloves on, you tell him, “i’ll start by cleaning your wound.” you douse the cotton ball in antiseptic. “your wound’s quite big, it might sting.”

he purses his lips and nods, as if steeling himself.

you circle the edges of his wound with antiseptic. once clean, you take a nectar-doused cotton ball and dab it gently against the open wound.

his stomach flexes at the contact. his arms brace against the bed frame, and you can almost see the same arms wrapped around you, same bare torso pressed against your bare back—

“did a kid beat you up this much?” you ask to rid yourself of those thoughts. and oh, how you prayed he couldn’t hear the small tremors in your voice. 

his head snaps around, and he throws a small glare at you. “i’ll have you know, i wasn’t beaten up by a kid.”

“i don’t know who you’re fooling,” you say. “the nymphs, satyrs, and chiron are the only things in camp older than us.”

percy shuts his mouth after, giving you the perfect opportunity to sew the wound closed.

you trace a line around the wound's perimeter.

“i’ll sew around here,” you say. at the look on percy’s face, you reassure him: “there’ll be nectar in the thread, don’t worry. it won’t hurt.”

after you’d sewn the wound closed, you dab over it with nectar for good measure.

“alright, that’s all you’ll need from me.” you hand him a spare camp shirt that—you assume—is his size. “the wound’s all closed up, and i made sure the thread’s fortified enough that the wound won’t open with strenuous activity. you can continue training; just don’t let any kids cut you up that bad, yeah?”

you turn your back to him. you dispose of the antiseptic and nectar cotton balls you used to clean his wound, wrap the needle in tissue and throw it, shelve the bottle of nectar and antiseptic, then tidy up your area. 

when you turn back, percy jackson is still sitting on the infirmary bed. 

he didn’t even put the shirt on. 

“why aren’t you leaving—?”

“you want me,” he says, blunt as the blade that slashed through his—defined, toned, muscled—chest. 

“what?”

shit. 

your heart is beating rapidly in your chest, loud enough that you can hear it roaring in your ears.

“i do not,” you state, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to lower your heart rate. it doesn't slow. 

“do too,” he replies. “weren't you checking me out a while ago?”

this was new. 

“i was assessing you. what’s gotten into you?”

“was it the blood, doc?” he smirks. he didn’t even answer your question. “you're into that?” 

you hate how much he sounds like he’s mocking you. 

and you hate how much he's right. 

“no. i’m not. i treat a lot of bloody demigods. every day of the week. there's no way i get aroused by blood.”

i’m into how the blood looks on you, the traitorous (and truthful) voice in your head says. 

then, you huff. “you lost a lot of blood back there,” you say. “you're delirious, jackson. delusional, even.” 

“y’sure, doc?” and you can see the shadow of a smile that stretches across his face when he says, “why don't we test that theory out, huh?”

suddenly, your lower back meets the wooden table. in one long stride, percy had crossed the distance between the two of you. 

there’s a soft smack as his hands land on the table, just right beside you, caging you in between his arms. he leans in enough that the low timbre of his voice reverberates through your bones and stirs the butterflies lying low. 

“you're soaked, pretty girl.”  

fuck. of course the son of the water god would know that. 

and, from the look on his face, the same son of the water god knew that you’d never be able to deny it. 

percy was hot—objectively, truthfully speaking. you knew this. especially now that you’ve seen his fine, god-esque figure accentuated by the sheen of blood. you doubt it was even the blood. it was just him. 

you won't deny, too, what you’ve been feeling—the warmth in your entire body and the unmistakable dampness in your panties—the moment he entered the infirmary. 

was it so wrong to give in to what you want, just this once? 

when you look back up at him, his sea green eyes are boring into your very soul. 

“have you made up your mind yet, doc?” he asks. 

and fuck it, you have. 

you lean in first, smashing your lips against his. 

and, to your surprise, percy kisses you back with as much vigor—if not more. 

the two of you waste no time in being careful. percy shoves his tongue in your mouth, you run your hands to his hair, tugging at the strands that get caught between your fingers.

you only register hands on you, then the loss of ground, before you’re lifted onto the wooden table. 

he leans in, his kisses sloppy, desperate, and downright greedy as he sucks on your bottom lip. 

he leaves your lips tingling for more as he kisses down, down, down, right at your carotid. he licks that very point, then hollows his cheeks and sucks. 

you let out a sound. it teeters embarrassingly on the edge of a yelp and a drawn-out groan.

immediately, your hand flies to your mouth.  

“don't do that, pretty girl,” he says, peeling your hands away from your mouth. he intertwines them, then presses another kiss there, mumbling against the soft skin: “wanna hear everything.”    

“but they'll hear us, jackson,” you whisper. 

the both of you are silent for a moment, until:

“wanna come over to mine?” he asks. “cabin’s soundproof. no one’s gonna hear a thing.”

the moments to cabin three pass in the blink of an eye. 

when you cross the threshold of the seasalt-scented cabin, none of you linger.  

with a sudden bout of newfound confidence, you pull him in by the hand, the kiss open-mouthed, wet—leagues away from your initial composure at the infirmary. there’s none now; you think you’ve lost it all. 

percy leads you to the bed. he makes himself comfortable, and the hand entwined with yours pulls you onto his lap. 

his one hand is everywhere. it cradles your face and deepens the kiss, it squeezes and grips at your waist, and, the next moment, latches on to it like a vice and pulls you impossibly closer to him.

your limbs are wrapped perfectly around him. one hand clings to his shoulders, locking him in place and feeling every oscillating wave of his muscles at every small movement. the other hand stays locked in his. 

your pussy’s weeping, downright throbbing at the taste of his tongue in your mouth. you couldn't help but think about how it’d feel inside of you—

ankles lock right behind him, trying to bring yourself even closer and closer to where you needed him most. your drenched panties catch on to the tent at the front of his shorts, and you have to hold back a sob. 

you think, in this moment, you’ve finally made up your mind. 

“i want you,” you murmur. “so bad.”

percy lets out a small, mirthful chuckle. “can feel you getting wetter over me, doc. ‘s like a damn waterpark.” 

before you can retort, percy’s hands grip your hips—not rough, not tight, but as if asking for permission—and only slightly lift. your fingers hook under the garter of your waistband and, with his help, you shimmy out of your shorts. 

percy doesn't have to try, and yet, every move of his arm is showing off and flexing his biceps for you to ogle at.

and, as the next piece of fabric comes down, he lets out a guttural groan. both of you watch—percy, transfixed—as a few stringy wads of your slick stick to the front of your panties.

oh, you really were so wet. 

percy continues to stare, a small smile stretching across his face and into a smirk. 

“don't–don't get cocky about it.” your legs inch closer together in an attempt to block out the pure intensity of his stare, when—

“dont.”

his middle and ring finger swipe a long, languid stripe up your pussy lips, pooling your slick onto his digits. 

your mouth drops into a little “oh!” as he starts to sink his middle finger into your pussy. and as if in a daze, he’s letting the second of his long fingers in. 

“jackson—you… fuck!” you're trying not to wail, to keep your voice low so other campers can't hear you—but, fuck, do percy’s fingers feel good. 

percy’s brows furrow and crease in the middle just as he watches your cunt swallow up his fingers. he moves them slowly, just a small wriggle side to side, before he feels the slight resistance—“fuck,” he whispers against your neck (he’s never felt so parched). “so tight around me, pretty girl,” 

you whine when he pulls his fingers out. sheeny slick coats them, a line of it keeping you two connected still. 

you miss the feel of percy in you for a few seconds, before he’s pushing his fingers back in, out, in. they were so vicious, so greedy, taking up all the space and swabbing at you. in, then out, then in.

“don't stop, please.”

“why would i?” he murmurs. his eyes aren't on you at all, but down, down, down.

he scissoring your entrance wide open with his roving fingertips to the point where you can feel his fingerprints against your soft insides. you shiver at the way he sinks them in again with a sluurp. 

percy leans in a bit more, pressing a kiss to your carotid, then clavicle. 

in that same moment, his wrist has found a newfound angle, one that somehow pushes his two fingers deeper in. hitting nearly the back of your pussy, pushing back and forth against your gooey walls. 

when you feel it, your eyes widen. 

he smiles. “found it.”

he hooks at your most sensitive gummy bundle of nerves. curves his fingers just right. 

your loose limbs start shaking at percy’s relentless back and forth with your g-spot– “jackson—think ‘m gonna—”

lewd squelches and your mewls of his name ring in the heady room as he speeds up his ministrations. A ruthless pace that has tears stinging your eyes, hitting that spot over and over and—

white-hot pleasure between your eyes. tension curling your toes. 

“cum f’me, pretty girl,” he rasps out. he squeezes in a third finger inside your tight cunt—

and you're seeing stars. 

he’s fucking you through your high, each thump of his fingertips against your g-spot and each glide of his long fingertips easing you down. 

again, and again, and again.  

right as the high bates, you feel an emptiness when percy’s fingers have pulled out of your weeping hole.  

you pull him in by the shoulders, kissing him just to get a taste of his lips and tongue. 

“give me more, jackson,” you mumble against his lips. 

“what?”

“you know what i mean,” you tell him. your hands snake to his belt loops, pawing at them in delirious desperation. “want more of you.”

percy groans. 

his feet land on the ground beside the bed. metal clinks against the floor. clothes ruffle as they're being discarded. 

“been wanting this for so long, pretty girl–” he lugs his boxers down, along with his bottoms, “felt like i was dying.”

his cock springs free and slaps against his abdomen. he was big—so mouthwateringly big; flushed your favorite shade of pink at his leaking tip, pulsing veins glistening in the dim light—every part of him was so unfairly pretty.

and, well, you just couldn't resist a taste. 

beding down in one fluid motion, you press a kiss to his weeping tip, drag your tongue all the way down the vein under his shaft, and his hand immediately flies to your hair.

“shit— hah- you don't have to—”

“shut up, jackson.”

and with that, you’re shoving as much of his throbbing erection down your throat. there’s a slightly salty taste on your tongue as you swipe at the droplets of precum pooling on his tip.

“shit, oh—yes, yes, yes–.” percy lets out a guttural moan. Fingers thread through your hair as he uses it as leverage to fuck himself slowly, deeper and deeper into your heavenly mouth, his hips stuttering and jerking with pleasure.

it was dizzying, the way he was pulsing in your throat, his scent filling your senses. beginning to move up and down in hasty, desperate bobs of your head. pulling such lewd gasps and moans from his lips.

his dick twitches in your mouth and your cunt clenches. you brace yourself, ready for his orgasm, when he stops.

and just pulls his cock out.

there’s a loud, lewd pop! that accompanies it that makes his dick twitch and your pussy ache. you’re about to retort, mouth opening to ask him why— but he beats you to it.

“don’t wanna cum yet,” he tells you. he grabs his cock, tugging it ever so slightly, when he says, “lean back for me, pretty girl.”

and that you don’t argue with.

your legs are spread in front of him, and the look on his sea-green eyes is so carnal, so hungry that you motion to close yourself up. he places your legs above his shoulders, eyes stil trained on your soaked core. 

he drags his reddened tip right through your swollen folds, catching maddeningly on your clit, teasingly pooling your slick on his leaking head. too slow.

you wiggle your hips just so that the tip just slides inside your hole. 

he curses above you, and you feel small spurts of precum lining your walls.

with newfound vigor, percy pushes his hips forward, groaning out your name. 

you could almost sob at the stretch as he presses in inch by inch. 

his cock was long enough that it kissed your cervix, and that the mushroom tip hooked just right against your g-spot. it didn't lack girth, too—it was thick enough that you could feel the veins pressing against your walls. 

deliciously painful, borderline addicting, and something you didn’t know you’d been craving until today.

and it’s almost like percy felt the same, cock hot and throbbing agonizingly inside of you, almost like his second heartbeat. 

he buries himself to the hilt and stays. he bows his body down until his damp forehead meets yours. 

“greedy girl,” he says. “so tight. gripping—hah–gripping me like a damn vice.”

he pulls himself out fully, just ‘til his tip is kissing your sloppy hole. you whine at the loss of contact, only for him to ram his cock all the way back inside your warmth. 

skin on skin, skin on skin. he starts fucking into you, the sheer tightness of your pussy sucking him in so greedily, like she never wanted him to part. 

“yes, yes—oh—just like that,” you moan out. 

