This Is Real And I'm Not Accepting To Believe Otherwise

I'm dreadfully in love with him

SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

same af

I actually hate him

Sudsy Confessions - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: As the end of the school year continues to creep up on all of the seventh-year students, Sebastian has thought about what’s to come after graduation shamefully little. He’s equal parts annoyed and worried that he doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life, and he’s even more frustrated that he’s running out of time to tell you how he really feels about you. When a chance opportunity finally presents itself, Sebastian seizes the moment, even if the setting is a little… unorthodox.  

Alternatively summarized as Sebastian confessing his long-harbored love for you while you’re naked in a bathtub. 

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, love confessions, bathtub sex

Full fic can also be found here on Ao3 with more diverse tags :))

It was rare for Sebastian to get so bent out of shape over Quidditch. Especially since it had been an unofficial scrimmage between him and a handful of friends– which he had still won, mind— but it was the topic of discussion that had transpired after the actual event in The Three Broomsticks that had gotten him all hot and bothered, and there was no way around the truth of the matter. 

Garreth had brought up graduation. 

It was a topic that Sebastian had done his best to steer clear of since he had yet to formulate a plan for himself after Hogwarts. Apparently Weasley would be starting an apprenticeship with J. Pippins at his shop in Hogsmeade, which had warranted a few hesitant congratulations from the rest of his motley group. It was obvious that Leander and Imelda assumed the same thing Sebastian did; that Garreth would probably blow up the shop soon after starting. 

Then there was Imelda. Headstrong, resilient, and determined to prove herself. She fully intended on trying out for the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team after graduation and refused to believe she would do anything but succeed. There was no reason to doubt her at all– she’d always been masterful on her broom and had set new records left and right since Professor Black had reinstated Quidditch again. Sebastian only hoped that he was well out of sight in the event things didn’t go the way Imelda wanted them to. 

Leander had taken a bit of a sharp turn somewhere between the start of school and the present moment and apparently wanted to apply to work at the Ministry. Specifically, he’d been talking about joining the Council of Magical Law– evidently finding the power that would come with such a position all too appealing. Sebastian couldn’t help but think it was rather on brand for the Gryffindor to think as much, but his encouragement had been lukewarm all the same. 

Though he hadn’t joined them at The Three Broomsticks, it was already known that Ominis was also thinking about working for the Ministry, but with a different motive. He wanted to get more closely involved with the Muggle Liaison Office for reasons that continued to escape Sebastian. Whether it was to learn more about their differences to wizard-kind or to spite his family further, Sebastian didn’t know, but he was frankly inclined to believe the latter. 

Then there was you. The enigma, the mystery– the great unknown that had turned his entire world upside down from the moment you’d walked through the Great Hall doors two years ago. He had no clue what your plans were after graduation, and not knowing was slowly eating him alive. It had less to do with being kept out of the loop and more to do with his unspoken feelings for you– feelings that he had been keeping to himself for years now in a bid to keep his friendship with you unmarred. After your tumultuous fifth-year, it had understandably taken some time for the two of you to get back to any semblance of normalcy, and now that graduation was approaching, he couldn’t help but feel like time was slipping through his fingers. 

Sebastian’s previously upbeat demeanor had darkened considerably after that conversation, leading him to bail entirely on drinks at the pub in favor of returning to Hogwarts to wallow in self-pity. 

He’d moved in absolute silence following his return, a metaphorical rain cloud looming over his head as he’d gone to his dorm to grab his toiletries and a change of clothes before setting off for the Prefect’s bathroom. Friday nights were notoriously quiet now that everyone’s N.E.W.T’s had been completed, and Sebastian relished in the solitude that he always found in the spacious washroom. Sneaking in and using it was well worth the risk if it spared him from more idle conversations with his fellow classmates. 

It wasn’t unusual for the door to be locked– due in large part to the fact that it always was– so he undid the latch with his wand and shouldered the door open, barreling into the humid space with the grace of a hurricane. He tossed his items down on the countertop beside the sink and ripped his toothbrush out of his bag, shoving it in-between his lips as he turned the faucet on and rifled around for his bath soaps. Disappointment clouded his mind as his thoughts wandered back to you and the unknown future. It wouldn’t take much more than courage and a slim chance for Sebastian to get his feelings for you off his chest, but his fear of rejection kept him rooted in place. He was certain that at this point, it always would. 

“Keep running the water like that and you’ll drain the entire lake,” a familiar voice said from somewhere behind him. Sebastian damn near choked himself with his toothbrush as he whirled around to face the culprit, and then he found himself on the verge of fainting when he realized it was you. 

You were lounging in the massive tub with a smile on your face, not at all bothered by Sebastian’s sudden intrusion. Your hair was pinned up off of your bare shoulders in a messy heap, and the brunet stood no chance at concealing his blatant double take when he caught sight of your wet skin. The bulk of your naked body was covered by the scant spread of bubbles, but the tantalizing view of your collarbones had a flush rapidly spreading across his cheeks. 

“I– shit– I’m so sorry, I didn’t think anyone was in here,” Sebastian frantically mumbled around his mouthful of toothbrush. Dammit, he sounded like a fool. He ripped the thin stick from his mouth and spun back around to shut off the faucet and hastily gather his belongings from the counter. 

“You didn’t really knock to find out, but it’s fine. Don’t rush off on my account.” 

Your nonchalant tone made him pause, and he hesitantly lifted his head to stare at your reflection in the mirror. True to your words, you seemed wholly unbothered by his presence, simply continuing to bask in the warmth of the water as the steam wafted up into your face.

There wasn’t a chance in hell he could have anticipated something like this happening. 

Almost reluctantly, Sebastian dropped his towel back onto the countertop, instead picking up the paste for his toothbrush before setting to work brushing his teeth. He watched through the mirror as you raked your wet fingers through the free strands of hair that had fallen in front of your face, and the sound of the disturbed water dripping down your arms echoed through the space. “Did you win your scrimmage?” Your eyes never wavered from his in the reflection, and he nodded. “Go out for drinks afterwards?” Another nod, switching to brush the other side of his mouth. “Ominis and Garreth?” Sebastian shook his head. “What, Garreth and Leander?”

He mumbled around a mouthful of foam, “An’ Imelda.”

Your expression pinched into one of confusion as you mused, “I thought you didn’t like drinking with Leander.” Sebastian only shrugged in vague response before bending forward to spit and rinse, trying incredibly hard to not think about how very naked and wet you were presently. He was unsuccessful. 

 For a brief moment, Sebastian debated on changing into his pajamas and leaving despite having come to bathe, but something possessed him to turn around and contemplate you after he turned off the faucet. The easy smile on your face and your half hooded eyes almost knocked him out, and he swallowed thickly. 

What was it he had thought to himself just moments earlier? Courage and a slim chance? Was this not exactly that? 

“Hey,” he muttered softly, his voice almost a whisper. “What are your plans after graduation?” 

You tilted your head to the side in visible confusion, a strand of hair falling in front of your eyes seductively from the movement. He tried not to stare too hard. “Plans?” 

“What will you do once it’s time to leave? You haven’t said anything to me about it– or Ominis,” he added quickly. “We were talking about it in Hogsmeade earlier, so I was just wondering.” 

You seemed to ponder his question for a minute, your wandering hands coming to a sudden halt in the mass of bubbles. Truthfully, you hadn’t brought it up to either of the Slytherin men because you hadn’t come to a final decision yet, but it made sense that with the completion of your N.E.W.T’s, people would begin planning their post-Hogwarts lives. The thought made you equal parts sad and nervous. 

“I thought about getting a job at first… to make a name for myself and save money, you know? But honestly, I think I might travel. I’ve explored virtually all of the Highlands for ancient magic sites and I think I’ve hit a dead end. I want to learn more about Isidora’s magic– the power from the Repository is still as much of an unknown now as it was two years ago. It’s just collecting dust inside of me at this point.” 

Sebastian gave you a nonplussed blink and did his damndest not to sound paranoid when he responded. “Travel? Where exactly were you thinking?” 

You shrugged and averted your gaze to the bubbles in front of you. Of course Sebastian would be displeased to discover that yet another person from his life would be departing it so soon. It was part of the reason you’d been keeping your intentions to yourself for so long. Nonetheless, you answered softly, “Maybe to Poland. Isidora’s notes mentioned that she originally hailed from there–”

“Poland?” Sebastian’s frantic voice cut you off, and he found his legs carrying him to the edge of the bathtub to kneel there and bore holes in the top of your head from across the water. “You would go that far to chase after a maybe? You don’t know for certain if looking out there will even bring you any new information– it sounds incredibly reckless.”

You fixed him with a hard, telling look. “That’s rich, coming from you. Who was it that refused to let up in his search for a cure for all of fifth-year?”

His brows slammed down atop his narrowed eyes, “That was different.” 

“How is it any different?” You sounded exasperated, and he sighed indignantly. “You wanted answers, and you never stopped looking for them. You had nothing to go off of, much like myself presently, and you were willing to do anything if it meant saving Anne. I want to use this power for something good, Sebastian. I can’t do that if I don’t know how it works. Leaving is the only plausible outcome for me.”

“It would be that easy for you, then? To leave and disappear for who knows how long searching for who knows what? Would you have even told me if I hadn’t asked just now?” 

It would be that easy for you to leave me, is what he really wasn’t saying. 

You shook your head at him, completely bewildered that he was so affected by your revelation. “Eventually, yes, I would have. I don’t understand– why do you care so much? You of all people should know I would keep in touch; I’ll send owls every week, keep you updated on where I am and what happens. Going our separate ways was practically always in the cards, Sebastian.” 

Some tiny, annoying part of him had always known that. Living at Hogwarts was a blissful reprieve from the real world, offering himself and other students a sanctuary from the concerns and problems of adult life. Hearing you voice your thoughts was a completely different thing, however, and Sebastian was woefully unprepared for the dawning realization that he wouldn’t be able to see you anymore.

He silently cursed himself for having taken this fucking long to accept how empty he would feel without you beside him. 

“Sebastian,” you whispered from across the tub, and his eyes slid shut at the sound of your gentle voice. It hurt too much to fathom not getting to hear it again, or not being able to see you and crack stupid jokes with you in the middle of Potion’s class. He wouldn’t get to duel other students with you in Crossed Wands, or go to Hogsmeade to drink Butterbeers and stop by the lake on your walks back to skip rocks. All of it would end, and he would be alone. 

Again.

“Sebastian,” you said again, and the closer proximity of your voice had him cracking his eyes open. You were directly in front of him now, evidently having left your spot on the other side of the bath to siddle directly up to the ledge in front of him. Your wide eyes gazed imploringly up at him, and your grip on the edge of the tub was white-knuckled. “Why do you care so much?” 

“How could I not care?” He forced the words out while he still had the courage, seemingly gazing into the depths of your very soul as he stared down at you. His words had your eyes widening further as a flush crept up your neck onto your cheeks, and before you got the chance to say anything, Sebastian was leaning down to capture your lips in a desperate kiss. 

A surprised squeak weaseled its way from your throat as he lifted his hands to cradle your head cautiously, and you weakly curled your fingers around his wrists as he dipped lower to accommodate for the awkward angle. Sebastian kissed you hungrily and passionately– in the way he had dreamed of doing for years. He licked along your lower lip and bit gently at it, pulling a gasp from your parted lips before one of your hands came to rest on his bent knee, leaving a wet handprint behind in its wake. 

After a few heated moments, Sebastian broke away to look at you through his lashes, more surprised than anything to discover that your face was an open book; a mixture of shock and hesitance was etched into your features while something much hotter burned in your eyes, making his head fucking spin. 

“Sebastian, I– ah…” 

He let you go and sat back on his heels then, crossing his arms over his knees and resting his chin on his forearms as he peered at you nervously. There were a thousand different things Sebastian wanted to blurt out, but he settled for staying quiet as he waited for you to say something– anything.

You gaped up at him for a moment, blinking slowly as the flush across your cheeks darkened considerably. “How long?” 

He shrugged timidly before he said, “Ages. Since fifth-year, if I’m being honest.” 

“You didn’t… say anything?” His curly brown locs brushed across his forehead as he shook his head. “Why?” 

“After everything that happened in the Catacombs, I was terrified of fucking things up again. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship– I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. So I just… kept my feelings to myself. But now you’re telling me you would leave– that it was always inevitable things would end this way– and I can’t accept that. I refuse to.” 

You didn’t know what to say. Your mind was reeling from Sebastian’s revelation, and your heart was hammering away in your chest so loudly that you were certain he could hear it. Of course you felt the exact same way, but much like Sebastian you’d been worried about ruining things or complicating your already tentative relationship– especially after the events of your fifth-year. But now here he was– on his damn knees confessing to you– and your thoughts of the future vanished completely from your mind. 

