#The Bollock Brothers

[possible-streetwear]

[weirdlookindog]

The Bollock Brothers - Mistress of the Macabre

[saints-who-never-existed]

I've been thinking today about Jopson's anger or, rather, the lack thereof.

He has just as much right as anyone else - maybe even more - to feel anger and resentment in response to the hardships he's faced. But I don't know that we ever really get to see it all that much and I find that interesting yet strange?

It's not that we don't see strong emotion from Jopson.

We catch a glimpse of him scrapping with fellow seamen after Silna's kidnapping, share his exquisite pain as he recounts the tale of his mother, see him looking down his nose at Hickey and admonishing Little/Le Vesconte when they propose leaving the sick behind.

But I don't think any of those emotions can really be classed as anger and even if they could, it always seems to come in response to external stimuli, not necessarily from within?

[draculaugust]

PSA TO ALL MUSICIANS:

if you are going to put moaning sounds in your song. YOU BETTER KNOW WHAT YOURE DOING!! the amount of songs i know that are ruined by dumb horny moans in the intro or intro or whatever is waaaaay more than there should be

[madridfangirl]

Cricket with the Bellinghams

(Jude & Jobe Bellingham blurb)

'Should we ask her to play as well?’

Jobe asked Jude while nodding in Ananya’s direction. Jude finished setting up the wickets, then turned around to look at his girlfriend who was currently pacing around the living room while on a serious work call. On a Sunday afternoon.

‘She might go all can’t you see I’m dying out here and what makes you think I have time to spare for playing?’

Jobe nodded in support of his brother.

‘Yeah she shooed me away 10 mins ago for breathing too loudly around her.’

‘Exactly. On the other hand, she might go all feminist if we don’t ask her and be like so you assumed I can’t / won’t play just coz I’m a girl?’

Jobe nodded again.

‘Yup, can see that too. What do we do then?’

‘You ask her. She’s sweeter to you.’

‘Oh bollocks. You scared of your girlfriend bro?’

‘Talking about me?’

Both brothers jumped to find her standing right behind them. How did they not hear her come in to the yard at all?

Jude was a little tongue-tied wondering how much she had heard so Jobe decided to take the reins.

‘Just wanted to ask if you’d like to play cricket with us. If your work is done I mean.’

‘Oh it’s not done. It’s never going to be done till I burn that place down. Might as well play a bit.’

Jude scanned her closely - it didn’t look like she had heard much at all. He smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

‘Wanna bat first?’

‘Sure. Gonna beat your sorry ass with it.’

Jude’s arm dropped from around her, as did his smile, while Jobe giggled behind the stumps. He could already tell this was going to go places.

‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard me.’

‘You know Jobe and I used to play cricket in school right?’

‘And I’ve grown up watching it. What’s your point?’

While Jude was always fiercely competitive, he knew she was a demonic warrior when she wanted to be. This clearly seemed like that day. He still ranked himself far higher in skill, so he knew it would end the way he wanted it to.

‘Game on then.’

‘Yup.’

‘Not gonna go easy on you dove.’

‘Didn’t ask you to.’

Jobe looked between the two of them, wondering how a light fun-filled afternoon had completely turned on its head. What he didn’t know was that the couple had been arguing over small small things all weekend. The kind of fights where you won’t even know half way in what it really was about or where it started from. So what was happening right now didn’t just originate out of nowhere.

Jude counted the steps of his lineup and got in position. Though he had said no mercy, he still decided to bowl slow, just short of out and out underarm. Even with that he was sure he’d beat her. But at least it would look like a contest then.

He bowled the first delivery. She had all the time in the world to step out of her crease, catch the ball mid -air and hit it into the outfield.

It took Jude two seconds to process what he just saw, after which he chased the ball. By then she had taken two runs. Jobe hooted from behind the stumps, patting her on the back.

All mercy went out of the window then. Jude took a proper run and swung his arm fully for the next delivery. The pace of the ball and short length of this make-shift pitch made the ball go over her head for a bouncer.

She gaped and looked at him in horror.

‘That could have hit me.’

‘Please, that would have gone over Jobe as well.’

‘Tryna show off? Or intimidate me?’

‘Just taking the game seriously.’

He shrugged nonchalantly, which annoyed her even more.

‘Good to know there are a few things you still take seriously.’

‘Wait what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Just go back and bowl.’

‘Don’t mind if I do.’

Jobe wondered if he should leave them alone and let them sort out whatever the hell was going on here. But both would have given him dirty looks if he even mentioned that. So he stayed shut.

The next ball whipped past her shoulder. Jude just looked her up and down, before walking back for his run-up. The unabashed cockiness pissing her off. He had done that consistently last few days - just setting her off with this air about him.

Next ball came. Straight on her legs. She swung the bat with all her might but couldn’t connect it properly and the ball grazed her front leg.

‘OUT. That’s an LBW.’

‘Nope. That was a no ball.’

‘No it wasn’t. I was way behind my line.’

‘Rubbish. I could see from here it was a no ball.’

‘Jobe?’

Jobe looked between the piercing eyes of both.

‘Yeah I’m not touching that with a barge pole.’

‘Coward.’

They said together, then looked at each other to acknowledge their telepathic connection, corners of their lips threatening to twitch with a smile. But the game was still on and neither was ready to give in.

However, Jobe decided to call it quits and said his goodbye after making some lame excuse. He would rather vegetate in bed than be the go between for this sparring hot headed pair.

‘One final ball. If I get you out I win. If you score even 1 run you win. Else it’s a draw. Deal?’

‘Deal.’

Jude weighed his options. Anything above her torso would be risky, she wasn’t good with ducking or swaying in time. But blocking she was quite adept at, from what he had seen just now, so a clean bowled or LBW targeting the stumps would be the way to go.

He stood on his mark. Before starting his run-up, he gave her a final look, almost giving her the window to back out. But she was a woman on a mission today. To humble his sorry ass. No matter what it took.

He bowled the final delivery. It was on target. Right on her front leg. She tried to block well, just like he had predicted. But it was a straight LBW. Clear as day.

However, celebrating was the last thing on Jude’s mind because in her rapid attempt to block, the ball deflected off the edge and hit her on her index finger.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t make any sound. But the bat dropped from her hand immediately and she turned around, holding her finger tightly.

Jude ran to her and was in front of her in a few seconds.

‘Show me.’

It wasn’t a request. He didn’t leave any room for her to be a sore loser & act out. Instead, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her other hand away to take a good look at the finger.

Then, he moved it a little bit and on one particular angle she cried out in pain.

‘Sorry, had to check for a fracture. But it’s just a sprain. Wait here.’

Again, it wasn’t a request. Jude came back in record time with a first aid kit and a pack of ice. He applied a quick ointment to soothe the nerves, then covered her finger with an ice pack, keeping it there for 2 mins sharp.

‘Try moving it now.’

She did. And just like that the pain was gone.

She looked up at his concerned face with a half-smile.

‘All good.’

Jude stood there motionless for two seconds. She wondered if he had even heard her.

But then he grabbed her arms and pulled her in for a crushing hug, kissing her head and face all over.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry baby.’

‘It’s fine it was just a sprain and it’s not your fault.’

‘Ofcourse it’s my fault. I hurt you.’

‘Jude, it was an accident.’

‘You got hurt because of me.’

‘Jude, it’s fin…’

He grabbed her face, tilted it up and kissed her like his life depended on it. Her hands came up to his biceps for support.

‘Are you mad at me? And I’m not talking about just now.’

‘No. I mean, I don’t know.’

‘I don’t like us snapping at each other like this. It sucks.’

‘I know baby. It’s just…I don’t know….maybe it’s work…it’s just been super crazy and…..’

‘And sometimes I can be a lot to deal with yeah?’

He looked at her so earnestly that she couldn’t keep herself from giving him a genuine smile.

‘Sometimes. But I know I can be difficult too and it’s just……’

‘Shhhhh it’s ok, it’s fine.’

He pulled her close again, peppering kisses over the top of her head.

‘I know just the thing to let out some frustration.’

‘If you’re talking about sex you can stop talking. I’m still irritated.’

‘Actually that’s an even better idea. But what I had in mind was more like a punching bag. Have one in the gym.'

'That....is a surprisingly brilliant idea.'

He shrugged cockily, and she rolled her eyes at him.

'Wanna give it a go, then? Can show you some punches.'

'Yes pls. Maybe we can make it a thing. I sure might.'

'So long as you don't imagine my face while punching the bag it's cool.'

'We gotta do what we gotta do.'

With that, she turned around and walked back into the house. While Jude stood there a bit, staring after her. She was full of surprises, never a dull moment with her. And Jude loved it all.

...............................................................

Was missing my babies so literally wrote this in 30 mins. Hope you like it :)

[thollandsgirl2013]

Idea - the reader and her pranking tom by asking haz and tuwaine and Harry to talk shit about her and he's like wtf

I love your writing so much btw!!

Thank you so much! Hope you enjoy.

-----------------®©®©®©®©---------------

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐑𝐮𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐌𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧?

Parings → Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings → Prank, Mild Swearing, Teasing

Summary → You decide to prank Tom by having Haz, Tuwaine, and Harry talk badly about you while you try to join their game. Tom's reaction? Priceless.

You were curled up next to Tom on the couch, watching as he and the boys played FIFA, their usual mix of smack talk and intense focus filling the room. Tom was completely in the zone, eyebrows furrowed, tongue peeking out as he expertly maneuvered his player across the screen.

You leaned in, chin resting on his shoulder. “Can I play next round?”

Tom didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, sure, love.”

But before you could even grab a controller, Haz groaned. “Ugh, mate, no way.”

Tuwaine shook his head. “Yeah, Tom, why are you letting her play? She’s awful at this game.”

Your lips twitched. Here we go.

Tom barely reacted at first, eyes still focused on the game. “That’s not true, she’s decent.”

Harry snorted. “Decent? Be real, mate. She just mashes buttons and hopes for the best.”

Haz sighed dramatically. “I really don’t get how you’re still with her sometimes.”

Tom’s hands froze on the controller. The entire room suddenly felt heavier.

“What?” His voice was quiet, but the shift in tone was dangerous.

Tuwaine shrugged, trying to keep a straight face. “I mean, come on, Tom. She’s always being a couch potato—”

“You could do way better,” Harry added casually.

Silence.

Tom finally turned his head, his eyes narrowing at his friends like they’d just insulted his entire existence. “You lot wanna run that by me again?”

Haz cleared his throat, struggling not to laugh. “We’re just saying, mate—”

“No, you’re not just saying,” Tom snapped, putting his controller down. “You’re actually sitting here, in my house, talking shit about my girlfriend?”

His accent got thicker, and you had to press your lips together to stop from laughing.

Tuwaine held up his hands. “Look, man, we’re just being honest—”

“Honest?” Tom scoffed, shaking his head. “Right. So, let me get this straight—you think I should, what? Dump the woman I love because she’s bad at FIFA?”

Harry bit his lip, his shoulders shaking. “I mean…”

“Oh, don’t even,” Tom pointed at him, eyes blazing. “You’re my brother, and you’re chatting this kind of bollocks?”

Haz lost it, bursting into laughter. Tuwaine followed, shaking his head, and Harry let out a snort before covering his face.

Tom blinked. “Wait—”

You finally let out a giggle, covering your mouth.

His eyes darted between you and the boys, realization dawning. “Oh my God, this was a prank?”

You grinned. “Yup.”

Tom groaned, leaning back against the couch, running a hand through his curls. “You absolute menace.”

Haz wheezed. “Mate, you should’ve seen your face.”

“I was this close to kicking you all out,” Tom muttered, still catching his breath.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Aw, my protective boyfriend.”

He sighed, but there was a small smile on his lips. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

Haz smirked. “Yeah, yeah, we get it—you’re obsessed.”

Tom rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

[empress-simps]

Line That Leads To You

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem! Reader AU: Soulmate AU CW: Language, Genre: Angst with a happy ending (don't worry guys) Summary: You make Sirius realize that having a soulmate isn’t all that bad— that he too, will have his happily ever after.

Note: One of my favorite tropes to write, soulmate AUs! Sirius just needs love and affirmation. I love writing for this! Enjoy! Picture is from pinterest, credits to the owner!

You know, Sirius never really believed in those pesky soulmates stuff. It irks him to no end, and makes his head hurt.

The topic makes him snappy, bitter, and it leaves him feeling angry. To whom? The world— the one who’s responsible for everything that has to do with soulmates. He thinks it is a bunch of bollocks. It’s a pathetic little concept that everyone seems to be too invested in.

Sirius would be very much happy to tell you it doesn’t really end with a happily-ever-after.

“I’m telling you, Prongs. It’s just a bunch of crap.” Sirius tells James one time at the drawing room in the Potter Manor. James shakes his head, disagreeing with his best mate.

“It isn’t always like Walburga and Orion, Pads.” James gently tells him, eyes swimming with empathy for Sirius. “Just look at me, Lily and I are together, finally.” Sirius can’t help but scoff, shaking his head in a disagreeing manner.

“That’s because you were already pathetically in love with her before you even knew she was the one, Prongs. Same thing for Lily, but she was quite stubborn trying to deny what she felt about you. You guys are actually made for each other.” James lets out a laugh, the memories resurfacing making a love-struck smile appear on his face (Sirius gave him a disgusted look)

“That’s what soulmates are, Pads. You’re supposed to complete each other, balance the other person out” He pursed his lips and sighed, there’s no way Prongs could understand his opinion on the matter.

Complete each other, huh?

Then can someone give him a reasonable excuse on why his parents broke each other? One descended into madness; the other doesn’t really seem to care as long as the noble house of Black lineage will continue.

Sirius bites his bottom lip, deep in thought as he stares at his pinky, willing the connection to be seen; a red string that was tied into a bow that leads to Merlin-knows-where. It serves as a connection; the string that he and only his soulmate can see whenever they want. He tugs on it curiously, awaiting any reaction with bated breath. He almost scrambled away when he felt the other end also tug it. Sirius was utterly terrified, a shiver crawled up to his system, it’s foreign feeling for the Black’s eldest son. It made everything feel too real. A fact that he desperately tries to deny.

That night, before they returned to Hogwarts as sixth year students was the last time he ever willed to see the annoying little string in his pinky, not caring if his supposed other half was finding him or already found him.

Maybe it had to do with his twisted upbringing. He saw how his father cut the string tying him to their mother, the purple string that bound them together turning gray and withering away.

He saw how Regulus flinched, no one should’ve seen a scene like that, but they did. Someone severing their connection to someone who should’ve been with them through better or for worse, the one that fate intended for them. Their life got worse just after that, forcing him to flee and leave his younger brother behind at the deranged hands of Walburga Black.

“You should eat more, Reggie.” You turned towards the quiet and reserved Slytherin, pushing his plate closer to him, which made him wince. “I am quite full.” You raised a brow “None sense, all you did was sip pumpkin juice so you better do as I say or I’ll tell Evan and Junior.”

“Do you know that you boss people around quite well?” He grumbles, shoving a few spoonsful of dinner in his mouth as you hummed in approval, cracking a small smile. “I was told.” Your eyes flickered to the Gryffindor table, it seemed to gravitate you, pulling you in.

