ᴏꜰꜰɪᴄᴇ ꜰʀᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇꜱ ᴀᴜ ✦ ᴊᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ

TOO GOOD TO BE FAKE: CHAPTER 4

JAMES POTTER X F!READER

hello hello again!! this is part 4 (!!) of my james potter fake dating series. oh my wordddd do these two have it bad 🥹 i'm having sooooo much fun writing this, it's mostly done by now i'm just refining little bits and pieces. i'm also aware i can use a lot of the same words again so i apologize for that. anyways i hope you enjoy!!! xoxo sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 2012

prev in series:

1: This Is Going to Be a Problem

2: That Wasn't a No

3: Fake It 'Til You Make It

4: That’s New

— 1 —

I should have known this would happen.

A week—or maybe two—has passed, and somehow, this strange, impossible arrangement has settled into something almost routine. People still notice. They still watch. But the whispers have changed. Less sharp, less scandalized. Now, they sound more like admiration, laced with something close to adoration.

"They’re actually kind of cute." "Did you see how he looked at her yesterday?" "Merlin, I think I believe it."

I don’t scan the room like I used to, searching for stray glances or hushed gossip. My eyes naturally glide to the Gryffindor table, the usual spot where four boys are chatting raucously. And, unable to focus on anything else, I focus on James.

He’s already there, draped across his usual spot like he owns the very air around him, a laugh spilling from his lips at something Sirius just said. There’s a looseness to him, a careless sprawl that makes my fingers twitch with irritation. Because of course he isn’t fazed. He was built for this—the way people track his every movement, drawn in without even meaning to be. He soaks it up like it’s his birthright, as if the entire room is simply bending to accommodate him, orbiting around his gravity.

Meanwhile, I’m fighting to keep planting one foot in front of the other.

And yet, as if feeling my eyes on him, James turns—and the second he sees me, his entire demeanor shifts.

The dazzling grin stretches wider. His eyes brighten in delight, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. And then, because he’s insufferable, he lifts his hand in greeting—fingers wiggling, smirk widening.

“Morning, baby!”

It’s loud enough for people to hear.

I swear I hear someone gasp.

Alice, walking beside me, chokes back a laugh. Jade just mutters, “Unbelievable.”

But then I spot Simon, sitting just a few tables away. His posture is stiff, his hands clenching his goblet a little too tightly. He’s looking at me. Or rather—at James.

And suddenly, I don’t care anymore.

Before I can think better of it, I move toward James, and the smile on my face doesn’t feel so forced.

— 2 —

I sit down, and James immediately moves closer. He doesn’t hesitate. He throws an arm over my shoulders, the weight of it easy, natural, like he’s done it a hundred times before.

I don’t know why that makes my stomach flip.

I expect him to say something smug, something loud and theatrical to make the whispers grow, but instead—he lowers his voice.

“Was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

I freeze for half a second—just long enough for him to notice.

It’s different. The teasing intonation is still there, but his timbre is quieter, softer, meant just for me. Not for the show, not for the audience. Just for me.

I recover quickly, reaching for my goblet. “I almost didn’t.”

James hums, fingers drumming idly against my shoulder. He glances at Lily—just for a moment, just long enough to see if she’s looking. I should feel triumphant. The plan is working. But the moment stretches too long, his gaze lingering, and something distasteful coils in my stomach when I glance at Lily, too.

He’s still looking at her, but when he speaks, he’s only talking to me.

“That would’ve been a shame.”

I don’t respond immediately. I can’t.

Because he leans in, just slightly, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he finishes—"I would’ve missed you."

I don’t stiffen. I don’t freeze. Instead, I react exactly the way I’m supposed to—like this is normal, like we do this all the time. A slow, easy smile tugs at my lips, and I let out a breathy little laugh, tipping my head just enough to brush against his.

"Good thing I showed up, then," I murmur, voice smooth, effortless, the perfect counter to his. Commitment to the bit.

It’s a performance, it has to be. But it’s too easy, too natural, the kind of rhythm we shouldn’t have mastered so quickly. It doesn’t feel like a role. It feels real. And judging by the way James’ fingers falter slightly against my shoulder, he feels it too.

Across the table, Sirius’ smirk falters.

"Well," he says, tilting his head, too perceptive for my liking. "That’s new."

James leans back, grinning again, too quick, too easy. “Nothing new about it, mate. Just talking to my girl.”

His girl.

I force a laugh, I force myself to look away, to refocus. But the damage is already done.