“all–all of it‘s ngh—yours, my girl. yours,” percy says, his baritone voice now raspier above the sloppy squelches that immediately start pouring out of your pussy. 

slick gushes out of your cunt with every in and out, dripping down his length and pooling around his balls. they sting against your ass with every thrust in. 

“percy—fuck,”

and you feel percy freeze. the loss of movement makes you cry out. 

“why—?”

“say it again.”

“what? noo, just come on and fuck me—”

he thrusts once, then stills. “c’mon, my girl, please? lemme hear it one more time.”

oh. 

“mmfh—ah—okay, okay.” and one more thrust, harder this time. “oh—! percy, percy, percy! fuuck—”

he keeps the pace constant, rough, kissing your cervix with every in and out of his cock. 

“that’s so right, baby.” he presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulders. “sounds—hah—sounds nice, right? better than jus’ jackson?” 

you lean away from the bed, hand gripping onto percy’s shoulder for support as you grab his face and kiss him. 

he continues thrusting his cock in and out of your poor walls, a sheeny white ring of fluid gathering around his base. 

you feel him so deep, he’s pushing your eyes to roll allll the way to the back of your head with the crown of his fat tip. 

it was intoxicating, inebriating—from the feeling of his cock throbbing inside you, fucking into you, his lips kissing ever surface he can reach, his teeth biting and marking what’s his. 

“m’ so close, percy,” you sob. 

percy’s large hand trails down where your bodies meet to draw frenzied circles on your puffy clit. “cum with me—please, baby.”

“inside,” you gasp out. “want you inside.”

and this orgasm seems to be stronger than last time, lightning hot pleasure zapping through your body faster. sobs escape your mouth. your back arches so much you fear for your spine. your body flinches every time he brushes against your clit. 

percy’s high comes right alongside yours, and he’s shooting thick, hot, strings of cum, painting your walls white with a low groan of your name. you feel it dripping out of your cunt and into the sheets under you before it's being fucked back in. 

when your highs bate, you flop unceremoniously on percy’s bed.

he lets out a small chuckle, before kissing your forehead. “i’ll be right back, okay?” 

you watch as his figure retreats to his closet and comes back with an armful of clothes. 

the towel in his hands is warm as he cleans going down, passing your stomach, before finally wiping down your inner thighs. he slips his boxers on you, then a shirt. 

when he finishes, he collapses right beside you. he pulls you closer, settling you right over his heart, draping an arm over your back. 

for a moment, both of you just stare. 

“you were amazing, percy,” you say. “i… i liked it. a lot. i'm glad it was you.”

percy presses a soft, chaste kiss to your lips. “i've liked you for so long. still can't believe i managed to kiss you, let alone…”

you let out a small laugh and snuggle closer. 

tuesdays were the worst days of the week, you think.

but maybe, just maybe—you brush a stray lock of percy’s hair behind his ears—tuesdays had a little bit of merit to them.  

( .  .  . )

“told you you wanted me”

you grumble against his chest. “shut up.”

he only presses you closer to him. “i don’t know who you’re fooling, baby. i saw you skip that pitcher of water entirely.”

your eyes widen and snap up to meet his. then, feigned nonchalance. “i didn’t need it.”

“i’d have healed faster with it.” then, he grins down at you, canines and eye crinkles and all. “it’s okay, baby, i’d do the same so i could get in the pants of my hot, muscular, super handsome—”

you smush a pillow over his face.

“you wanted me first,” you protest. “you probably asked a bunch of kids to cut you up so you had an excuse to come see me.”

percy’s lack of retort—and movement—makes you sit up.

“oh my gods.”

“listen—”

“there is no way.”

he groans, burying his face deep into your hair. "you're never gonna let me live this down, are you?"

you only grin in reply, canines and eye crinkles and all. "never."

Three weeks had dragged by since that fuck with Percy, and your econ grade was holding kinda steady. You'd aced the last quiz thanks to his frantic note-taking sessions, but every time you sat across from him in his apartment, the air thickened with what you'd done.

You'd flash him smirks, cross your legs, remind him with an "Eyes on the graphs, Jackson" when his gaze dipped low. He blushed every damn time, adjusting those wire-rimmed glasses.

You kept up the act, flicking his ear or calling him a "pathetic little tutor" just to watch him squirm, on the inside, your mind replayed the stretch of his thick dick, the hot spurt on your ass.

Fuck, it had been good— better than the frat boys. Those guys were all thrust and no finesse, leaving you sore and unsatisfied.

And Percy? He was eager, responsive, like he actually cared about getting you off.

You hadn't planned to hook up again. Or at least, that's what you told yourself while scrolling through your phone at 2 a.m., thighs clenched around your pillow, imagining his hands on your hips.

The loneliness crept in— your sorority sisters were all coupled up or chasing tail that didn't stick, and you were tired of the empty ache after parties.

Percy wasn't boyfriend material, but he was available, discreet, maybe even a bit cute... Plus, he looked at you like you hung the moon even when you bitched at him.

That kind of attention? You needed it. So when you texted him the next morning— "Study sesh at 7. Don't make me wait, geek"— you knew it wasn't just about to be about economy.

Percy opened the door right on time, hair messier than usual, like he'd been running his hands through it.

"Hey," he said, stepping aside, his voice a notch too high. "I have the midterms review. Figured we'd start with monopolies."

You breezed past him, dropping your bag on the floor with a thud.

Your outfit was planned for him to make a move— with a tight blouse unbuttoned to show a tinny bit of your bra and the skirt short enough that bending over would flash your underwear.

"Monopolies? Sounds boring, you're always picking the dry shit." You flopped onto the sofa, the same sagging one where you'd caught him jerking off the first time, and patted the spot next to you.

He hesitated, then sat, his knee brushing yours slightly.

The session started normal like it always did— Percy spreading out his notes, droning on about barriers to entry and his pen tapping against the paper.

You half-listened, doodling in the margins, but your eyes kept drifting to his mouth— the way it moved when he explained... The memorie flicked into your mind: the way he'd groaned when you sucked him, that low sound. Your pussy clenched at the thought, a dull throb starting between your legs.

Why wouldn't he touch you again?

"You're zoning out," he said after a minute, glancing at you. "Everything okay?"

You sighed, leaning back and crossing your arms. "Just thinking about how you owe me, nerd. Last time, you blew your load all over my face without warning and ruined my makeup. I deserve compensation."

His face went red, the kind of flush that started at his neck and crept up. "I— I said sorry that day. We don't—"

"Oh, we do." You uncrossed your legs slowly, letting your skirt ride up an inch.

His eyes flicked down, then away, but not before you saw the hunger there. "You got yours. Now watch me get mine."

Percy swallowed hard, setting his pen down. "Here? Like... now?"

You didn't answer with words. Instead, you kicked off your heels, planted your feet on the coffee table, and spread your thighs wide. The skirt hiked up fully, exposing the thin strip of black lace between your legs. You could feel the damp spot already, your arousal soaking it.

His breath hitched, glasses slipping down his nose as he stared, frozen like a deer in headlights.

"Don't move," you ordered. "Just sit there and watch how wet you make me, you little perv."

Your hand trailed up your inner thigh, nails scraping lightly over the skin, leaving faint red lines. The anticipation made your pulse race— exposing yourself like this to him, the nerd you'd bullied for months felt filthy.

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of your thong and tugged it aside, baring your pussy to his eyes. It was already slick, lips swollen and parted, clit peeking out.

Percy's eyes locked on it, his hands clenching into fists on his lap.

"Fuck, look at that," you murmured, more to yourself than to him as you slid two fingers along your slit. The wetness coated them immediately, a soft schlick sound filling the room.

You circled your clit slowly, the pressure building a warm coil in your belly.

"All this from thinking about your fat cock stretching me out. You like seeing it, Percy? My pussy all shiny and ready?"

He nodded jerkily, mouth parted, not saying a word. Good— he knew better than to interrupt.

You dipped lower, pushing one finger inside yourself, then two, the stretch not enough compared to him but enough to make you gasp. Your walls clenched around the intrusion, greedy for more, and pumped in and out, slow at first, letting him see every motion.

The table creaked as you shifted, heels digging into the wood for leverage.

"Bet you've jerked off to this a hundred times by now," you teased, voice breathy. "Imagining your dick buried in here instead of your hand."

Percy's chest heaved, trying to adjust himself discreetly, his hips shifting like he was fighting not to touch.

Emboldened, you sped up, fingers curling to hit your g-spot and make your thighs quiver.

A soft moan escaped you, unbidden, as your free hand yanked your blouse open, buttons popping. Your bra came next, shoved down to free one of your tits— the nipple a hard peak begging to be sucked.

You pinched, rolling it between your fingers, the dual sensations making your pussy flutter. But it wasn't enough. The ache built, sharp and insistent, and you needed more friction.

Pulling your fingers out, you spread your lips wider, exposing your clit fully, and rubbed it in tight circles as your legs started to tremble, little spasms rippling through your muscles as the pleasure edged higher.

"Oh fuck, Percy," you sighed, head falling back against the sofa. "This is what you do to me. Can't stop thinking about how you filled me up last time. That dick pounding my cunt until I came all over it."

He whimpered leaning forward like he was mesmerized.

That sound pushed you closer, your rubs turning frantic, hips bucking up off the cushion. Sweat started to form on your skin, trickling down between your breasts, and you felt the orgasm coiling tight, ready to snap.

"Watch me cum for you, nerd. Watch how I— I—ah, shit—"

It hit you as your pussy clenched on nothing, juices leaking out to soak the sofa, and your legs spasmed visibly— jerks that made your toes curl and your thighs shake.

You sighed his name on the peak, a long, drawn-out "Percy" that hung in the air. It lasted longer than usual, the exposure amplifying it, leaving you panting and loose-limbed.

He groaned, low and tortured, palming himself through his jeans. You caught sight of the wet spot forming, his dick was clearly leaking pre-cum. But when you looked up, his expression was like a punch to the ribs— puppy-dog eyes, lips parted in desperation, a kicked look that made your chest tighten.

Weeks of holding back, of you being mean just to feel in control, and here he was, wrecked because of you. Your plan had been to stop there, leave him hard and wanting.

Payback for not fucking you these weeks.

But oh, he looked so pathetic, so eager, you couldn't.

"Get over here," you muttered, voice husky from the climax.

He stumbled forward, and you grabbed his shirt, yanking him down until he was half on top of you, his body pressing into the sofa cushions beside your sprawled form. Your hand fumbled with his belt, popping it open and shoving his jeans down to free his cock.

It sprang out, thick and heavy, already fully hard— the veins bulging along the shaft, the head a deep red and slick with pre-cum. Bigger than you remembered in the heat of it, that girth making your pussy needy.

You wrapped your fingers around it, giving a few firm pumps, feeling it twitch in your grip.

The skin was hot, velvety, and he bucked into your hand with a gasp, his weight shifting so his face hovered inches from yours. Up close like this— really close, for the first time without the frenzy— you noticed details you'd glossed over before.

The faint freckles across his nose, the way his green eyes sparkled behind the glasses, that messy hair begging to be tugged. Undeniably cute, in a way that made your mean mood waver.

"You're such a fucking mess," you whispered, leaning in to press a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. He froze, then melted, his breath warm against your lips.

Your hand kept stroking, slow twists at the head to smear the pre-cum down his length, but you kissed him again— soft, teasing pecks along his jaw, his cheek.

"Don't think this means anything," you murmured between kisses, nipping his lower lip. "I'm just... giving you a pity pump. Your dick's too good to waste on your hand."

Another kiss, this one lingering, your tongue flicking out to taste him— salt and mint, surprisingly addictive.

Percy whimpered, his hips thrusting shallowly into your fist.

"Please," he breathed, voice rough, one hand bracing beside your head while the other tentatively cupped your hip.

You felt the nudge of his cock against your thigh, hot and insistent, and damn if it didn't make you want more. Your pussy was still sensitive, aching to be filled again.

"Fine," you sighed, guiding him with your free hand, positioning that thick head at your entrance.

Your thong was still shoved aside, slick from your orgasm, and rubbed him along your folds, coating him.

You kissed him deeper this time, sucking on his lip as he pushed forward— slow at first, the stretch burning sweet as his girth parted you. Inch by inch, he sank in, your walls hugging every ridge, fuller than your fingers could ever manage.

He groaned into your mouth, bottoming out with a wet slide, balls pressed against your ass.

You broke the kiss to gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Fuck, you're thick," you panted, rocking your hips to take him deeper. His face was so close, that cute flush spreading as he started moving— shallow thrusts at first, like he was afraid to break you.