Looking down at your pinky, you willed the string to be visible to you. Seeing the red string attached to Sirius Black made your stomach churn; was it butterflies? Unease? You don’t particularly know, having mixed reactions to the string that leads to your other half.

You’ve known for over a year now, keeping it to yourself as you quickly figured out that he wants nothing to do with his soulmate.

“Reggie! Reggie!”

You exclaimed, slapping the poor boy’s arm as he was currently staying in the L/n Manor. He looked in your direction, quite annoyed, he was interrupted reading his book. “I’m reading, Y/n. You know, you should too. It’ll do you some good.” He sassed, trying to find which part he stopped reading. “My soulmate! They tugged the string!” You gushed, “They must be looking for me too, right?” You asked no one in particular, you can still feel the tingles you felt, how your heartbeat picked up, and how you felt like you were in could nine.

Quite the opposite from what Sirius felt, huh?

You never told him, never planned to. It was quite clear what his views are on the concept of soulmates when you saw him snogging different girls every week. It wrecked you; you swore you felt your heart stop beating every time you see him loving a girl other than you even just for a week. It sounds stupid and all, but you would give up everything just to know what it feels like; how he will look at you with love and adoration in his eyes, how his touch and kisses would linger on your body, and how his voice would sound like as his breath fans in your ear, whispering promises of love.

You looked at him from the Slytherin table; so close yet so far.

Regulus noticed, the all too familiar broken look in your face. His heart hurts for you, even if you do not tell him, he already knows. Seeing his brother’s indifference, Regulus’s gaze hardened. How could he have the guts to do this to his soulmate?

The memory of their mother's despair, the way she withered away after their father severed the bond, was etched into his mind. Regulus does not wish for anyone to feel that way, he does not wish upon it even in his worst enemies.

It was a pain no one should endure, a lesson that should have been learned.

Yet there sat his brother, laughing with his friends and willfully ignoring the pulls of his heart. The person who held the other end of this unseen tether, was beside Regulus. Your soul ached as you watched your soulmate. It was a betrayal of the heart's deepest connection, and it stirred a tempest of fury within Regulus that he struggled to contain.

“My brother is foolish. Eat.” He states, pushing your food and placing the cornbread on his plate to yours. She cracks a smile, chuckling. “Alright, Reggie. You’re lucky I love you.” You pat his curls, proceeding to eat the bread, smiling a little. Reggie never really shares his food with anyone, except for you. You’re the only exception.

“Padfoot.” Remus starts, looking out of the window as Sirius lays down lazily in his bed, looking at nothing.

“What, Moons?”

“If I say that I have an inkling on who your soulmate is, would you… look for them?” Remus asked cautiously. Peter and James perked up, eyes wide with shock. How could Remus possibly guess who his soulmate is? Unless… They’re also in Hogwarts?

“Don’t start with that crap, Moony.” Sirius sat up; a scowl displayed in his features as his grey eyes turned stormy.

“Don’t you even feel the slightest amount of guilt in your system as you snog other girls?” Remus frowned.

Sirius’s scowl deepened, his hands clenching into fists. “Guilt? For what, Moony? For not wanting to be chained down by some ancient magic?” His voice was a low growl, barely containing the emotions that surged within him. “I won’t be dictated by fate. I make my own choices, and I refuse to be bound by a bond I never asked for.”

Remus’s expression softened, the lines of concern etching deeper into his face. “It’s not about being chained, Pads. It’s about finding someone who complements you, who understands you in ways no one else can.” He paused, his gaze steady and piercing. “You’ve seen what happens when that bond is severed. You’ve seen the pain it causes. Is that what you want for yourself? For your soulmate who’s probably hurting somewhere?”

Sirius looks down, biting his lip and playing with the rings on his fingers. “I don’t plan on severing our bond, Moons- “

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Remus spat, Sirius flinched, looking at anything but them. He knew deep down that Remus was right. He can’t deny he also wants to look for his soulmate. The only thing that was holding him back is that he’s scared. What if your story would end similarly like how Walburga and Orion’s did? Dread fills his system as he reflects on how he slowly realized he’s becoming like his father. Peter and James exchanged a glance, the weight of the conversation settling heavily upon them.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of finding her… Scared of repeating the same mistakes.” He paused, his gaze lifting to meet Remus’s. “But you’re right. I can’t keep running from this. It’s not fair to them, and it’s not fair to me.”

James offered a supportive smile, feeling happy for his friend. Sirius stood up, his posture straightening as if shedding the weight of his fears. “I’ll do it. I’ll find her,” he declared, his voice steady. “I owe it to both of us to at least try.”

“That’s our Padfoot.” Remus breathes a sigh of relief as Peter nods encouragingly at Sirius.

The next daylight soon came. Sirius gulps, looking around the great hall, feeling quite overwhelmed at the number of students entering for breakfast, eating, or chatting amongst themselves. For the first time in a long time, he willed the red string of fate to reappear within his vision.

Ah, there it was. The red string connected to someone from the Slytherin table. Sirius felt his heart drop, seeing the end of the string connected to your pinky. “Y/n?” The name left his lips in a hushed awe, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the string connected to your pinky. You, who laughed with such ease beside Regulus, were the missing piece.

Whether it was some brotherly instinct, Regulus looked at him, shooting him a warning stare as if to say: ‘If you hurt her, you’ll never see the light of day ever again.’

Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise, knowing eyes set on his friend. “Found her, Pads?”

“Yeah. Found her, Moony.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” James chimed in, a grin spreading across his face as Peter silently cheers him on. “Go on, before you lose your nerve.”

Sirius took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of Regulus’s protective stare. It was a silent challenge, a vow to keep your heart safe from his brother. With a nod of acknowledgment, Sirius stepped forward, crossing the small distance between the Gryffindor table and Slytherin.

“Y/n,” he said, standing before you, the red string pulsing with a life of its own.

You stilled, slowly looking in his direction. Eyes wide with surprise, searched his for a moment before softening. “I was wondering when you’d come around,” you teared up, making Sirius’ heart ache.

Sirius extended his hand, the red string wrapping around both your destinies. “Let’s talk, yeah?”

And in that moment, as your fingers intertwined, Sirius knew that whatever the future held, he had made the right choice. For in finding you, he had found a new path that began to unravel, one filled with hope and courage. The buzz of Great Hall continued, but both of them felt time still, feeling the bond weave into their souls deeper.

Sirius’s and Y/n’s story had its flaws, but it was theirs, uniquely woven by the red strings of fate.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 10 - Clench

@wolfstarmicrofic March 10, word count 472

Sirius felt his teeth clench together as he swung his beater’s bat as hard as he could at the oncoming bludger. The resounding crack as the wood came into contact with the black ball was music to his ears. He watched as the bludger was sent soaring across the pitch right at his brother’s head. Regulus had to perform a barrel roll to avoid it and the scowl Sirius got in return for stopping his brother from capturing the golden snitch made his heart soar. 

“Yes, Padfoot!” James cried over the howling wind. Sirius beamed at his best friend and took off after the other bludger, which was attempting to unseat Marlene. 

The game dragged, but Sirius didn’t let up. He hounded Regulus, stopping him at every turn from catching the snitch. It had been James’s idea. Who else could annoy Regulus like Sirius could? 

“Will you just fuck off?!” Regulus hissed at him as Sirius hit another bludger at him. 

“Nope,” Sirius barked out a laugh at him as he flew upside down beneath him. Regulus slapped the handle of his broom and tore off to the other end of the pitch. This would be to his detriment, as while he was attempting to get away from Sirius, the Gryffindor seeker caught the snitch at the other end of the pitch, ending the game and securing a Gryffindor victory. Sirius hurrayed with the rest of the team, descending on their seeker as they flew to the ground. Sirius was exhausted by the time he came out of the showers and got dressed. He was the last one in the changing rooms, having told James and the rest of the team to leave as he needed to work out a knot in his shoulder. He wasn’t all that surprised when the door opened and Remus’s head appeared in the gap. A grin spread across both of their faces as he came in. 

“It looked like Regulus was about to curse your bollocks off,” Remus teased as he pulled Sirius into his arms and stole a kiss. 

“He still might,” Sirius replied, his voice slightly less teasing. Regulus would probably try to hit him with some sort of curse in the next few days. 

“The party’s probably already started,” Remus said, pushing Sirius away from the door and back towards the showers. 

“Yeah? We should probably head back up to the castle then,” Sirius smiled against Remus’s lips. 

“Yeah, we really should,” Remus agreed as he pulled at Sirius’s shirt. 

It didn’t take long before Sirius was undressed again and back under the hot spray of the shower head. Who knew that being on the quidditch team would come with these added benefits? He relaxed into Remus’s arms and let his boyfriend take control, still relishing in the high of winning the match. 

[possible-streetwear]

[myboybreakscoffins]

Rockstar Raccoon

makeup (march 26), @black-brothers-microfic — regulus & sirius black microfic — fluff — word count: 683

“It’s not that I want to miss the opportunity to scratch your face, Sirius,” Regulus muttered, holding the black pencil at eye level as if it were the most absurd object he had ever seen. “And I know you’re not a sane person, but—”

"Shut up, Reggie," Sirius interrupted, sitting on the edge of Regulus’s bed as he finished tying his hair into a messy bun. "Just do it."

Regulus let out a dramatic sigh, shooting one last glance at the eyeliner before leaning in. With one hand, he tilted Sirius’s chin slightly, adjusting to find the most comfortable angle for the task at hand.

"I just don’t understand why anyone would want to paint their eyes with charcoal," he grumbled. "And stay still, will you?"

“You’re the one moving me,” Sirius shot back, unimpressed. “And that’s an eyeliner. It’s called makeup, Reggie. It’s supposed to make us look prettier."

"We’re already pretty enough," Regulus replied flatly, without a shred of modesty. Sirius raised an amused eyebrow at the remark—Regulus wasn’t exactly the type to boast out loud, much less include Sirius in the sentiment.

"Well, yeah, we are," Sirius admitted, smirking, "but you’ll understand if you do it right."

Regulus snorted but kept working, brows furrowed as he grabbed Sirius’s chin and adjusted his angles, occasionally moving his head to compare both sides. Sirius couldn’t help but find it endearing—Regulus could complain and rant all he wanted, but he always gave in to Sirius's requests, and he would put real effort into it.

After a few more strokes, Regulus stepped back, assessing his work. "How do I know if I’m doing it right?"

"I have to look like a rockstar," Sirius declared, brimming with excitement. He could already picture the reactions—everyone staring, drooling.

Regulus frowned. “Then I think I fucked it up.”

Sirius’s eyes snapped open. "What—WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU FUCKED IT UP?" He shot to his feet so fast he nearly crashed into his brother, sprinting toward the mirror. "Merlin’s bollocks!"

Then he froze, staring at his reflection in awe. He looked so…

"I LOOK SO HOT!"

"I think you look like a raccoon," Regulus deadpanned, still holding the eyeliner, now regarding it with satisfaction. "And even stupider than usual.

Sirius ignored him, too busy admiring himself. He looked like a goddamn rockstar. Moony would definitely piss his pants if he saw this. Maybe if he got a camera and convinced Regulus to take a picture, then Prongs could—

Sirius’s face lit up with the unmistakable glint of mischief.

Oh. Or maybe this was the perfect time to be brother of the year.

He spun around suddenly, making Regulus instinctively step back. His younger brother still had the eyeliner in hand, which Sirius swiftly snatched away. "Now it’s your turn," he announced.

Regulus blinked. "Now… what?" The realization hit him a second later, and his face—so similar to Sirius’s—twisted into a look of pure horror. "No!"

And then he ran.

Sirius took off after him, laughing as he chased his brother around the room. Regulus, in his desperate attempt to escape, even abandoned his own strict "no shoes on the bed" rule and leapt onto it.

"Come on, Reggie!" Sirius called, grinning. "You’d look great too!"

"I’d look ridiculous!"

"You wouldn’t. I bet Prongs would drool if he saw you with makeup on."

Regulus skidded to a halt so abruptly that Sirius almost ran into him. His eyes were wide, his curls a mess, and his cheeks burning red.

"Why would Potter…?" He swallowed hard.  "Why would you…?"

Oh, this was priceless. Sirius took advantage of his brother’s momentary breakdown, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him to the nearest seat.

"I promise I’ll do a good job," Sirius assured him, grinning like the devil himself.

Regulus gulped again, sitting down obediently. “If you screw up, I’ll kill you.”

Sirius’s grin only widened as he leaned in, eyeliner poised. "Oh, dear baby brother," he said smugly, "after this, more than one person is going to die of a heart attack—but I assure you, it won’t be either of us."

Part 2: "A Picture Worth a Thousand Gasps" (Remus and James' reaction)

[daddy-issues-galore]

Reminice

90's Noel Gallagher x pregnant!wife!reader

Warnings: 18+ readers, smut, pregnancy sex, oral f-recieving, fingering, swearing, loss of virginity

Chaos. That’s how you would describe Oasis. And loud. Very loud. But you were used to it all.

You’d been friends with the boys since you were kids. Growing up on the same street as them and being a couple of years older than Liam, often meant you got asked to babysit him when he was little. It also meant you were around at the Gallagher house most of the time, which meant you were always around Noel, and although he was a few years older than you, the two of you were quite close. You were one of the few people he genuinely liked having around. He didn’t kick you out of his room or hide his guitar playing from. He’d even let you read over his songs that he’d write. You’d always fancied the pants off him, but you were too shy to ever say anything and just assumed he thought you were a mate that looked after his little brother every now and then.

It wasn’t until he was going off to roadie for ‘Inspiral Carpets’ did things change between you.

----- 1989 -----

A load of your mates had decided to throw a leaving party for Noel the night before he left (it was just an excuse to party and get pissed) and you’d decided to miss it. You weren’t in the mood to celebrate because you selfishly didn’t want Noel to go.

So, at 8pm instead of getting pissed and dancing with your mates, you were sulking on your bed listening to a record Noel had leant you as the rain came down outside, when your telephone began ringing.

“Yeah?” You answered with a huff.

“Meet me at the bench. I’m setting off now from mine.”

“Noel? Why aren’t you at that party?”

“Y/n, just meet me at the bench, will ya’.”

“Aye? It’s pissing it down-" Noel hung up before you could protest further. “Bastard.” You muttered and set about getting your stuff together before setting off to the park.

It wasn’t really a park, just a large grass land that had a broken swing set on it. There was a hill behind the swing set and at the top was a bench that you and Noel sort of claimed as your bench.

With your umbrella in one hand and a torch in the other, you carefully made your way up the hill, the rain only seeming to get worse as you climbed to the top. As you got near the top, you spotted a figure slumped on the bench. You could see it was a floppy haired Noel wearing  a thin coat with no hood, shivering.

“Noel?” You called out as walked towards him.

He looked up to you and nodded, “Alrigh’.” He shifted on the bench so you could sit down beside him.

“You could have picked a better place to meet, ya’ know.” You huffed as you sat down beside him. “’Ere.” You gave him the umbrella to hold since he was a bit taller than you.

Noel slipped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him as you both settled under the umbrella.

“Why aren’t ya’ at the party?” You asked.

“No point if you aint.” He muttered. “Why weren’t you?” He asked.

You sighed and chewed the inside of your cheek. “Dint fancy it.” You shrugged not looking at him.

Noel scoffed, “Fuckin’ liar.”