Biting your lip, you stared up at Sebastian for a moment with wide eyes. One of your hands rose off the edge of the tub to trail your wet fingers across his cheek, and as Sebastian’s freckled face moved away from his arm to swim clearly into view, you stood straight out of the water invitingly and let him wrap his strong arms around your bare waist. As the water beading over your skin soaked through Sebastian’s shirt, his eyes flickered between yours, searching for the hesitance he’d seen there before. 

It was nowhere to be found.

When your lips met with his again, the softness had left them, and the two of you kissed one another hard and needily. Sebastian straightened and nipped at your lips, smiling against your mouth as you melted into him, and your breath caught somewhere in your throat when his tongue slipped into your open mouth to tangle with your own. Holding you tighter, Sebastian trailed his hands over your slick skin– traversing up your spine and into your unruly hair to tangle his fingers in the strands at the nape of your neck. He kissed you desperately, moaning softly into your mouth when he felt your hands sweep across his shoulders to fumble with the buttons at the front of his shirt. 

You’d made it about halfway down the row of clasps before Sebastian grew impatient, freeing one of his hands to deftly undo the buttons with a practiced finesse that made your mouth water eagerly. He panted along the curve of your jaw as he undressed, biting and sucking at the skin of your throat until he was pulling away to shrug the damp material off of his shoulders. His tie was still snug around his neck, clamping the collar of his button-up in place, and he growled as he loosened the thin bit of fabric before yanking it over his head and diving back into the kiss like he’d been starved of your very essence. 

Until now the bizarre angle had proved to be a non-issue– but then the pressing matter of his trousers came to light, and you felt as Sebastian blindly palmed at his belt buckle in a bid to undo it. “Need help?” Your coy offer whispered against his lips sent shivers up his spine, but he was too frantic and greedy to give you the chance to assist.

Those toned, capable arms released you so he could stand fully, his lust-dark eyes never wavering from yours as he finally succeeded in unlooping his belt from around his waist. “Just don’t move and keep watching like that– it’s helping me plenty.” 

You flashed him a mocking pout but did as he asked, settling back into the water and scanning his body longingly as he stripped down to his briefs. He teasingly ran his thumbs under the waistband of his undergarments and shot you a smug look, all too pleased with the way you licked your lips when he eventually began slipping the attire down the delectable ‘V’ of his hips. The sight of Sebastian biting his lip as his cock sprung free and arched proudly against his toned stomach had you halting your movements, though, and you audibly whimpered before the brunet threw his briefs over his shoulder and descended into the soapy water with you. 

In a flash he had you back within reach, his hands coming to cup your rear as he silently prompted you to jump into his arms so he could carry you through the water towards the rim of the massive tub. Your back bumped against the tiles there, and Sebastian took full advantage by pressing himself into you more firmly. The hard, stiff length of him rubbed tantalizingly against your folds, and you sighed contentedly before his mouth was on yours once more. 

The two of you languidly kissed for what seemed like forever, and you were more than willing to continue for as long as Sebastian saw fit. When one of the hands he had against your rear began to slip lower into uncharted territory, you smiled against his lips and huffed out an airy laugh. “Eager, are you?” 

“Shut up,” Sebastian murmured against your mouth, holding fast to your bottom harder and with greater fervor. “You have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming of this.” 

You arched your hips against Sebastian’s and drew in a shaky breath at the sensation of his shaft grazing over a particularly sensitive spot. “Then show me,” you implored. 

Growling again, Sebastian wrangled you around until you were kneeling on the ledge with your back to him and your hands braced on the rim of the bathtub. His hands were seemingly everywhere; sliding down your shoulder blades, scratching at the curve of your waist, then ghosting down the backs of your thighs as he nudged your legs apart further. You felt as he leaned forward to press a chaste kiss against the outline of your spine, and there wasn’t a chance in hell you could smother the shudder of delight that coursed through you. Sebastian moved on swiftly, though, and began pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses against your lower back, curling his hands around your hips before you felt him descend closer to your nether region. In your current position, it was just barely peeking above the thin layer of bubbles within the tub, and you heard the water slosh around Sebastian as he dropped to his knees and came face to face with your most intimate parts. 

The broad slick of Sebastian’s tongue sliding through your folds pulled a startled gasp from your lips, and your forehead fell against the tile with a soft, stuttered moan. The feeling of him tasting you– achingly and deliberately slow– had you shaking in earnest as you bit your knuckle for a semblance of control. You were struggling against the urge to rock back into his ministrations, eventually settling for reaching between your spread legs with your free hand to rub at your clit for some added reprieve, but then Sebastian slid his palms from your hips to your inner thighs to nudge your hand away. 

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered to you, and you mewled softly before tucking your hand against your chest and nodding. “Don’t hold back, either. I want to hear you.”

You were on the verge of responding, but the way Sebastian slid his tongue over you again drove whatever words you’d formulated straight out of your head. His hands ghosted along your skin as he lowered himself further, the tops of his shoulders completely submerging beneath the soapy water, and he took care to trail his fingers slowly down the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as he made himself comfortable behind you. 

Sebastian laved his tongue over you gently and encouragingly, then experimentally stiffened the muscle before poking it inside of you, leaving you whining and gasping his name. The brunet pushed his tongue in deeper then, moaning in response to the hitch in your voice as he pressed his lips against your folds and fucked the muscle into you slowly. 

“Gods, S-Sebastian–”

The man in question sighed and picked up his pace, flicking his tongue into you and dropping messy kisses against you. One of his hands slid up to your clit, brushing two of his fingers over the bundle of nerves with a moan, and when he leaned in hard to fuck his tongue as deep as possible into you, your high, airy whimpers made Sebastian’s head spin. 

With one last pump of his tongue, Sebastian pulled away, grinning at the way you twitched in response to his efforts. You heard the water stir and felt the warm, wet weight of the Slytherin drape over your back as he leaned forward to kiss across your shoulder, his hands running soothingly up the sides of your waist. 

“Fuck,” Sebastian breathed out, prompting you to turn and look at him over your shoulder. Your half-hooded eyes and parted lips sparked something in him then, and when you reached back to tangle your fingers in his hair, the brunet leaned in to meet you gladly. You moaned into the kiss, drawing a like-minded sound from Sebastian when you ground your hips back against his throbbing member. His thick hands gripped at your waist tightly as he gasped against your mouth, a desire unlike any he’d ever experienced overtaking him in a matter of seconds. The urge to feel you encasing him was overwhelming– enough so that for one brief moment, Sebastian allowed himself to press so hard against you that it stole your breath and smothered your senses. 

“Sebastian,” you groaned from beneath him. Your gaze sought him out, but his own eyes were pinched shut as he relished in the ecstasy that fell over him from merely grinding against you. It wasn’t simply the act itself that was doing it for him. It was knowing that he was doing it with you. Everything he had craved for two whole years was finally coming to fruition, and despite wanting to relish in every second of it with you, Sebastian was losing himself to his impulses. You called to him again, “Sebastian, please.” 

His chocolate brown eyes cracked open at the sound of your voice coupled with your incessant tugging on his hair, and his shaky sigh told you everything you needed to know; he was incredibly eager. 

“S-Sorry,” he stammered out, swallowing thickly in a way that drew your attention to his bobbing adam’s apple. You merely shook your head in silent dismissal, then rocked back against him to spur him into motion. If it was guidance he needed, you were more than happy to provide it. “I don’t know how much longer I can draw this out,” he admitted with a low voice, and as though to punctuate the statement, you felt his fingers dig into the skin of your hips to prevent you from moving against him any further. 

“Then don’t,” you insisted needily, yanking lightly on his hair once more to goad him into moving. “I’m ready if you are.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” Sebastian murmured, his voice gravelly and directly against the shell of your ear. “I’ll be the judge of that.” 

You shivered in anticipation when you felt one of his hands trail down the swell of your rear to probe at your slick entrance with one of his fingers. His other hand traced soothing circles against lower back, relaxing you further until you had melted against the rim of the tub with your neck craned to the side to watch Sebastian as he worked. 

When he sank one of his fingers into you slowly, you let loose a shaky exhale and felt a flush creep up your neck and onto your cheeks, leaving Sebastian biting his lip at the wanton image you made as he pressed the digit knuckle deep. Thrusting slowly, he eventually managed to work a second finger into you, trying not to think too hard about the way you looked spread around him, or the way you moved back against him, or how fucking wet you were. 

“Sebastian,” you groaned. His eyes flicked back up to yours, entirely certain that he looked just as fucking needy as you did– especially given the way you shivered and rode back against his hand a little harder. “C-Curl your fingers down a little–” he did so, and was instantly rewarded with a telling jolt from you. “Oh fuck– there–” 

The sound of Sebastian moaning to himself was almost lost in the way you were gasping and keening, and he moved his hand from your back to your hip to hold you in place as he followed the same path you’d instructed him to with his fingers. He thrusted a little harder, curling his digits against your sweet spot, and the way you arched your back and spread your thighs as far as you could without slipping while you gasped for Sebastian was fucking intoxicating. 

It was too much. 

Sebastian pulled his fingers free and reached towards you without a second thought, coiling his arm around your waist as he leaned in to kiss you again. You couldn’t help but whine at the way his cock rubbed against you, and you were near boneless in the brunet’s arms as his lips molded to yours and his tongue delved into your mouth. His strong arm held you fast to him as the other braced against the rim of the tub, holding him steady above you as he kissed you senseless. When he finally broke away to catch his breath, you practically sagged into the water beneath him. 

“Merlin, Sebastian…” 

“Are you okay?” The Slytherin’s voice was rough when he asked, low and raspy with arousal, and once you gave your enthusiastic approval, Sebastian reached between the two of you to line himself up before pressing into you. 

Sebastian’s eyes squeezed shut at how you felt around him; tight, hot, and utterly incredible. He just barely managed to keep his composure as he slowly filled you, and your scarcely stifled gasps and keening whimpers were decidedly not helping him keep his wits about him. Every fiber of Sebastian’s being urged him to ram his cock into you– to fuck your brains out and hear his name spill from your lips in breathless screams. When he finally did sheathe himself all the way inside of you, he melted against your back, holding you tightly and whispering your name against your ear over and over again. 

“Fuck, you’re…” you trailed off, subtly shaking against Sebastian’s damp skin. “You’re b-big.”

“Gods, darling,” Sebastian breathed, exhaling roughly into the nape of your neck. “Can I move?” 

You gave a stuttered assent, but you were still insanely tight around his cock, so for both your sakes when Sebastian pulled back a little and rolled his hips back in, he did so slowly in a bid to test the waters. 

No pun intended.

Your choked moan was more than enough of an answer for him, so he worked to set a slow, deep rhythm, buying himself time to get used to the heat wrapped around his cock. The gentle sigh that emanated from you coupled with the way your back bowed ever so slightly told Sebastian that his restraint was appreciated. But then you were glancing back at him from over your shoulder, and the rosy flush that colored your cheeks combined with your glazed over eyes nullified the majority of his self-control. 

Sebastian blindly trusted you to keep steady on your knees as he gripped your hips to thrust into you harder, moving faster and giving gasping moans as you tensed and groaned, squeezing him in the most perfect way. He pulled you back onto his cock, adjusting his hips so he could fuck into your sweet spot, and the way you arched under him and cried out was fucking amazing. 

“Oh f-fuck, Sebastian,” you moaned, reaching back to tangle your hand in his damp, brown curls, and Sebastian let you tug him closer so he could mouth along your shoulder, tasting the sweet-smelling bathsoaps as he went. The water splashed around you both, and you swore softly as a small wave of sudsy water sloshed up the side of the tub and sprayed you in your face. 

Taking note of your predicament, Sebastian slowed his movements and angled his head so he could murmur directly in your ear, “Do you want to move?” 

“We could, but– damn, Sebastian–”

Sebastian didn’t want to fucking move. He did want to see your face, though. He pulled out swiftly, and before you could move to climb out of the water, he grabbed and maneuvered you around so your back was pressed against the side of the tub with your legs bent over his elbows. When he reached back further to grip the rim of the tub on either side of you, he sank back into you with a low moan. Water wasn’t the most spectacular of lubricants as it turned out, but you were naturally slick enough that it was essentially a nonissue.

The expression that spread over your flushed face drove Sebastian a little crazy. He moved hot and slow, pulling back far with every aching thrust before filling you up and making you whimper. It’s exactly what Sebastian had wanted, but the way your eyes rolled shut just made him want to fuck you harder, water splashing in your face be damned. 

He leaned in close and nipped at your swollen lips, still rolling his hips maddeningly slow. “I want to fuck you so hard,” he managed, voice shaking. “I want to hear you scream my name. I want to see you fall over the edge so hard that you pass out in my arms.” He snapped his hips, just enough to make you cry out. “I’ll fuck you just like that. I’ll make the Prefects come running from how loud you are. I hope you don’t have plans this weekend, because you’re mine until the bell tolls on Monday.”