The sofa groaned under the combined weight, your back pressed into the worn cushions, legs hooked around his waist to keep him buried deep.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down to mix with the flush across his cheeks, and you couldn't help yourlself, could you?

You just needed to lean up to plant a series of small, teasing kisses along his jawline, nipping at the stubble before brushing the lips against the corner of his mouth.

You tried to make sense of it all, your mind spinning even as the body arched into him.

It was just his cock, right? That fat, veined length splitting you open in a way no one else's could, ruining you for the quick, unsatisfying pumps from those frat assholes. Yeah, that had to be it— purely physical, a fix for the ache that had built up over weeks of denied release.

Well, with him this close, his breath mingling with yours in hot puffs, a stray thought wormed its way in: maybe he'd make a decent boyfriend, all attentive and sweet, the kind who wouldn't fumble around like the others.

No, fuck that— what were you even thinking? He was just a good fuck, messing with your poor head because his dick hit spots you didn't know you had. Nothing more.

You kissed him again, firmer this time, to shut down the nonsense, tongue flicking against his lower lip as your nails scraped lightly down his back.

Percy sighed into your mouth, a low, contented sound. He shifted his hips, grinding deeper on the next thrust, the head of his cock nudging against you.

A soft moan escaped him, followed by a grunt as he pulled back and sank in again, his pace unhurried, like he had all afternoon to draw this out. His hand stayed splayed across your hip, thumb tracing idle circles.

You could see the way his black hair curled damply at the temples. He looked wrecked, lips parted, eyes half-lidded with pleasure, but there was something else in his gaze— something soft and adoring that twisted low in your gut.

This was supposed to be just sex, a way to scratch the itch and keep him in his place as your flustered tutor.

Nothing emotional, no strings. But the way he moved, careful yet insistent, made your pussy clench involuntarily.

"Fuck," he breathed, burying his face in the crook of your neck for a moment, his teeth grazing the skin as he thrust again.

The wet slide of his cock filled the room and your arousal coated him, easing the way. You rocked your hips to meet him, chasing the building friction, but your mind kept circling back to that stupid thought.

Boyfriend? Him? The guy who'd blushed beet red when you'd caught him stroking his dick on this very sofa weeks ago, hand frozen mid-pump? No way. It was the girth of him, the way he filled you. That's all. You kissed his cheek, then the edge of his ear, whispering a half-hearted taunt.

"Don't get too comfortable, nerd..."

He lifted his head, those eyes meeting you again, so damn earnest it made your stomach flip.

Percy kept fucking you slowly, his hips rolling in a way that pressed his pubic bone against your clit with each inward push.

The intimacy of it all— the closeness, the way his body heat enveloped you—stirred something unwelcome. You wanted to shove him off, reassert control, but your legs tightened around him instead, pulling him deeper if possible.

Then, out of nowhere, he said it.

"I love you," Percy murmured, voice husky, the words coming out as if he had been building them for weeks. He paused mid-thrust, cock throbbing inside you, and added, "I think I like you. A lot."

Your heart stuttered, and before you could process it, a hand shot up, clamping over his mouth.

"Shut up," you hissed, the command coming out breathy, undermined by the way your cunt squeezed him tight— walls contracting around his shaft in a vise grip that made his eyes widen behind his glasses.

Fuck, your body was betraying you, clenching like it agreed with him, like the confession had lit a fire straight to your core.

You could feel him twitch in response, hot and hard, but he didn't pull away. Instead, his hips flexed, pushing back in slowly, testing the reaction.

You kept the palm pressed firm over his lips, feeling the warmth of his breath against the skin, the subtle nudge of his tongue testing your fingers.

"Don't say that shit," you warned, voice edged with annoyance, though your free hand dug into his lowerback, urging him to keep moving. "This isn't... we're not doing feelings. You're just a good dick. That's it."

Doubt crept in even when you tried to concentrate on the feeling of his dick.

He kept looking at you, those green eyes so pretty and pleading, lashes dark against his flushed skin. The way he held your gaze, not backing down even with your hand muffling him, chipped away at your resolve.

He mumbled something against the palm.

Reluctantly, you eased your hand away, just enough to let him speak, though you kept the fingers hovering near his mouth like a threat.

"What?" you demanded, hips grinding up to meet his next thrust, the angle letting his cock drag right over her g-spot.

"I mean it," he said, voice rough but steady, punctuating the words with a deeper thrust that made you moan. He sighed again, his grunts mixing with the slick sounds of your joining.

"You've been in my head since that first time. The way you tease me, call me out...Maybe I'm a masochistic but.. I like you. More than just sex."

His face was inches from yours, expression open and vulnerable with that kicked-puppy look.

It should have annoyed you, should have made you push him away, but instead, it made your chest tighten, the stomach doing that flip again. Fuck, he was too close, too real like this.

Maybe tell him to fuck off with the romance, but the words were stuck.

Your hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his messy hair, and you pulled him down for a messy kiss, tongues sliding together.

"You're an idiot," she muttered against his lips, "I... I like you a bit, okay? Just a little. Don't make it weird."

The words slipped out on a gasp as the orgasm crested, your body tensing under him.

Percy's eyes lit up, a grin breaking through despite the strain on his face, and he groaned, thrusting deeper, faster now, trying to make you orgasm.

"Yeah?" he breathed, voice wrecked, one hand slipping between to rub tight circles over your poor clit.

It was too much— the pressure, the fullness, the way he looked like you were everything.

You finally came, pussy spasming around his cock, squeezing him in waves that drew a guttural grunt from his throat. Juices slicked his shaft, dripping down to where his balls slapped against your ass, as you cried out, nails raking his shoulders.

He didn't stop, fucking through it with those slow, grinding rolls, his own breaths coming in ragged pants.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he muttered, burying his face in your neck once more, lips brushing the skin in feather-light kisses that mirrored the ones you'd given him earlier.

Your body trembled in the aftershocks, the sensitive walls fluttering, but didn't push him away— in stead, you wrapped your arms around his back, holding him close as he chased his own release.

The softness of it scared a little, the way his weight pinned you down, his cock insistent inside your oversensitive cunt. But damn, it felt right, the slow build of his moans turning into desperate grunts, his hips snapping harder.

Percy tensed, a low whine building, and you felt him swell even thicker, the head pulsing against your cervix.

"Gonna—" he started, but you cut him off with another kiss, as he came. His thrusts stuttered, grinding deep as he emptied himself, balls drawing up tight. Every twitch, every jet, your walls milking him for more until he collapsed half on top of you, his breathing heavy, and the cock still buried inside as it softened slowly.

Percy shifted, his arms wrapping around your back in a loose hold, but he didn't pull out yet.

Instead, he tilted his head to look at you, those eyes soft behind his glasses.

"Hey," he said quietly, voice rough from the moans. "Do you really like me? Like... for real?"

Your face heated instantly, a flush creeping up the neck that you couldn't hide pressed against him. You buried your face in his shoulder, mumbling against his skin.

"Shut up, Percy."

He chuckled, gently lifting your chin with a finger, peering. "You're red. Like, tomato-level red." His smile was gentle, not mocking, and he brushed a strand of hair from your face. "I like you. Just in case you forgot."

"Just don't talk.."

💭 :: It's been a very intense few weeks, so for now I'll continue reposting fics from my old account.

♡ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

♡ 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⸝⸝ 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

"Freak," the taller girl with short blond hair had sneered as she leaned against the railing behind you and poured her half-finished apple-juice all over your head. You didn't flinch, instead you simply turned another page as the liquid slid down your hair and cheeks. The girl laughed, dropping the box on your head, and her friends cackled as it bounced off and landed near your hip.

Still, you never looked up or said a word. Eventually, the girls became bored of tormenting you and you were alone again. You huff, wiping juice from your forehead with your sleeve and then cleaning the book with a grimace. This is a library book. 

Your peace must only last another ten minutes because you suddenly hear the rustling of the shrubbery you're hiding behind. Then, a sweaty and disgruntled James Potter stumbles into your hiding spot. He crouches down, looking behind him as he presses his back against the shrubs. He's dressed in his Quidditch uniform, dirt and grass stains obvious on his clothes. 

"These birds are gonna kill me," he mutters under his breath, "and my broom—bloody 'ell they took my—AH, shit fuck!" James falls back onto his ass, clutching his jersey as if he'd just had a heart attack and stares at you in shock. You blink back at him. You haven't moved or made a sound. "Why the fuck are you lurking in here??!!" He accuses. Wrinkles grace the skin between his eyes as he gawks at you. 

"I'm not lurking. I'm reading," you say, shifting your gaze back onto your book. James is quiet for a moment. When you see a flicker of movement and you can't help but peek up at him again . You haven't properly had a chance to see him or speak to him in forever. You aren't even sure he knows who you are anymore. He's sitting across from you now, still catching his breath. 

He sends another look over his shoulder and then looks at you again. "Right, yeah, sorry," he mutters, finally relaxing. He pauses and looks you over. "Why the hell are you so sweaty?" He asks, raising a brow. 

You're now even more aware of the juice in your hair and plastered on your skin. "Apple juice," you state calmly. 

"Euh, you poured apple-juice on yourself?"

"A girl poured her apple juice over me," you clarify as if it's a common occurrence. 

James isn't calm about this news because his eyes widen and his voice rises. "Excuse me?" He waits for you to add more information but when you don't he continues in a quieter tone so as to not attract any attention, "Why?" 

You shrug, moving your eyes back on your book. "A prank, I think? You're familiar with them, aren't you?" You don't mean it as a quip and James can hear that in the way you speak. He groans and runs a hand down his face. He's always found you infuriatingly confusing but this- this is something else entirely. 

James remembers you. How could he not? You were the talk of the school: dead parents and no magic. He remembers how he heard about you joining his class in third year, and how at the smart age of thirteen, he was convinced the rumors were false and so, he had asked you to duel him. He didn't mean for it to be funny. He was being completely serious. But, he'd made you cry and that was that. 

Not knowing what to do, James had played along with the joke and then, it seemed, the girl he had spoken with once was long forgotten to him and everyone else. After the first months or so, your novelty simply became a passing joke to most students—or that's what he had thought.

James looks flustered. "I mean, yes, I have done my fair share of pranks but this," he points to you and you don't even look up. "Y/n? That's not a prank. There is nothing prank-ish about this, it's just mean…" he says, sounding concerned and your name gets your attention so you look up at him, your expression twisted with confusion.

"You know my name?" you ask. 

Knowing James's popularity, you didn't think he remembered you or the incident.

James turns his head, his breathing still a little bit harsh. "I do. Am I not supposed to?"

You stare at him and your curiosity wins over as you finally close your book. "Why were you running?"

James turns back to look at you, questions still burning his throat but he answers you anyways, "Gryffindor just won and some, um, some girls cheer me on a little too hard-" He sounds embarrassed. 

"Ha," you laugh, smiling at that image your brain is creating of the girls tearing James apart like rabid squirrels. James blinks at you as he watches you laugh at him. 

Merlin, you're really pretty.

"It's funny if you like hands grabbing at you from everywhere," James adds, shuddering dramatically. You hum, still smiling and still amused. James sees your gaze moving back to your book and he knows if he loses your attention now, he won't have the courage to ask for your attention again so he asks, "Does that girl bother you often?" 

You look at him confused. "What girl?"

James mirrors your expression. "The girl who poured juice on you?"

"Oh," you say, as if suddenly remembering the current state you're in. You look down at yourself and then shrug a little. "Yeah, sometimes. It's nothing new." 

Your words cause a sharp ache in his chest. Is he partly to blame for all this? It wasn't your fault you didn't have magic, and it certainly wasn't your fault your parents died– "Did you not have any muggle family members to take you in?" James asks without thinking. His question feels insensitive and so he panics. "I mean– just because–"

"Because I don't fit in here?" you finish for him.

James opens his mouth to protest but you continue, "All my family are wizards."

"Really?"

You nod. "It happens sometimes. A kid who's born without magic. I am not ashamed though, I like who I am," you tell him with a small smile.

James listens intently and then scratches his nape, his cheeks a little hot as he takes in your sentiment. He's impressed. Because of his popularity, he's always been aware of what everyone around him thinks of him. He's always wanted to please. He admires that you don't.

"That's really cool," he says earnestly, returning your smile. 