“Am not.” You argued still refusing to look at him.

“Bollocks. I know when you’re lyin’, Y/n… You can’t look at me.” Noel smirked to himself as you gaped at him. Noel looked down at you with a furrowed brow. “I thought you’d have wanted to see me on me last night ‘ere?”

You nodded, “I did… I do…” You sighed, “I just-” You huffed feeling tears form. “I couldn’t come to that party, Noel… I couldn’t, fake bein’ happy… because I’m selfish… I don’t want ya’ to leave.” You admitted and wiped your tears away. “I’m bein’ so selfish because this is an amazing opportunity for ya’, and I am so proud of ya’. But I’ve never gone a day without speakin’ to you or hearin’ ya’ play your guitar or listenin’ to ya’ and your kid argue… I don’t want to… but I have to.” You cried.

“That settles it then,” Noel sighed.

“What?” You frowned as you wiped your tears away.

“I ain’t goin’.”

“What?” You shook your head, “You have to. You can’t just not go because of me. That’s daft.”

“Knowin’ you won’t be happy without me, would make me unhappy. Your happiness is more important-”

“I am not more important than your own happiness, Noel. You have to go.”

“You make me happy, Y/n.” Noel confessed, “And to be honest, this past week... I’ve been thinkin’… maybe me goin’ was a mistake.” He mumbled the last part as he looked away into the dark.

Noel very rarely shared his feelings and when he did, you were the only one he spoke to about them. You didn’t laugh at him or call him a wimp. You’d offer him a smile and reassure him things would be okay, or you’d find a way to help him.

“Why would you think that?” You frowned up at him.

Noel shrugged, “I… don’t want to leave ya’.”

You sighed heavily, “You can’t let my silly insecurities be the reason you miss out on this. I’ll get over meself eventually, Noel.”

Noel shook his head, “It’s not that. I’ve, sort been thinkin’ the same things as you, I guess. The thought of not seein’ you every day… or, seein’ ya’ little excited grin and giggle you do when you get some new fancy gadget for, ya’ camera,” Noel smiled to himself as he pulled you a little closer into his side. “It’s terrifying… ‘casue I need ya’, love.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked up at him, “You don’t need me, Noel.”

He nodded, “I bloody do, love. You keep me sane.” He chuckled making you smile. “And… well, I love ya’.”

You gasped, taken back by his confession. The sound of the rain hitting the umbrella echoed as you stared up at Noel, your heart racing in your chest. “You, love me?”

Noel nodded, “Always have.”

You’d never expected him to say that to you. You went quiet as you looked away from him, your mind racing. Did he really mean it?

Your long silence filled Noel with regret and worry – you were never quiet for this long. “Y’know what, forget I fuckin’ said anythin’, yeah? I need to get home. ‘Ere.” He said as he practically shoved your umbrella into your chest as he stood up. Before you could react, a gust of wind took it and blew it away from you.

“Wha- Noel.” You jumped up and followed him as he started walking away. “Wait, stop.”

“Just leave it, Y/n.”

“No,” You grabbed his jacket and pulled him back, the pair of you getting drenched by the rain, “I bloody won’t. You can’t just say you love me then bugger off!”

“Why? You want to laugh in my face or somet?” He sulked.

“Of course not.”

“Then what? ‘Cause you weren’t sayin’ anythin’.” He huffed and shook his head. “Look, just drop it. I’ll see ya’ when I get back.” Noel said as he began walking away again.

“Noel Thomas David Gallagher, I swear if you don’t fuckin’ stop, I’ll clip you round the ear, so hard!” Noel stopped but refused to turn back. You huffed and grabbed his arm, pulling him back around to face you. “Dickhead, ya’ can’t just tell me ya’ love me and not expect me to be shocked.”

Noel smiled to himself. He did always love your way with words. “Yeah, sorry.”

You shook your head with a small chuckle, “You mean it?”

Noel nodded, “’Course I do. Yer just ‘bout the only person I can tolerate.” He teased making you giggle. “Ya’ don’t need to say it back. I know me timin’ is awful and that… but, I had to say somethin’. It’s drivin’ me mad… you, drive me mad.” He chuckled.

You rolled your eyes and smiled down at your wet feet. “I do.”

Noel’s brow furrowed, “You do what?”

“Love you… always have.” You smiled shyly as you looked up at him.

Noel broke out into a grin, “Have ya’?” He asked as he stepped closer to you and placed his hands on your hips.

You nodded. “’Course I have.” You smiled softly up at him. “So… ya’ gonna kiss me or what?” You asked making Noel blush.

Noel nodded and ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, can do.”

Your brow furrowed, “Can do? Don’t make it sound like a bloody chore or-”

Noel leaned down and gave your lips a firm kiss, cutting your teasing off. You moaned softly into Noel’s mouth as you slipped your hands up his chest and over his shoulders until you wrapped your arms around his neck.

You pulled back and drew in a deep breath, looking up to Noel with a shy smile. A brief silence settled between the pair of you as you stared at each other, the elephant in the room (or grassland) looming over you.

“You have to go. Ya’ know that, right?” You said to him.

Noel nodded with a heavy sigh, “What about you… and me?”

You let out a heavy sigh, “It’s probably for the best if we, just… leave it.” You shrugged.

Noel’s brow furrowed, “Aye? Don’t you want us to be together?”

You nodded, “But you’re going away, Noel. You don’t need to be tied down when you’re goin’ to be off havin’ fun.”

“Then I won’t go. Easy.”

“Noel, you’re goin’. End of.” You gave him a soft smile. “We can, sort things out when you get back.”

“Come with me then.” Noel blurted out making you smile.

“Can’t can I. Off to uni.” You smiled up at him and brushed his wet hair back from his face. “If we’re meant to be, it’ll happen when the time is right, yeah?”

Noel nodded, “I’d wait for ya’, ya’ know.”

You moved your hands down to cup his face. “Me too, but it wouldn’t be fair on either of us.”

Noel nodded and offered you a weak smile. “I do, love ya’.” He whispered as he pressed his forehead against yours.

You smiled softly, “I love you too.” You gave him a small kiss.

Noel cleared his throat and looked down at his watch, “We can still make it, to that party if ya’ like.”

You shook your head as you chewed the inside of your cheek. “If you don’t mind, can we go home? Me mam and dad ain’t home for the night and I want to give you somethin’, before you leave.” You admitted with a blush.

Noel nodded, “Yeah, okay… Ya’ dint need to get me owt, love.” He smiled.

“It’s somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ you to have for a while.” You blushed.

“Oh?” Noel raised his eyebrow, “And what’s that then?” He asked.

You bit your lip before breaking out into a grin. “My virginity.”

That night as clique as it sounds, you and Noel made love. Early the next morning, the two of you headed back to his so you could help him pack because he’d left everything to last minute like he usually did. Liam wasn’t best pleased to have the pair of you moving about the bedroom making a racket, so much so he went down to sleep on the sofa after calling the two of you cunts. A couple of hours later (at a more reasonable hour), along with everyone else, the two of you said goodbye.

“I’ll call ya’ every day, love.” Noel promised as he held you close in his arms.

“No, you won’t.” You giggled and looked up at him. “Just call when you can.” You smiled up at him.

He nodded with a smile as he reached up and cupped your face. “I love you, Y/n.”

“I love you, too.”

Noel leaned down and kissed you, taking Liam and Peggy by surprise. Let’s just say, the moment Noel had driven off, you were bombarded with questions from the pair of them.

----- 1991 -----

“Where is she?!” Liam paced back and forth outside the pub as he smoked his third cigarette in the past hour.

“She’ll be ‘ere, mate. Y/n, never misses a gig.” Guigsy tried to reassure Liam, hoping to calm him down. The last thing anyone wanted was a pissed off Liam.

“She fuckin’ better not. I’ll never forgive her.” Liam huffed dramatically as he put out his cigarette and went to roll another.

“Oh, stop bein’ a dramatic fucker, would ya’.” You called out to him as you rounded the corner with your camera in hand. “Am not even that late.”

Liam frowned at you. “You said you’d be ‘ere for sound check.”

“Sound check?” You laughed, “Sound like you’re in a proper little band.” You teased making the others chuckle.

“We are a proper band.” Liam argued.

“With a shit name.” You teased.

“Fuck off, will ya’.” Liam snapped at you making you laugh.

“Fuck, your easy to wind up.” You nudged him with your elbow making him push you back as he told you to fuck off. You laughed and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him towards you, “Come ‘ere, William.” You cooed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressed kisses to his cheek. “I’m so proud of my little, Willy-bum.” You kissed his cheek again and again making him screw his face up in disgust.

“Get off!” He shoved you back as the others laughed at the pair of you.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, I haven’t heard you call him that for fuckin’ time.”

You gasped, untangling yourself from Liam and spinning around. “Noel?” You gaped at him in shock. He looked completely different to when he left but the exact same. You couldn’t believe he was there.

He grinned at you, “Alrigh’, love.”

You nodded, unable to form any words.

Liam’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline as he watched you, “Fuckin’ ‘ell. Never seen you speechless.” He laughed and gave you shove closer to Noel, nearly knocking you over.

Noel grabbed a hold of you before you could fall. Liam and the others disappeared backside the pub leaving the two of you behind. Not that either of you noticed, lost in your own little world as you stood together.

Noel smiled down at you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Tell me yer not seein’ anyone.” He whispered.

“And what if I was?” You asked.

Noel shook his head, “I’d still kiss ya’.”

A smile broke out on your lips, “I’m not seein’ anyone… so kiss me all you want.”

Noel’s smile widened before he reached up to hold your face as he leaned down and kissed you. It felt like your first kiss all over again, but this time you didn’t need to worry about running out of time.

You pulled back from each other with matching dopey smiles. “When did you get ba-” “You look fuckin-” The two of you began laughing at each other.

“C’mon, let’s get a drink, yeah?” Noel took your hand and led you inside the pub. The pub was packed, so it was hard to move from one side to the other. Noel pulled you under his arm and kept you close as he led you through the crowd until he found a suitable spot. “Stay ‘ere, love.” Noel pressed a kiss to your cheek before he left you in a quiet corner of the pub and went to tackle to bar.

“Oy!” You heard Liam shout as he walked up to you with a frown, “Don’t let lover boy distract you from your job.”

“Job would imply you’re paying me, Liam.” You rolled your eyes at him but still smiled.

Liam nodded, “And you will be once we’ve made it big.”

“Not with a shit band name, you won’t.” You muttered teasingly.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head with a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be ready. You just focus on your singing, yeah?” You gave his hair a ruffle making him huff and push your hand a way.

“Stop.” He sulked off as you laughed at him. God, you loved winding him up.

“Not missed that mardy bastard.” Noel said with a smirk as he appeared with your drinks.

“Don’t be mean.” You giggled. “And don’t lie.” You smirked at him over the rim of your glass. “You’ve missed him.”

Noel frowned and shook his head, “Piss off.” He took a swig of his drink as he watched you. “I missed you.” He smiled softly. “Those pictures helped.” He winked at you making you blush and look away.

“Oh god,” You giggled. “You better not have shown anyone else ‘em.” You gave him a warning look.

He shook his head with a grin, “Don’t you worry, love. They’re just for me.” He looked towards the ‘stage’ where the band would be playing. “So, what’s this lot like?” He nodded towards the stage.

“Uhm,” You chewed the inside of your cheek as you tried to choose your words wisely. “Well… they’re good at playin’ their instruments.”

Noel began laughing, “Is r’kid that bad?”

You shook your head, “Look, Liam’s voice is… great.” You smiled proudly. “Surprisingly so, actually… it’s his songwriting that’s not…” You winced making Noel laugh. “He needs help.” You smiled softly at him. “They need help, Noel. Someone to write songs…and the music… to lead them…” You stepped closer to him and placed your hand on his chest and began fiddling with the button on his shirt. “They need a Noel.” You whispered as you looked up at him through your lashes.

Noel rolled his eyes, “Are you in on this bollocks?” He huffed.

“They need you Noel.” You pleaded.

He shook his head, “I’m not bein’ their manager.”

You opened your mouth to say something else, but the lights went low, signalling the start of the gig. “I need to get to the front, ya’ comin’?” You asked Noel as you pulled your camera out of your bag.

Noel shook his head, “Nah, I’ll stay ‘ere.” He took your drink from you.

“Party pooper…” You giggled making Noel grin. You reached up and pressed a kiss to his cheek before you quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Noel watched you disappear with a smile on his face. He wasn’t letting you go again.

----- 1999 -----

Noel smiled to himself as he watched you from his sun lounger. You were stood by the pool snapping pictures (like you always were) looking happy and relaxed, something that neither of you had been for what felt like years.

The recent album had been utter chaos to do. Add on top of that the two of you recently finding out that you were expecting your first child together and Liam opening his big gob to an interviewer who was more than happy to spread the news. So, Noel decided as soon as the album was finished, he was whisking you off somewhere warm, preferably with a pool or the sea so he could see you in a bikini. It was one of his favourite sights, especially now that you were pregnant. You looked like a goddess.

“You alrigh’, love?” He asked as you stood in front of him.

You hummed and pressed your left hand to your lower back. Your wedding ring glinting in the sunlight as you did, “Backs hurtin’ a bit.” You scowled.

Noel’s brow furrowed and he shifted on his sun lounger, moving his left leg off onto the floor and patting the spot in front of him. “Come ‘ere.” He held his hand out to you.

You smiled and took his hand, slowly lowering yourself onto the lounger in front of him. You let out a satisfied hum as you settled against Noel’s chest, lifting your legs up onto the sun lounger. Noel wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his hands over your belly as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“We can go back to the room if you like. Or could book you into the SPA.” He said as he placed another soft kiss to your cheek.

You shook your head. “Not in the mood for some stranger rubbin’ their hands all over me.”

Noel smiled to himself. “I could always do it.”

You giggled, “You mean you want to have a grope.”

“I can do that whenever I want, love.” He said as he gave your breast a squeeze making you giggle and swat his hand away. “C’mon, you’ll feel better.” He gave your thigh a soft pat.

“That’s what I said to you the night we created this.” You giggled as you rubbed your bump.

You’d done the maths and worked out the night of conception was after one mega hectic, chaotic, frustrating day of recording in the studio. Liam and Noel had been arguing all day, hardly getting anything of use recorded. Noel was angry and annoyed with Liam, close to calling it quits. You’d taken him back to your shared room in the big house that had been rented to record the most recent album to calm him down – and you really did calm him down.

“Then you know what I’m ‘bout to do.” Noel said with a cheeky grin as he helped you up off the sun lounger.

Ever since finding out you were pregnant; Noel had spent more time worshipping your body (not that he didn’t already) but he’d become obsessed with you. Pregnancy looked good on you.

Noel slowly peeled your clothes from your body, pressing his lips against your sun kissed skin as he did. He gently laid you down on the bed and spread your legs wide. "Fuck," He moaned as he gently ran his lips up the inside of your thigh. He leaned forwards and ran his tongue up the length of your pussy making you moan loudly. Noel worked his tongue up and down, moaning at your taste.

You moaned rolling your eyes back as Noel sucked on your clit. “Fuck, Noel.” You gripped Noel’s hair as you began rolling your hips against his mouth.