Because for the first time, Simon isn’t even in my mind, and James’ flirting feels like it’s not just part of the plan.

And worst of all—for the first time, I think he felt it too.

— 3 —

The corridors are crowded between classes, students weaving between one another, voices overlapping as they rush to their next destinations. I should be doing the same—moving, blending in, not lingering long enough to be noticed.

But then, a body steps into my path, not unlike the feeling when I first collided with James. Only looking up, I see Simon.

I halt, too fast, too obvious.

He smiles, but it’s different. Not amused. Not easy. Just… considering.

“Didn’t think he was your type,” he says slowly.

It takes me a second too long to respond. I blink, my brain working to catch up. "What?"

Simon gestures vaguely, but I already know what he means. James.

I could laugh it off, make some snarky comment, dismiss the way Simon is watching me like he’s actually trying to figure something out.

Instead, my fingers tighten around my books.

"I didn’t think you cared," I reply coolly.

Simon huffs out a short laugh, tilting his head slightly. "I don’t."

Liar.

But before I can push, before I can say anything else, a familiar voice cuts in.

"Alright, sweetheart?"

And just like that, James is there. Not from around the corner. Not catching up. Just… there. Like he knew I’d be standing here, like this is just another part of the routine.

Except it isn’t. We never made walking to class together a rule. And yet—here he is, standing beside me, slipping into the moment effortlessly, like he was always meant to be there.

His arm doesn’t come around my shoulders this time, but his presence is heavy enough to feel. His gaze flickers to Simon, just for a second, assessing.

Simon shifts, just slightly. "We were just talking."

James smiles, too tight, too sharp. "Yeah? About what?"

Simon doesn’t answer, because he knows.

James knows too. His presence is imposing—he knows he’s interrupting, I know it, and Simon definitely knows it. It’s strangely… protective.

I exhale slowly, turning my main attention to James. "Nothing important."

James turns to me then, ignoring Simon entirely, his eyes softening just slightly. "Walk you to class?"

My heart stumbles.

It’s not in the rules. It’s not for an audience. It’s just… him. Asking, sweetly and kindly. I should overthink it. I should question it.

But instead, I only nod, unaware that I’m smiling.

And just like that, I walk away with him.

— 4 —

The library is quiet at this hour.

It’s always quiet, but now it’s the kind of silence that settles into your bones, the kind that makes every movement feel heavier, every breath feel louder than it should. The lanterns flicker, casting long, stretching shadows across the towering shelves. The whole place smells like fresh bundles of parchment and half-empty pots of ink, and for the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe.

Except… I can’t. Not really. Not when I know exactly why I’m here.

I told myself I was coming to study. To clear my head. To force myself back into something normal after a day that has been anything but. I told myself it had nothing to do with him. That it wasn’t about the way my pulse jumped when he showed up beside me earlier, that I wasn’t still thinking about the way Simon looked at us, or the way I had felt when I chose to walk away with James instead.

But lying to myself is getting harder.

The chair across from me scrapes against the floor. I don’t have to look up to know who it is.

James doesn’t belong in the library at this hour—or any hour, really. The last time I saw him with a book in front of him, he was using it as a makeshift pillow. But I feel him settle into the chair, his presence too tangible, too heavy, and just like that, the air shifts.

I should ask him why he’s here. I should question it, tease him, brush it off. But I don’t.

Instead, I just turn the page in front of me and keep my voice steady, even. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you here voluntarily.”

James doesn’t respond right away. I can feel him watching me, the weight of it pressing against my skin, penetrating into all my nerves as if they’re exposed. Then, finally— “I was looking for you.”

I falter.

It’s not what I expected. Not the easy banter, not the teasing. It’s quieter. Too honest.

I turn the page again, even though I haven’t actually read a single word. “Why?”

James leans back slightly, like he’s considering it. “Not sure.”

I finally glance up, and that’s a mistake.

Because the way he’s looking at me—it’s different.

Not smug, not amused, not like he’s trying to prove a point. It’s like he’s trying to figure something out, like he’s looking for an answer in my face that I don’t even have yet. He steps closer, approaching my seat slowly.

There’s a pull—deep, insistent, like gravity shifting just for him.

“You’re staring,” I say lightly, tilting my head. I mean it to be teasing, something to break the tension that’s building too fast, too thick. But my voice isn’t as steady as I want it to be.

James doesn’t look away. “So are you.”

I don’t have a response to that.