You look at him for a bit longer before you open your book once again, your attention pulled away from James. He doesn't say anything as he stares at you for a little longer, unwillingly entranced. You're so different from what he remembered. He hears Sirius call his name from somewhere behind him and he hesitates for a moment. 

You look done with his conversation so he decides to leave you alone for now. He stands and dusts off his uniform. "See ya around, Y/n," he says and you don't have time to even look up before he's calling after his friend and running out from behind the shrubs.

You glance sideways, replaying what he'd said in his head. See ya around. You ignore any embarrassing assumptions and return to your book. 

* * *

If James didn't know you had no magic, he would assume you put a spell on him. Your laughter keeps playing on repeat in his head and wherever he looks, he sees your face. It's as if you've enchanted him. 

One evening, after dinner, James decides he needs a break from his human brain. He stops by the black lake, the dusk sky illuminating the lake as he glances around to make sure he's alone. He strips his clothes and transforms, shaking his head as he adjusts to the weight of the antlers. When he's in this form, he can usually forget about all his human worries and just be. 

He'd wanted to have one moment where you weren't invading his thoughts, so why can he smell you now? 

He snaps his head around when he hears the crack of twigs under feet. James freezes as he makes eye contact with you. You're standing a bit away from him, shoes in one hand, skirt bunched up in the other as you walk around the shallow lake. James narrows his beady eyes and sees that you have a tiny twig-like creature sitting on your shoulder. The creature is staring at him with confusion as it makes a little sound.

He didn't know you got along with magical creatures. He didn't even think that was possible without your own magic. 

"Hello," you say, still looking at the animal in front of you. James's ears perk up and he realizes you'll see his clothes if you look this way so he bounces closer to where you are, and makes you look in the opposite direction. 

His plan works because you turn around, smiling. "You're so handsome," you say, your gaze raking over his antlers. If James was in his human form when he heard that, he'd be a complete mess. The creature makes another noise and you step forwards, the water sloshing against your calves as you carefully walk towards where James is.

James knows he should run away, but he's not strong enough. Instead, he allows you to approach him and he nuzzles his snout into your palm. "Good boy," you say, grinning as you scratch behind his ear.

James feels only a little bad for tricking you because your hands feel so smooth against his fur. It seems like all his emotions have been enhanced as he smells you near him. He nuzzles closer, antlers gently hitting you as you laugh. Your hand comes up too caress his nose and you say, "You know, you remind me of someone." You pause. "You both give off the same energy," you add with a hum.

James's ears perk up, twitching slightly. 

"He's a boy I met a while back," you begin, gently lifting the little creature onto your hand and placing it in front of James's nose. "I saw him again a few week ago and didn't think he remembered who I was, but he did."

James's heart is thumping and he ignores the creature as it prods at his fur. Do you mean him? 

"He made me feel like he understood me… or like he wants to understand me…" You say, almost speaking to yourself now as you stare past James and into the woods. Your attention snaps back in embarrassment and you laugh softly. The water wrinkles around your ankles. You caress James's ears. "It's stupid right? I mean, he's really popular and I'm…Ow!"

James had poked you with his antlers and grunts. Your eyes widen in confusion. "What is it?" You ask, confused. James grunts again, splashing some water around. You open your mouth to speak again but you hear a high-pitched laugh and a spell flies right near your nose. Frightened, you stumble back and fall into the water. 

Four first years laugh hysterically, clutching their stomachs, as James runs away. "Hey!" You shout at them angrily. "You could have hurt him!" You gesture to where James had run off to.

"Who cares. It's just a deer," a small brunette girl giggles before she runs away with her friends, practicing more spells around the forest. 

"Stag," you mutter, standing up on shaky legs as you find your balance. Your skirt had fallen back into the water the you fell and weight is weighing you down. You groan, lifting up your soaked shoes and grimace. "You okay?" You ask your bowtruckle, who nods as it clings to your shirt.

"I should be asking you that," James voice startles you and you stumble a little. In a blur, you feel his hand wrap around your arm as he pulls you upright. "Woah, hey." You clasp your hand around James's arm, staring at him with wide eyes. 

"James? W-where did you come from?" You ask, hoping he wasn't here for the conversation you'd had with the stag. If he knew you thought that way about him, you'd just die. 

James chuckles, smiling at you. "I was having a stroll when I hear a bunch of kids laughing and running around. I came to check on them and saw you in the water. What happened?"

"They just startled me," you say, standing on your own as you waddle your way back to shore where you drop your shoes and ring out your skirt. "Stupid kids."

"Woah, language," James laughs from beside you. "Who's your friend?" He points to the bowtruckle on your shoulder. 

"A bowtruckle," you say, still ringing out the lake water from you clothes, "I didn't name it because it might already have a name and it can't tell me." You don't hear James's answer so you look up. You're afraid you've said something weird but he's smiling at you with a look that makes your stomach lurch. 

"Did I say something wrong?" You ask, embarrassed. 

James shake his head, rubbing nervously at his nape. "Nothing. I just think that's really sweet of you." 

The compliment causes your brain to short circuit and you glance around, desperate to change the subject. "Oh," You exclaim softly, remembering, "Did you see a stag run by you? The kids scared him as well and I want to make sure he's okay." 

James's eyebrows flicker for a moment until he shakes his head. "Nope. Just me." James smiles easily.

You nod, looking past him and into the darkening woods. "I hope he's alright. He was adorable."

James cough into his hand, his cheeks darkening. "I'm sure he is okay," James looks up and answers quickly. You tilt you head, confused by how flustered he looks. However, you don't have time to answer because the bowtruckle suddenly chitters from your shoulder as it stares at James with narrowed little eyes.

James stares back and frowns. He wonders if it knows. 

"What's wrong with your twig-thingy?"

"Bowtruckle," you correct him, hiding a small smile. 

The small creature makes an indignant clicking noise and hides in your hair. You laugh quietly and bring your hand up to comfort it. James's expression softens immediately and this time you see it. He doesn't look at you like he normally does. You've stared at him enough to know what's normal and this, this isn't his normal. Your hands still on your wet skirt, letting it drop against your thighs.

James feels your silence and he clears his throat. "You should probably head back before you freeze to death."

"Yeah," you whisper, staring at him. It doesn't make sense. James Potter does not like you like you like him. It's absurd to even imagine something like that. 

However, neither of you move. The wind drifts through the trees and somewhere in the distance behind you, the giant squid disturbs the surface of the lake with a loud splash. James doesn't quite know what to say so he says the first thing that comes to his mind, "You know, you’re different than I thought you'd be." 

You blink and your face falls. You're expecting the worst.

When James sees your expression, he panics. "No! Merlin, it's nothing bad I promise! I just meant, like, before we actually talked."

"I know you thought I was strange." You smile faintly but James can tell the word clearly bothers you. You look back toward the dark water and sigh. "I already know what everyone thinks of me."

James frowns immediately and walks closer. He takes your hand without hesitation and you look up at him, surprised. "They don't know you. They don't know anything about you. I like you just the way you are."

The confession causes your heart to leap in your chest. You want to believe him. You want to so badly but you can’t. This all feels so surreal. "James. Popular boys like you don't like girls like me."

"Girls like you?" 

"Weird. Abnormal. Strange."

James scoffs loudly and places a finger against your lips, shutting you up. "If that's the word you want to use," James rolls his eyes sarcastically. "I think you're smart, kind, and probably the most interesting girl I have ever met. I think you're brilliant and although I want to know you better, I like what I already do know." He clear his throat, feeling a bit embarrassed but he adds, "Is that so bad?"

The compliment hits you so hard you stop breathing for a second. James notices immediately and he panics. He drops your hand as he realizes he must have really come on way too strong, too quickly. "Sorry," he mutters. "That was probably too much."

"No," you say quietly.

James's mind is racing and on instinct, that word makes him back up. "No. Don't leave. I like you too." The words are sudden and James almost looses his breath. He stares at you with surprise and it takes a another moment before the words you said finally sink in. 

"You do?" 

You nod slowly.

"Yeah?" James asks again, sounding like he still can't quite believe what you told him. His hands find yours as he moves closer to you. 

A nervous smile pulls at your lips and you say, "I do."

James stares. His hazel eyes pierce through yours and time seems to fall still. Then a grin breaks across his face, a faint hint of dimples gracing his cheeks as the excitement in his expression becomes obvious.

"Absolutely brilliant," he breathes, his hand cupping your cheek. He sees how nervous the gesture makes you so he drops your hand. His smile lingers as he asks. 

"Want to eat breakfast with me tomorrow?" 

Your eyebrows furrow. "In The Great Hall?"

James nods. 

"In front of everyone?" You voice cracks but James just shrugs. He tilts his head like a puppy, not showing any sign of doubt or embarrassment. His eyes roam your face and it clicks. 

"I'm not ashamed of being seen with you, love," he says, now a bit embarrassment by his admission. "I'd like to eat a normal breakfast with the girl I like. Is that's alright with you?"

Your heart calms and a smile curls your lips. It sounds like James Potter wants to be yours. And the worst part is, you'd like it. 

His usual name for you. You swallow, preparing for hurt, and force a smile.

“James.”

He grins. “You’re not working today?”

You nod. Sirius, who almost never even looks at you, had asked if you were scheduled for a shift today. You’re glad you aren’t. James refuses to let up on the conversation until you’ve clocked on, and even then he orders about five coffees just so you’ll need to bring them over and humiliate yourself further.

You don’t know why he’s chosen you. Then again, you never knew why boys picked you to make fun of. Maybe James noticed that you looked at him more than usual when rugby training ran late, and he had to come to class in his workout clothing. Maybe his friends have a running joke about your not-completely-made-up crush on him. You just wish he wouldn’t be so mean about it.

“Bummer. What will I do without my favourite waitress to annoy?”

You press your lips together. Yet again, the most difficult part about James Potter making fun of you is how much he can sound like he means it.

“I don’t know.”

He ducks his head to catch your eye when you look down. “Not to worry. I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh, what?” You ask feebly.

You can hear the laughter edging his voice. “Would you want to grab a coffee together sometime? Maybe tomorrow, after our workshop?”

The boys who have teased you like this in the past have always spent much less effort building up to the inevitable peak of the joke. James must have a lot of time on his hands.

You frown, your disappointment slipping through for just a moment before you school your expression into something more neutral. He laughs, sounding confused. You wish you could hate him.

“Sure, James, why not?” You say tightly. It’s what he wants, the only thing that will end this joke properly.

“Are you sure? You don’t sound convinced,” he says breezily. “No pressure, sweetheart.”

But there is pressure, with all his friends pretending not to watch the two of you talking and preparing to laugh when James relays your agreement. The only thing that could be worse is if you said no, and the ugly side of his ego reared its head. You’ve never seen James be unkind to anyone in your class, except you in this extended prank, but you know the kind of spite that rises in boys if they’re rejected by a conquest they were never serious about. Boys in high school have called you enough vile things for you to learn that usually, it’s easier just to agree and let the humiliation of it wash over you.

“No, it’s fine. I want to go out with you.” You force another smile and pull down the hem of your shirt. “Tomorrow sounds good.”

“Best news I’ve heard all day,” James says. He turns to the front of the lecture hall and gives his friends a thumbs-up, which makes Marlene laugh. You feel your face heat. No matter how much you’ve become used to this, it doesn’t stop being hurtful. You wish you could ask him why he’s chosen you. Your looks and personality can’t be so terrible that you deserve this. “Sorry,” James says sheepishly, noticing your embarrassment. “They’ve been telling me to ask you out for ages.”

“Right. Okay, well, bye.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” James’ smile is blinding. You don’t know how he can look so warm when he’s being so mean.

Walking past his friends at the front of the room is uniquely difficult. They’re exactly the sort of people you wish liked you. They all seem to have so much affection for each other. It’s painful to feel like the only person they’ll be unkind to, for their shared entertainment. You wonder what mistake you made, what misstep caused them all to be nice to you sometimes, and then mean again when it’s funny.

You’re late to your workshop, and in a bad mood. Your tights have ripped on the outside of your thigh, where you scraped against a sharp bush. It still stings even after you’ve washed and put bandaids on the small cut there. You’ve run out of shampoo, so your hair has gone one day too long unwashed, and you feel oily and unclean. Your eyes itch. All of it gets worse when you see James across the room, sitting with his friends and watching you as soon as you step into the room. You take a deep breath and sit in the back corner, as far from him as possible.