You whimpered and shivered under Sebastian, sucking in sharp breaths with every slow thrust, and when you rode your hips back into the brunet, he couldn’t help but let his head hang between his shoulders, his dark eyes sliding shut. The way you were sucking him in deeper was mind-blowing, the water flowing in waves around the two of you, until a burning, tightening sensation took root in your gut and made you grit your teeth together in anticipation. 

“S-Sebastian, fuck,” he thrust harder in response, grinding his hips into you and causing your back to arch with a gasping cry. “Sebastian, I’m– I’m going to–”

“Do it,” he gasped, leaning in to kiss you quickly and messily. “Let me see how you come for me.” 

Your nails dug into his shoulder before you pulled one hand away to begin frantically rubbing circles over your swollen clit. You rocked your hips back into his and worked yourself closer to your finish with a low moan, keeping your movements in time with his thrusts. The way you licked your lips and the way you watched Sebastian with a dark, fucked-out gaze made him whimper. You were so intense– your lips parting on gasping moans of Sebastian’s name– and it took a surprising amount of self-control for him to not just fucking blow it right then. Instead, he bent you back just a little further, just enough to see that needy expression fall back over your face as he fucked you just that little bit harder. 

Your moans grew higher, louder, breathier, until you were crying out and shaking in Sebastian’s arms. “S-Seb– fuck– I’m coming, I’m coming–” 

Your spine rounded and your eyes squeezed shut as you clamped down tight on Sebastian’s cock, a guttural whine ripping from your heaving chest as your climax washed over you. The dexterous movements from your fingers took you higher than you thought possible, and the way you barely managed to choke out Sebastian’s name was enough to send the Slytherin over the edge. 

He pressed himself against you and buried his cock deep, fucking you through your finish with short, fast thrusts while he moaned your name against your throat, his hands moving to grip your sides tight with trembling fingers. “Fuck, darling, fuck–”

Blearily, you moved your arm and wrapped it around Sebastian’s neck as he came, who was shaking and babbling far too loud for it to be muffled against your slick skin. You buried your face into his tangled hair, jolting slightly from every miniscule movement of his twitching member inside of you. When the bulk of his post-coital high had subsided, he began wetly mouthing up your neck and along your jaw before sweetly peppering kisses over your cheek. The demonstration brought a breathless grin to your face, and your hands found their way to the hair at the back of his neck before you wound your fingers through the strands. 

“Merlin’s bloody balls,” Sebastian gritted out, sliding his arms out from under your knees to hold them fast to his waist. You followed his lead easily and wrapped your legs around his hips, sitting up to kiss him contentedly as your palms skimmed along his freckled back. He smiled against your lips and murmured, “We should probably get out. I can feel how pruney your fingers are.” 

“Mm,” you hummed softly, pulling back from the kiss to hold one of your hands up to see how wrinkled your skin had become in the throes of passion. “You’re not wrong. But it would be counterproductive to not wash off all the sweat, wouldn’t it?” 

Sebastian gave you a nonplussed blink before smiling brightly at you in agreement. Almost reluctantly, he slid free from your welcoming heat and deposited you on the shallow stone ledge, then hoisted himself out of the bath to pad over to his toiletry bag. After grabbing all the necessities and jumping back into the steaming water, the two of you took your time cleansing one another, lingering touches and thoughtful kisses being exchanged throughout the process. Eventually Sebatian found himself sitting with his back to the rim of the tub, your smaller figure situated comfortably between his legs as he scooped water into his hands and let it run over your shoulders. If your slouched posture was anything to go by, you were incredibly relaxed, and Sebastian realized dimly that he was too. To be with you in this way was everything he could ever want and more, and he didn’t want it to end. Not by a longshot. 

“Let me come with you after graduation,” he said suddenly, his voice a mere whisper from behind you. 

Your eyes fluttered open as you processed his request, the bathroom utterly silent except for the distant dripping of water from the faucet, and before long you were turning around to face him with your hands braced on his legs. “What?” 

“Let me come with you,” he said again, conviction burning in his dark eyes. “To Poland. I want to do whatever I can to help you. Please don’t leave me behind.” 

All you could do was blink for a moment before opening and closing your mouth in surprise. Sebastian’s unwavering gaze only prolonged the formation of words, until eventually you furrowed your brow and uncertainty took root. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him with you– far from it, in fact. The events that had transpired just minutes earlier had only proven that your close relationship was something to treasure for as long as possible, and you were more than ready to do exactly that. You just didn’t want him to throw his own ambitions to the side simply because you planned to travel. “What about what you want to do? Don’t you have your own plans? I thought Professor Weasley talked to you about–” 

“I never made a decision,” he stated firmly and with a shake of his head. “The Professor had her own ideas about what I would excel at, but I never agreed or wanted to pursue any of her suggestions. I honestly felt like I was in limbo until now. My point is, what I want is to stay with you. I want to help you the same way you helped me with Anne, and I really, really don’t want to end up sitting alone in some office in London waiting for your owls to reach me. There’s always something missing when you’re not with me.”

To say you were an emotional mess would be a monumental understatement. Sebastian’s words struck something deep within you, something sentimental and desperate to come to the surface. He evidently saw your tears before you felt them, because he was instantly sitting forward to cup your cheeks in his wet hands before wiping them away with his thumbs. The concern on his face was apparent, but you were already smiling reassuringly at him before he could verbally ask if you were alright. “You really know how to confess to a girl, huh?” 

He let loose an airy, relieved laugh that drifted over your nose and chilled your damp cheeks, and you wrapped your fingers around his wrists as he smiled anxiously at you. “I had a long time to practice. Is that a yes, then?” 

“Yes, you can come with me. I would love it if you did,” you said, and the giddy excitement that radiated from the man was the most palpable thing in the room at that moment. “Two heads might be better than one, after all.”

Sebastian was on you in an instant. He coiled around you like a baby mooncalf and smiled so brightly that it easily rivaled the intensity of the sun. Water splashed everywhere as he spun you effortlessly within the bath, your capricious laughter reverberating off the walls of the spacious room as elation flooded your system. Being encased in his warm embrace was all the confirmation you needed that you had made the right choice. In turn, knowing that his future was all the clearer brought a sense of peace and belonging to Sebastian that he would hold on to for as long as he was able. 

It just so happened that presently, he was holding on to you. 

this is BEAUTIFUL

Sinners' tango

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It wasn't just meant to be a small collection of Papa x Sister of Sin!Reader, but also to have a little interpretation key. So, as usual, I invite you to comment/like to show your support!

I really like the idea that the Ministry of Ghosts is a matriarchal pyramid, where even though Papa seems like the most important figure, Sister Imperator is the one who holds the reins of everything. Furthermore, I like that this isn't seen as a threat to anyone's masculinity within the clergy.

This series had a bit of this in mind. The woman isn't shown to allow more or less everyone to insert/identify themselves, yet her presence is so strong that even without ever seeing her face, you should be able to perceive her as the dominant figure in the composition. Sometimes she simply doesn't bother to look at those who are looking at the images, as if leaving the dirty work to someone else, other times she plays with her men, who allow themselves to be moved docilely.

There's also a certain sensuality, the idea of intimacy between the sister and the pope, and the various popes looking into the camera is like an awareness of their position. It's a submissive, almost devoted but still proud. Except for Copia, but not because he's not devoted to her, but because he, more than anyone, couldn't take his eyes off her.

I am OBSESSED this might seriously be my favorite thing ever

Are You Going My Way? | Collection | John "Bucky" Egan

Lost and found in four parts. John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader Warnings: 18+ smut, mentions of blood, wounds, operations, hospitals, war -> Taglist open! ***

Hitchin' a Ride Part 1

Or two times you told John Egan no, and the one time you said yes. Words: 7k | Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, hospitals

***

Follow Me Where I Go Part 2

Or how you stopped worrying and learned to love trouble.

Words: 8.5k | Warnings: smut, 18+

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As I Walk Through The Valley of The Shadow of Death Part 3

***

Lights Will Guide You Home Part 4

this is literally one of my favorite fics ever i have heart eyes whenever i think about it

A Christmas Special

summary: after Christmas Eve at Remus' flat, thick snowfall prevents you from going home. He's more than happy to host you

cw: mentions of alcohol, smut mdni, p in v, oral (fem receiving), praise, inexperienced reader, shy little idiots in love

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 11k words

Remus isn’t sure entirely how he’d gotten strongarmed into hosting Christmas Eve at his flat. James and Lily usually host, but James claimed that this year their house was in too much a state of “baby mayhem” to have any hope of being tidied enough for a gathering. He’s said it in such a lovesick voice Remus couldn’t push back for long, his friend’s happiness so potent it was like looking into the sun. Sirius had begged off quickly, saying that his “bachelor pad” was too small to have a group over. As usual, when Remus spoke last, the matter was settled before he’d gotten the chance to have much of a say. 

He’s made an effort to live up to the hosting legacy passed onto him by the Potters, but it’s a flimsy attempt at best. Thankfully, the snowfall outside is doing a fair amount of the work for him. Remus’ street is coated in fresh, gleaming powder, enough that the trees look weighted down with it and his neighbor had put her little dog in a knit sweater to go into the yard and do its business. It’s still coming down, the snowflakes visible in crisp contrast against the darkening sky as they drift lazily to the earth. 

Inside Remus’ home, the Christmas tree is nearly covered in tinsel to make up for his scant supply of ornaments, he’s run out of stockings to put up above the fireplace and has had to use one large sock (that one will have to be for Sirius), and he’s still stringing up popcorn when a knock sounds on the door. 

Remus is surprised (he’d told everyone to come at six, but that was only because he didn’t think anyone would actually show up until a couple hours after), but that dies away when he unbolts the door and opens it to find you on the other side. 

“Hi,” you say, teeth nearly chattering as Remus ushers you inside. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was worse than I expected.” 

“It’s hardly fifteen after six.” Remus takes your coat, tsking. “People do seem to become worse drivers around the holidays, don’t they?” 

“Well, I suppose not everyone on the road tonight might be used to driving in the snow,” you allow, ever forgiving. 

Remus smiles. “Merry Christmas, love.” 

Your face is already flushed from the chill outside, but he could swear it goes pinker as you unwrap your scarf, smiling back at him. “Merry Christmas.” You’re merry as can be, cheeks dimpling and eyes sparkling under the twinkling lights Remus is suddenly very glad he decided to purchase for the occasion. “Where is everyone?” 

“Well,” Remus says, heading back for the couch, “Sirius is hitching a ride with James and Lily, so if I had to guess I’d wager that James is just putting the finishing touches whatever food he’s decided to bring while Lily tries to rush him out the door. And then they’ll go to Sirius’ place and have to wait for him to finish wrapping the presents he undoubtedly just remembered today.” 

You sit beside him with a half-exasperated laugh. “I was thinking I’d be the last one here,” you admit, “but I’d forgotten how they can be when it comes to events.” 

Remus shrugs. “Easy to forget.” Lily is usually able to marshal James and Sirius most places on time these days, but the frenzy when they actually have things to prepare is inevitable; Remus has learnt to account for it. He reclaims his half-finished string of popcorn, clumsily stabbing the needle into another kernel and wincing when it goes through easier than expected, pricking his finger. 

“Oh no, did you hurt yourself?” you lean over, trying to see his hand. 

“No, just a scratch.” Remus has about a billion of them by now. He’s far from coordinated on a good day, but the unwise decision to have coffee earlier has resulted in shaky hands that make working with a needle somewhat hazardous. 

You watch him try again, and it’s really the distraction of your cute frown more than anything else that messes him up. His needle goes through the fluffy edge of the popcorn, stabbing him and giving the string hardly anything to hold onto in the process. The flake falls to his lap for his efforts. 

“Remus, your hand’s not a pincushion,” you say, and you weren’t yourself he’d almost think you were chiding him. You reach over, taking the needle and thread from him. “Here, let me do that.” 

“I didn’t mean for you to come here early so I could put you to work,” Remus protests, watching as you string up the next piece of popcorn with nimble fingers. Jealousy wars with admiration, but his esteem for you wins out. “You’ll never come back for New Year’s if this is what you have to look forward to.” 

You smile down at your hands. “Sure I will. You’ll still be there, won’t you? And I really don’t mind helping, it gives me something to do.” 

Remus smiles back even though you’re not looking. “Alright, well I guess that means I can start rolling out the gingerbread dough. Thanks, love.” He touches his hand lightly to the crown of your head as he stands, letting the urge to press a kiss there pass as quickly as it arises. He goes into the kitchen and a second later you decide to follow. Popcorn swishes against the floor behind you as you make your way over to the bar counter, sitting on a stool with the string trailing all the way back to the couch. 

“You’re making gingerbread cookies?” you ask, watching with eager eyes as he plops the dough onto the floured counter, rolling it flat. 

“Mhm. You like them?” 

“Never had one.” 

Remus feels his eyebrows inch upwards. “Seriously?” 

You look almost sheepish, as though this is a crime which you expect to be held against you. Honestly, you’re not far off; had James been here, you would have been questioned and scolded to hell and back, and then he would’ve made Remus give you some dough to try, salmonella be damned. 