Noel pulled back with a smirk as he lifted his left hand and ran his knuckles through your wet lips making you jump and bite your lip. Your eyes rolled backwards as you felt his wedding ring. God, it turned you on, knowing he was your husband.

He slowly coated his fingers in your wetness before he pushed two of his fingers inside of you. Noel began flicking his tongue against your swollen clit making heavy moans fall from your lips as he moved his fingers in and out of you.

You groaned, "Fuck, Noel,"

Noel moaned against you. He twisted his hand and curled his fingers as he sucked on your clit. Noel smirked as he pulled back from you, "You gonna cum?"

You nodded, "Yes."

"Good girl," Noel reached up with his right hand and grabbed your breast, running his thumb over your hard nipple as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. "Cum all over my fingers, baby."

You let out a deep moan as Noel ran his tongue over your clit, pushing you over the edge.

Noel smirked proudly as he withdrew his fingers from you and sucked his fingers clean. "Perfect." He hummed before he stood up and began to push his boxers down, letting his hard cock spring free.

You let out a low moan as you stared at his beautiful cock.

“How do you want me, baby?” He asked as he gently stroked his cock.

You bit your bottom lip, “From behind.” You blushed.

Noel’s grin widened. “On your side?”

You nodded, excitement bubbling in your chest. Noel leaned forwards and kissed you before he moved to lay on his side behind you. You bent your left leg as Noel took a hold of his cock. Your mouth fell open as Noel pushed his length inside of you. “Oh, god!” You cried out.

“Fuck,” Noel moaned loudly as your cunt squeezed around his cock. “Ya’ feel so good, love.” Noel slipped his right arm under your neck, his calloused hand cupping your breast being gentle knowing they were sensitive. He moved his left hand from your hip and slid it over your bump.

“Please, Noel,” You moaned.

Noel kissed your bare shoulder as he moved his hips back and forth. “What? Tell me.”

“Need to come.” You panted, your fingers digging into his forearm.

Noel kissed your neck as he reached own with his left hand and pressed his fingers against your clit working your clit in time with his thrusts

“Oh, fuck!” You cried out.

“Tell me… say it.” Noel panted against your ear. “Please,”

“Mine… My husband… You… Noel!”

He pressed his lips against yours and kissed you hard, his hips still moving back and forth. You kissed Noel back with as much force, your tongue tangling with his.

You pulled back from Noel needing to breath, groaning loudly as your orgasm hit you, causing you to scream out in pleasure. "FUCK!"

"FUCK, BABY! YES!" Noel snarled as he hit deep inside you, cuming hard. Noel held you in his arms as your breathing slowed down, your back flush against his chest as his hand once again rubbed your belly. “I’ll stop. I promise.” Noel whispered out of nowhere.

“What ya’ mean?” You asked as you reached up with your left hand and threaded your fingers through his hair.

“The drugs and the drinkin’.” He pressed his face into your shoulder and kissed your skin. “I’ll stop smokin’ anorl.”

“Noel,” You smiled to yourself, “You don’t need-”

“I do. For this one… for you, for us.” Noel wrapped his arms around you’re a little tighter, being careful not to squeeze you too much. “I want to be a better man.”

You hugged him back the best you could in the position you were in. “You already are, Noel. I wouldn’t have married you if you weren’t.” You smiled. “I love you.”

Noel smiled against your shoulder, “I love you too.”

[biblical-chronicles]

Reckless

____________________________________________

where Noel gets insecure about you gettin' on well with Liam

____________________________________________

The morning started like any other. Noel sat at the kitchen table, a half-finished brew in front of him, flicking through the usual pile of shite that got delivered with the post. Bills, some takeaway menu he’d never look at, and—great—a stack of tabloids that somehow found their way to his doorstep every bloody week.

He wasn’t in the mood for it, not really. He never was. The headlines were always the same—who’s shagging who, who’s fallen out with who, what should you be thinking about who. He picked up the top magazine, about to chuck it straight in the bin, when a headline caught his eye.

"Reckless Gallagher & Partner-in-Crime Cause Chaos in the Dead of Night!"

His brows knitted together. His first thought? What the fuck’s Liam done now?

Then he clocked the picture below the headline. And there you were right alongside Liam, both mid-sprint, faces alight with laughter as you bolted down the pavement like a pair of kids caught red handed.

Noel frowned, flipping open the magazine with a growing sense of unease.

"Sources claim Liam Gallagher and his brother's missus were seen engaging in late-night antics outside the homes of various high-profile celebrities. Witnesses report seeing the duo throwing small objects at windows and sprinting off in a fit of laughter. The reason for their antics remains unclear, though some speculate alcohol may have been involved. Others claim it was simply good old-fashioned mischief. Either way, it seems Liam has found himself a new partner-in-crime—"

Noel stopped reading.

The picture alone had been enough to put him on edge, but the wording? Liam has found himself a new partner-in-crime? Fuck off.

He set the magazine down, staring at it like it had personally wronged him. His fingers tapped restlessly against the table. His tea had gone cold by now.

He tried to shake it off. It’s nowt. Just some stupid tabloid bollocks.

But his eyes kept flicking back to that picture.

It was the way you were laughing. The way Liam had his arm half-outstretched, like he’d been pulling you along for the thrill of it. The way you looked so… free.

And yeah, he knew you and Liam got along. That was never a problem before. But this? This was different.

He found himself thinking about when was the last time you two did anything like that?

You and Noel had stories, of course. But they were different. Late nights spent arguing over music, private little moments away from the madness, sneaking out of parties when the crowd got too much. It wasn’t bad—it was yours. But it wasn’t this.

You never got up to such reckless fun with him.

Noel exhaled sharply, rubbing his hand over his jaw. He didn’t like where his own thoughts were going, but he couldn’t stop them.

Liam had always been the one people gravitated toward, the one who pulled focus without even trying. Noel didn’t resent him for it (not always, anyway), but it had been that way since the start—Liam taking the spotlight.

And now he was taking you, too?

Noel shoved the magazine aside, suddenly feeling like a right idiot for letting a bloody tabloid get to him. But even as he told himself it was stupid, that nagging feeling in his chest didn’t go away.

Because what if—just what if—you did prefer being around Liam? What if, when you wanted fun, when you wanted excitement, you went to him instead?

Noel leaned back in his chair, arms crossing tightly over his chest, jaw set, trying to figure out how to deal with the situation at hand.

So now, here he was, standing outside your door like a complete bellend, trying to figure out how to prove to you (and himself) that he was just as fun as Liam fuckin’ Gallagher.

Before he could psych himself out, he knocked.

A few seconds later, the door swung open, and there you were—soft, warm, and smiling the second you saw him.

“Hey, you,” you greeted, pulling him in by the collar of his jacket before he could even say owt. Your lips met his, soft and slow, and for a second, the whole Liam situation almost left his mind. Almost.

When you pulled back, you gave him a look. “You alright? You look a bit…” You gestured vaguely at him.

Noel stepped inside, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Bit what?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged. “Just… somethin’.”

He scoffed. “Cheers for that.”

You shut the door behind him, watching as he wandered into the living room. He was acting odd, and you knew him well enough to know he had something on his mind.

You followed him, plopping down onto the sofa and waiting. Noel sat beside you, arms crossed, lips pressed into a firm line. Clearly, whatever was bothering him, he was struggling to say it.

You tilted your head at him. “Just spit it out, love.”

He shot you a look but didn’t argue.

“Just…” He shifted in his seat. “Why don’t we do that?”

You blinked. “Do what?”

“You an’ Liam,” he said, his tone sharpening ever so slightly. “Gettin’ up to all that mad shite. Why don’t we do stuff like that?”

It took you a second to clock what he meant, but when you did, your heart clenched.

“Oh, love…” you murmured, instantly reaching for him. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, holding him close. He let you, but his body was still tense, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be reassured or if he just wanted to keep being bitter about it.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Noel, it’s you that I love,” you told him, slow and certain, making sure he heard every word. “Liam’s a laugh, yeah, but you… you’re everything. And honestly? I never even thought you’d wanna do stuff like that with me.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “Why not?”

You gave him a pointed look. “Because you always act like you’re over Liam’s antics. Half the time, you look two seconds away from throttlin’ him for bein’ a dickhead.”

Noel snorted, but he couldn’t exactly argue with that.

“I just figured you’d wanna keep that nonsense far away from your life,” you continued. “Didn’t think you’d fancy runnin’ around the streets chuckin’ rocks at posh gaffs with me.”

Noel stared at you for a beat, then muttered, “I’d do it, y’know.”

You grinned. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded, still trying to act like he didn’t care that much. “If you wanted me to.”

You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Then I’d gladly take you out to break some windows.”

Noel couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head. “You’re fuckin’ ridiculous.”

You grinned. “Yeah, but now you are too.”

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, and whatever jealousy had been gnawing at him before seemed to finally ease.

____________________________________________

short story today as me brain is still scramble from writin' down two yesterday. Might be takin' a break tomorrow and I'll be back on Monday with more stories me loves xx

sorry if it's shite but I'm a bit dead, at least we are winning 4:0 against Newcastle as of right now

also, clearly inspired by Liam chuckin' shite at Jamie Oliver's house to get food

[my-castles-crumbling]

complex - @jegulus-microfic - word count: 186

"Regulus!"

Sirius's voice shocked Regulus from his thoughts, making him turn from his spot on the bench to wearily eye his brother as he approached. "Sirius," he greeted him with a monotone voice.

"What the fuck did you do that for, eh?" Sirius asked, plopping down next to him, his face livid. "Of all the shite you could've gotten up to. You chose to kiss Belby right in the middle of the Gryffindor Common Room?"

"I can kiss whomever I want," Regulus retorted flatly.

"Sure," Sirius rolled his eyes. "Except you don't like Belby. You like James. And he likes you. So what the fuck gives?"

Regulus sighed, "It's not that simple."

"Oh, bollocks," Sirius scoffed. "Whatever complex thought process is going through your brain right now, I hate to break it to you, but you're wrong. Get your head out of your arse. This is painfully simple. You're giving up James for what? To please our parents? Regulus, they'll never be pleased. And you'll never forgive yourself."

And, with an angry sigh, he stood, giving Regulus one last look. "You deserve better than this, Reggie."

[keravnous]

desperado! ; tangerine/fem!reader (smut 18+)

read pt. 1 here | read pt. 3 here | read pt. 4 here

The Twins are laying low in Amsterdam. Growing bored of being stuck in the hideout all day, Tangerine decides to explore what the shifty parts of the city have to offer at night.

word count: 12,9k

warnings: i mean if atj can dance then tangerine can too, tango dancing bc it's very sexy and steamy ok; car sex, head while driving, oral (male receiving), masturbation (female), fingering, rough and passionate sex, undernegotiated kinks: (light) spanking, daddy kink (once or twice), unprotected sex, choking, pet names, dirty talk, name calling, hotel sex; they steal a car bc why not, short intro from tangerine's pov, small glimpses into his dysfunctionality, rather slow story development at the beginning, i still have very strong feelings about this angry man so please, have this

title is from the song of the same name, desperado by rihanna

the songs they're dancing to are esta noche en vivo by carlos libedinsky and otra luna by narcotango

mel said: kinda sad we didnt get to suck his dick in bathroom b!tch and I said: same

The air is still warm and a little humid despite the late hour, filled with laughter and the sweet, sweet smell of alcohol and marihuana, sweat and summer. Tangerine takes another drag from his cigarette, watches how the smoke curls into the dark sky, illuminated by the colourful lights of the city. He takes a deep breath.

He sighs, relishes in the way his shoulders relax. He feels alive -- again; finally. It's a real relief, has his limbs going a little slack. He had felt anger clawing at his chest for the past week now, the beast inside ripping his skin to shreds and lashing out with its razor-sharp claws - mostly at his brother. But since he had left the flat about an hour ago it has been curled up rather peacefully in his chest, with a satisfied purr in sync with his heartbeat.

Next to him, the water in the canals lays calmly, reflecting the city's lights and echoing the clinking of glasses and music that wafts through the streets. Tangerine passes by a restaurant, people sitting outside under string lights, drinking, chatting, eating and he watches them as he strolls by. They radiate happiness and it catches onto him like a wave, has him smiling at the sight. He takes another drag of his cigarette, enjoys the way the smoke burns in his throat. Jesus Christ, how he had missed this.

There just aren't enough books, good books, that can keep him holed up in a small flat for a whole fucking month. And thus, he had decided to break - well, bend - the rules a little tonight.

Their contact, Henk, had told him about that one spot where one could get anything: from alcohol to various drugs and weapons, maybe even a hitman. If one's lucky. And Tangerine does feel a whole lot of fucking luck pumping through his veins tonight, making him feel a little light-headed, stardust at the heels of his shoes.

His chest feels light and his feet are practically flying over the cobblestones, a smile toying with the corners of his mouth as he lays his head back, watches the illuminated sky above - exhales smoke, inhales the night.

A group of students staggers by, laughing and cheering, passing a bottle of liquor around. His gaze follows them, nostalgia tearing at his heartstrings as he remembers the times when Lemon and him were just that - young and without a care in the world.

Now, their hands are sticky with blood - metaphorically, he had washed his well and thoroughly after last month's job went wrong - and they are both in hiding. Again.

Lemon insisted it would be careless to go out at night, at any time of the day really - "That's bollocks, mate. You can't just go out, can ya? What if they sent someone after us?" -, but especially if it was just to have some fun. Because fuck fun, right?

But, there is nothing else to do anyways, with the way his brain always, always finds a way back to his own recent failure and how it was linked to Bolivia.

Bolivia -- it still leaves him sleepless and shaking sometimes, just like tonight.

Tangerine had been pacing the living room craving a drink until Lemon fell asleep, and then decided that he needed a change of scenery, something to take his mind of the carnage and its debris.

"Yeah, let's just all go fuckin' insane in that flat, huh", Tangerine huffs to himself, looking at his phone. It beeps, signalling him that he is getting closer to his destination. His feet carry him through the streets of Amsterdam, a warm summer breeze rustles his silk shirt and cools his warm skin as he passes by restaurants, bars and closed book and flower shops.

Eventually, he comes to a halt in front of a launderette: Wassen bij Muriel.

The neon lights inside are on, illuminating the sidewalk in a cold white. He blinks. There is no one inside but an old lady behind the counter and a grimly looking man sitting on a plastic stool in the back corner. He can hear faint music coming from behind the glass door.

To an unsuspecting tourist it would look like a rancid shop but to him, it doesn't. Tangerine knows better, has been to a lot of places like this.

"Alright", he says - lets his neck crack once, twice and throws his cigarette away - before pushing the door open, the bell above ringing.

***

You watch your friend leaning down towards the young woman, sitting in a darkened corner. Your father never wanted you to befriend any of his third or fourth row dealers but you never were one to follow rules, always going for the next thrill, the next rush of adrenaline. But tonight, there's been no rush so far, no tingling of your veins - just pure and blank boredom.

You had picked out your favourite dress in the prospect of being offered to dance with a handsome stranger, even ditched on the underwear to make sure the thin fabric hugged your curves nicely, but the men in here are mostly uninteresting, ordinary - simple dealers or lowlife thugs, street criminals that steal money from unwary tourists.

You watch how your friend, with a quick sleight of hand, exchanges cocaine for money, laughing at the woman like she is an old friend and then makes his way back to the bar. He winks at you and squeezes past a young couple, orders himself a drink.