“Did you sign the attendance form?” The other boy on your table whispers, sliding the paper across. It’s the only reason you’re here. You sign it and hand it to your professor, increasingly nauseated.

You can’t do this. You don’t want to stick around and watch him leave the classroom like nothing’s happened, or worse, treat this all like a prank you should be laughing at, too.

Fifteen minutes pass, and you wait for James and his friends to be focused on something Sirius is telling them to slip out of your seat and walk out the door. The hallway is empty, which is lucky, since you’re not sure you could stomach anyone seeing how close you are to crying.

In the spirit of the day’s unluckiness, you aren’t afforded privacy for long. Near the back doors of the building, you bump headfirst into Lily Evans and send the papers she’s holding flying everywhere.

Lily, redheaded and glowing, is president of just about every club the university offers, and can frequently be spotted with the same group you’re currently trying to escape. You heard a rumour once that she and James used to go out before she started dating her now-girlfriend, Mary.

She says your name, surprised.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble. You kneel to gather her papers, made up of mostly posters to sign up for the university newsletter she manages. “That was stupid of me.”

“Don’t be silly,” she shakes her head, “I need to watch where I’m going. You don’t need to pick these up, lovely.”

“It’s okay.”

She seems to notice your expression, and puts a hand on your shoulder. You look at her, humiliation prickling down your spine at your obvious upset. You wish she didn’t know who you were. You wish she wasn’t so nice if it isn’t real.

“Are you okay?”

“Yep, sorry. Just feeling unwell,” you tell her. It isn’t completely untrue.

“You have your history workshop now, don’t you?” Lily says, gently rubbing your shoulder. It’s a long time since anyone’s touched you so softly. You wish you were friends. “Should I let James know you aren’t feeling well?”

You stiffen. “Why would you do that?”

“Weren’t the two of you supposed to go out later?” Lily’s brow furrows. “He told me you’d made plans.”

You stand abruptly, passing her the posters you’ve managed to gather. “Well, we haven’t. Why would he ever ask me to go out with him?”

Lily opens and closes her mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit confused. I-“

“Sorry about the posters. I have to go,” you huff, stepping past her and out the doors. She says your name again, but you don’t look back.

It’s a miserable afternoon. A storm rolls over the city more quickly than you can make it to the station, and the rain is so heavy that several trains are cancelled due to flooding on the tracks. You’re soaked to the skin and shivering by the time you realise it’s been forty minutes, and class has probably finished. You wonder if Lily told James what you said. He’s probably having a big laugh about it with his friends now, saying he'd pay to see your reaction when you realise it wasn’t real.

You don’t cry until you get home, worried that he’ll turn up at the station or on the overcrowded train to witness it. Your roommates, if they hear your upset, don’t care. They tend to operate on their own schedules, and have little interest in what you’re up to. You’re both grateful and grieving for it. You wish you had a group of friends to tell this to, people who would reassure you that you’re not so obvious a target as the pattern has indicated. You wish you had someone who loved you, to tell you that they’d never joke about something like that, that their feelings are genuine. You wish, you wish, you wish.

You hadn’t planned on going back to university the next day, but there’s a football game on the telly that your roommates and their friends won’t listen to without the maximum volume. You don’t complain, just pack up your books and head back in the direction of campus.

The weather has cleared, and you’re not feeling so weighed down by what happened yesterday. Hopefully, James has purged whatever desires he had to humiliate you, and now you can move forward in anonymity. You consider asking the admissions office if you can switch classes, but you’re not sure it’s necessary. James and his group will probably leave you alone. It’s the way it usually goes.

“Hey! Shortcake!” You hear heavy footfalls behind you, and your stomach twists with anxiety. Shit. Even if your shared degree doesn’t have any classes today, James almost always has rugby practice on campus. You should’ve guessed. “Hey, slow down!”

You do slow down, but not by much. James is panting when he catches up to you, still dressed in his rugby uniform and smelling far better than anyone should when they’ve been doing hours of training.

“What is it?” You ask, more sharply than you think you’ve ever spoken to him.

“What happened yesterday? You just disappeared. Are you alright?”

How can he make his eyes so tender when you know he doesn’t care? A surge of frustration rises in your throat.

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Well, no it isn’t,” he gives you a half-smile, confusion etched across his handsome features. “We never got to go on our date. And Lily told me-“

“Who cares what Lily told you?” You snap, crossing your arms and coming to a stop. “I’m sorry I ruined your fun, James, but it’s been weeks of this and I’m not in the mood to be the punchline to some stupid joke.”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking-”

“Please, please, just stop it!” You push your hair back from your face, hating the emotion in your voice. “I know you don’t actually like me, and I know you never actually wanted to go out with me, and I’m- I just want it to stop, please. I’m already having a hard enough time meeting people, I don’t need you making fun of me too.”

James is quiet long enough that you start walking again, but before you can get very far he’s caught you by the elbow. You gasp, mostly at the way his touch seems to burn your skin. He lets go immediately.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” you say, rubbing your elbow self-consciously.

“Can we talk? Please?” He says softly, searching your face like you’re hiding something. You feel the reverse, less burdened by pretence than you have been in weeks. It feels good to be angry at him, even if it’s painful at the same time.

“Fine.”

You go with James to sit at a bench along the edge of the path, sheltered by a tree with long, weeping limbs. The earth smells fresh from the rain.

“I didn’t know you felt as if I was making fun of you,” James begins carefully. “I never wanted you to feel that way.”

You almost roll your eyes. “I know. The whole point of the joke is that I don’t know I’m being made fun of.”

James scrunches up his face as if the idea is crazy. “What joke? What do you mean?”

“James,” you plead. When he looks no closer to admitting anything, you sigh. “Do you honestly think I ever thought you would genuinely flirt with me? Want to get to know me? Ask me out?” You laugh, but it isn’t as flippant as you want it to be. “I’m not stupid.”

“I never thought you were stupid,” he says immediately. “Why wouldn’t I do those things? Do you- have you thought this whole time that I haven’t really been interested in you?”

“It really doesn’t matter, James.”

“It really does. Is that how you’ve felt?”

You go to confirm the affirmative, but pause. It occurs to you that none of the other boys have ever cared this much about maintaining the lie, or about talking to you after the joke is through. “Isn’t that the truth?”

“No, not at all! Who told you that?”

You swallow, hard. “Nobody.”

“Why did you think it, then? Didn’t I seem genuine?”

You search your mind. Your face feels hot. “When you asked me out, you were laughing. Your friends were laughing.”

“Because I was nervous! And they were laughing because they found it funny that I’d been putting it off for so long- I usually rush into things. Talking to you without confessing my feelings has been a challenge in restraint, sweetheart.”

“What?” You swallow again, finding your mouth dry. You blink quickly. “So… you haven’t been joking?”

He shakes his head immediately, looking vaguely dismayed. “On my mum’s life, never.”

Prongs, what’s the point of just talking to her all the time?

You laugh again. It’s more out of disbelief than anything. “I’m so stupid.”

“You aren’t. You’re smart, that’s one of the reasons I like you so much. There must be a reason you didn’t think I was being serious,” James says.

“Besides the fact he was sitting right next to you?” You joke weakly, startled when he smiles like it’s actually funny.

“Yeah, besides that.”

“Look, a lot of boys used to ask me out as a joke in school. I’m not paranoid.”

“I’m not saying you are, but-“

“And I’m not very attractive, James, it isn’t crazy for me to assume you weren’t doing the same.”

He frowns, sobering up. “It is crazy. Firstly, you are attractive, and I don’t think you should speak that way about the girl I fancy.”

You have no idea how to respond to that, so you shrug.

“Secondly, those boys were twats who probably liked you and weren’t brave enough to own up to it.” He sees your skepticism and relents, “Even if they weren’t, it’s a horrible thing to do and was only about them, not you. I’m sorry it happened. Fuck them.”

“Fuck them,” you agree quietly. This has become an overwhelming conversation in a vastly different way than what you’d imagined. James is a very surprising person.

“I’m sorry if I seemed like I was joking, when I was talking to you this term. I think it was only because I was nervous.”

“I was nervous, too,” you admit. “Because I thought you were pretending, but also, I thought you were only doing it because you’d found out I had a crush on you.”

James does a very bad job trying not to look delighted. You feel warmed the same way you do walking into a cosy café in winter, from the outside all the way in to your bones. “Shut up,” you tell him.

“I didn’t even say anything!” He says brightly. “You had a crush on me?”

You shrug, refusing to look at him. All the anger you’d felt, and the drive you’d had to tell him off for it when you sat down, has gone out of you. Your mind is a whir of all the memories you’d categorised as unpleasant over the past few weeks, suddenly through a warmer lens. You imagine James’ friends laughing after class about how long he’s taking to ask you on a date, instead of how long you’re spending falling for the joke. You remember the way they’d exchanged glances whenever he went over to sit with you on the train, and imagine that it’s because they know how much he likes you instead of how much contempt they have for you. You almost feel guilty for assuming such horrible behaviour of them, despite how real it had felt at the time.

“Was that past tense?” James interrupts your thoughts. You frown at him.

“What?”

“You had or have a crush on me?”

You narrow your eyes. “I don’t know right now. This is very weird, James, give me a minute.”

“Okay! Okay, sorry.” He holds up his hands in surrender, leaning back against the bench and whistling lowly. “I think I must be the most oblivious bloke on this entire campus.”

You hesitate to agree when you’ve spent the past weeks believing something you’d completely made up.

“Not really. Are you sure you actually want to go out with me?”

He nods without hesitating. “I would say obviously, but-“

“Not to me.” You finish, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“Not to you, right. And you’re the only person who matters. I really am sorry.” He touches your shoulder. You don’t move away, even though it burns the same way it did before. It’s not a bad sort of heat. “Not that you should’ve had to, but why didn’t you call me out on it sooner? You must’ve been so miserable thinking I was dedicating all this time to bullying you.”

You think for a moment. “I think it’s usually easier if I go along with it. People don’t get offended if I don’t ruin the joke. I was pretty rude to you, to be fair. I thought it would’ve scared you off.”

“When were you rude to me?”

“Just the other day, at work.”

“What, when you said the café was closing at closing time?”

“…Yes. I didn’t say it as nicely as I could’ve. And other times, too.” It had been closing, truthfully, but it was the first time you hadn’t let James and his friends stay an hour late in a desperate bid to seem likeable. “I told you I had to focus on my notes, once.”

“In the middle of a lecture!” James is laughing, or trying not to with little success. It doesn’t feel like it’s at your expense anymore, so much as it’s at the situation. It is a little ridiculous. “I can’t believe that’s what you considered being rude, shortcake.”

“You never thought I seemed too suspicious of you?”

“It didn’t occur to me, given that you didn’t have something to be suspicious of, as far as I knew. I just thought you were shy.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Oh.”

“Are you secretly a massive extrovert? Honestly, babe, if I’ve been seeing the worst version of you these past few weeks, I must really be into you, because I think you’re wonderful just like this.”

Babe. That’s a new one. “I’m not an extrovert, I don’t think.”

James sighs like it’s a relief. “Good. I’ve got enough of them around, anyway.”

You smile, turning your face away. “You’re being so nice to me.”

“Yeah, and I’m breathing. And talking. Easiest things in the world,” James says, which is very cheesy and also quite nice. “Would you look at me?”

You do as he asks.

“Pretty girl,” he tells you, or calls you. You must look stressed by the compliment, because he laughs and cups your left cheek in his warm hand. “You’re such a sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” you protest quietly, but don’t move away. He has lovely eyelashes, and tiny freckles across his nose. His brown skin seems to glow, even in the shade of the tree.

“Can I take you on a date? Genuinely?” He raises his eyebrows in question. You can’t stop the corners of your mouth from turning up, even as you think about it for much longer than you need to. He traces lines on the soft skin under your eye with his thumb. “I really mean it.”

“Okay,” you agree. “You can take me on a date. Genuinely.”

He laughs happily, and leans forward before you can react. It’s only a kiss on the cheek, and then a quick one on your forehead, but they’re dizzying all the same. You know he must see you blushing.

“Thank god that was all so straightforward,” he jokes. You roll your eyes, letting him pull you to your feet as you stand. He shoulders your heavy bag of books before you can. “D’you want to go and study with everyone? They’re just in the library.”

“Are you going to be there?”

He looks over his shoulder. “Rugby training isn’t technically finished yet. I just saw you walking past, so-“

“I’ve taken you away from training?”