“No,” you answer him. “We made ornaments of them in school, once, but we weren’t allowed to eat them. I always thought they were so cute, though, with the little people cutouts.” 

“They’re the best,” Remus agrees, pressing out the shapes and laying them on the baking sheet. “If you finish that quickly enough, I might even let you help me cut out a few.” 

“Yes!” you cheer, and he laughs as you start working quicker with the needle. 

“Don’t hurt yourself. The privilege of cookie cutting is not actually contingent on your labor.” 

“I know,” you say, but your hands don’t slow. Remus has barely finished filling his second baking sheet before you’re done, having made more progress in the last twenty minutes than he had over nearly an hour. 

Remus’ hip touches yours as he shows you how to give the cookie cutters a little shake in the dough, freeing the shape before lifting it and placing it on the sheet. It’s not a painfully difficult task, and still he’s impressed by how quickly you catch on. You’re a machine of efficiency. You seem to enjoy rolling out the dough almost as much as pressing out the shapes, falling into a quick, happy rhythm. Before long you’ve pushed Remus out of the way (Lily would be proud, he thinks), urging him to go and hang up the popcorn garland before everyone else arrives. 

You haven’t seen each other in over a month, both of you caught up in the hustle and bustle of the season, and you catch up as you work on your separate tasks. Remus talks to you about his job, the students who plague him and the ones he wishes he could take home after work each day, and how none of them had liked the film he’d put on the day before break. (“Mister Magoo’s is a classic!” you protest as Remus shakes his head. “They’re too young to get it,” he says. “Our classics are just old to them.”) You tell him about your new cat, and the sweater you’d crocheted her for the holiday which she despises above all else, and he promises to come over sometime soon to meet her. 

You’ve poured yourselves spiked eggnog and sampled a few ginger cookies (“They’re twice as good when they’re fresh,” Remus says. “Don’t let the others’ tardiness rob you of the experience.”) by the time the door bursts open again, Sirius of course not bothering to knock. 

“Hello!” he calls from somewhere behind a tower of presents. “Merry holiday to you, Moony!” 

You get up to help, and so Remus is compelled to do so as well, taking a couple sloppily-wrapped boxes from Sirius’ arms. 

“Merlin, it smells good in here,” James declares as he comes through the door, Lily carrying a beaming baby Harry on her hip behind him. James’ eyes fall on you. “Aw, you beat us here?”

Remus scoffs, setting down the gifts by the tree and leaving you to arrange them as you see fit. “Not a very difficult task, when you’re over an hour late,” he says. “You’re lucky Y/N’s good company, or I’d be more cross with you.” 

“Sorry,” Lily says as Sirius makes a dismissive sound, flopping onto the couch. “We had some trouble fitting everything in the car with Harry’s seat, and then Sirius—” she shoots him a glare, and he grins like she’s sweetly cooed his name “—wouldn’t leave without his hat, even though he’d lost it.” 

“One only gets to wear one’s elf hat every so often,” Sirius justifies, unperturbed. “I wasn’t going to miss the occasion even if it took me all night to find it.” 

“It nearly did,” Lily shoots back, but then James is at her side, having discarded his load of food and presents and now vying to hold Harry. 

“Come here, my handsome little guy.” 

“Used to call me that,” Sirius quips with his mouth full of gingerbread cookies, a heaping plate seeming to have found its way into his lap. 

Remus isn’t going to smile at that poor attempt at a joke, but once you laugh he can’t help it. 

“Only on special occasions,” James replies, taking Harry under the arms and hoisting him into the air. Harry laughs, and it’s probably the most contagious thing Remus has ever heard. Everyone smiles; James most of all, grinning ear to ear as he does it again. 

“He never lets me hold him,” Lily complains fondly. 

“Because I know how much you like seeing me with him,” James says breezily, making a face at Harry above him. “You’re mad with lust right now, Evans, don’t try to deny it.” 

“Sleaze,” Sirius says to him, the bell on his hat jingling when he tilts his head.

“I know you are, but what am I?” 

“I,” Remus says, “am hungry. And I’ll bet Y/N is too, since she’s very politely refrained from snacking much while we waited for you lot.” 

James' attention actually leaves his son for half a second to look at you and see if what Remus says is true, and you go instantly bashful. It doesn’t seem to matter how long you’re friends with them; having attention drawn to you will always bring some color to your cheeks. Lily comes to your rescue, ushering you into the kitchen like she needs somewhere to channel her mother hen urges while James is monopolizing Harry. 

“I hope you really are hungry,” she says, “because James has made enough bhaji to feed us all for a month.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Soon even James is stuffed and you’re all a bit tipsy on eggnog. Some of your natural anxiety fades as everything starts to feel slower and more fluid, your insides warm and soft as wax. 

“No, because it was so obvious,” Sirius says. He’s telling a story of a girl he’d seen at a coffee shop that he’s sure was enamored with him. James, naturally, agrees completely, but Lily and Remus aren’t so sure. “She did the—the thing. Y/N, back me up. When a girl makes eye contact with you and then looks off to the side, it means she’s not interested, but when she looks down, it’s because she’s nervous, right?”

You raise your eyebrows. “I think you made that up,” you tell him, tiny bits of laughter running in between your words. “Anyway, is her being nervous necessarily a good thing?” 

“She was nervous because she’s obsessed with me,” Sirius insists. 

“Or,” Remus says, “she was nervous because you were staring at her, and she thought you were going to follow her outside.” 

“And probably kill her,” Lily agrees. 

James’ eyebrows shoot up. “Merlin, you two are dark. Our Padfoot’s not putting out murderous vibes. He’s got too much boyish charm.” 

Sirius nods appreciatively, but Lily only shrugs, careful not to jostle Harry where he’s sleeping on her lap. “Girls have to think of those things.” 

“Gross,” James says, looking slightly troubled as he kisses the side of his wife’s head. “Well, I think she was in love with you, Pads.”

“Yeah,” Remus rolls his eyes, “he should show up at her house and find out. It’d be romantic.”

“And on that note,” James goes on, ignoring him, “shall we do presents?”

You all agree, and Sirius looks at James with an older brother’s entitlement. “Go ahead and distribute them, Prongsie.” 

James, well used to this, doesn’t even question it, scampering back and forth between the tree (which you can’t help but notice is somewhat lacking in the ornament department but quite sparkly) to deliver your presents at your feet. After a few rounds of this, you can’t stand it anymore and get up to help, laughing through the protests of your remaining three friends. (“He’s got it, love,” Remus says, and Sirius adds, “He’s got energy he needs to run off anyway.”) Between the two of you, the bottom of the Christmas tree is bare within a couple of minutes, small piles of presents next to each of your friends. You go to sit back by the pile meant for you, touched at the fact that you have a box from every person there. 

“S’not fair that James and Lily get to do couple’s presents now,” Sirius complains. “I’m going to start buying gifts for you like you’re one person, see how you like it.” 

The biggest pile is obviously for Harry, and you all start there, no small amount of eagerness in James’ expression as he tears open the first box. “The Velveteen Rabbit,” he reads aloud. “Wow, this is kinda hefty for a children’s book.” 

“Who’s it from?” Lily prompts, as if you don’t all already know. 

“Shit, I forgot to check.” 

“And that’s why we read the box,” Lily says slowly, and you get the sense this is a conversation that’s happened more than once, “before we start ripping, honey.” 

“It was me,” Remus volunteers, lips pulling into a half-smile. 

“Course it was,” James says, taking a break from sticking his tongue out at his wife to smile at Remus. “Thanks, Moony.” 

“You had the opportunity to get him Goodnight Moon,” Sirius tsks, “and you just let it pass you by.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, but then Lily says, “He already has that one,” and you watch as he tries and fails to suppress the shy smile that takes him. It shifts the scars on his cheek and lights his eyes with a warm tenderness. 

He looks especially pretty under the Christmas lights, you think. The warm glow suits him, bringing out the amber in his eyes and richening the various brown shades of his hair. It makes his skin look softer too, smooth even where you know he has stubble around his jawline. You want suddenly to reach out and touch it, and you’re glad you’re sitting too far from him to act on the urge. 

You’ve noticed Remus over the years, of course. It’d be impossible not to. You’ve always harbored a tiny crush on him, but you keep it shoved deep down in your gut where it can’t hurt anyone. You think the world of him, but you love your little group of friends more than anything else. You’re not unaware of the fact that Remus is a more crucial fixture in it than you are; if anything happened between you and it made things awkward for everyone, you’d be the one to go. 

“Aw, is this a hat?” Lily pulls something tawny brown from a box, and you realize they’ve gotten to your gift. “Oh my god, it has little antlers!”

You try not to smile too hard as she shows it to James and he coos, taking it from her hands. “No way, he’ll be like our little Prongsie! I’m going to put it on him.” 

“Don’t wake him,” Lily warns, but James waves her off.

“He can sleep through anything,” he says, settling the baby beanie on Harry’s head. Sure enough, he doesn’t stir. 

“Oh, that’s so darling.” Lily presses a hand to her chest. “Y/N, where’d you get this?”

You feel your face heat and hope the lighting is covering your blush. “I made it,” you admit. “I know we’re already well into winter, but I hope he can still use it a little.” 

“Um, he’s never taking it off. Like, ever.” James leans around Lily to press a smacking kiss to your cheek. You laugh, trying not to shrink in on yourself from all the attention. “Thanks, love.” 

Once all the cooing over Harry’s presents is done, the rest of the gift opening proceeds with decidedly less fanfare, though no shortage of gratitude. You get a bunch of purple eyeliners from Sirius (you’d complained to him a few weeks ago that they’d stopped selling your old one, and he’d been thoughtful enough to find you options to help decide upon new one), a cookbook from James and Lily (“Now you can stop eating all those frozen meals,” James tells you with a meaningful look), and a set of mittens from Remus (“They’re alpaca,” he explains. “Supposed to be extra warm, and your hands are always freezing.”). The rest of your gifts are received happily too, and then Remus’ living room is covered with the wrapping paper Lily had tried but eventually given up on getting everyone to put in piles as they went and you’re all starting to yawn. 

“Alright,” Lily says after a while, “it’s well past Harry’s bedtime, and ours, and I’m sure Remus would like his flat back.” 

“Booo.” Sirius lays back on the couch, letting his head loll over the edge of the armrest. “Domestic life has made you lame, Evans-Potter.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” James drawls, gathering Harry against his chest, “I saw you yawning, Pads. Let’s go.” 

You stand with the rest of them, going to find your shoes by the door. “Thanks for everything, Remus,” you say. “It was great.” 

“For a first time hosting,” James allows, jokingly prideful, “I suppose you did a pretty decent job. Big shoes to fill, and all that.” 

Remus smiles as he rolls his eyes, but it falters when his gaze settles on something behind you. “Are you all going to be alright getting home? It looks like it’s really picked up.” 

You follow his stare out the window. He’s not wrong. The unusually thick snowfall you’d arrived in has morphed into something that looks more like a blizzard, the wind whipping white across the black backdrop of sky outside Remus’ flat. 

James looks between the scene outside and his family once before seeming to make a decision. “Yeah, we’ll be alright,” he says, watching Lily as he talks. She nods her approval, and James’ voice becomes more solid. “We don’t have far to drive.”

Remus nods, still looking worried. His brows furrow as he turns to you. “What about you? Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” It’s the only answer in these situations, though you’re sure Remus would be alright with the alternative if you felt very strongly. “It doesn’t look too bad out there.” 

Remus casts another dubious glance out the window, and a particularly loud gust of wind whooshes past as if to spite you. “Are you sure? It looks pretty bad to me.” 

“Yeah,” James says, “don’t you live a bit far?”

“It’s not that far,” you fib, at the same time as Remus says, “She does.” 

You laugh awkwardly, pulling on your coat “It’s not. Anyway, I’ve driven in a lot worse than this.”

Lily gives you a small smile. “That’s hardly reassuring, babe.”

“You can stay here,” Remus offers, but you’re shaking your head before he’s even gotten the words out. 

“That’s sweet of you, but I can make it home.” You give him your most competent smile. “If I end up driving off the road and have to camp in my car, at least I’ll have fantastic mittens to keep the frostbite from my hands.” 

He gives you a deadpan look. “While I’m glad you’re excited to use my gift, I’d prefer to keep it from coming to that.”

“You can’t get in a crash and die on Christmas,” Sirius says. “It’d be, like, a super huge downer for us every year.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you insist. 

“Shortcake, I don’t care if we have to lock you in here,” James says, frowning in a way that doesn’t look particularly tough when he’s swaying back and forth to rock Harry on his chest. “There’s no way you can drive all the way to your place in this.” 

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, wrapping your scarf.

“Okay, you know I would never usually say this,” Lily says, gnawing on her lip as she watches the snow blow past outside, “but I think you should listen to the boys. It looks too scary out there to drive that far.” 