You swirl your glass between your fingers, watching the remaining puddle of wine running up and down its walls - dripping down like blood - and then bring it up to your lips, emptying it in one sip. The taste is warm and full, rich and you close your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to get lost in the strumming of the band's contrabass and the red wine on your tongue. It reminds you of that one time in Bogotá, when you and your father had visited his suppliers - wine and music melting together with the summer heat, having you dream of the jungle, old villages, and the beaches of private islands off the coast.

Your father had dragged you along once more, this time to Amsterdam, despite your pleas not to - "You will have to take over one day and I want you to be prepared" - and you were gladly sneaking away when your friend invited you to spend the night at his favourite bar.

It is a tango joint and a beautiful place, an old basement with low ceilings and a small bar, people and furniture bathed in colourful neon lights. Purple and red are dancing across faces and sweaty bodies - swirling over the dance floor or pressed against the cold walls, tongues shoved into mouths - reflecting off glasses and expensive jewellery.

It is a place where people like you and your friends get together: the upcoming generation of an international crime elite, sons and daughters throwing away their parents’ blood or drug money, getting high and drunk hidden by the shadows of the night, staying awake until the sun rises again. It's a place where people like you mix and mingle with those working for your families, a welcome change to a certain hierarchy at something a civilian would naively call a safe space.

You open your eyes again, as the band starts to play a new song, blinking while your eyes adjust to the dim, colourful lights. There still are couples swirling across the dance floor to the sensual rhythm of the tango, that the small band in the back is playing. You let out a sigh at both, the loneliness and the boredom creeping in on you, and turn around on your barstool to order yourself another drink as --

Your shoulder suddenly connects heavily with something firm and warm - triggering a muttered Fuckin' hell - and a second later the man, who you just bumped into, turns around. He looks pissed, left eye twitching.

"'M sorry", you say quickly, a little taken aback by both: his anger and his beauty. The former doesn't seem to last very long, with his lips tilting up a little, eyes gleaming mischievously while they dance over your frame.

"Apology accepted, love", he has a strong northern British accent, like some of your father's business partners do.

But he is arguably a lot more handsome than any of them are. Dark, combed, and slicked back hair that curls right over his shoulders building a nice contrast to his light blue, short-sleeved silk shirt, unbuttoned down to his belly - exposing golden jewellery. The necklace shines warmly against his pale skin, glimmering purple in the dim lights.

It might be the alcohol and the loneliness but you really, really want to just dart one hand out, run it over his chest and his neck, feeling his warmth and the few locks of chest hair, smelling and tasting the scent of summer on his skin.

You wonder what he does, what his profession is. The 70s porn-stache, vintage Rolex and golden rings scream Miami and you can't help but imagine him in the hot sun, bare chested, blood on his hands - red red red - cutting open bricks of cocaine -

"May I get you a drink, love?", his voice pulls you out of your daydreams and you blink. He must've caught you staring.

You know, that men like him usually mean trouble. And yet, you can hear yourself say: "That'd be very nice, thank you."

He lifts two fingers up, signalling the man behind the bar that he wants to order something and you notice that his knuckles are bruised. Blue and green mixing with the red of the scab, partially healed. There are scars on his forearm, meandering between his tattoos and up up up his arm below the soft, expensive silk of his shirt.

The goosebumps that erupt on your skin are nothing but pleasant as you immediately know what type of man he is. Everyone in here is on the market for something: drugs, love, sex, guns - but rarely does one sell murder. Real, cold-blooded murder. Ruthless, fast, dirty.

He's trying to hide it but watching him as he discusses the menu with the bartender, it sticks out like a sore thumb: the well-mannered gestures crash with his fucked-up hands, the way he's dressed like a drug-selling pimp refuses to fit in with his sugar-coated talk and the way he moves can't hide a lingering anger, like a raging beast pacing in a cage.

It is a carefully put together façade, but it's no use against you. You know men like him and you know them well. They don't scare you - quite the opposite, and thus the pure and utter danger he emits has excitement tingling in your stomach. As fucked up as it is: it makes you want him - adrenaline kicking in, shooting a tingle right between your legs.

He turns around again and you lean forward a little, deciding to make your move soon.

"'S a Mezcal Margarita alright with you, love?", he asks and you throw him your most charming smile, nodding.

"We'll take two then, mate", he nods and slides a few bucks over the counter, watches the bartender pouring liquid into a cocktail tumbler.

"Sooo", the man turns around towards you and grins, shows some teeth as his hand vanishes in the pocket of his linen trousers, pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He's taking a looong deliberate drag, puffing out the smoke, "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Y/N", you reply, gaze dropping to his lips and back up, where his gaze catches yours. He has beautiful eyes, blue like the fucking sea and the purple neon lights make them glow with mischief and smugness - dark and oddly promising, inviting - framed by long lashes.

One of your fingers brushes over his hand, that is resting on the counter. The wooden surface is sticky with half-dried alcohol. His gaze holds yours while he takes another drag of his cigarette. You just might lose yourself in the hue that dances over his eyes.

"And you are?", you say, just loud enough to be audible over the music.

His gaze drops to your fingers that are brushing over his golden rings and he chuckles: "Don't ya try stealing those, sugar, I know that fuckin' trick", and you smile innocently, as he leans in a little, "Name's Tangerine, love." There are cheers erupting from the dancefloor, the rhythm of the music picking up.

You pout playfully and his eyes dance over your face, glimmering mischievously. "Oh", you sigh, "And here I was, thinking you'd may even give me your real name."

"Can't, love, m'sorry."

"Mh pity -- who did you kill?"

"Who said I killed someone?", he's dangerously close now, voice a low rumble.

"Your hands", your fingers dance over the crust of his knuckles and his eyes gleam. For a moment he says nothing and then, towering over your sitting form, voice low and rough:

"Aren't ya afraid o'me, love?"

"Terribly", and he grins at that, his eyes holding yours captive.

"Bet you are", Tangerine hums, barely audible and sticks his cigarette between his lips, one hand darting up, has his thumb gently grazing over your chin.

The touch is nice, soft and gentle but firm, in full control. It makes your chest tingle, sends a wave of pleasure through your body. His eyes flick over your face and you find yourself growing a little hot under his gaze. You wonder is he's going to lean in, ditch his cigarette and --

The bartender places two glasses in front of you and it makes you snap out of it for a second, noticing how close Tangerine got. His thighs are touching your knees and his face is so so close to yours, noses mere inches apart.

"Thanks, mate", Tangerine says, pulls the glasses closer. You watch him - slender fingers getting a little wet with condensed water, cigarette between his lips, chain and bracelet rustling with the sudden movement. There's a thin film of sweat glistening on his chest and it has your thighs clench with raw and utter want, wanting to put your lips onto the firm the muscles, licking his skin clean.

The way his body still presses against your knees, is electrifying and you decide to invite him in more. You let your knees fall apart, making way for him. His gaze drops down and he chuckles to himself but moves in nonetheless, one of his hands gently coming to a rest on your thigh, holding you close and in place. The touch shoves the soft, flowy silk of your cowl dress aside, the slit in the fabric exposing your thigh. Tangerine's hand is warm on your skin, rings pressing cooly against your hot flesh, as he starts groping you - thumb digging into your thigh and you gasp quietly.

"Been wantin' to ask -- what's a pretty girl like you doin' in a place like this, huh?", he says, cigarette bobbing up and down in the corner of his mouth.

"My friend sells blow here", you say truthfully - not a full lie and yet not the complete truth, but you know better than to trust a stranger with your ties to your family's business - and piqued interest flickers through his gaze.

Tangerine then, very languidly, takes another looong drag from his cigarette and taps some of the ash on the counter, holding your gaze with his own. "D'you sell yourself, love?"

You laugh at that, violently shaking your head. "Hell, no."

He chuckles, eyes roaming over your face. "Well, looks like I got myself a good girl, then eh?", he knows what he is doing, voice low and deep and you swallow.

"I wouldn't say so", you whisper, "But why don't you come a bit closer and find out?"

Tangerine flashes a grin, shows his bright bright teeth, one of his hands coming up and stroking his moustache while he shakes his head in disbelief.

It's stupid. Very fucking stupid. He shouldn't. He should get the fuck out of here - quickly. This is dangerous. She might be, too.

Instead, he looks up again. Ah, fuck it - fuck the rules. Lemon will get it - maybe. Ultimately, he will, simply has to - with the beast inside rattling the cage.

Tangerine leans in, his hand on your thigh sneaking up, making its way over your hip, your side and then cups your body, thumb digging into your flesh underneath your tit. Your heartbeat picks up as he pulls you close and you nearly yelp, scooting forward on the barstool, your hand coming up and grasping his forearm, holding on to him. "Well, why don't we fuckin' drink to that then, love?", he rasps, the hand resting on the bar pulls your glass in.

With a shaking hand you take it, fingers closing in around the cool glass and you watch him raising his, bud of cigarette nearly touching it. He is exhilarating, demanding and firm underneath the attire of a gentleman and it has your head swimming, wetness pooling between your legs. Excitement bubbles up in your chest, wondering where the night may, will lead.

"Cheers, love", Tangerine smirks and winks at you, both your glasses clink. He is still so so close, your knees still hitting his hips and his tongue runs over the edge, licks the salt away slowly, playfully until he downs half the Margarita in one go, like it's water.

You raise one brow, carefully taking a sip. The salt on the edge of the glass tingles on your lips and the liquor burns nicely in your throat as you take another. It's a hellishly strong cocktail and you wonder if he's a regular drinker. A lot of people like him - call them what you like, assassins, killers, hitmen - are.

Tangerine eyes the glass in his hand, weighs it from left to right a little, then nods to himself in approval while you take another sip. He instead downs the other half of the cocktail and puts the glass back on the counter. It's a quick, routinely movement and you come to realize that you may be right. You decide to not give it too much thought, because he's hot and he freed you from the boredom threatening to swallow you whole tonight and because everything about him has your blood singing with the gleeful promise of adrenaline. You put your glass next to his and look up at him through your lashes. He catches the invitation.

Tangerine throws his cigarette into his empty glass and then leans in again. The tip of his nose brushing over yours, the sensual music entangling both of you as his gaze flicks over your face.

You hook one leg around his waist and he moves in closer, pressing yourself against him, one hand on his arm - to anyone looking over you might even seem like an actual couple, enjoying the night out - and hunger burns in his eyes. His lips brush over yours and you know he's toying with you, keen on him leaning in to fucking kiss you already --

The music stops.

There's sudden silence as the band passes a bottle of whiskey around and the two of you freeze, blinking dumbfoundedly. The silence is odd, stalling both of you but you can't help it, feeling like drowning in the dark dark blue of his eyes, shimmering with green in the purple light. You can hear Tangerine breathe quietly with him being so utterly close to you and it's nice, comfortingly human and you can't help but smile against his lips still hovering over yours, a gentle gesture that is being reciprocated by him.

You're a little dizzy with it too, the alcohol, lack of fresh air and his body warmth mixing together, making you a little unsteady. He has pure and raw want tingling in your belly, your hand on his upper arm clenching around the firm muscles a little, thumb brushing over the soft material. And then, just as the music picks up again, his lips brush against yours: "You don't happen to wanna dance, do ya, love?"

"Fuck yes, thought you'd never ask", and Tangerine laughs, a deep, pleasant sound that rumbles in his chest and offers you his hand.

Yours runs down down down his arm and closes around his, while he's making some room for you to slip off of the barstool and then he's pulling you close again - your body pressing smack against his side as he's dragging you along to the makeshift dance floor.

The crowd still cheers, applauds the band and the bandoneon plays the few first chords of a new song. Tangerine gently takes your hand in his, thumb cupping your index and middle finger as your palm rests against his. His other hand sneaks around your waist and rests and the small of your back, holding you close. He looks at you and you feel like drowning in his eyes, pupils blown wide and you wonder when he'll show first signs of being drunk, with the way you already feel a little warm, light-headed. In a few minutes, maybe an hour you'll learn that he holds his liquor way better than you hold your own.

He is even closer to you now than before at the bar and now you can smell his perfume through the thick cloud of smoke that wavers through the basement's air - he smells nice, deep and rich of citrus and a little of vanilla and cigarettes, reminds you of the summer you've spent in Palermo once.

Tangerine gently places one hand below your shoulder and yours comes up, rests on his shoulder, just as he starts to move to the music. He takes a step backwards, guiding your forward and gently guides you through the crowd - a steady back and forth in rhythm with the tango.

Tangerine's hand still holds yours, guides your arm until it is stretched out and then it abandons your hand, runs down down down your arm very gently, pads of his fingers brushing over your soft skin, hairs on your arms rising. A shiver runs down your spine as his fingers cradle back between yours, a smile tugging at his lips.

One of his legs pushes between yours while he manoeuvres you backwards, hand on your waist holding you close. Tangerine presses himself against you, heat radiating off of his body with both your arms still stretched out and you grip his hand tightly, leaning back. You arch your back, raising one leg and hooking it around his waist as his gaze locks with yours. You can feel his crotch pressing against yours, with the way the skirt of your dress hikes up your legs. He is warm and a little hard already, has the breath hitching in your throat and arousal igniting your loins.

Tangerine leans down a little, lips still curled up in smile and then pulls you up like you weigh nothing and you stretch your legs in a delicate, slight split as he twirls you around, your chest firmly resting against his.

His arm presses onto your back, holds you close until your feet touch the ground once more and he immediately guides you sideways with a few long and slow strides until he comes to a halt. One of your arms wraps around his shoulders as he holds you close and you stretch your leg out, your heel gliding forward over the concrete floor of the basement, stretching your leg out in front of you and then gently sliding it backwards into a deep lunge, your body following the movement. You lean back and Tangerine follows, leans down and towers over your body.

He holds you there for a moment, chest rising and falling, brows furrowed a little before he carefully helps you back up - immediately embracing your body once more.

The music speeds up and so does he while guiding you over the dancefloor, face close to yours with unbreaking eye contact as you swirl over the concrete.

At the next strum of the contrabass, you take a step back, arching your back. Very playfully you sway your hips, shoulders loosely following while one of hands rests on his forearm, the other lays in his hand, feet tapping the floor rhythmically with the movement of your hips.

You know that he has a perfect view of your body, your hard nipples being visible through the thin fabric of your dress. His gaze drops down, watches how the silk plays with your curves, eyes growing a little darker. You move in and Tangerine pulls you close, your hand intertwined with his resting on his chest and his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, moustache tingling. "No underwear, I reckon, love?", he hums, the fingers of his other hand brushing over your waist.

And you shake your head, whispering: "No, none", and it has his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, a low chuckle escaping his throat. "Fuck me", he breathes and holds you close while moving over the dancefloor, one hand gently but firmly resting on your ass cheek, hiking the hem of your dress up a little.

The touch ignites you and you press against him, leaning in, nose brushing over his jaw, eyelids fluttering. You are pressed against each other, movements slowing down and blooming into a languid sensuality in dance: long strides, toying with him a little - turning your head away, stretching your arm out, only for his hand to gently caress it - feet wrapping around his calf, leg pushing between his. Tangerine is patient with the little game you are playing, unerringly keeping the lead and you in your place.

You wonder if he fucks like he dances. It makes your skin going hot, imagination running wild and breath hitching.