Silence stretches between us, thick and humming. The lanterns flicker again, casting shadows that move over the sharp angles of his face, and Merlin, I should say something. I should look away.

But I don’t.

Because he’s leaning in. Not much. Just enough.

Just enough that I can feel the space between us getting smaller, smaller, smaller. Just enough that I can see the flicker of something hesitant in his expression, something unsure, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll stop him.

I should.

I should pull away, laugh it off, remind him of what this is supposed to be. But his eyes drop to my mouth and I forget how to breathe.

A heartbeat passes. Two. The air is thick, crackling, waiting.

I blink, snap back to reality, shift slightly in my seat like I just remembered where we are, like I just remembered what we’re doing. My chin drops, I pull back.

James exhales, the spell breaking, the moment slipping through my fingers before I can fully grasp what it was.

He leans back, just enough to make it seem like it never happened at all.

And then—the smile is back. The effortless, easy, practiced one. The one that puts the distance back between us.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he says, voice low, amused. “You almost looked like you wanted to kiss me. ‘S against the rules, y’know.”

So were feelings.

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head, forcing myself to roll my eyes even though my heart is still pounding against my ribs. “In your dreams, Potter.”

His teeth show. “Every night.”

I shove my book at him, because it’s the only thing I can think to do. He laughs, catching it easily, the moment slipping into something safer, something familiar.

Tomorrow, we’ll pretend this didn’t happen. Tomorrow, I’ll tell myself it was nothing.

But right now, I can still feel the ghost of his breath on my lips.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

Next in series: 5: Too Good To Be Fake (UPCOMING)

series page linked HERE

hell yeah

miguel masterlist ✩

NSFW

✩ smut drabble (18+)

Synopsis: “Oh come on, don’t be shy. Let me hear how good you feel, hm?” His grip on your waist doesn’t falter, no matter how hard you try to move your hips and bounce on him.

✩ miguel x fiancé smut (18+)

Synopsis: incoming, posting in 2 hours

✩ miguel x gn! reader smut (18+)

Synopsis: incoming

✩ wedding night husband!miguel x wife!reader smut (18+)

Synopsis: incoming!

i think this screenshot is a sign to post chapter 10 (😘)

I think you're right👀👀👀

Pink Pastels Pt 10

Description: Your rooftop rendezvous with Spiderman. NSFW content below the cut

“He phrased it all wrong, good girls don’t suck dick, they take cock.” Miguel says it slowly, and seductively, watching as your breathing hitches, your heart rate speeds up, and your body temperature rises.

“Yeah?” You ask, half breathless, your hand settling on the blanket right next to his knee.

He nods, twirling a lock of your hair around his finger. “Yeah, they look all pretty, and take all the pleasure you can give them, until they’re a beautiful, babbling mess.”

“O-oh…” Your face is adorable, eyes looking anywhere but his masked face.

“Look at me.” He orders, lightly, not to scare you, never to scare you.

Your eyes flicker to his, and he preens under your gaze, his free hand wrapping around your waist, fingers splayed across your clothed skin. “Good girl.”

He sees you rub your thighs together ever so slightly, and it drives him wild. He can’t fuck you, you have a boyfriend, and you don’t even know it’s Miguel under the mask, it wouldn’t be the same. But he does have another idea.

He trails his hands down your body, watching your face for any signs of fear.

“What else did he phrase wrong?” You ask with an adorable nervousness coloring your tone.

He can tell you want him, not just because his suit is giving him your bio signs, but by the way you inhale, and the way you lean towards him, hanging onto his every word.

He brushes a thumb over your lips. “How long has it been since he’s tasted you?” You avert your eyes, and he lightly taps your cheek with his forefinger. “Don’t turn from me Querida, I want to see those pretty eyes.”

You do as he says, and he hums in satisfaction, moving his hand to cup your face, thumb still resting on the center of your lips.

“So long, Spiderman.” You breathe, your lips moving against his thumb.

“Corazón.” He says, “not Spiderman, not now.”

You repeat the word after him, a little clumsily, but the sound of it makes him hide his face in your neck, his fangs begging to break through and claim you.

“It’s been so long, corazón.” You say, once he raises his head.

“Allow me to repent for his sins, then.”

Your eyes are wide, lips parting in surprise when his hands leave your face to grasp your thighs, pulling you forward, the bottom half of his mask dissolving once he’s lined up with your clothed core.

He’s dreaming, he has to be. You’re there before him, pretty little sundress bunched up around your hips, damp cloth covering that perfect pussy he’s seen night after night in your bathroom mirror.