“You didn’t take me away. Anyway, they all know I have a thing for you, lovely, it’s alright.” James grins. “If you want to study in the stands for the last half hour of training, we can go and hang out with the group afterwards?”

You think it’s charitable for him to call them the group and not just my friends. “Do you think that’ll be okay?”

“Yeah. They all really like you- what, don’t tell me you didn’t know that, too?”

James looks so aghast that you can’t bring yourself to admit that you thought they all only tolerated you as part of James’ joke. “No, they’re all really nice. They do always seem sorry for me.”

“Only because I’m always flirting,” James says easily. “Lily says I’m torturing you.”

“You were.”

“Not in a bad way, though, yeah?”

You sigh, exhaling some of the hurt of the past few weeks. James has a really kind face, when you look at it properly. Soft eyes without a trace of malice. He’s the sort of boy you’d only fantasised about going out with, to prove to yourself that you were worth more than joking about.

You smile. “Yeah.”

↬Quiver - Smut Prompt ↬Kitchen Quickie - Smut Prompt

↬A Solitary Love ↬Honeymoon ↬NSFW Alphabet

↬The Taste of You - Smut Prompt

↬"Use My Thigh" Smut Prompt

↬I Think It's Time

↬NSFW Alphabet ↬Netflix & Chill

↬Heat Waves ↬Where You Belong ↬The Taste of a Virgin - DARK FIC. PLEASE READ TRIGGERS ↬Right here. Right now - Anon Smut Prompt

↬Eat Spit Get Dicked ↬U-Turn ↬The Quiet Game - Smut Prompt Request

And it’s always the same order; one scoop of chocolate in the small blue bowl — Harry’s. You grab it without thinking, muscle memory by now. James only ever gets a coffee, sometimes, on the days he looks a little more tired than usual. But today, it’s just the ice cream.

Your thoughts are absolutely not on the dessert, though. They’re on his hands, his forearms, the way his shirt sleeves are rolled up just enough to show tan skin and veins that have no business looking that good.

James Potter was no ordinary man. Not even close. He was the kind of attractive that made people double-take without meaning to — the kind that made your coworkers go quiet the first time he walked in, whispering behind the counter about the dad with the glasses. He was a single father who co-parented, though you had no idea if he was currently single or not.

Even now, months later, your coworkers still find themselves stealing glances at him whenever he walks in, pretending it’s nothing. The girls by the window don’t even bother hiding it, their eyes openly following him as though he’s a dangling piece of meat.

And yet, despite all that attention, despite the small crowd of silent admirers he unconsciously attracts, he remains simply James Potter; a kind, steady regular who comes in with his son, orders the same chocolate scoop, and smiles at you as though you were just another part of his routine.

Not that it matters. You know you have no chance. He’s at least fifteen years older than you, impossibly out of reach, and far too alluring. He’s just a customer, a devastatingly attractive one whom you absolutely should not be imagining in ways that have nothing to do with ice cream.

You set the bowl in front of Harry, and the kid doesn’t even pretend he’s going to wait. He digs in instantly, the spoon clattering against the ceramic as chocolate smears across his cheek like paint. It pulls a laugh out of you before you can stop it, he’s just impossibly sweet and adorable. 

James watches his son with this soft, unguarded tenderness that hits you square in the ribs every single time. Like nothing else in the world exists for him in that moment except making sure Harry doesn’t drop the bowl or fall out of the chair.

And it shouldn’t be allowed — how good he looks like this. How natural. How utterly at ease in a role that would make other men fumble.

He glances up at you, expression gentle, and your heartbeat runs faster. “Come on, Harry,” James says softly. “Say thank you.”

Harry beams at you. “Thank you, miss y/n!”

You crouch slightly to meet his eyes. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

James’ eyes flick up to you, warm and easy. “Thank you, love.”

It isn’t even meant to be flirtatious; you’re sure he tosses that term at anyone without thinking. Yet it hits you straight in the chest, making your poor heart race. His smile is slow and warm, a little too knowing, and you get the unsettling sense that he’s fully aware of the effect he has on you.

He’s probably just being polite, but your brain is far too busy screaming holy fuck to care about logic.

You straighten quickly, because you can feel the heat crawling up your neck. “Of course. I’ll see you both next time.”

Harry waves with sticky hands as they head out. James places a light hand on the door for you as he leaves, something so small yet so fucking irresistible you almost groan.

The door shuts. The evening air slips into the café. They are halfway down the street when you realize you have been staring at the window like an idiot.

You sigh, muttering under your breath as you wipe the counter “Fuck me, he’s too hot.”

The next week drifts by slowly, the kind of slow that makes every shift feel twice as long. By the time evening hits, the cafe’s nearly dead. Only one couple sits near the window, finishing their last bites and murmuring quietly to each other.

You move between tables with a damp cloth, wiping down surfaces and pretending you are not counting the minutes until he walks in. It has become a problem, honestly. 

The way you perk up when the door opens is humiliating. You hate how obvious it must be to your coworkers. You cannot help it though. James Potter does something to your brain, something indecent and horribly pathetic.

You’re bent over a table when the bell rings. You straighten immediately. He walks in alone this time, tall and gorgeous in that unfair way, hair mussed like he kept running his hands through it, tie loosened around his neck.

No Harry.

Your heart kicks up.

“Hi, Mr. Potter,” you greet, smoothing your apron even though it’s already perfect. 

He takes his usual seat near the corner and gives you a soft smile. “The usual?” you ask gently, hands resting on your hips.

“Yes, please.” He taps his fingertips lightly on the wooden table, a small habit you have memorized without meaning to.

“No little Harry today?” You chuckle softly, though a fucked up part of you is already thinking oh god, it’s just him tonight.

“Oh, no,” he replies. He leans back a little, looking relaxed in a way he rarely gets to be. “He’s sleeping over at his uncle’s place.”

You smile. “Well, when you see him, tell him I said hi. I’ll be right back with your coffee, Mr. Potter.”

It takes barely two minutes to fix it exactly how he likes; rich, dark, a splash of cream. You try not to think about how embarrassing it is that you know his preference by heart, right down to the way he always warms his hands around the mug before taking the first sip. You bring it over and set it in front of him.

“Thank you.” His fingers curl around the cup, voice warm and a little tired, somehow making the simplest words sound devastatingly attractive.

“Of course. Let me know if you need anything else.” You turn to walk away, trying to seem professional even though your body is buzzing with awareness of him.

You barely take three steps before he clears his throat and calls your name.

You stop instantly and look over your shoulder, brows raised.

He sits there with the cup in his hand, cheeks faintly flushed, eyes soft and a bit nervous. 

“Excuse me if this is an odd question,” he says, letting out a tiny laugh as if he is embarrassed. “But… when do you leave?”

Your pulse jumps.

“At six,” you answer slowly, stepping a little closer. “May I ask why?”

***

“Oh—fuck…” You gasp, head tilting back while your eyes struggle to stay open. It’s pathetic how desperate you feel watching the way he fills you, thick and deep, every thrust making your stomach tighten. 

Your hands slide up your chest, squeezing your breasts because the extra pressure sends sharp, dizzy waves of pleasure straight to your core.

James’ low chuckle vibrates through you. He looks down between your bodies, watching with a hunger that makes your skin burn as his cock disappears inside your soaked, greedy cunt. 

One of his hands is planted beside your head for balance, the other gliding over your waist, your stomach, your ribs—touching you like he owns every inch.

“Listen to you,” he mutters, voice rough and amused.  “Being so loud when the flat upstairs is probably awake.” His hand tightens suddenly at your hip, dragging you closer so he can bury himself deeper. The shift forces a shocked, breathless cry out of you and your back arches helplessly.

The angle is obscene. You feel every inch of him, and oh god, James Potter is massive.

Your thighs tremble as you try to breathe through it, cunt clenching around him with no shame. James moves his hand slowly up your stomach again, the heat of his palm making your insides twist even tighter.

Then his fingers snap against your cheek in a sharp, unexpected slap.

A stunned cry tears from your throat, the sting blooming across your face as your mouth falls open. 

Before you can even catch your breath, James hooks his thumb between your lips, forcing them wider, pressing deep into the soft flesh inside your cheek.

“That gets you going, doesn’t it?” he says, tone thick with dark satisfaction. “Taking it like a filthy little thing who doesn’t know how to behave.”

Your cunt tightens violently around him, betraying you instantly. A broken moan falls out around his thumb, and your hand scrambles down between your legs, fingers circling your clit with frantic, needy pressure.

James laughs, quiet and breathless, biting his bottom lip as he watches you come apart for him. His thrusts get harder, sharper, punishing.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Touching yourself for me like you’re starving for it. Bet you’d love it if someone heard. Bet you want someone to hear how fucking desperate you are.”

You choke on another moan, hips grinding to meet his every push, completely undone.

“It feels… fuck—James, it feels so good—”

A satisfied sound rumbles in his chest, his forehead dropping to yours like he wants to feel every noise you make.

“Yeah?” he whispers, almost proud. “I know it does.”

Heat rushes to your face, your breath catching on a broken sound that absolutely gives you away. You try to rein it back in, but you can’t. Your body keeps chasing him, pushing up into every demanding roll of his hips like you’re starved.

A strangled cry escapes you, and your fingers grip him tighter, shivering as the heat coils tighter in your stomach, spreading outward, dragging every part of you along for the ride. 

James’s grin is dark, filthy, like he’s enjoying every helpless, desperate second of it. “That’s it, baby. So fucking good… can you feel it building? Yeah, I know you can.”

Your moans hit new heights, loud, messy, shameless, and James leans closer, his hands roaming over you with total ownership, his mouth pressing against your skin as he whispers, low and hot.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” he growls, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So wet… so tight… how about I fill you up properly? Give you a baby? Make you mine, yeah? Make Harry a big brother?”

Your breath catches, a broken moan tumbling from your lips. “Yes… please… James…”

He chuckles low and dark, tugging your hair lightly to tilt your head back. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, a possessive glint in his eyes. “I’ll fill you up so good,”

Without warning, he flips you over, pressing you down onto the mattress with ease. 

He knows he shouldn’t be so judgmental. He’s here too. And he’ll probably do worse than pop an unidentified pill and grind up on some girl he won't remember tomorrow. But he’s had a shitty day, so he’s in a shitty mood, and he’s content taking it out on a bunch of shitty strangers.

Maybe he’ll be nicer when he gets something in his system, he thinks, stepping into the crowd.

A familiar mass of leather and long hair almost sweeps right past him, only noticing James at the last second. His hand flies out, hanging off the worn denim on James’s back to stop his own hurried step.

“Oi, look who finally showed up,” Sirius cheers over the music, stumbling into James’s side.

James quirks a brow, catching Sirius by the elbow to steady him. Sirius’s pupils are blown wide, his grey irises hardly visible, and he’s got a wild look about him.

“Moony’s got shit lined up in the bathroom, coming?”

“Yeah, I’m just…” James trails off, scanning the flat for a place he can get a drink, but his eyes land on something else he wouldn’t mind getting lost in. “Gonna get a drink,” he mutters, pushing past his friend to follow you, thinking, what better way to blow off some steam than to torment his ex? After all, there’s no sweeter buzz than that of your cruel tongue.

You and James have a messy past. Years of on-again, off-again toxicity. Locked in a competition to see who could hurt the other worse. It was brutal, but the make-up sex and the following weeks of sweetness were euphoric. You were perfect for each other when you behaved. It was something rare, something people dreamed of and wrote stories about. The promise of that always drew you back in. But eventually, not even that was enough anymore.

Everyone breathed easier when it ended. Supposedly a clean break. Done for good, you had both assured all your friends. Only for something even more fucked up to be born from it. All that’s left now is torment and nights you can’t get back.

James feeds off of it.

Unaware of James’s pursuit, you’re dancing with Marlene in the living room where all the furniture has been pushed against the walls. You’re talking loudly to her about the guy giving you bedroom eyes across the room. He’s all tanned skin, toned muscles, and wandering eyes. Very much your type.

You tilt your head when Marlene scowls, not sure where the conversation went wrong. You quickly realize it’s not you that’s the problem when large, strong hands close around your waist, tugging you back, pressing you against his lean body.

At the sudden hit of that familiar woody cologne, your face twists into a scowl much like Marlene’s. You knew he’d be here tonight, but you had this naive hope he would leave you alone for once.

He pulls you into a dance, his lips brush the shell of your ear as he guides your hips to sway in time with his. “Hey, angel,” that voice you know all too well whispers, the pet name that used to reach your ear with adoration coming out like a taunt.