“It’s…” You look between them, your argument dying of futility on your tongue. James seems prepared to blockade you in Remus’ flat, and even Lily’s giving you a stern look. Your gaze lands on Remus, and the last of your resistance melts away.

“You really should stay here,” he says kindly. “Actually, I’d feel a lot better if you did. Okay?”

You sigh, slipping your scarf back over your head. “Okay.” 

“Phew!” Sirius says, pulling you into a one-armed hug. “Glad that’s settled. See you all soon, thanks for Christmas Moony!” 

“He’s so tired,” Lily says after Sirius is out the door. 

“Wiped,” James agrees, adjusting his grip on Harry so that he can wrap one arm around Remus’ neck. Remus leans down into the awkward hug, begrudgingly fond as he pats his friend on the back, then kisses Lily on the cheek when James moves to you. 

“Thanks for the gifts,” James says, grinning down at Harry’s knit antlers after he releases you. “He’s never taking this off.” 

“He means it.” Lily sends her husband a look as fond as it is weary as she hugs you. “I’ll probably have to bathe Harry when James is asleep so he doesn’t catch him without it.” 

Your face is feeling hot again. “I’m glad you like it,” you say with a little shrug, but your friends are used to your shyness and only smile and wave on their way out. 

And then the door shuts, and you and Remus are left alone in the quiet. 

“Are you tired?” he asks you, moving back into the living room. Lily had sneakily taken care of a good deal of the cleanup, but there’s still a few half-empty glasses of eggnog strewn about which Remus begins gathering. 

“Not really,” you answer honestly, beating him to the sink and forcing him to hand you the glasses to wash. “Are you?”

“No,” he agrees, and the look he shoots you has to be the gentlest form malice has ever taken as he takes up the dish towel and stations himself beside you. “Fancy a film?”

“Mmm, a Christmas film?”

“Obviously.” 

The dishes are finished quickly thanks to Lily’s interference, and Remus makes you some hot cocoa while you scroll through movies, calling out possibilities. The only conflict between you is your equal complaisance to whatever the other prefers, and you eventually settle on the first one you’d seen just to put an end to it. You take your cocoa gladly when Remus passes it to you, blowing gently while he settles a blanket over the both of you, your knees curled towards him and his one leg crossed over the other angling him towards you. 

The first few minutes of the film are spent in that contented quietude that the two of you so often fall into when you’re alone together, but then Remus asks you, “What is it?”

You look over at him. “Hm?”

“You’re frowning.”

“Oh.” You laugh. “I’m just thinking about snow.” 

His lips quirk. “It is kind of the bane of your existence tonight, isn’t it?”

“No.” You smile down at your hands, hoping it's not obvious how not unpleasant you find your circumstances at the moment. “That’s not it. I was thinking, I kind of hate how it always has to snow in these movies. It makes any Christmas where it doesn’t snow feel like it’s not up to par. Or not quintessential enough, or something.”

“Mmm, I see.” Remus looks back to the screen, considering. “Does that make this your quintessential Christmas, then? Are we living up to the movie standard?”

You watch him while he watches the TV, blue light cast over his handsome features. “I guess so,” you say.

The longer you sit there, the closer you get. You blame it on the late hour, your bodies relaxing towards each other on the couch. Remus’ arm brushes yours when he lifts his mug for a sip, and your knees dig into his thigh under the blanket. Soon you’ve drooped enough that you’re leaning nearly entirely against him. You don’t notice until Remus puts an arm around you to encourage your head to his shoulder. You tense but don’t sit up, and eventually his head comes to rest atop yours. 

“Are you crying?” he murmurs during one scene near the end. 

Your reply is equally soft, not wanting to jostle either Remus’ head or his shoulder with your speech movements. “I really like this part.” 

“You know how it ends. It’s going to be okay.” 

“I know.” You sniffle, bringing a hand up to wipe your face now that you’ve been caught. “I know it is. It’s just really profound.” 

“Sure it is.”

“It’s the spirit of Christmas, Remus. Goodwill to man.” 

“Okay.” He rubs your shoulder, and you pretend not to feel his shaking with quiet laughter. “Okay, I agree with you.” 

And awhile later: “You’re tired,” he accuses.

You hum a denial.

“Sweetheart” —your stomach flutters, and there’s a jolt somewhere behind your ribcage; you ignore it— “you’re practically falling asleep right here.”

“Are you tired?” 

He shifts slightly, stubble tickling your forehead. “No. But you are.” 

“I want to finish the movie.” 

He seems to debate this for a moment, then his shoulder relaxes beneath you. “Alright.” 

The credits start, and neither of you move. 

You let your head slump more heavily onto his shoulder. “Your place really does look lovely. Thanks for having me.”

“Of course, love.” You can feel his smile squish up against the top of your head. “Would you go so far as to say my hosting measures up to James’?”

You chuckle, gesturing to yourself. “I’d say you’ve gone above and beyond, for sure.” 

Remus laughs too. “Perfect. Tell him so, would you?”

You’re going to agree when a great yawn takes you. You keep it quiet, but there’s no avoiding the way your chin digs into Remus’ shoulder, your shoulders rising with the prolonged inhale. He moves away from you. 

“Ready for bed?” He smiles down at you as you run a knuckle under your eyes, collecting tears from your lashes. 

You shrug an admittance. “Sort of. But I don’t want to kick you out of your own living room if you’re not tired yet.”

“No, I’m pretty wiped too,” he says. “Anyway, I’m the one kicking you out. You’re staying in my room.” 

You had a feeling he would say something like that. You grab a throw pillow, getting situated with your head near the armrest. “No, I’m not.” 

His laugh is disbelieving. “Yeah, you are. Come on, you’re my guest. I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.” 

You tug the blanket off his lap, curling up with your pillow stubbornly. “I’m not going to steal your bed. You’ve already done so much. You’ve helped me try gingerbread cookies and given me nice mittens and hosted an amazing Christmas. Let me sleep on your couch, please.” 

“While I appreciate all that,” he says, “no.” 

“Remus.” You’re near pleading at this point. “Your back will hurt.”

“Your back will hurt.” 

“Not as badly as yours.” You give him a hard look. “I’m not taking your bed.” 

There’s a brief silence, terser than your usual ones but no more awkward for it. You stare each other down. 

“Right,” Remus says, reclaiming the remote from where he’d set it on the coffee table. “I suppose we’d better start another movie, then.”

“Remus, come on.” You sit up, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge. “You’ve just said you’re tired. Go to bed, please.”

The TV flickers back on. “I’m not leaving this couch.” 

“Well, neither am I,” you laugh, completely serious. 

He rolls his eyes, then snuggles up to you under the blanket. You take this as a sign that he’s not really very cross with you. “You’re much more argumentative than usual tonight, you know that?”

You huff, laying your head back on his shoulder. “I could say the same about you.” 

“True, but I know I’ll win out in the end.” 

“You can think that if you like.” 

“Want to watch this one next?”

“Sure.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus watches as your eyes drift closed, then twitch back open, over and over again. He thinks his bony shoulder is the only thing keeping you from falling over the precipice of sleep. If he were James Potter, he’d simply pick you up with ease and carry you to his bed, but Remus can’t say he’s entirely sorry for this extra time with you, even if neither of you are awake enough to make much conversation.

Silly as it sounds, he enjoys just sitting here with you nearly as much as talking. Your cheek squished into his shoulder, your legs curled up atop his, you’re warm and weighty against him. 

He should have known it would be a hopeless endeavor trying to get you to agree to take the bed. You’re a gentle thing by nature, but stubborn in your selflessness. Even if you had gone, Remus knows he wouldn’t have slept all night anyway, too preoccupied with thoughts of you all wrapped up in his sheets, your face pressed to his pillow, getting your shampoo-smell on the pillowcase. He doesn’t know if it smells like him (does he have a smell?), but he would have wondered all night if it does, if you were noticing. 

Your head nearly rolls off his shoulder, and a pitying sound escapes Remus when you jerk awake to set it right. He lets his head rest on yours so it doesn’t happen again. Your eyelids droop closed almost immediately, and Remus begins dragging his thumb over your shoulder blade, a nice, slow back-and-forth. You’re quiet for a long while. 

“Are you trying to put me to sleep?” you murmur, words all sloshed together. 

It’s a conscious effort not to let his thumb slow. “No,” he says. 

You hum. 

“Unless you mean it’s working.” 

Another long silence. “It’s not,” you reply, head growing heavier on his shoulder.  

He chuckles. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed, hm?” 

“You go to bed,” you mumble, and if he thought you were capable of it he’d say there was some bitterness lining your words. 

He sighs. “You’re too nice for your own good,” he tells you. 

“No,” you reply, softly, plainly, like it’s a fact, “that’s you.” 

He picks his head up off of yours to see your face. “Yeah?” 

“Mhm.” Your eyes are closed. You don’t know he’s looking. Your face is wholly relaxed, no hint of pretense about you. “You’re the best I know.” 

Something warm and wheedling works its way through Remus’ ribs to the soft gooey core of him. “Well,” he tells you honestly, “you’re the best I know.”

You seem unconcerned. “Another impasse for us.” 

He actually laughs at that, instantly guilty when it jostles you on his shoulder and your eyelids peel apart. He can’t regret it, though, when you look at him the way you do. You’re glowing in the light coming off the tree, soft and warm and lovely, and yet you’re looking at him like he’s the only place your eyes want to go. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

You come gradually more awake, eyebrows twitching towards each other just slightly. “Remus,” you murmur, and he finally does what he’s been wanting to since you’d shown up at his door hours ago. He kisses you. 

Your lips are pliable, parting for his almost instantly, like you’d been waiting. His hand coasts from your shoulder to cup the back of your head, keeping you close as your nose slides against his. You both all but fall back onto the bed you’d made yourself on the couch. He’s careful not to put too much of his weight on you, but when his tongue brushes across the inside of your lip and you inhale, he draws back. 

“I...” He pants into the space between you. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

You make a sound that’s half hum, half whine, and bump your chin up into his. 

Remus loses himself again with frightening quickness. It’s even better now that you seem more sure, your mouth asking, coaxing against his. You taste like gingerbread. An low, embarrassing sound pries free from the back of his throat when you wind your fingers into the hair at his nape, and he slips his free hand beneath your back, getting as close to you as he can. Your legs make room for him automatically, knees tipping open so he can slot between them.

“Do you—” you breathe when his attentions move downward, tilting your head to the side to offer access as he mouths at the skin just under your jaw. “Do you want this?” 

The word leaves him in a soft exhale, muffled against your skin. “Yes.”

You swallow. He feels the movement in your throat. “Are you sure?”

His eyelashes brush your jaw as his kisses slow, become more tender, more intentional. “Lovely girl,” he murmurs. “You’re silly, you know that?” His mouth meanders it’s way over to your pulse, getting stuck there and sucking at your skin lazily. “I mean, you’re smart.” The words are all mushed up against you. Noticeably amused. Remus quit the eggnog hours ago, yet he feels half drunk. “You’re really smart, honey, but you can be so oblivious sometimes.” 

You don’t respond, and as much as he loves the sound of your voice, he’s hoping your silence is in his favor right now. He wants you wrapped up in him, wants to engross you so completely you forget how to form your lips around speech. 

“Do you want to move to my room?” 

You take a breath. Fuck, even the sound of you breathing is nearly enough to undo him. He moves back to your mouth as if to intercept it, nipping at your lower lip. 

“Is this a ploy to get me off the couch?” 

“You’re relentless.”

Your lips curve against his, and he mirrors them without thinking. You stay quiet.

“Fine. I promise it’s not, okay?” 

Your laugh is fizzy like champagne, and it warms Remus’ chest like it too. “Okay,” you say in that lovely voice. “Okay, let’s go.” 

❆ ❆ ❆

You’d always thought Remus was all softness. He’s made up of soft looks, soft colors, and hair that you can now confirm is soft as dandelion fluff. But this night has defied your expectations in a thousand ways. And your Remus, soft, gentle, kindhearted Remus, is scraping at your throat with his teeth. 

You have to suck your lip between your teeth to keep from making a humiliatingly desperate sound when he passes his tongue over his work, another crescent moon that’s sure to be purple by morning. Your hands are beseeching in his dandelion fluff hair, keeping him close while his hands are busy lower, one gripping the fat of your hip while the other drags tantalizingly slow up and down your side. He’s kissing you like you have all the time in the world, sometimes rough but no more urgent for it, and you’re breathy and molten and useless beneath him. 

You’re brimming with adoration and something else too. Something that you think you could almost identify—you’ve felt it before, but never like this. 

“What do you want to do?” There’s a raspy quality to his voice that would send you to your knees if he hadn’t already taken them out from under you. He dots leisurely, open-mouthed kisses up the column of your throat, soothing over spots he’s already nipped and sucked into oblivion. Your head feels fuzzy. “Sweetheart?” 