“Oh Querida, you smell so good.” He presses kisses to your thighs, careful not to do more than nip you, mindful of the venom in his fangs.

“Corazón, please…” Your voice is quiet, but he can smell your arousal, and he rips off your underwear, tracking where it falls, intent on taking it home with him.

And then he feasts, large hands holding your thighs apart, as he devours you, tongue like silk through your folds, moaning at the taste, his lips wrapping around your clit.

You gasp at the feeling, and it goes straight to his cock.

“I don’t—fuck, um, I haven’t really shaved, and you really don’t need to all this for me, I mean Todd told me guys don’t like it when…” You’re nervous, insecure, and it breaks his heart.

He pulls back, pressing soft kisses to your skin before he rests his head on your thigh, giving you a reassuring smile. “It’s okay y/n, let me take care of you, forget what Todd says, focus on me.”

“Yeah, but what about—" You’re cut off by him diving back in, mouthing at your core like a man starved, and your eyes flutter shut.

You taste divine, and he needs more. He locks his arms around your thighs, his hands spread on your soft skin, his nose brushing your clit. “You’re so pretty, Querida, so perfect.”

“Corazón, corazón, I need more, please…” You beg, hands grabbing at his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his suit.

“Anything, mi vida, I’ll give you anything.” He promises, as he plunges his tongue into your entrance, his words vibrate against you, and he moans when your walls clench around him.

“You, corazón, I want you.” You gasp, bucking your hips against his face, smearing your juices over his skin.

He could die like this and be content, but he wants more, he wants to see how desperate he can make you.

“Get on top of me.” He orders, not giving you time to react, instead Miguel holds you up with one arm and lies on his back.

He has you facing the street, hands able to find purchase on the ledge, as he pulls you down, the scent of you flooding his senses, your thighs framing his head.

“Spid—” He pulls you down further, seating you fully on top of him, lips and tongue working in tandem to drive you closer and closer to your peak, his suit growing tighter and tighter as you pant and whine above him.

 “Corazón, please, touch me.” Your head is hanging down, he can see the way your eyes are screwed shut, your expression is all he imagined while he watched you pleasure yourself, and now he gets to see it—be the cause of it.

He drinks you in, slipping two fingers in to aid his tongue, and your eyes fly open, locking with his.

You’re so beautiful, truly he thinks you might be an angel, a goddess, a succubus, with the way you begin to ride his face, rutting against his nose, crying his pretend name over and over again.

“You sound so beautiful, mi reina, sing for me.” He pleads, grinding your hips down on him.

Your eyes flutter shut once more. “I—fuck, Miguel, I—”

You’re singing for him. His name slipping from your lips unknowingly, and he loses it, free arm wrapping around your waist, his tongue bullying your clit, his fingers finding that spot within you, in a record time, he applauds himself for that, and curls against it mercilessly, a punishing pace that has you screaming.

“Miguel, I can’t, it’s too much, Miguel—” Your words are resistant, but you grind down on him, making no attempts to escape him.

“Lo siento, querida, no puedo parar, no puedo. Sabes demasiado buena” He strokes the clothed skin of your back to comfort you, his words muffled by your pleading. Trsl: I’m sorry, sweetheart/my dear, I can’t stop, I can’t. You taste too good.

Then you crash, your muscles tightening, hips moving wildly, and then you go boneless and Miguel slides from under you, wrapping his lips around his fingers and savoring the taste.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—I’m so embarrassed, that isn’t even your name and—”

He tilts your chin up, and presses his thumb to your lips, like a vixen you part them unconsciously, and he groans, his cock aching. “No apology needed; I understand.”

“No but really I—”

“Y/N.” He warns playfully, the lower half of his masks reappearing.

You fall silent, and he feels a slow curl of lust. How obedient could you be? If he stayed to find out, he’d fuck you on this dirty roof, and he refused to debase you in such a way.

“Good girl, now go inside and get some rest.” Then he stands and swings away, desperate to find a quiet corner and take care of himself, your ripped underwear tucked safely away.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies

Second to None

summary : you may be Percy's girlfriend, but not his first choice.

word count : 0.9k

type : imagines

pairing/s : Percy Jackson x Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson x Daughter of Hades! Reader.

warning/s: angst lol, and a little cliche. never settle for fucking less, guys.

here's my masterlist!

Note : I'm not against Percabeth, just so you know. Or Annabeth, I think she's a badass. I just thought of this and I was like "Damn, did I just hurt myself?" Blue aesthetic since the color represents sadness. It will have a Part 2.