The song ebbs and the crowd applauds and the two of you come to a halt as well, but not parting, not partaking in the celebration of the band. You are clawing to him, breath going fast and heavy and so does his, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. His hand momentarily rejects your waist to brush through his hair and then returns. His touch is firm, a little rough and you sigh contently.

Some people are looking your way, intrigued by what got over the two of you, enticed by each other and oblivious to the surrounding world. It's a dangerous thing - letting your guard down, for both of you - but you couldn't care less.

Tangerine smirks down at you and licks his lips. "D'ya know what ya do to me, dove?", he says quietly and you know but you feel the same, and thus, your hand brushes over his shoulder to his neck and you nestle your bods against his.

You wonder if he can feel your raising heartbeat, smell the lust and the excitement spreading in your body. You look up at him, fingers burying themselves in his locks.

"Mhm - do you?", you reply just as quietly and Tangerine chuckles, eyes falling shut.

Your bodies stay like that, closely pressing against each other with the music picking back up. You gently rest your forehead on his temple, leaning onto him as he holds you close. You can't help it, you just want to fucking touch him and your hand runs over his shoulder to the front, gently moves up his throat and then cups his jaw, fingers brushing over the clean-shaven skin. It's soft and warm and you can feel, hear him take a deep breath.

Moving across the floor slowly, Tangerine's body turns into an anchor for your long, ardent strides; his strong arms holding you up during each turn, muscles twitching beneath your touch. He is so so close to you, so warm - each one of his steps lingering with desire and it washes over you like a wave, has the hairs on your body standing up.

You sink against him, falling into his embrace, arms clinging around his neck and his hand is pressed on your shoulder, the other remains in the air uselessly as he looks down in surprise, brows furrowed. He can see, feel your chest heaving, a quiet whimper escaping your mouth.

Then, his lips curl into a smug grin.

Tangerine carefully twirls you around, hands gripping your waist and pulling you closer. Your back rests against his chest and you can feel the tip of his nose brushing through your hair as his hands move over your body - one resting on your belly, the other gently cupping you below your breast, feeling the way your heart races against your ribcage, and his touch sends shivers down your spine, has arousal shooting right between your legs. You remain this way for a few beats, the blood in your veins pumping with the rhythm of the music, feeling his strong frame pressing against you - his breath on your temple and his cologne wrapping you in. His body radiates warmth and you can feel his chest rising against your back, his hardening dick pressing against your ass.

Lust tingles in your stomach looking up at him and, at the next strum of the contrabass, you take his hand and twirl out of his embrace. Tangerine follows and pulls you back in and your hand crawls up his arm, another one resting on his neck. His gaze locks with yours as he leans down, tip of his nose brushing against yours.

The hands on your back keeps you close, a dark shadow resting over his eyes, turning them into a deep deep sea. He slowly guides you forward with two long strides and then firmly hooks one arm around you, lunges backward a little and you follow his movement, bending your leg and resting it against his groin. His hard cock presses against your thigh, and he leans in, lips brushing over yours before straightening both of you back up, heels of your shoes connecting firmly with the ground. Tangerine swirls you over the floor and manoeuvres you through the dancing couples, until he eventually, when the space arises, grabs your hips once more. You let yourself fall, upper body leaning back delicately, enthralled by his strength and the way he guides you through the dance, and he pulls you back up.

Your hand runs up his chest, fingers clawing at the silk as your gazes lock once more. You suck in a few breaths, his scent clouding up your mind, hand running higher and higher, thumb cupping his cheek and fingers resting in his hair behind his ear, earring pressing cooly against your skin.

His lips are slightly agape, eyes you up and down, while his hand presses you close. "Yeah, fuck, you wanna take this elsewhere, love?", he rasps and you nod, eyelids fluttering with the hidden promise.

All the while Tangerine navigates you through the crowd, he holds you close, blood pumping in your ears with the way the music makes your chest vibrate, his scent clouding up your mind - only him him him.

As soon as you are out on the street Tangerine is onto you again, pulls you close in the bright lights of the laundrette and kisses you like a starving man. His arms wrap around your waist, pressing you against him, tits flush against his chest, as his tongue licks into your mouth. Your hands run up his arms, one of them curling his neck and the other cupping his jaw. You can feel his hard dick through his linen slacks and it makes you hot all over, wetness pooling between your legs. You break the kiss, heaving against his lips.

"Fuck", Tangerine huffs, hand on your waist wandering down, cupping one of your ass cheeks. You mewl, eyelids fluttering. You're desperate to touch him, for him to fuck you.

"My hotel's nearby", you whisper and it sounds so fucking needy, "We could take the tram?"

"Yeah sure, lead the way", and you do, stealing another long and sloppy, hungry kiss from him and then he's pulling you close, holds you by his side as the two of you rush down the streets of Amsterdam - heels clicking, sweet nothings on the tip of your tongues. Some people turn their heads, voyeurism kicking in at the oddly hot couple with the air around them cracking with their energy, watching how the two of you rush by - the woman giggling and clearly a little drunk, hands roaming all over the man's chest, while he holds her close, thick British accent wrapping her in.

That is, until he stops dead in his tracks next to an alley on a rather empty street.

"Oi, wait a bloody minute, love -- would'ya look at that", Tangerine looks down an alleyway and you lean in closer, trying to get a look at what he's seeing, peaking over his shoulder on the tip of your toes. His hand is still resting on your waist, fingers splayed out.

"What?", there's nothing. Just cars parked beneath a warmly glowing streetlight in a dark alley.

"That", his finger darts out and points at a beige convertible.

"I -- that's a car?"

He looks a you, a little offended.

"That's not just a car, love. That's a 1966 Cadillac Coupe DeVille."

You blink, watching him while he eyes the vehicle, fingers brushing over his stache absent-mindedly.

"What are you thinking 'bout?", and it doesn't even take him a second to reply: "I wanna steal it."

Well, that's a surprise. "You wanna steal the car?"

"Yeah, I got this fuckin' thing -- 's kinda like compulsion, innit?"

You raise your eyebrows and he looks at you, lips curling up in an amused smile that's looks an awful lot like Sugar I can't change it, now can I? and before he can come up with something witty to go along with it, you say: "Yeah fuck, alright. Let's do it."

He laughs, eyes you up and down. "Ya naughty little girl, eh."

You can feel your skin growing hot, hand brushing over his forearm, leaning in a little. His eyes gleam. "Show me what you can do, babe", and he does, wraps one arm around your hips and strolls over to the car, carefully eyeing the alley.

The windows are rolled down and he grins. "That's an easy one, love, watch it", his hand brushes over your hip and the touch has goosebumps erupting on your arms, running down down your back and you nod - fuck yes, you'll watch.

Tangerine leans against the driver side's door and reaches inside through the rolled down window. You don't know what exactly he's doing but you can see the way his muscles work underneath the blue silk, as he grabs the handle and then, suddenly lifts the door a little out of its frame. The lock bursts, and for a second your muscles tense, body anticipating alarms going off and reading to flee.

Nothing happens; no sirens erupting - just the door swinging open lazily.

Apparently; obviously this is not his first time stealing a car. The thought of him just taking what he wants does something funny to your stomach.

You peak inside. It is an old-timer, with one large seating bench in the front, instead of two seats. Tangerine is holding the door open for you.

"After you, Lady", and he fucking winks at you.

Crawling onto the seats you make sure to make a little show out of it. You can feel his gaze roaming over your body as you bend down, until you eventually sit down in the middle of the front row seat. Tangerine sits down next to you and you immediately close the distance between the two of you, pulling one leg up, knee resting firmly on the soft beige leather and pressing against his thigh. The fabric of your dress hikes up, the slit exposing your leg up up up to your groin.

The sight distracts him for second, as you throw a look over your shoulder and out of the rear window, into the night. The alley still lays silent and deserted - but for how much longer? Tangerine watches you tensing up next to him.

"Easy, love, just a minute", he huffs and pulls an envelope out of his pocket, takes out a set of lockpicks.

"Oh, so you just carry that around with you?", you blurt out, blinking.

"Yeah", he says casually, bends down a little, trying to get a good look beneath the steering wheel.

If you were to be more of a thief and less of a drug lord's lazy daughter, you'd be able to identify his choice as a Lishi lockpick.

You watch him as he carefully sticks it into the keyhole of the ignition, slooowly starts to move the tool forward and feeling for the contact of the wafer. Quiet clicking sounds fill the humid air.

You can tell, that Tangerine is showing off a little, trying to impress you with speed and precision. He squints his eyes a little, brows furrowing and eyeing the small lock while carefully turning it clockwise.

It jams.

"Bastard", Tangerine curses underneath, pulls the reader of the lockpick back and carefully feels for the missing contact, tuuurns it --

The engine jolts alive, purrs lowly and the headlights snap on.

"There ya go", he mutters, "Piece 'o piss, eh?"

You snort at his vulgar cockney but you must agree - it did not take him more than two to three minutes, from breaking the lock to starting the engine. It shouldn't, but it does turn you on a little.

Tangerine is slamming the door shut and whips out his phone, handing it over to you. "Type in the address, love, would ya?"

You do and then quickly discard it into the cupholder - you want him and your fingertips tingle with it, wanting to touch him and being touched by him. The female voice - uncanny valley personified - of the google maps assistant pipes up and if you weren't so very fucking intoxicated by him you would laugh.

Instead, a fresh wave of desperate lust takes over you and your hands are onto him again in no time, one crawling up his arm, the other resting on his thigh and feeling his muscles work as he backs the Cadillac up. Tangerine chuckles, throws you a quick look before he is steering the car out of the alley.

You are aching for him to touch you, to be closer to you, hand tugging at his shirt a little while you lean in, nose brushing over the side of his throat.

"Jesus, love", he huffs, "Can't keep ya'self together, can ya?"

And you mewl, shake your head and then your lips are closing in around the exposed crook of his neck. Your tongue laps over the sweaty, hot skin, tasting him - his cologne mixing bitterly with his sweat and you hum, gently sucking at his soft skin.

"Fuckin' hell", Tangerine's right hand abandons the steering wheel, coming to a rest on your exposed thigh brushing over your skin. The tone of his voice has your head swimming, spurring you on, encouraging you. Your eyelids flutter as your tongue comes loose:

"Want me to suck your cock while driving?", you say, looking at him - the tips of your fingers are playfully brushing over his shoulder, silk of his shirt rustling under the feather-light touch.

He snorts, shakes his head a little with disbelief, before looking back at you. It seems to click.

"Bloody hell, you're serious, aren't ya?", and you blush a little. You can see the way his Adam’s apple bops as he swallows, eyes aimlessly darting over the road, considering.

The google maps assistant pipes up again, chirps out the directions and then falls silent again.

"Yeah, no, that's a very lovely idea", he rasps, and then: "C'mon love, get to it."

And you do, mouth watering at the same time your sight drops down to his linen slacks, the fabric wrapping around his muscular thighs nicely and pressing firmly to his crotch, exposing the outlines of his hard dick straining it.

Your hand wanders up his leg - feeling his muscles twitch as he hammers down the gas pedal, racing by the light switching from yellow to green - and then sour fingers close in around his cock. It is large and hot through the fabric and just feeling it has fresh arousal pooling between your legs, making you hum, before rubbing his bulge through his trousers. Tangerine's right hand leaves your thigh and comes to a rest on your neck, thumb rubbing over your warm skin and making way for you, giving you some space and encouraging you further.

It's a nice, somewhat patronizing touch that is pushing all the right buttons, has you quivering with excitement.

You make quick work of his slacks, pulling the zipper down - already bowing down a little, stretching your lower leg out on the seat behind you - until you open the fly up. There's a damp stain on his dark silk boxers and your mouth fucking waters, before you pull the hem down. His cock springs free lazily and your breath hitches.

Tangerine's cock is large, cut and a little curved, resting between neatly trimmed pubic hair - vein at the bottom pulsing and the tip already flushed, precum glistening in the low light of the passing street lamps.

You can't wait to suck it, taste it, feel it inside of you -- you are fucking hungry for it, spit pooling around your tongue and heart beating in your chest. Arching your back while bowing down between his lower body and the steering wheel, you put your lips onto his dick, kissing from the base to the top, his musky scent wrapping you in, clouding your mind. You can hear him hum, a nice and deep sound, and the city rushing by through the rolled down window.

Your tongue flicks over the head of his dick, lapping at the precum, circling it. The way he tastes - salt and musk - has your head swimming a little, wetness pooling between your legs.

It makes your brain go mushy, hazy and one of your hands brushes over his thigh, desperate to being closer tohim, to make it feel good for him, caressing the warm skin beneath your touch before you blink up at him.

"Fuck, you got a nice cock", you nearly moan as your tongue betrays your brain, impatiently opening your mouth and letting him slide in a little, feeling him pressing hard and hot against your tongue.

"Shit", Tangerine laughs roughly, hand grabbing your neck as his dick twitches against your tongue, "D'ya even hear yourself speak, girl? Fuck."

You smile to yourself, a little coy, and you start to move your hand up up up his muscular thigh, palming his balls through the linen and then grabbing the base of his cock, slowly jerking him. Tangerine groans, breathing loudly, the city passing by.

Spit runs down his dick over taking him in deeper, pools between your fingers and you flick your wrist, moving your hand in rhythm with your tongue.

The car comes to a halt at the next red light, as Tangerine hits the brakes carefully. Your eyelids flutter and then your gaze darts up, meets his while you are releasing his dick from your mouth a little.

Tangerine moans deeply as tongue swirling around the thick head of his dick once more, his gaze boring into yours. "Isn't that just a lovely sight", he groans, right hand brushing through your hair, while the left grabs the steering wheel hard.

Tangerine watches you, traffic light long forgotten, how your tongue licks over his cock, your eyes looking up at him through your lashes. "You fuckin' minx -- ya do like behavin' like a slut, don't ya", and you smile against his cock, a quiet Uh-huh leaving your lips, before they close in around the tip of his dick.

His eyelids flutter as you start to suck, bobbing your head a little, tongue rubbing over the tip of his cock. "Fuckin' hell", he puffs his cheeks and throws his head back a little, exhales theatrically. The traffic light switches from yellow to green and you let him sink deeper into your mouth - the engine roars. You are certain he's close to breaking the speed limit, veins bursting with adrenaline and testosterone but you couldn't care less, the musky taste of his cock hazing your mind, lust taking over.

You feel yourself growing wet, cunt aching and you surrender to yourself, complying to your body's wishes, as one of your hands slooowly dips between your legs and underneath the hem of your dress. Your fingers brush up your thighs and over your slick folds, mentally thanking yourself for not putting any underwear on, mostly due to the unbearable heat and your skin-tight dress - but it sure does come in handy now, too. Your index finger flicks over your clit, just as his cock slides deeper into your mouth.

It feels fucking nice, the way Tangerine's dick is hard and heavy and hot on your tongue, his taste and scent engulfing you, the way you rub your clit has lust spreading through your body, moaning around his cock.

And then suddenly, Tangerine hits the breaks, hand hammering down on the horn. One of your hands darts out, barely catching onto the dashboard as you are thrown forward. Blood rushes in your ears, hastily sucking in a few breaths through your nose while you sputter around his cock.