“Absolutely not, Potter,” Marlene yells at him. He shoots her a wink.

“You look hot tonight. Who’s that for?” he continues, opting to ignore Marlene from that moment onward.

You don’t dignify that with a response, but it only gives him the space to keep talking. And if you know one thing about James, it’s that he never shuts the fuck up.

“Let’s see. It was gonna be him, wasn’t it?” he asks, correctly pointing at the man across the room. “Wanna know how I can tell?”

“Not particularly,” you say, sounding disinterested, but you let him guide your hips to the beat. He heard you talking to Marlene about the bloke, is all, and he’s come up with some bullshit that you don’t care to hear.

“I can tell because they always look like me,” he drawls, full of cocky assurance that he’s the bloody blueprint.

When he nips at your earlobe, you spin on your heels, plant your palms flat on his chest, and give him a rough shove. You hear Marlene cackle behind you.

“Oh, fuck off, Potter!” you snap.

James lets himself be pushed, his back slamming into some other guy’s, who spins on his heels and tells James to “Watch it!” James doesn’t seem to notice or care, grinning from ear to ear like you’ve just planted a kiss on him, not nearly shoved him to the ground.

You almost shout at him, pick a fight about how his arrogance is just one of his many faults. But you’re far too sober to have a conversation with James. You’re too sober for this party. So, you take Marlene’s hand and escape towards the kitchen.

You barely make it out of the room before James wraps his hand around your forearm.

“Come on, angel, I just want one dance with you.”

Before you can say something either incredibly mean or incredibly foolish—like agreeing to go with him—Mary appears.

“Er, what the hell? Thought Sirius was s’posed to wrangle him?” she says, balancing three plastic cups between her two hands.

James barks out a laugh. “There was a plan? That’s cute.”

You, on the other hand, are a little offended. “Sorry, was there a plan?”

Did your friends think you were that incapable of making your own decisions? That pissed you off to no end, and sort of made you want to make a bad one just to spite them.

Mary shoots you an apologetic look, handing you your drink, only for James to pluck it straight from your grasp.

Before he can take a sip, you knock the drink right out of his hands. Your goal is to soak him in the sticky substance, but your aim is off, and the cup splashes uselessly onto the floor, forming a puddle of wasted booze at your feet.

“Dude,” an exasperated voice chips in, one of the hosts of the evening emerging from the kitchen.

Frank glares daggers at James as he rips a few paper towels from a roll.

“Hey, that’s on her, mate,” James tells him. He snakes an arm around your waist, looking at you when he adds, “Just goes mad when she’s around me, no helping it.”

“Didn’t I tell you to fuck-”

“Fuck what?” he interrupts, leaning so close he could kiss you. Your friends collectively groan.

“Fuck off!” you shout, not backing down. A moment passes between you where you just breathe each other’s air, heated stares unwavering like it’s a contest.

“Holy shit, can you two get a room?” Frank groans, dragging the paper towels over the spill with his shoe. He looks more than fed up with both of you. It’s a look you’re well acquainted with—you’ve seen on countless friends’ faces each time you’ve gotten tangled up with James.

But you refuse to let that happen tonight.

And James, who sees your face harden with determination, knows it’s going to.

“No need,” you grumble to Frank as you slip from James’s grasp.

James gives you a ten-second head start, clapping Frank on the shoulder on his way as if he had just performed as a stellar wingman.

“See ya later, buddy,” James says to him cheerily, and Frank can only shake his head.

After you and James are long gone, Frank sighs. “Mission failure, eh?”

Marlene shakes her head. “Those two seriously need to work on their fucking issues.”

Mary snorts. “Yeah, fucking issues.”

When James catches up to you, he captures you by your waist, steering you away from the dance floor you were attempting to disappear into.

“Oh, what now, James?” you huff as he leads you down a hall. Sounding very reluctant for someone quickening her step to match his pace.

“I thought I was Potter. Or is that part of the show for your friends?”

“There’s no show, you ass,” you say as he stops outside a door, running his fingers along the top of the frame until he finds what he’s looking for. A key.

“Is this Frank’s room?” you ask as James ushers you inside.

James follows you closely. Such a thorn in your side, this boy.

“He did say to get a room. Basically an offer,” he shrugs. Besides, leaving the key on top of the door frame? James figures that kind of foolishness earns him whatever mess he’s about to make with you.

“You’re such an entitled prick,” you laugh in disbelief. “Bloody presumptuous and-”

“Ooh, big word. Good job,” he taunts, pushing you against the door as it closes. Your back hits the wood with a thud, and there’s a click as the lock is turned.

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, fuck me, glad we’re on the same page,” James murmurs, hands caressing your sides as he presses open-mouth kisses down your neck.

“No!” you snap, shoving him off of you. He stumbles a few steps into the room. “I told you last time, I’m done with you.”

Silent laughter rumbles in James’s chest. “You told me that the last three times, actually, and yet…”

You clench your jaw. It always goes like this—he pisses you off just to offer himself up for you to take it out on. So far, he’s been incredibly successful at pissing you off.

“I meant it last time,” you say, but it’s lacking conviction. Because maybe there’s a small part of you that can’t get him out of your head, no matter what you do or how long it’s been. Maybe there’s a small part of you that remembers how good he always makes you feel. A part of you that’s also been appreciating how hot he looks tonight, and how good his hands felt on your waist. And maybe, just maybe, that part of you isn’t all that small.

James smirks because he knows he has you right where he wants you. He’s always been able to read you. You swear his eyes dart to the space above your head, as if there’s a speech bubble floating there just for him, exposing all your thoughts. Every last dirty one.

“Then why do you keep coming to my friends’ parties?” he continues to goad you on.

“They’re my friends too, you twat!” you retort, stepping closer. “You’re the one who’s the problem. Why can’t you leave me alone?”

James pretends to think about it for a moment. “I don’t think you want me to,” he decides, running his fingertips down your arms.

You laugh once, hard and without humor, shaking your head in disbelief while hoping he doesn’t notice the goosebumps left in the wake of his touch. “See? This is why we didn’t work out. You never listen.”

James drops his hands to his sides with a groan, tipping his head back. “Oh, here we go,” he says, like he’s already tired of this conversation.

You scoff. “And that! You were always such a fucking asshole.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t such a cunt,” he mutters under his breath.

You step even closer, shoving his shoulder. “What did you just call me?”

He looks at you, lips curling like he finds this funny. “I said you’re a fucking cunt,” he repeats, firm and clear.

You lash out, hand raised and swinging, but he catches your wrist just before your palm connects with his cheek. You try to twist your arm from his grasp, but he tightens his hold, almost bruising the soft flesh of the inside of your wrist. Your breath shudders at how easily he could pin you to the bed with it.

His voice drops into something seductive. “That temper’s gonna get you in trouble.”

Anger flares in your chest, but a different kind of heat burns stronger low in your gut. Fuck, that voice. And the way he looks at you, like he’s already imagining all the ways he could ruin you. Fuck. You’re done for.

“Yeah?” you murmur, letting the tension between you simmer for a beat. “How much trouble?”

The corner of James’s mouth curls into a smirk, and then he’s yanking you forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. He pins your hand to your back, like a punishment for daring to raise it, but your free hand roams his body unrestrained. Finding a home in his hair, which you tug sharply, making him hiss into your mouth.

You don’t beat around the bush, both of you kicking off your shoes and shredding layers with urgency.

“Change of heart?” he murmurs, helping you out of your shirt.

“You were practically begging me,” you excuse your actions as you push his jacket off his shoulders. “Not my fault you’re so fucking easy.”

James tugs his shirt off by the collar. “Take advantage, then,” he says gruffly.

And you do, grabbing him by the face and reconnecting your lips. Sinking your teeth in and tugging on his lower lip between sloppy kisses.

James makes quick work of your bra, pawing at your tits as soon as they’re free, nothing gentle about his touch. He pinches your nipples until they’re stiff and aching.

Your mouth finds the underside of his jaw, sucking dark red marks into his skin as he walks you backward towards the bed. When the back of your knees hit the mattress, he shoves you onto it.

Something crinkles in your pocket as he tugs your jeans past your ankles.

“What’s this?” he asks, fishing in your pocket. “Not a condom, I hope.” He’s not so keen on wearing one, and he knows you won’t ask him to if neither of you has one.

“Why? Scared of a little responsibility?” you mutter.

He grins like a devil when he finds the small plastic baggie.

You shoot upright. You had forgotten about that.

“What do we have here?” he muses as he discards your jeans on the floor.

You lunge for it, but he holds it high out of your reach.

“Ah-ah,” he chides. “That’s jail time you’ve got in your pocket, you know,” he teases, mockingly threatening, as if he hasn’t done worse, and as if you couldn’t easily pin him for worse.

“Is this a shake down? Give that back,” you growl.

“Relax.” He turns the bag over in his fingers, inspecting it. “Let’s put it to good use, yeah? You could certainly stand to lighten up.”

“Adjust your attitude, you prick,” you snap.

“That's what this is for.” He pinches the bag open. “Come on, I’ll let you have the first hit.”

“Oh, how kind of you to let me have the first hit of my own fucking coke.”

He rolls his eyes. “You have a foul mouth, y’know that?” he asks as he tips the bag over the back of his hand. He drags the tip of his finger over the powder, straightening it into a neat line.

James grips your jaw roughly, lining you up with his other hand. You press a finger to one nostril and lean in, nose brushing his skin as you snort the line clean. You sniffle as you lean back.

He wipes your nose with his thumb. “Atta girl,” he praises, then he plants a hand on your shoulder and pushes you down onto the mattress. You’d snap at him for shoving you again if everything didn’t suddenly feel so bright and alive and lovely. Suddenly, James doesn’t seem all that bad. You laugh about nothing in particular.

“My turn,” he murmurs, tapping out a line across the soft skin beneath your navel, thinning it out with a knuckle. He braces a hand on your waist as he leans down, his eye contact unwavering as he snorts the powdery line.

You get a head rush, and attribute it entirely to the drugs and not the way James looks like sin.

Before the sting’s even faded from his sinuses, he drags his tongue across your skin, licking up the residue. Then he sinks his teeth into your hip, hard enough to make you yelp.

“Fuck,” he growls, pulling back slightly to admire the blooming mark. “Missed this.”

The words just slip out. You ignore them. He’d like to forget he said them.

“Alright, get up here,” you mutter, nudging him with your knee.

“Eager, are we?” he says, shedding the rest of his clothes.

James picks you up and tosses you higher up on the bed. He has always liked it rough. Has always been an aggressive lover, in more ways than one. When he’s high, that particular proclivity is only enhanced.

He crawls after you, parting your thighs with his large, rough hands as he kneels between them. He hooks your panties to the side, and a low groan reverberates deep in his chest. “Act like you hate me, but look how wet you are f’me,” he says gruffly as he easily slides two fingers inside of you.

Your breathing becomes heavy as he fucks his fingers into your tight hole, scissoring them to stretch you wide for his cock—leaking and aching for you as he watches your head tip back in pleasure and your back begin to arch off the mattress. He pulls his fingers out of you, sick of waiting, and wraps the same hand around the waistband of your panties. The lace digs into your skin, burning as he sharply tugs you closer by them.

For a moment, James is still. Thinking, as he feels the fabric between his fingers. The pad of his thumb runs back and forth over the floral design. These slutty little panties aren’t for him. You put them on for some other random bloke to see tonight, hadn’t you?

His nostrils flare, and without a second thought, he rips them clean off.

“You dick!” you shout, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at what he’s done. “Those aren’t fucking cheap!”

“They tore like they were fucking cheap,” he grunts, jaw clenched as he pulls the ruined fabric out from under you and tosses it off the bed. “Now, shut the hell up.”

He grips your chin, meanly shoving the same two fingers that were inside your cunt into your mouth as he lines his hips up with yours. Instead of sucking, like he wants, you bite down hard.

“Fuck!” he shouts. In retaliation, he slams his hips against yours, filling you up to the hilt in one fluid motion.

Your jaw falls open as a cry rips from your throat. It feels like he’s splitting you open. He could have stretched you out with more of his fingers, but it hardly would have mattered. You never did get used to his size. Not even when you were together, and he’d fuck you senseless every single day.