You knew what you were signing up for when Percy Jackson asked you out.

You fell in love with him despite knowing the risks.

The constant danger, the relentless quests, the whispered rumors, the pointed stares whenever you were together— none of it was enough to scare you away. He was the great hero of Olympus, the son of Poseidon who had saved the world twice and continued to do so. Of course, people talked.

And you could handle all of it.

All of it— except one thing.

Annabeth Chase.

You were new to Camp Half-Blood, but not naïve.

You knew, the moment you agreed to be his, that you were stepping into a love story written long before you came along. You weren’t a new chapter. You were just a footnote, scribbled in the margins, fighting for space in a tale that was never yours to begin with.

Even your own brother, Nico di Angelo, had warned you. Everyone did.

They had seen Percy and Annabeth’s story unfold— the rivals turned partners, the friends turned lovers, the two who walked through literal hell together and survived. The kind of love even the gods envied.

"It will only end in heartbreak."

But you ignored them all. Because when Percy pulled you into a fierce kiss after winning a game, when he whispered sweet nothings as you lay beside him, when he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world— it was easy to pretend.

Pretend you didn’t notice the silver owl pendant he kept hidden under his shirt.

Pretend you didn’t see the way his sea-green eyes softened at the mere mention of her name.

Pretend you didn’t feel the hesitation in his touch whenever she was near, or the way he always seemed to be waiting— for something, or someone.

Forget that you were never meant to be his forever. That you were just the one keeping his heart warm until she wanted it back.

And yet, you knew Percy loved you. Maybe not in the way he loves her, maybe not in the way you deserve, but in the only way he knew how.

You never doubted your own worth before. You were the daughter of Hades, powerful in your own right, admired, desired. But with Percy, doubt bloomed inside you like a slow-growing poison.

And you loathed it.

Loving Percy Jackson is your greatest blessing. And your greatest curse.

Annabeth never tried to take him back— not outright.

She didn’t need to.

She moved like the strategist she was— calculated, deliberate, patient. Weaving herself into his life in ways you couldn’t contest.

Inside jokes only they understood.

Touches that lingered just a second too long.

Shared memories and unfinished dreams that whispered, This isn’t over.

She never crossed a line.

She never had to.

Because she was Annabeth Chase. His first love. His best friend. The one who had built a world with him long before you ever arrived.

You were the outsider.

Because Annabeth never really lost Percy.

She had simply let go.

And Percy? He had never truly moved on.

So, you waited for the inevitable. Like an inmate on death row, counting down the days.

Maybe you were still hoping. Hoping he’d look at you and finally see you, not her shadow. Hoping he’d realize that you were the one here, standing beside him, loving him— not better, but differently.

Or maybe you were just a fool who enjoyed her own suffering.

Or an addict who couldn’t let go of her drug, even as it destroyed her.

Then one night, walking through the woods, finding solace in the quiet and darkness, you heard them.

Percy and Annabeth. Sitting on a log beneath the stars, wrapped in the weight of a history you could never rewrite.

"Do you ever think of what could’ve been?" She whispered.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"All the time." Percy admitted, after a long silence. "Annabeth, you know I’ll always—"

She moved closer. Too close. Her fingers brushed against his wrist, and you felt the chill of inevitability run down your spine.

"If I asked for a second chance..." She breathed. "Would you give it?"

You braced for the pain of hearing him say yes, for the final dagger to be driven into your heart.

But he hesitated.

Perseus Jackson, who never think twice in the face of death, hesitated.

But Annabeth didn’t.

Before he could answer, she leaned in, claiming a kiss that had always been hers. Her arms wrapped around his neck like they belonged there.

"Choose me, Percy." She whispered against his lips. "You know it’s always been me. Be with me again."

You turned away before he could kiss her back.

You didn’t need to hear his answer.

You already knew it.

Shadow-traveling to your cabin, you threw a few things into a bag. Nico wasn’t there— probably off with Will— and you were grateful. You weren’t in the mood for questions.

You couldn’t stay long enough for Percy to look at you with guilt-ridden eyes and tell you what you already know.

So you left a note on his nightstand.

"I wish you and Annabeth the best. Don’t let her go this time."

Some might call you a coward for walking away.

But you didn’t care.

Percy had made his choice.

And now, you had made yours.

Pedro Pascal with Chicken Little 🐔

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After I saw that interview with him being compared to chicken little I cant help but draw them 😆