The maps assistant chimes up in that second, reminding the driver that he will need to go right at the next intersection but --

"Ya fuckin' prick, imma fuckin' shoot ya in the fuckin' head ya stupid twat -", Tangerine yells and your head immediately pipes up, abandoning his dick and looking out of the windshield. Tangerine is just speeding up, passing by the car in front of him, angrily looking inside. "Ya dirty fuckin' chav, I got a right fuckin' lady with me 'ere, ya git", he spits and the man slowly turns his head. First, he looks at Tangerine, a cascade of insults flying his way and then he looks at you, smudged mascara and spit on your chin, your lips wet with it. You can see the wheels in his head turning, eyes growing wide as they drop down to one of your hands - the one that is still holding Tangerine's cock - vanishing between his legs. The man blinks and Tangerine flashes him the finger, before speeding by.

"Fuck about -- that fuckin' arsehole, love, could've killed ya drivin' like that", he grumbles, throws him one last look in the mirror, "Seriously, where did that prick get his license, the bloody fuckin' lottery?"

Tangerine's eye twitches and you can see his pulse speeding up, aorta pressing thickly against his neck, pumping. He is like a force of nature and a mental image of him, covered in bruises, blood and sweat flashes before your eyes - chest heaving and knuckles bruised, hair curling and framing his face like a halo, dripping with blood.

"You're so fuckin' hot when you're angry", you mumble and then you're bending down again, tongue licking over his cock, from the base all the way up the top, flicking around its head and then gliiiding back down.

A growl, a real fucking growl, leaves his chest, hand on your neck tightening. "You better get fuckin' back to it, love, Jesus fuckin' Christ", his voice is coarse and it gets you going, makes you wet wet wet and has your head diving back in, tongue lolling out of your mouth as his dick slides back in.

"Atta girl, fuck", he groans and then his hips jolt up, pushing his dick deep into your mouth and you hum around it. You start to bob your head up and down, meeting his thrusts - your hand abandons the dashboard to clutch his thigh, nails digging into the flesh a little.

Tangerine moans at both, your hot and wet mouth sucking him off and the slight pain that blooms in his thigh, dangerously mixing with the anger pulsing in his chest and he throws his head back.

"Just like that, fuckin' hell love", his hips buck, shoving himself deeper into your mouth. The sudden intrusion has you choking a little as he hits the back of your throat, spit gathering around the corners of your mouth while you sputter around his dick - jaw going slack and his hand finding its way into your hair, fisting it as he starts to fuck into your mouth.

Holding your head in place his cock hits the back of your throat, steals your breath. Your nose is buried in his pubes, inhaling his scent - sweat and musk - more saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth, wetting his locks. You relax your throat and whimper around his dick, the way he uses you has fresh wetness spreading between your folds, squelching sounds filling the air as your finger is joined by a second, rubbing tight circles over your clit.

You moan around his cock, strangled noises escaping your throat while your rock back against your fingers, choking around the head of his cock hitting your throat.

"Shh, shh shh", he tuts, a little breathless, "Daddy's got ya, mh pretty girl? Lemme just--"

Tangerine's right hand lets go off your hair and then you can feel it sneak past your back, a feather-light touch brushing over the silk of your dress. It travels further and then grabs your ass, the sudden rough touch has you moaning around his dick once more. Your eyelids flutter as he pulls the fabric up up up, fists it and exposes you to whoever or whatever may rush past the passenger side's window. Your fingers speed up at the thought while his hand kneads the flesh of your cheeks.

"Fuckin' pretty", he hums, taking another quick look at the way your head bobs up and down his cock, "All over my cock like that, pretty fuckin' slut."

His hand wanders further down and before you can process it, one of his fingers circles your hole, feeling your slick and your plump folds. "Jesus Christ", he nearly groans, "You just love sucking cock, don't ya?"

That you do, whining around his base as the thick head of his dick hits the back of your throat again, with your fingers still working your clit. "Let me help you with that, love", and with that he pushes one finger in, up to his golden onyx ring, nestles it snugly between your hot walls. They clench around him and the sensation - the lingering promise of more - has you squirming a little.

Tangerine gives you what you want, need - finger curling a little, digits brushing over your spongy hot walls, before he slooowly pulls it back out. It circles your hole once more, quickly joined by a second, before he pushes them in again, starting to fuck you fast.

You moan, feet kicking a little and eyes tearing up at the sensation, with his dick pushing further into your throat and your fingers rubbing your clit, quickly has your muscles clench and cunt squirting.

"Yeah, just right 'ere, love, huh? Gettin'ya all loose 'n wet f'me? Such a good girl, aren't ya?", obscene sounds fill the air as he fucks your slick back into you, bottoms his fingers out, rubbing over the spot that has you seeing stars.

Tangerine moans deep in his chest as his cock starts to fuck into your mouth again and you let him use your throat gladly while his fingers pump in and out of your cunt, accompanied by the way your fingers flick over your clit rapidly.

The lack of fresh oxygen has you bucking against his hand, choking and sputtering around his cock that rams deeply in your throat but your stomach still flutters with it, lust igniting your loins and limbs tingling with it.

You can feel the muscles in your abdomen clenching, heart racing in your chest. Your fucking close and he seems to notice, too, his moans barely reaching your ears through the blood pumping and engine roaring. Tangerine nestles his fingers deep deep inside of you, rubbing over your walls and the spot that has you seeing stars, eyes falling shut and moaning against his cock.

It is all too much and your chest heaves as you finally cum, muscles clenching around his fingers, hips stuttering. His dick pulls back a little, tip resting hot and heavy against your tongue and then, his movements still.

"Open up your pretty mouth, doll, lemme see", he rasps, barely keeps an eye out to the street and you comply, fucked out mind making everything a little hazy, a little slow. Your jaw goes slack as you open your mouth, giving him a perfect view of his dick resting on your tongue.

Tangerine looks at you: mascara pooling beneath your eyes, lips swollen and red and jaw wet with spit and then comes too, shoots ropes of hot cum into your mouth. He watches the way it paints your tongue white, some of it landing on your upper lip, slooowly dripping down, running over your chin.

You swallow and then your tongue darts out, licks over your lips and then darts out, licks his cock clean, too.

Slowly, with your mind still foggy and limbs a little heavy already, you get back up. Your fingers brush through his remaining cum on your chin, wiping it away and letting them slip into your mouth, licking them clean. "Jesus, love", Tangerine's voice is a little coarse, gaze darting back and forth between your mouth and the street, as he carefully pulls his fingers out of you and your body closer instead.

You yelp, pressing yourself onto him, of your knees resting between his spread legs. None of you fucking care anymore, lust tugging at your brains dangerously, daringly. His hand, fingers still wet with your juices, brushes over your waist, grabs your ass and you lean in, lick over his throat, tasting his sweat and cologne.

"Can't wait for you to fuck me", you rasp, hands brushing over his chest, his necklace jingling, down down down, hand brushing over his cock and carefully putting it away, his clothing back in place.

Tangerine huffs, google assistant chiming out a direction, indicator clicking loudly as he sets it and then his hand comes up quickly, grabs your chin hard and holds your head in place. You look at him, deer in the headlights, holding your breath and then he's pulling you close, locks his lips with yours. He can taste himself on your tongue licking into your mouth, pulls you close.

You don't know how you made it to the fucking hotel alive, with Tangerine's hands roaming over your body, lips locking occasionally while he was speeding down the streets, cutting corners and red lights.

The two of you barely make it through the lobby and into the elevator, until Tangerine is onto you once more, presses your back flat against the cold, bronze metal. "I'll fuck ya so good, love", his dick is already hard again, pressing against you through the linen of his trousers and the satin of your dress, "'S gon' be all you'll be thinkin'bout for the next weeks." In a little more than an hour you will come to realize that he is right. You will be thinking about it for weeks. But now, there are only his lips roaming over your throat, occupying your mind and letting you drift back to a hazy, lustful state, with his hands feeling up your hips, your waist.

Eventually, the elevator piiings lazily and the two of you rush out it, like you are on the run from your own lust, hand clutching his as you quickly make your way down the hall to your suite. You unlock the door and turn the dimmed lights on inside. The room's just like you left it, guns and cash on the coffee table, soft light coming from the bedroom on the left. The window there is still opened, a soft breeze rolling in through the light curtains.

Tangerine throws the door shut behind himself and immediately grabs you by your waist, pulls you onto him, hand on your back on your ass as he leans down, devours you with a kiss. His tongue pushes into your mouth while he manoeuvres you backwards through your suite. Your hands dart out, catching the doorframe of the bedroom and you grab it hard, using it as leverage as you push back against him, your crotch rubbing against his. Tangerine grins against your lips and grabs your hips hard, makes you moan into the kiss.

He breaks it, chest heaving a little. "Fuck, love, imma ruin ya." Your breath hitches at that and your hands let go of the doorframe, wrapping around his neck instead like you're on some sort of fucking autopilot. "Yeah fuck, please", you whisper.

It takes Tangerine a moment, gaze growing a little soft before the beast takes over again, a gleaming dark hue turning the blue into an endless ocean and he hoists you up, carries you over to the bed.

He is carrying you like a caveman would his bagged prey and he tears at your dress just the same, one hand shoving the straps down your shoulders. Then he's onto the zipper, sliiides it down and throws you onto the bed.

You land onto the duvet with a soft thud, tits bouncing a little and his gaze follows the movement hungrily, before he tugs at the hem of your dress, pulls it down and throws it to the ground carelessly.

Tangerine just watches, gaze hungrily moving over your naked form, slooowly starts to undress himself. His slender fingers unbutton the silky shirt, button by button in an agonizingly slow speed. You know he's deliberately taking his time with you and it works, has your body quivering with anticipation and lust, one of your own hands running up your body, cupping your tit. He lifts a brow as he watches you tweaking your nipple and the haughty disdain has your head swimming, legs falling apart. "Please", you whisper, pussy aching for his touch, "--Need you."

The silk falls open, still hugging his shoulder and Tangerine continues watching you, playing with a ring on his finger, just like he's playing with you. It's cruel but it has lust building up in your belly, shooting arousal down between your legs and making fresh wetness pool between your folds in a way that you just know, that his touch will be heavenly.

And yet, impatience taking over, you mewl and in a desperate attempt for any sort of attention - for him to just fucking touch you again - you scramble to your knees, stretching out on the mattress and pressing your body flat onto it, ass high in the air. You know that he'll see it: your wet cunt, glistening in the dim light, hole clenching desperately around nothing. You feel exposed and at his mercy alone, and the degradation and danger of being unarmed like this in the presence of a killer, has your heart racing, thighs rubbing together for any sort of fucking friction.

Tangerine bellows out a laugh, surprised and dark, can't really hide either how turned on he is, and then his hand comes down on your ass. The sound bounces off the walls and has your bods jolting forward, first a gasp and then a moan falling from your lips, hands fisting the sheets. "Ya dirty fuckin' whore", he groans, hand groping your already reddening flesh. You can hear the silk flowing down to the ground and then he is pressing his crotch against you, fine linen against your wet cunt.

It's electrifying, the rather rough material pressing against your soft skin, your slick immediately wetting the fabric as your start to roll your hips against it, rutting over his clothed dick. Tangerine's cock is so so hard, hotly pulsing through the linen and you can feel its curve pressing against your pussy. You whimper, hips stuttering.

"Jesus Christ, love, can feel ya through my fucking pants -- lemme see", Tangerine groans and then grabs your hips hard, stalling your desperate movement, shoving them forward a little. You can feel his gaze dancing over your cunt, hear him whistle lowly, hands spreading your ass cheeks, assessing your slick. One of them comes loose and then --

He gives your cunt a light slap - the slight pain and degradation making your head swim - has you squirming on the mattress, a whiny Daddy, please escaping your lips. Your mind fogs up, all hazy with lust and his perfume, aching your back for him, pressing your chest flat against the sheets.

Tangerine pouts at you, eyes gleaming playfully. "D'you wan'it that bad, love?", and you nod nod nod, wiggling your hips as you chant - a desperate Yes yes yes escaping your lips, muffled by the mattress - hands uselessly darting out for any leverage.

His middle finger runs through your folds and you tremble, goosebumps erupting on your arms, spreading all over your body. He spreads your slick and his other hand comes up, kneads the flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks further apart. "Always fuckin' wet f'me, innit? Picture perfect cunt ya got, love."

You mewl, throwing a glance over your shoulder to see him watching your hole clench around nothing. His eyes gleam. "Shit", you huff out as his finger brushes over your clit, feet curling a little and he grins smugly - Bastard - and gives your ass another sharp slap. You groan and then his hands are off you, making work of his trousers.

You watch him get fully undressed and your mouth waters at the sight. Tangerine's body is covered in scars, smaller round ones from bullets and larger, longer ones from knives and nasty fist fights and you want to crawl to him on your knees, kiss and lick them, worship them and him - his body, his tool of death - like he's your very personal reincarnation of Ares.

His dick springs free as he drops his boxers, completely exposing his muscular body to you, dusted on body hair and tattoos and scars scars scars and in the moment, that you can see precum glistening on the tip of his cock, you realize that you had already missed it. You fucking missed his dick. The thought has warmth spreading on your cheeks.

There's a light pat on your hip. "C'mon love, turn around. Wanna see your face while I fuck you nice and proper", he hums and your eyelids flutter, humming deeply in your throat at the proposition, turning around and laying on your back.

The mattress dips as he sinks down on his knees, chest flushed a little - the golden necklace dangling between your bodies - and then he's onto you, crawls over your body like an animal, leaves sloppy kisses on your skin, tongue licking over your nipples, stache tickling.

"Oh fuck", you huff, hands darting out and finding his hair, gently tugging at it. Tangerine's lips move over your throat and he sucks, makingyou gasp, throwing your head back as he marks you up.

"Spread ya legs f'me, sweetie", he rasps against your jaw and you do, knees falling apart. He grabs his dick with one hand, the other one supporting his own weight next to your head, rubs himself along your folds, using your slick as lube. "There ya fuckin' go", he huffs and then the thick head of his cock presses against your hole.

"Fuck, yes", you whimper, hot with anticipation, one hand leaving his hair and clutching around his shoulder. And then, he finally - fucking finally - puuushes in, your hole stretching around his girth a little, dull pain spreading excitement across your body.

Tangerine groans. It's a low and honest sound, has his chest vibrating against yours while he looks down to where your bodies meet. "Shit, fuckin' hell", he says, hand abandoning his dick as he slowly slides into you, fills you up and spreads your walls, grabbing your inner thigh instead. The way he spreads your legs is delicious and you hum, his dick is completely seated inside of you.

He lifts his gaze once more, looks at you. His eyes are dark, a stormy stormy sea, a few loose strands falling into his face, curls of his hair freeing themselves from the hair gel. He looks like a fucking god. "Fuck", you say, lowly, hole fluttering around him, stomach tingling at the sight.

"Ya cunt's so fuckin' tight, love", he growls and you can hear, feel it on your skin, that he is having a hard time holding back, "'S perfect, Jesus Christ."

Tangerine rolls his hips, once, twice and you moan, fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulder. "'S good for ya, too, love?", his nose brushes over yours, lips ghosting over your cheek. "Yeah, fuck", you huff, and then he's onto you, licks over your lips with his tongue and shoves it into your mouth, invites himself in. You lick over it, lips locking with his, stealing the air from both of your lungs. It is a sloppy kiss charged with energy and lust, your hands tugging at his curls, making the thrusts of his dick more feral, as he forces himself in deeper, groaning into your mouth. In return you moan, chest heaving against his, tits rubbing over the muscular skin.