Christ, is he trying to send you into cardiac arrest? Remus doesn’t stop kissing you even at your silence, finding your lip still held between your teeth and encouraging it free with his own. You try to remember what he’d ask you. What do you want to do? You have no idea. Where would you even start? You want him to keep talking to you in that raspy voice, that’s for sure. You want…you want to keep kissing him, to know what his hands would do if you let them beneath your clothes. You want to keep investigating that warm feeling in your gut. See where it takes you. 

Remus’ kisses slow, then stop. He pulls back to look at you. In the dim street light coming in through the window, you wonder what he sees. “You alright?” His voice is soft, gentle, saying it’s okay if you’re not without saying it. 

You take a breath. It shakes a little on the way out, but you don’t think he can tell. “Yeah, I’m good. Just nervous. But not in a bad way.” Nervous-happy. 

“Don’t be,” he implores, lips brushing your cheek. “It’s only me.”

Exactly, you think. It’s you. 

“What do you want to do?” You turn his own question back on him. 

His smile is tinged with bashfulness. “I mean, whatever you’re alright with.” There’s a tentative quietness to his voice. “Have you…”

If it were possible for you to get any warmer, embarrassment would do it. “No,” you say, shrinking away from him though there’s nowhere to go. Whatever the end to that question might be, the answer is no. 

“That’s okay,” he says quickly, dropping another kiss on the corner of your mouth like a cure-all remedy. “That’s okay, you just tell me if you want to stop, yeah? If you don’t like something, or you want to slow down—anything at all, you let me know.” He kisses you again, further up on your burning cheek. “Okay?” 

You swallow. “Okay.” 

“Don’t be nervous.” He says it like a promise, hand stroking your side again as if to soothe you. His lips find your shoulder, nosing the fabric of your sleeve. “Can I take this off, lovely?” 

You nod, words all stoppered up in your throat, then realize he can’t see you and do it yourself. He has to pause as it comes off, taking the opportunity to do away with his own sweater, tossing it on the floor beside the bed. You do the same, and your bra quickly follows. You’d always thought (largely influenced, admittedly, by trashy novels) that this was the part where the guy stops what he’s doing and openly oggles the shirtless woman in front of him, but Remus has seen tits before and wastes no time in getting his mouth back on yours, pressing you into the mattress. His skin is as heated as yours, the areas where you touch deliciously warm despite the cold still whipping past his bedroom window. You allow yourself one sweeping, appreciative pass over the muscles on Remus’ back before your hands go down to your bottoms, shimmying them down your legs. A long-fingered hand finds the exposed skin of your thigh and kneads reverently. You swallow Remus’ groan, and he kisses you more deeply, long, savoring passes of his tongue along the inside of your mouth until his lips move downward. 

One hand stays at your hip while the other strokes up and down your thigh, spit cooling in a path down your stomach. You try to relax as he passes your navel, but the anticipation is hard to shake. You’re nearly trembling when he kneels between your legs, kissing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. 

“Is this okay?” he murmurs. 

It’s all you can do to nod, gasping when his teeth drag over one of the stretch marks there. You clutch at the sheets above your head like a lifeline. 

“We can stop anytime you want.” 

You inhale raggedly. “No,” you manage. Your breathlessness is obvious in the quiet room. “I want—I want to keep going.” You pause. “Do you?”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, love, that sounds good to me.” 

Good, you’re about to say, but Remus’ next kiss lands on your slit, and your voice withers and dies in your throat. He uses a hand to push one of your legs open further while bringing the other over his shoulder, spreading you open. His breath fans hot over your cunt.

You’re writhing at the first broad stroke of his tongue, and he wraps his fingers around the outside of your thigh, keeping you still while placating you at the same time. 

Remus takes his time, lapping experimentally at your entrance before making his way upwards. You gasp as his tongue skims over your clit, burrowing your hand in his hair before hesitating. 

“Is this okay?” you ask. 

His hummed assent has you tightening your grasp. He brushes over your clit one more time, and when this gets a similar reaction from you, begins sucking on it gently. You’re panting, and Remus has to move his grip to your hip to hold you in place, squeezing indulgently at the fat there while he narrows in on what you like. Before long you’re trembling all over, grasping feebly at his hair as you squeeze your eyes shut against the odd sort of bliss that’s taking you under. 

“Remus,” you breathe, and it’s a miracle that he hears you but he does, raising his head with a lewd suctioning sound. 

He looks at you questioningly with eyes almost all pupil. 

“Come here,” you plead. 

He obeys, crawling back up you to peck at your bitten lips. “Doing alright?” he asks you.

“Yeah,” you promise, cupping his head in one hand and wrapping your leg over the back of his as if to prevent him from leaving. “Just wanted to kiss you.” 

You feel him smile against your lips. He slots his mouth over yours, and you dedicate yourself to his top lip. He tastes like sex, braver now as he explores your mouth. He drags your bottom lip between his teeth, and you make a high, breathy sound. His grip on you tightens. 

“Do you think—can we—”

He hesitates, kissing softly at the corner of your lips. “Are you sure?” 

“I want to. Do you?” 

Remus actually laughs, muffling the sound against your cheek. “Yeah, I fucking want to. I’ve wanted to forever.” 

You can’t think about that. Think about that and you’ll fall to pieces. 

He noses affectionately at the underside of your jaw, slipping down you once again to stand at the end of the bed. He steps out of his pants and grabs a condom from the drawer of his nightstand. “You’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t like, yeah?” 

“Mhm,” you promise, anticipation coiling up snugly with that other thing in your stomach. They don’t feel all that distinct from one another. 

“Alright,” he says, palm slipping under your thigh. “Can I lift this up, love?” 

You nod, and he grasps the soft underside of your knee, bringing your leg up to your stomach as he lines up. You gasp as he pushes in slowly, watching your face to make sure you’re doing okay. You’re already slick and worked open from his ministrations, and it’s still a bit shocking. His thumb strokes beside your knee as your walls adjust to the size of him. “How’s that feel?” 

“Good,” you say honestly. There’s a note of desperation to your voice. “I can—more, please.” 

He’s quick to accommodate you, pushing deeper as he folds himself over you to recapture your lips. Your breaths shallow. His free hand moves to your breast, kneading gently at the soft flesh. He gives it a firm squeeze at the same time as he moves inside you, and you nearly bite Remus’ lip off, a half-suppressed keening sound escaping you. 

“So good,” he mumbles. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Taking it so well.” He lifts his head, kissing your temple. “Think you can handle a bit more?” 

Your response is barely more than breath, but he catches the affirmation, pressing another firm kiss to your forehead before he bottoms out inside you. Your head lolls back, fuzzy with the strange pain and even stranger pleasure. Remus tightens his grip on your leg to keep it up, dotting kisses down the side of your face. 

“Good girl,” he says hoarsely. “Still doing okay, lovely?” 

“Yeah,” you say, somewhat dizzy. “Remus, it feels so good.” 

“Good,” he croons. “It should feel good, love. Ready for me to move?”

“Mhm.”

He pulls out slowly, dragging against your sensitive walls. He starts mouthing at your neck again before he pushes back inside you, filling you up all over again. A slew of expletives roll out of your mouth, unbidden and entirely unlike you, as Remus begins pumping your breast again, the rhythm matching that of his thrusts. He sucks the flesh of your neck between his teeth, and you bite down hard on your lower lip to repress what promises to be a high-pitched and deeply mortifying sound. 

Remus praises you amply, soft kisses and reverent touches and a raspy “Fuck, sweetheart, just like that.” Your head floats or swims or both, your body tensed all over and yet completely plaint beneath Remus’ hands. He moves back to your mouth, discovering your bottom lip held captive between your teeth. 

“Come on, don’t do that,” he chides, easing it free with gentle kisses. “Let me hear you, bet you sound so pretty.” 

The Welsh accent that’s grown faint after years of living away from home is emerging now, as is the crude vocabulary it's tied to in memory, a host of barely comprehensible profanities spewing from Remus’ lips when you clench on him again. His grip tightens on your tit, and a moan tears from the back of your throat. 

“That’s it,” he praises, head dipping to kiss the soft spot he’s found under your ear. “There you are, lovely girl.” 

The coil in your core grows impossibly tighter, your thighs quivering as you approach a peak you’ve never known before. Remus feels it, cooing softly even as he drives into you harder.

“You gonna cum, sweetheart?” You nod dazedly. “Good, good, just let it happen, I’ve got you.” 

“Come here,” you demand again, and he wastes no time in obliging you. He kisses your lips sore as you dig your nails into his shoulders, pulling his body flush against yours, the feeling inside you growing so great you don’t know where to put it, don’t know if you can contain it. You can’t remember ever feeling this close to someone, Remus’ touch the only thing keeping you from hurtling off some unknown precipice.

“Let go,” he urges, and you do. You trust him to catch you. 

It’s bliss like you’ve never known. You cry out, and Remus’ hand slides down from your breast to spread wide and flat against your ribs. Steadying. He kisses soothingly at your jaw as you gasp and pant your way back to him, grip slackening on his shoulders. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, though you really haven’t done much at all. 

“Are you—” You swallow, choking on the emotion that’s risen unbidden in your throat. “Are you close?” 

Remus smiles, coming back to your lips like he can’t help himself. He pecks you once, twice. “Sweetheart, I’m more than close. I’ve barely been holding myself together since you kissed me.” 

Well, he’d actually kissed you, but you’ll take the compliment anyway. 

“Do you think you’ll be alright if I move again?” he asks. “It’s okay if not.” 

“You can,” you say certainly, leaning up on your elbows to see him better. “Is there…anything I can do to help?”

The smile fades from his face, leaving something far more tender in its wake. “Just, keep looking at me like that?” He says it almost like he’s embarrassed, voice quiet with supplication. 

You want to tell him you’d never needed asking to look at him, but you don’t, keeping your eyes on his obediently as he pumps into you. He really must have been close, because he’s cursing again not long after, accent twisting his syllables with a gruff pleasure. Your walls contract at the movement, still sensitive, and that’s all it takes. Remus digs his fingers into your waist and makes sounds you’re sure you’ll dream about, panting, breathy moans you sit up to smother against your lips. He follows you back down onto the mattress, mouth slotted against your own. You hold him to you until his breaths even and his grip on you loosens. 

“Was that alright?” he asks, some of the rasp still lingering in his voice. 

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, dizzy with affection. “Yeah, it was good,” you promise him. Understatement of the year. “Really good, Rem.” 

“Good,” he echoes, lips brushing the skin under your eye. You don’t know how you know, but you can feel the amusement building in him just before he asks, “Tired yet?”

You guffaw. The force of it jostles him on top of you, and his lips curve against your cheek. “A little bit, yeah.” Actually, you hadn’t realized how exhausting sex would be. If it didn’t mean having to take your eyes off Remus, you’d have closed them and passed out by now. 

“Good,” he says again, hands sliding down your waist as he moves to stand again. You make a small sound as he shifts, and Remus shushes you, slipping out from inside you. You watch fascinatedly as he removes the condom, sticky with cum. He tosses it in the wastebasket under his desk and walks away from you.

“Hey,” you protest. “You’d better not be sneaking off to sleep on the couch.” 

His chuckle echoes in the bathroom, followed by the sound of a cabinet opening. “So mistrustful,” he says when he comes back in with a damp towel. “What’ve I done to arouse such suspicion?” 

Your fuzzy brain gets stuck on the word arouse in his teasing tone, and it takes you a second to answer. “Well, I’m here and a blink away from falling asleep, so you tell me.” 

“Fair enough.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, taking your thigh in his grasp to move it aside. “Alright if I clean you up, love?” 

You startle, coming up on your elbows to see where Remus is holding the towel between your legs. “I didn’t realize it’d be so messy,” you admit. “You don’t have to, though, I can do it myself.” 

“I don’t mind,” he says, thumb soothing over your knee. “S’my mess anyway.” He seems to have not quite agreed with himself to say that last part aloud, a blush spreading over his cheeks. 

“Sure,” you say, mostly to alleviate his embarrassment. You let your weight lean more heavily on your elbows, trying your best to look relaxed. “Sure, if you’re alright with it.” 

“Might be a bit sensitive,” he warns. You’d guessed as much, but it's worth it for all the praises he rains down upon you as he works, finishing with a kiss to the side of your knee. 

You miss him humiliatingly when he goes to the bathroom again to discard the towel. It’s all you can do not to reach for him when he comes back, but luckily Remus reads your mind anyway, slipping under the covers and tugging you to him until his lips rest against your forehead. 

“That was really great,” you tell him. 

“I thought so too.” 

“You’ll stay here, right?” 

A low laugh. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m staying here.” 

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus hasn’t known anyone to sleep in longer than Sirius, but you seem to be vying for his title. The sun has long since passed above his windows when Remus wakes, and still he has time to spend idle hours marveling at the closeness of you. His nose is cold above the covers, but everywhere your bodies are pressed together is warm, your palm flat against his chest and one of your legs wormed between his own. Your fingers twitch as you dream. 