James slides his fingers out of your mouth before you bite them off, wrapping them around your neck instead. He leans over you, supporting his weight on his forearm next to your head. “Almost forgot how perfect this pussy is for me,” he grunts as he sets a brutal pace, hips slapping against yours with every thrust.

You refuse to give him the satisfaction of making any more noises, biting your tongue to keep them at bay. He can tell.

“Don’t hold back on me, angel.”

“You wanna hear me? Make me feel good. Or is this the best you can do?” you taunt, slightly breathless despite yourself.

“Why don’t you just use your words and tell me what you want?”

“I want you to do something useful. If this is what you call fucking, no wonder I always left.”

James’s grip tightens around your neck, enough to make it hard to breathe. You start to feel a little dizzy.

“Always such a piece of work,” he says, delivering a sharp smack to your inner thigh. “You’ll take what I give you.”

You buck your hips and wrestle him off of you, tired of him having the upper hand. He doesn’t hide the fact that he lets it happen. You both know he’s strong enough to keep you down if that’s where he wants you. Instead, his lips curl into a lopsided grin as you climb on top, his hands resting over your hips. He tries to thrust up into you, but you move back.

You shake your head, pressing your palm against his abdomen to keep him still.

“You’ll take what I give you,” you mock, throwing his hands off of you.

His eyebrows shoot up, lips parting, but he slowly starts to smirk again, moving his hands behind his head as he lets you take the lead.

You sink down onto his cock, inch by torturous inch. He wants to reach out and touch you, but he knows he’ll likely be met with some barking insult or a smack to his offending hand.

You moan, tossing your head back and closing your eyes as you set a steady pace, rolling your hips just right so the fat head of his cock nudges that sweet spot inside of you. Using him more than you are fucking him.

“You say you hate me so much, but look at you dripping all over my cock,” James says, grinning. “Such a slut for it, yeah, baby?”

“It’s all you're good for,” you shrug, wiping the smile off James’s face. He hates how smug you look.

“Oh, really?” he grinds out. He grabs you harshly by the hips, holding you up so he can take back some control, fucking up into you hard.

An involuntary squeal slips past your lips, but you don’t back down. “Like I said. Easy to get a good fuck from you. You were shit at everything else, and a shit boyfriend.”

“That why you keep coming back?”

“You keep coming back. It’s pathetic. You’re lucky I take pity and let you fuck me like this.”

He suddenly throws you off of him. You have no time to react. Unable to catch yourself, you land on your side with an “oompf.”

“Be fucking careful,” you snap. When you look back at him, he’s silently seething—brooding more like. A weird feeling churns in your gut, which you ignore. “Don’t be a baby about it,” you mutter.

James rolls his eyes and sniffs, that prickly feeling still bothering his sinuses. He pushes himself onto his knees, finding the little baggie he tossed somewhere on the bed and taking another hit before he even looks your way. You fight the urge to call him a baby again.

You’re still lying on your side when he finally shuffles over to you. He yanks one of your legs into the air, sending a sharp sting through the top of your thigh.

“Ow!” you say with emphasis, smacking him in the abdomen as he straddles your other thigh.

“Psh, you love it,” he says, grabbing your wrist and pressing it down on the mattress behind you. He smirks when you keep it there, even as he moves his hand to hold your leg instead.

With his other hand, he lines himself back up at your entrance, then snaps his hips against yours. He gives your leg another tug, hooking your ankle over his shoulder.

You gasp sharply as his cock sinks impossibly deeper in this position. He bumps your cervix with every unforgiving snap of his hips. It’s painful in the way you like, and guttural noises you’re too gone to even think about suppressing spill from your lips with every mean thrust.

His hand climbs your body to paw at your tits, your hips swiveling as he pushes you halfway onto your back. He squeezes them roughly, pinching and twisting your nipples until they’re sore. When he tires of that, his hand travels back down. A finger dips between your folds, gathering your creamy juices from where his dick disappears inside you and spreading them up to your clit.

He doesn’t waste time working you up to it, rubbing fast circles against your clit that make you cry out. His lips transform into a satisfied grin as you get lost in the pleasure that he gives you. A surge of pride courses through him when you screw your eyes shut, whining and whimpering just for him.

James thinks you’re perfect like this. When you’re his again, even just for the moment, and everything he does drives you wild. There’s not a hateful bone left in your body. And the way you look at him? Nothing’s ever made him feel more alive.

He doesn’t stop when you cum, he doesn’t even slow down. He holds his own climax back just to torture you, forcing another orgasm out of you as soon as the sharp pain of overstimulation eases into a familiar pleasure.

“Yeah, there you go. Finally got you to shut up, huh?” he says smugly.

Still inside you, he clumsily climbs over your thigh so he’s kneeling between your legs. He roughly tugs your other leg to his shoulder, suspending your hips a few inches off the bed as he spears into you as deeply as possible.

He holds one arm across his chest, pinning your legs and keeping them spread, while the other hand continues to bully your clit. Your legs tremble uncontrollably when he makes you cum again and again, not letting up even a little. He kisses your calf softly, and you’re too distracted to think about what the gentleness means. You forget all about it anyway when he bites you there next, leaving behind an obvious outline of teeth bruised into your skin.

You forgot how fixated James gets on sinking his teeth into you when he’s high, like he’s completely fucking feral. You used to call him a vampire in such a fond tone. It used to make his heart swell. He nips at you again as he remembers this, then he leans over you to smash his lips against yours, practically folding you in half in the process. He takes your lower lip between his teeth, biting down hard enough to draw blood.

“Fuck!” you cry out when he releases you, leaning back on his knees as he admires your crimson-stained lips.

“You’re fine,” he laughs when you raise your hand to the gash, and you get the urge to smack him. Instead, you push yourself up and spit a mix of blood and saliva on his face.

He doesn’t even care, just licks the mess from his lips like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted and keeps driving his cock right into your spongy walls.

“You’re such a ffuh—fucking dick,” you grind out, but your anger is already quickly dissolving. The pleasure between your legs is too distracting. Too good. You forget all about your lip in seconds as he winds you up again. A curse falls from your lips in a half-cry, half-moan when a gush of your sweet juices dampens the sheets, and you’re cumming for the nth time—you can’t remember anymore.

A cocky smirk tugs at his lips as he thinks about the time you told him he’s the only one who’s ever gotten you to cum like that. He’s certain he still is. Certain he’s the only fucking one who’s ever fucked you right.

You whimper as you start to come down from another orgasm. Overstimulated and needing reprieve, you weakly press on his stomach, without the strength to actually push him away because you can’t quite muster it.

He doesn’t want to stop, though. You feel too good, and he’s right there. You know it too, by the way his noises have climbed a pitch.

“Let me fill you up, I remember how you used to love it,” James pants.

“I’ll fucking kill you,” you say, your breathless voice matching his.

“Fine,” he growls, pulling out and once again manhandling you into the position he wants. He drags you by your legs until his cock is in your face. He rubs the angry red tip over your lips, mixing your cum with whatever lip gloss hasn’t already been smudged down your chin. “Fucking drink it, then,” he says, squeezing your cheeks to open you up, pushing his thick cock against your tongue. He tastes like musk and you and faintly of your strawberry lip gloss.

He groans as soon as he pushes into your mouth, your lips are warm and perfect around him. Impatient, he shoves his cock to the back of your throat with one quick thrust. You gag, and a sharp noise of surprise sputters out of you. In retaliation, you let your teeth drag lightly over his length. He hisses, grabbing a fistful of your hair to tug you off of him.

“Be fucking good or I’ll bury my cock back in your cunt and fill you up the way I really want,” he growls.

You know he’s not kidding. You huff through your nose as you adjust your angle, propping yourself up on an elbow with a hand braced on his muscular thigh, and you give him what he wants.

He moans loudly as you hollow your cheeks around him, letting you bob your head a few times before his need for control takes over yet again. His fingers wrap around your neck, holding you in place to fuck your face. You slacken your jaw and take it, gagging when he hits the back of your throat.

When you begin to cough, he pulls back. Spit runs down your chin, a string of it connecting your lips to his cock. He gives you a moment to recover, his grip on your neck turning gentle as he massages you. It’s easy for both of you to pretend the gentleness was never there when he switches back to mean in a single beat, as soon as you’ve caught your breath.

“Take it like a good little slut. Can’t get enough, can you?” he grunts as he shoves his cock back down your throat.

His voice edges off into a whine, and you know he’s right on the brink. You relax for him, letting him sink deeper, swallowing around him to push him over the edge. Without warning, hot spurts of his cum shoot straight down your throat as he moans your name, hips bucking until your mouth has milked him dry.

James is so fucking pent up when he cums that white spots blur his vision. For a moment, his mind goes blank of anything but the blinding pleasure. It’s like he doesn’t even exist. Like all there is in the world is you, only you.

With a shuddering breath, he regains his bearings. He clumsily moves you both around until he finds his way back between your legs, sinking his sensitive cock right back into you.

You squeeze your walls around him to be mean, knowing this is almost too much for him, but he doesn’t let up.

“Give me one more, yeah?” he pants. He just needs to see you fall apart for him one more time. Fucking insatiable.

His hands press your thighs back, splitting you wide open as he lazily rocks into you, ignoring his own overstimulation as his thumb finds your clit. He’s practically preening when he quickly works you back to the edge, and you cum on his cock with one final cry of his name.

James sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth as your walls contract around him. Even as it makes him feel lightheaded, he keeps his cock buried deep inside of you as he leans down, kissing you all over.

“So good,” he murmurs, pressing a too tender kiss to your temple. He trails his lips down to your neck, where he bites and sucks dark hickeys into your skin until you catch your breath.

His hands slide down and lazily massage the seams of your thighs. His care for you is subtle enough for both of you to brush it off as James going through the motions, mindlessly touching. Not soothing your sore muscles because he actually might give a shit. He doesn’t, he’d tell you, if you dared to bring it up, but you wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.

“Alright, enough,” you mutter, pushing him off of you.

James rolls his eyes and stands to get dressed. You lay there long enough for him to fish a pack of cigarettes from his trousers, take a quick drag, then stick it in your mouth so he can focus on pulling his clothes on.

You think of the days you’d lie with your head in his lap, and he’d talk about anything, carding his fingers through your hair and holding the smoke to your lips. You wonder briefly if the rest of the night would’ve gone like that had you not pushed him off of you.

With the cigarette hanging from your lips, you stand to dress, relinquishing the thought. You don’t see your panties anywhere—not that they’re any use to you now—but you’re pretty sure James pocketed them. You sigh and pull on your jeans, grabbing the nearly empty, wrinkled baggie before James can swipe it and putting it back in your pocket.

It then becomes a race to see who can get dressed and get the fuck away from the other first. And for you to take as many drags as you can before he steals the cig back.

“I still hate you,” you break the silence as you clasp your bra.

“Wouldn’t want it any other way, angel,” he remarks, handing you your top. You blow smoke in his face, and that’s when he plucks the cigarette from your fingers.

You think James lacks tact when he follows you closely out of the room, but what he really lacks is shame.

“Oi, Longbottom! We got a room!” James shouts, pulling you into his side as he waves at Frank across the room.

“What the FUCK, James?!”

You roll your eyes and duck out of his grip while he’s distracted with Frank, who’s barreling towards him now. You disappear into the crowd without looking back, set on finding a pretty pill or a perfect stranger to drown out the regret and other confusing feelings you refuse to address.

You’ll try to forget about James, at least for a little while. But no matter what, you can never truly erase him. Nor can he erase you.

Maybe the problem is that neither of you really wants to.

- MISCELLANEOUS CHARACTERS

- including Robbie Jennings (ataps), Drover (australia), Leopold Mountbatten (kate and leopold), Conrad Fisher (tsitp), and Kaz Brekker (shadow and bone), Joe Macken (albert nobbs)

- JAMES POTTER

- TANGERINE

- POLY MARAUDERS

- COUNT VRONSKY

- SERGEI KRAVINOFF

- DAVE LIZEWSKI

- PIETRO MAXIMOFF

- TOM RYDER

- LOGAN HOWLETT

- FRIEDRICH HARDING

- CLARK KENT

- PETER PARKER

- STEVE HARRINGTON

(Bonus, 4k Celebration) - MOODBOARD MASTERLISTS

PS: the aesthetic pictures on the mood-boards DO NOT reflect Y/n's descriptions! no physical descriptions of Y/n are given at any point in any fics UNLESS given in the warnings! i always want to make sure Y/n can be of any race/ethnicity/size since we humans are all beautifully different and amazing!!