It has to be early afternoon by the time he rises, slipping his hand carefully from beneath you and plodding into the kitchen. The blanket is still on the couch where you left it, throw pillow creased with your indentation. Your mugs are discarded on the coffee table with globs of once-hot cocoa stuck to the bottom. Bright light refracts off the snow outside and into his kitchen, making everything look shiny new. 

Remus starts the kettle first, letting that warm up while he rifles through the cabinets for his big mixing bowl and starts whisking together ingredients. A bird chirps outside as the kettle gurgles, and somehow the peace of Remus’ kitchen feels more complete knowing that you’re sleeping just down the hall. 

Until, apparently, you’re not. Your footsteps are so silent he startles when you appear, still blinking yourself awake as you cross your arms over the sweater you’ve thrown on with your bottoms from the night before. Remus’ sweater. And Remus had thought he’d come to terms with the idea of you here, in his apartment like the best Christmas gift of all time, but apparently not, because his heart stutters and stops at the sight of you. 

He’d thought you’d looked adorable in the soft glow of the Christmas lights the night before, and again tucked into his sheets this morning, but you’re almost ethereal now. Sunlight bathes the planes of your face and gleams off your hair, making you appear almost like you’re emanating the bright light rather than standing in it. You smile at him, seraphim. 

“Morning. Sorry I didn’t ask,” you say, fingering the hem of Remus’ sweater. “I was cold and you were gone, I hope you don’t mind.” 

Mind? Remus can’t even think. 

“Course not,” he manages, but just barely. It’s more an exhale than a statement. “Did you sleep alright?” 

“Really well,” you say. His sleeves cover your fingers as you rest your elbows on the counter, and your gaze has gone a bit shy again, but Remus can hardly blame you. You both seemed to have experienced unusual nerve the night before. He only hopes you aren’t regretting your part in it. And now that he’s had some time to think, he hopes even more that you’d truly wanted it in the first place. “Did you?” 

“Yeah, thanks.”

You lean a bit closer in a way that he doubts either of you are even slightly unaware of, peering into the mixing bowl. “What’re you making?” 

“I’m experimenting,” he says, though he wishes now he weren’t. He wanted to make you something good, but his confidence in his adaptation is waning now that you’re in the room. He should have gone with something basic, tried-and-true. “Or, I’m attempting. Gingerbread pancakes?” 

His voice crawls up into a question, as if he really has no idea what it is he’s trying to make (maybe that’s closer to the truth), but Remus’ regrets vanish instantly at the genuine elation that lights your expression. 

“Really?” 

A laugh startles out of him, giddy. “Yeah, does that sound alright?” 

“More than alright,” you declare with full seriousness, seating yourself at the bar counter. “That sounds amazing, Rem, thank you. Merlin, I owe you so big for all of this.” 

“I think you’ve more than made it up to me.” It slips out without permission, Remus too high on the flow of your conversation to filter the words through his brain before they reach his mouth. His loathsome, traitorous mouth. “I mean, I’m sorry—fuck, that sounds awful—I only meant that I’ve had a really good time with you here. I’m glad you stayed.” 

You flush horribly, and Remus doesn’t expect he’s faring much better. 

“Not that I’m only glad because of—or, I’m always glad to have you. As a friend, too.” 

There’s a tiny pinch in your features, gone before he can diagnose it. Somehow, you seem even more uncomfortable. “Right.” You give him a thin smile. It’s a hearty attempt, but you’re too genuine a soul to fake it. Remus hates himself for it. “As a friend.” 

They’re his own words, put hearing them from your mouth and with that piss-poor smile feels like having a fire poker jammed between his ribs. 

With his track record this morning, he really should be taking a vow of silence, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “Just friends, then?” Hesitance makes his voice sound quiet even in the silent kitchen. He looks down, stirring the batter to avoid watching the answer take form on your face. 

“I mean,” your tone is a match to his, “is that what you want?” 

A short, soft laugh escapes him. “I think I made what I want fairly clear last night.” 

There’s a short silence. “I thought I did too.” 

It’s a conscious effort to keep stirring. Had you? Remus had kissed you, he’d brought you to his room, he’d been the one to ask if you wanted to do more. And you’d been game for it all, sure, but he can’t help but wonder if you were just going along with it. If maybe you’d thought it was just a fuck, something he’d come up with to pass the time while you were both snowed in, no strings attached. Remus could understand that. He could disentangle the strings from last night if it’s what you want. But he’s liked you for years. He could love you oh so easily. He’s practically teetering on the edge of it already, though you’ve only been friends all this time. 

Remus spoons some batter into a waiting pan on the stove. He’s debating asking what exactly it is that you thought you’d made clear when you speak again. 

“I understand if it’s too much for you.” Your voice is shy. He looks up, and your shoulders are hunched as if you’re trying to hide yourself. You shrink further under his gaze. “We can stay just friends if it’s…if that’s what you want. I want whatever’s easier for you.” Your next words are so impossibly soft, Remus has to strain to hear them over the low sizzling of the pancake batter. “I really want you to stay in my life.” 

“What?” It’s a staccato, loud enough that it surprises you both, Remus stepping toward you while you nearly flinch back. “Sorry.” His hand goes up, reaching into the space between you as if he can soothe you from feet away. He lowers his volume. “Sorry, sweetheart, I just—I didn’t realize that was even on the table. I would never want to not be in your life.” 

“I just mean that I don’t want to make things weird for you, or for everyone else—”

“Hey.” He manages to cross the distance this time, his hand landing on your wrist atop the counter. Remus isn’t sure why he needs it there so desperately, but he suddenly feels much better. “There is nothing that could make any of us not want to be friends with you. I can speak for everyone in that regard. Okay?” 

You look at him consideringly for a moment. Remus holds your stare, letting you see his certainty. “Okay,” you echo, sounding unsure. He’ll deal with that later, he decides.

“Okay,” he says once more, and it’d almost be firm if it weren’t so gentled by the tenderness he can never seem to get rid of around you. Even so, what he says next doesn’t sound particularly tender. It’s not very kind to you, he knows, but Remus is selfish, and he feels (selfishly) like he’s done his part already. He tries to phrase it as nicely as he can. “Can you tell me what it is that you want, please?” 

You try to shrink again, and Remus’ grip tightens on your wrist instinctually as if to keep you from running off. He swipes his thumb over your skin apologetically. “Remus, come on.” You sound almost upset, but it’s hard to tell with your voice so quiet. “I know I’m not that good at—at covering myself up. I must have hearts in my eyes half the time I look at you.” 

Remus would give a month’s rent to know what you can see in his eyes right now. Even if he’d been hoping for an answer something like that, he hadn’t expected it. And for you to act like it’s been obvious…he does his best to think back. 

You’ve always been a shy thing. It had taken James months to get you to be remotely yourself around them, and though you’d seemed to warm to Remus first, you’d always retained some of your bashfulness when you were alone together. He’d chalked it up to the result of two people, quiet by nature, with no wildly extroverted James or Sirius or Lily to run interference. 

You’ve always been kind to him, but you’re kind to everyone. How is anyone supposed to suspect favoritism from a soul as indiscriminately sweet as yours? 

He recalls your voice last night, thin and reedy and fragile as the cattails that had bordered the river behind his house as a kid. Wary of getting swept along by the current, but willing to go if Remus would take you. Do you want this?

He’d called you oblivious for asking. How could you wonder, when he’d been the one to kiss you and has probably been looking like he wanted to for years? He’s certainly been thinking about it for as long. But perhaps your obliviousness is another congruity between the two of you. 

So much for opposites attract. 

“I think I’m an idiot,” he says, and mercifully, a smile far more real than the last sneaks onto your face. 

“You are not,” you reply, ever forgiving. 

“Don’t tell Sirius,” he warns, “but I really think I am.” His voice drops into a more earnest register. “I had no idea, love, I’m sorry. Maybe you’re a better actress than you thought. But if you don’t want to be friends, I don’t want to either.” Remus hesitates. “Or, I always want to be your friend, just—”

“Remus?” 

Finally. Someone needs to stop him. “Yeah?” 

“Your pancake…”

He turns to find a thin spire of smoke rising from the pan. “Oh, fuck.” He grabs a spatula and quickly flips the pancake, but there’s no saving it. The bottom side is completely blackened. It’s inedible. “Sorry, I…I’m not sure I have enough batter for much more.” 

“It’s fine.” There’s laughter in your tone, and that’s more than enough to make up for it. “It was a really sweet thought, that’s what matters anyway.” 

Remus turns to find you’ve slipped out of your seat and are standing uncertainly on the threshold of the kitchen. His heart warms with incandescent, aching fondness. 

“Would you come here?” he asks. 

You comply with an eagerness he wonders he’s never noticed before, stepping forward to let him fold you into his arms. Your wrists cross over his mid back and the tip of his nose mushes into your hair as he touches his lips to the top of your head. He can’t believe he could have been holding you like this all along if only he hadn’t been so thick. He supposes he’ll have to make the most of it now. 

“Let’s do away with asking about want, does that sound alright?” He rubs lightly between your shoulder blades, wonders if you like the feel of his breath on your scalp. “How about you tell me if anything comes up that you don’t want, and I’ll do the same.”

“Yeah.” Remus knows he likes the feel of your voice on his skin, chin moving against his chest. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

“Good.” He smiles, pressing another kiss to your head. “Okay, should we venture out to find something for breakfast? Or lunch, I suppose it is by now.” 

You ease out of his arms. “I really should go home.” There’s an apology already embedded in your tone, but you add one anyway. “Sorry, but my cat’s been there all night by herself, so…”

“Right.” Remus ignores the dull throb behind his sternum, which is really a bit dramatic. He’ll see you soon, surely. “Yeah, that makes sense. Think you’ll be able to drive?” 

“I mean, I looked outside.” You shrug, backing towards where you’d hung your coat the night before. “The roads here are cleared, which I hope means they’ve gotten to most of them already.” 

“That’s good,” he says, though he feels the opposite. Your poor cat, he’s pitted completely against her now. She’s done nothing to deserve the resentment he’s directing at her, almost petulant in his malcontent. “Good, good.” 

You’re both silent as you put on your shoes, your scarf. It’s not unusual for the two of you, but it lacks its usual easy contentedness. Your eyes flit up as you pull on your new gloves, a silent thanks in them that you know Remus won’t let you voice aloud again. Despite the upset in his chest, he smiles. 

“I…listen, I have to go home,” you tell him, looking down as you wriggle your fingers more snugly into the gloves. “I have to feed my cat. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to…leave.” 

Remus can’t see how that changes anything, but he recognizes it for the olive branch it is. You’re both so uncertain, and you’re trying to alleviate his worries about what you leaving right now means. He can return the favor. 

“I don’t want you to leave either,” he says, “but I get it. She seems important to you, best to keep her well.” 

“Exactly.” You smile, relieved. “But I mean, if you’re not doing anything, you could come meet her? We could pick up breakfast on the way. Or I could make you something there.” 

Remus can’t believe his luck. And, once again, his stupidity in not getting there himself. Why is it that all of a sudden, everything that has to do with you seems so absurdly difficult? At least one of you is thinking clearly. 

“Yeah, that would be fantastic.” He’s grinning hugely, totally unlike him but liking it very much. “Let me grab my coat.” 

“Wait.” There’s a newly familiar breathless quality to your voice, and when Remus turns you’re already coming forward to meet him. Your palm slides against the stubble along his jaw as you stretch your neck, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “There,” you say, timidity shrouded beneath a good layer of happiness, “now we’re even.” 

Remus laughs, loud and startled. He wants to be generous with you, he really does, but he still thinks you’re far from even. “I’m not sure about that, sweetheart,” he says warmly, pressing a brief kiss to the corner of your eyebrow, “but we'll get there.” 

♡ㅤׄㅤִㅤ ୨୧ imagine ellie giving whiny!pillowprincess!reader backshots while you’re wearing nothing but her hoodie on… gosh.

your face would be pressed so deep into the pillows to the point you’re practically suffocating. your pouty lips all shiny from drooling, your mouth permanently hanging open as loud mewls and whimpers emitted from within your throat. dainty hands gripping the sheets of the bed tightly in your fists, hooded eyes all wide and rolling back into your skull. you were the definition of absolutely fucked out, and man was it a fucking sight to the freckled face girl drilling you from behind.

her fake cock pounding into you with no mercy whatsoever, her veiny strong hands gripping your hips with vigor. her hips slapping into the plush skin of your ass harshly, causing an obscene slapping sound to echo loudly around the perimeter of the bedroom. let’s not forgot the sound of her cock pounding into your wrecked, soaked cunt. gosh you were so wet, it was almost fucking insane to ellie. a white ring forming around the base of her strap, the sight of your pussy taking her would’ve been enough to make her cum alone.

your back arched so deliciously, ass all the way up in the air with the help of your girlfriend cause without her you would’ve folded a long ass time ago. you looked so pretty in this moment, jus getting fucked all stupid wearing nothing but her grey hoodie. ellie was convinced she never seen anything as perfect as you. she couldn’t even believe you were real.

by the way ellie was grunting and lowly moaning so much you would’ve thought she could actually feel herself fucking you. she was just in a complete daze at the whole thing, it was so fucking hot. she couldn’t help herself but to slap at your ass, rapid spanks landing at the expanse of your now bruising cheeks. the sound of your squeals making her thrust impossibly fastening.

“f— hnngh. el-l” you were so dizzy, your head felt like it was spinning around in fucking circles. unable to comprehend how good you were getting fucked. it was truly something so unimaginable. you faintly hear the laughter coming from the toned girl behind you, her emotive green irises watching your features intently.

“god, fuckin’ look at you. prettiest fucking girl there is, huh? y’going all dumb on me, babe? hm?” the auburn haired girl tilts her head just slightly. the incoherent babbles that escaped you gave her, her answer. ellie nods with a small smirk, her toned tattooed arm coming up to wrap around your neck; pulling you up to her. her locks all messy in its low bun, random strands of hair coming out her bun, framing her face due to her rough movements. your girlfriend chuckles to herself a bit. cocky little shit.

“yeah? oh i know baby, it’s just too good huh? taking me so deep in that messy little cunt of yours.” she coos, her hand traveling from your neck, down to cup your pussy. her fingers putting pressure and quickly rubbing circles over your sensitive clit. your broken whines were immediate, your hips raising up. trying to scramble away from the pleasure that become too much.

but with ellie hold on you, she quickly caught you and pulled you back flushed against her. she was way stronger than you, keeping you in the position she wants you to be in and making sure you’ll stay that way. her cock felt like it was deeper inside you than it ever was before. ellie grins widely, sending a quick slap to your tender ass. seeing you jolt with a yelp at the impact. “don’t be runnin’ from me, babe.” she grunted, her fingers still torturing your clit, going faster when she hear your chants. “oh—my g-gosh, els. i’mcummingimcumming!”

“thats it, good girl, cum f’me. so goddamn perfect in my hoodie, angel.

the bad shit

billy hargrove x gn!reader

word count: 1,192

warnings: swearing, possible allusions to depression, brief mention of death, a tiny finger injury, comfort

a/n: my brain does not seem to be in a writing mood right now, but i did manage to crank this out. i do enjoy making billy cry, so there’s that. i hope it’s alright! please let me know what you think. i’d really appreciate it. <33

————

Billy’s been fidgety since he woke. 

You hear the soft thud of his boots, muffled against the carpet of your bedroom floor. He makes his way towards you and kisses your forehead, knowing you’re probably too sleepy for a real kiss this early.

He doesn’t tell you how badly he needs one—that his hands are shaking with it. Though he doesn’t need to tell you. 

You’d heard his alarm clock go off, felt him stay in bed longer than usual, glimpsed him rubbing his face on the way to the bathroom. He hadn’t wanted to get up. Not one bit. 

And even though you can feel sleep calling you, feel the way it presses at your eyes, the way the warmth of the bed pulls you in—you sit up. 

Billy’s closer to the door now, but he hears you shuffle, and he’s quick to move back to you. 

“You need to sleep, baby.”

But your hands are already on his cheeks, and then you’re kissing him, shutting him up and telling him you’re right here. And you’ll be right here when he gets home from work. You’ll be a phone call away if he needs you during his shift. 

“I’ll walk you out,” you say, and your tone informs him that there’s no room for arguments.

You hook your fingers in his belt loops as you push off the bed, hoping that this will keep your half-asleep form from slamming into the wall. 

You kiss Billy again on the stoop, even if he is berating you for being barefoot in the cold. You watch him walk to the car, catch the way his fingers fumble with the keys, the way he doesn’t even have it in him to slam the door shut. 

He waves at you from behind the steering wheel.

“I love you,” you mouth, blowing a kiss. He’s quick to catch it in his hand, gesturing so that he’s tucking it away in his pocket for later. He responds just as he always does, but you can tell he’s still sleepy. 

That he’s tired. 

————

You aren’t home when Billy gets back to the house. There’s a note on the counter in your sweet scrawl, telling him that you ran out to pick up dinner. Eating at all had completely slipped his mind. 

Billy’s just having a day. He’d wanted to stay home but couldn’t, and not only has he been fidgety, unable to focus for want of home, of you, but his thoughts are getting the better of him. They’re suffocating. Telling him he’s not good enough for you, that he’s a waste of time—of your time. That he should’ve died like he was supposed to in that fucking mall. 

And he knows it isn’t true. He knows that you loved him before any of that, when he was just being an asshole, when he was just pissed that he’d had to move. And you love him now, even when he has bad days like this. 

But his head. His mind. It tells him otherwise. It fights and it claws and it screams at him. And today he is losing that fight, letting his mind yell and tear at him. 

Billy tries to distract himself and wash the dishes, but he only gets so far before he drops something and almost breaks it, before he cuts his finger on a knife he put in the damn sink. After that he tries to find a band-aid but spills all of them on the floor, and the first one he opens gets stuck on the wrapper and he can’t use it. 

Once he does secure the pink bandage around his pinky, he goes to clean up his mess and hits his head on the counter. He tries to change clothes and trips, gets his belt loop stuck on a drawer handle. 

“God fucking dammit.”

After that one he gives up and throws himself on the kitchen floor, choosing a beer with a pull tab rather than a cap for fear he might actually hurt himself and bleed out.

He hears the sound of you locking your car, the door squeaking when you open it, and he knows he should’ve gotten up to help you, but he just couldn’t. He starts to cry. 

“Billy? Where’s my baby?” 

The sound of your voice causes him to hiccup, and you’re on the floor in front of him in a matter of seconds. 

He’s covering his face with his hands, and you know then that the day must’ve gotten the better of him. 

“Hey, let me see you. It’s okay, honey, I’m right here.”

Billy looks up at you, lashes clumped together with tears, nose red and lips all swollen. He looks so frustrated with himself, so beat, that you ache for him. 

He wishes he was stronger. That he wasn’t breaking down in the middle of the kitchen, but you told him once that it’s okay to have bad days. That you're always going to be there on the worst ones. 

He puts the beer down the moment you hold your arms out, crawling into your lap and burying his face in your chest. You don’t care that he’s heavy or that you’re not entirely sure you’re getting any air in your lungs. You care that he’s letting go and that he’s showing you this vulnerable part of himself. 

Billy cries, he weeps, against you for what seems like forever. But you don’t mind. You only want him to feel better. You rub his back, play with his hair, anything to soothe him just that little bit. 

When he’s finished, when he’s caught his breath, he pulls away. His cheeks are pink and you’re sure he’s berating himself for having just sobbed like that. He’s sitting on his knees, fingers scratching at the freckled skin of his arms. He looks young like this. Lost.

“Was it just a bad day? Or is it the bad shit?” 

That is Billy code for I’m spiraling and I need help. For I’m having a hard time and I can’t do it alone. I don’t know how to say it. 

You established that little code pretty early on in your relationship, knowing it would be helpful in getting Billy to talk about his feelings with you. 

“The bad shit,” he tells you. 

“It’s not true,” you say. “Whatever your head is telling you today, it’s not true. Not today, not ever. You gotta say it for me, okay?”

He gives you the barest shake of his head before he pauses and tries to steel himself so that he can do it. He doesn’t want to let you down. 

“It’s not true.”

You grin at him. “Right. And you’re a badass. And we’re gonna eat dinner, and then we’re gonna talk it out, and then we will lay down. And maybe I’ll scratch your back for you.”

Billy nods. He hates that his breath catches at that, that the offer brings him pure, unadulterated joy. 

“Okay.”

He can do that. He knows he can offer that much. 

Because he is a badass. And he can try for you. For himself. 

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

tagging: @clovermunson

I'm in love with this

Congratulations on your milestone! 😘

Can I request a little Bucky fic with an angsty/fluffy mix?

"Why didn't you say how bad it was?"

"Can I hold your hand?"

❤❤❤

Thanks love! Have a bartender!bucky <3

Pairing: Bartender!Bucky x Artist!Reader

Word Count: 1124

Warnings: minor injury, mention of blood and alcohol, bucky's a sad boy in this for a little bit.

come celebrate with me! || Series Masterlist

The turning of the key in the door had you springing to your feet with a giddy smile. 

Bucky had been working at his bar day in and day out while Natalia was away on vacation. He didn't mind at all, in fact, he told you how he missed serving customers and talking to them all night. You just missed spending so much time with him, but you still got the hours in the early morning when he'd come home and shower with you and love on you and cuddle you. 

You always had mugs for tea ready just in case he wanted one. The towels for your shower together were already warming up in the dryer, and the next episode of your show was set up and ready for when you got into bed.

But when he swung that door open and you saw the exhaustion on his face and the wrap on his hand, your smile fell into a frown of worry. 

"What happened to your hand?" You asked, doing your best to wait a few feet away and give him time to decompress before you enveloped him in your arms. 

He sighed as he shut the door and dropped his keys on the counter. "Just a little cut." 

"Oh, okay. . ." You kept eying the bandage, knowing it had to be worse than that for him to use as much bandage as he did. But you couldn't get a glimpse of any bleed through, so you didn't say anything. "Did you wanna shower together?" 

He gave you a tired smile but shook his head. "Not this time, sugar. You go on ahead, I'm gonna take a minute to relax," He rounded the counter to grab your waist, pulling you in for a peck on the lips, "Today was exhausting and I just need a minute." 

Despite the sudden gnawing in your stomach, you nodded and put on a smile for him, "Okay." 

The whole shower, you couldn't shake the weird sinking feeling in your gut. You knew you didn't do anything wrong, you didn't do anything to upset him. That he just needed some alone time, which was perfectly normal and fine. 

It was just so unusual for him to not want to join you. For him to not be all over you the second he walked in the door. 

There just had to be more to it.

And your suspicions were proven correct when you walked out of the bathroom. 

You were patting off the moisture on your face when you walked out and froze. Bucky was seated at the table. A bottle of liquor - no glass, paper towels, bandages, and a bowl sat on the wooden surface next to him. He was hunched over his hand, tweezers in his uninjured fingers and a look of concentration on his face. 

You waited until he wasn't poking his skin with the tweezers to step into his bubble, kneeling in front of him and reaching for his hand. "Can I hold your hand?" 

You waited with your hand open, giving him a small smile when he looked at you. When he placed his hand in yours you gingerly pried his fingers open. He unfolded his fingers so you could see the damage and you gasped. The palm of his hand was sliced to hell, glass shards stuck in his skin and blood dripped from his fingertips. 

"Why didn't you say how bad it was?" You asked, looking up at him. His eyes were avoiding yours as he let you gingerly hold his hand. "Bucky." 

He glanced at you, and you could see there was something else wrong. His mood wasn't due to his injury, but you also knew he wasn't going to spill it right away either. 

So, you sighed as you settled on to your knees in front of him before reaching to take the tweezers from him. He unfolded his fingers so you could see the damage and you gasped. The palm of his hand was sliced to hell, glass shards stuck in his skin and blood dripped from his fingertips. 

You covered your legs and the floor in your towel, catching the crimson droplets as you got to work removing the glass as gently as you could. After a moment, you peaked up at him to see him take a swig of his whiskey. 

"Are you gonna tell me how this happened?" You asked, setting the tweezers aside and reaching for the antiseptic. He hissed as you cleaned his hand, but cleared his throat, ready to answer. 

"My hands just aren't. . ." he trailed off, sniffing as he sat up straighter, "My hands just don't work the way they used to, I guess. Was just trying to make a drink and I don't know what happened. The glass broke against the ice. I don't know if I just didn't have a good hold on it, or what." 

You finished wrapping his hand back up, "Well, I don't think you need stitches, but it's gonna hurt for a while." 

"Yeah, I kind of figured," he scoffed at himself, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "Here's to getting old." There it was. 

You knew he'd been growing insecure in his age for awhile, and that it'd been getting worse. But he didn't talk about it often and you never wanted to seem pushy asking about it. Now, you knew you should've asked, and he knew he should've come to you. 

"Sorry," He muttered, "We don't need to talk about this right now, it's late, I'm sure you're tired." 

You pulled yourself up from the floor, wrapping the towel up and placing it on the table to be dealt with later. Perching on his knee, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into your chest, resting your chin on the top of his head as his arms wound around you in a death grip. 

"I think you're perfect," You muttered into his hair before kissing the crown of his head, "If your hands hurt or they shake, just let me hold them. Teach me how to bartend, I'll make drinks while Nat's gone. Hell, maybe I'll even keep it as a part time thing, what do you think?" 

He pulled back from your chest, "Oh, Sugar. What about your art?" 

You giggled at him, "I can do my art during the day silly. And on my days off." You brushed his hair off his forehead, "Plus I need an income while I wait for commissions." 

He chuckled at you as he shook his head, "Alright, alright." He placed a kiss to your sternum before resting his cheek against your skin again, "Tomorrow, but right now I just wanna hold you."