His lips brush over the corner of your mouth, breathes against it, stache tingling a little as they move down to your throat, kissing and nibbling at the skin, marking you up.

"Fuck", you gasp at the stinging sensation, pulling his hair and he groans.

It feels nice; the way he is fucking you - you push away the thought that it's dangerously close to actually making love - the way he feels inside of you, how his body feels against yours, but it's also not enough. You need more.

A whine escapes your mouth, all desperate and needy and breathless and his movements still for a second.

Then, Tangerine looks up at you, dark blue eyes meeting yours. "Tell me what you want", he whispers, hand groping your thigh and dick buried deep deep inside of you. You can feel it twitch inside of you and your breath hitches. "Want -- want you to fuck me", you say quietly, "Like - hard."

"Aint' ya just a fuckin' dream, poppet", he growls and then his lips are unto you once more, licking into your mouth, teeth catching your lower lip; licking and kissing your lips until their sore while picking up a faster rhythm, pounding into you.

Tangerine eventually breaks away from you, leaves you panting and straightens up until he's kneeling between your legs - rolls his hips into you with his dick fucking in and out your hole, accompanied by an obscene squelching sound. One of his hands grabs your thigh hard, rings digging into the flesh, and then he's hoisting it up, resting your ankle on his shoulder and you moan at both: how deep his cock now pushes into you and the way Tangerine looks.

A thin layer of sweat covers his cheeks and his upper body, chest and cheeks flushed, a few strands of hair falling into his face as his brows are furrowed, lips slightly parted. You can hear him breathe heavily, occasionally moaning when your walls clench around his cock, squeezing him. He looks like a fucking porn star, with his defined muscles working beneath the skin and the golden jewellery, a soft summer breeze rolling in through the opened window, toying with his hair. Tangerine's gaze is glued to his dick that rhythmically pumps in and out of you, watches the way your juices squelch around the base of his cock, balls slapping against your wet skin.

His free hand runs up your belly and cups one of your tits, squeezes it, rolls the nipple between his fingers - the bracelet around his wrist jingles and the rings are cold against your skin. You hum deeply, breath ragged and fingers clawing at the sheets desperate for any leverage, while his deep thrusts throw you back and forth like a fucking ragdoll, tits bouncing and gasps falling from your lips.

Your mouth falls agape, watching Tangerine through hooded eyes and dark lashes and his gaze crawls up up up your body until it meets yours. It is accompanied by his hand, ditching your tit, and brushing up your neck, cupping your jaw and then falling in the crook beneath it, pressing down. The sudden lack of air has the muscles in your legs tensing and he feels it, too, mischief illuminating his face, his eyes, as you gasp for air. You know he could kill you then and there, watch you as your lights fade out and as fucked up as it is, it has your rutting your hips against him, spurring him on.

Tangerine furrows his brows and picks up a quicker rhythm, hand closing in tighter around your throat, rings pressing down onto your windpipe, and you lay your head back, feeling the stretch as he's choking you. The lack of fresh oxygen has your chest heaving, body surrendering to him and the way his cock pumps into your hole fast and deep, lust igniting your nerves. Tangerine can feel you clenching around his dick, wetting his trimmed pubic hair as you squirt, slick dripping down his balls and staining the sheets below. The beast inside him roars, thrums against the bars of its cage, his ribs and he sees your eyelids fluttering, cheeks prettily reddened.

"Atta girl", he groans, fingers giving in a little and you suck in a few deep breaths, before he presses them back down again. It's too soon and your hands dart up, clutching in around his wrist, bracelet jostling and clinking under your touch.

The cage breaks.

Suddenly, quickly, with the force and speed of a predatory animal, Tangerine lets go off your throat and flicks his wrist, catches both of yours in an iron grip and pins them above your head, down onto the mattress. His body follows the stretch of yours, bending over you, holding his own weight up with a hand that crashes down next to your chest. He is feral and it should scare you, especially as air floods your system again, lifts your mind out of your foggy state just a little, but it just doesn't no fight or flight kicking in. The way Tangerine hovers over you now has your leg on his shoulder bend, too, allowing his dick to fuck into you deeper, delicate pain from the stretch of your back igniting your loins.

Ragged breaths escape his throat while he pounds, ruts into you and you lose yourself in both, the sound of his utter pleasure and the way your body feels: on fire, chest tight with your approaching orgasm and raw lust, pure want, that chews up the ends of your nerves, has your limbs tingling.

Tangerine's hand keeps your wrists in that iron grip of his as he rolls his hips into you, dick hitting your cervix, his fingers digging into the flesh of your wrists. You throw your head back, gasping with each of his thrusts and his eyes follow your movement hungrily, groans as your eyes roll back. There's a strong pull in your abdomen and your hole flutters around his cock, his balls slap against your wet skin.

"Fuck fuck fuck", you whine, high pitched moans falling from your hips as he ruts into you, "I'm gonna cum, oh shit --"

Tangerine's eyes fall shut, a throaty moan erupting deep from his chest when your muscles tighten around him. "Yeah, shit love -- that's it, fuckin' cum f'me", he rasps, forehead coming down to a rest on your shoulder.

And you do after a few more of his deep thrusts, whining and legs kicking a little, shakes erupting in your chest as you press against him. Everything goes white as you ride your orgasm out on his dick, moaning and gasping as he does, too, shoots thick and hot ropes of cum into you, painting your walls and pulsing deep inside of you.

Tangerine moans, coarse and raw and his chest heaves, presses his nose into the crook of your neck - but you barely notice it, too far gone, mouth agape and legs shaking.

It takes you a while to come down again, eyelids fluttering open lazily. There's a hand on your cheek, a deep hum near your ear. "Welcome back, love", Tangerine says quietly and then, "Ya did so good for me, eh?" You mewl, stretching your legs a little. Your whole body feels sore, his cum leaking out of you and into the sheets. All you want to so is to get up and clean yourself up, but your legs are so so heavy and you just feel so so tired. Tangerine seems to notice, too.

"You stay here, darlin', imma get you something to clean you up", Tangerine says, voice coarse but soft and he gets up, just as a fresh breeze rolls in through the curtains, blows them up and sends them flying a little. The forecast prognosed heavy rainfall for next week. The air already smells like it a little - damp and mushy.

The breeze cools your sweaty skin, has you sighing with content while you watch Tangerine's naked form as he is walking to your bathroom, muscles in his legs and butt working nicely with each step.

***

It has been over a week and this is his third night. It starts to feel like a fucking stake out.

He feels incredibly silly. Silly for coming here again. Silly for lying to Lemon - again. Silly for ordering two Margaritas. Silly for drinking both.

Tangerine leans against the bar, elbows planted firmly on the sticky wood, smoking a cigarette. The band, same musicians, play a soft and melancholic tango. The air had cooled down a little after yesterday’s rain and maybe, just maybe, that'll be the summer's first soft goodbye before it will go down in a last great huzzah with a hot Indian summer before autumn takes over the city.

He wonders if he will still be in Amsterdam by then, if he and Lemon will watch the leaves fall. There is an offer for a job in Japan and he is considering to take it. He'll have to talk to Lemon about it.

"Anything else for you, Sir?", the bartender asks. And Tangerine nods, orders another Margarita. The bartender takes the empty glasses away and he stares at the wood. Oh, he's just so bloody fucking silly, isn't he?

He takes another drag from his cigarette, shifts his weight from one foot to another and rubs his eyes. She won't come. He knows.

She just won't. Tangerine did have a suspicion who she was, has heard stories about her father and he knew, as soon as he had laid eyes on her, that he was in big, big trouble. He wonders if he had already taken her away, wanting better for his daughter than a no-good ordinary killer. Did not want the danger in his life that came with a man, who potentially could be holding his daughter for ransom at some point or worse, could get her killed.

He gets it, though. He would probably do just the same.

"There you go, Sir", the bartender says and Tangerine just nods, suddenly feels very very exhausted and just barely notices that something, someone is moving next to him.

"Can you still afford to buy me one, too?", a familiar voice says, "Or did you burn it all on car insurance?" He chuckles, feels a sudden burst of energy surging through his veins, straightens back up and slowly turns around to her.

"Wasn't my fault, 'prick was driving like a fuckin' loony."

She chuckles and the noise makes his head swim, a strange fluttering feeling in his stomach. He wants to tear his chest open and claw at it, rip it out. That is how much it fucking scares him. How much she scares him.

"Wasn't sure if you were coming back", she says, casually, calmly like she thought about it so much she's just used to it by now.

"I'm not leavin' that soon, love", he says, signals the bartender that another Margarita is in order.

"Where you going?"

"Tokyo, love. Probably -- most likely."

"Come back in one piece then", her smile is genuine. And he knows, that he just has to now.

[cillianmurphysdimples]

Female Y/N x Cillian fanfic (Part Seven)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes so not suitable for under 18s

Gif credit - @remembering-angels

We Got Issues

Part Seven: Y/N and Cillian attend a dinner at a London restaurant with Steven and some of the cast of the upcoming Peaky Blinders film before filming begins the following day. Y/N feels anxious and insecure, but Sophie offers her a shoulder and some advice. [Anxiety/Insecurity themes]

@remembering-angels @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @lavender-haze-01

-------

You keep your hand laced tightly in Cillian's as you walk together into the intimately lit restaurant. It's cold outside and raining, and as you step through the doors into the restaurant, you feel a sudden gust of warmer air that instantly banishes the chill of the London evening. Cillian looks back at you, wiggling his hand in yours, as he walks through the scattered chairs and tables towards the back of the large space where you can see Steven clearly on a chair at the edge of a long table. As you both approach, and those seated finally spot you, Cillian's eyes light up at the friendly calls of hello and jovial whoops at your arrival. You're relieved to see Sophie and Matt sitting together, and that there are two empty chairs opposite them that you and Cillian can claim. You wave as Sophie smiles, and Cillian pulls you down towards the waiting chairs.

“Hello brother,” Sophie says cheerfully, getting to her feet as you and Cillian reach the end of the table. Letting go of your hand, Cillian walks around to meet her and takes her into his arms in a loving hug.

“How's it going, sister?” He says, continuing the joke. He rubs his hand up and down her back twice before breaking the embrace. “Well, Matt, howeya?” he says, tapping his hand to Sophie's husband's shoulder before he comes back around the table to where you're hovering nervously. He pulls out the chair that is opposite Sophie's and gestures for you to sit down, lovingly placing his hand between your shoulder blades as you lower into the chair.

You shrug your leather jacket from your shoulders and turn awkwardly on the chair to throw it over the back, then place your handbag by your feet. Dressed in a Peter Pan collared, black blouse and wide legged black trousers, you feel elegant without being overly dressed up, and Cillian's relaxed suit and shirt without a tie mirrors the smart but not too overdone look. Sitting beside you, he rests his arm behind you over the back of your chair, and his fingers move gently against your shoulder and bicep. The table is awash with many different conversations, but you're grateful that Sophie immediately pulls you into hers as Cillian, Matt and Packy are absorbed in conversation beside you.

“You two flew in today?” Sophie asks you, picking up her glass of white wine from the table before her.

You nod your head, eyebrows raising, “Yeah, got to the hotel a couple of hours back.” You smile. You turn your head as Cillian wiggles his fingers against your arm, and he's smiling at you brightly with a waiter standing to his left. “What?”

“Drink?” He asks you, stilling his fingers against your biceps. “Red?” You nod, smiling softly at his immediate assumption being right, and when he turns his head to speak to the waiter, you look back at Sophie again.

“You got a babysitter for the boys then?” You ask, smiling as she nods.

“My mum,” Sophie laughs a little, “They're staying with her for the night, and then Matt will get them tomorrow when I'm at a meeting, then Saturday I head to work.”

“How're you feeling?” You ask, and part of you wonders if she undergoes a massive change like you've been witnessing in Cillian for the last week. “Excited?”

“I am, yeah. Bit nostalgic, bit sad, but I'll be great spending time with that little bugger again.” She nods towards Cillian, and you laugh a little. “Has he been moody with ya?” She asks, “I remember filming series six, I'd seen him a couple of weeks before for a meeting with Steven, and by the time we were here for the first few weeks of filming, he was quieter, moodier, I wanted to hit him some days.” She laughs, and you know Cillian is listening when he suddenly moves close to your left ear.

“Don't listen to a word.” He says, then laughs as he straightens up. Sophie laughs too, and pokes out her tongue. “No Rebecca?” Cillian asks, looking first at Sophie, then at Packy, then to Steven. You feel a flutter of anxiety at the prospect of meeting Rebecca, but you're not entirely sure why.

“She said she'd come, Ned did too.” Steven replies, lifting his glass to his lips.

“Ah, Ned, good man.” Cillian smiles; you know he's fond of Ned Dennehy. Cillian shifts a little on his seat, drawing his arm from around your back, and you realise the waiter has returned with your drinks. Taking it from him, Cillian hands you your glass of wine before setting down his own drink before him. You're almost surprised to see his preferred Guinness has been sidestepped for a glass of wine too. “Packy,” he says, and rests his elbows onto the table as he leans forwards on his chair, “You get in today?”

"I did, aye," Packy nods his head, eyes wide and animated, and you remember why you like the man so much as he and Cillian flutter of into a series of facial expression, head nods, sighs and inhales that all mean something but, to those outside of Irish culture, might seem like they're barely saying anything at all.

“Y/N?” Sophie calls, and you look around at her. “How was your birthday?”

“Nice, yeah,” you say, then wrinkle your nose. “Just another day, mostly, but we had dinner in town.” You smile.

“Any stand out birthday gifts?” She asks, and you immediately realise she's suggesting that there was an engagement announcement to be made.

“Well, Cill got me a ring,” you say and hold your hand out across the table, and you laugh to yourself as her face goes from shock, to confusion, then a soft smile as she realises it isn't an engagement ring. Drawing back your arm, you chuckle. “There's no plans for marriage,” you tell her, and she sticks out her bottom lip.

“You don't want to?” She asks and Matt seems suddenly intrigued by the conversation too. “A wedding, babies?” She grins.

You shrug your shoulders, “If he asked, I don't know what I would say at this point in time.” You answer and hope you sound honest. God, you'd marry him in a heartbeat, you think, and you'd finally reached the point in your head where you'd bear his child and yet here you are - with a promise ring and a man who no longer wants more kids. You wrinkle your nose and smile a little, “But he's done it once before, does it have the same meaning if you do it a second time?”

“Why wouldn't it?” Sophie asks, looking at you a little concerned by your view.

You shrug your shoulders again, “I don't know,” you say, and you realise you don't know how you feel about the subject, not fully. Considering you both have different views about what proper communication is - and there is a niggle in the back of your mind if he has considered what the implications could be of the sex around the time of your birthday - you don't know how life will pan out for you in the future. Your stomach turns over and you feel a little warm and uncomfortable. It must show on your face as Sophie reaches out across the table and touches your hand where you have it cupped around the stem of your wine glass. “Sorry,” you force a smile and you can see she doesn't buy it. “I feel a bit warm. So many bodies.” You lie, hoping it sounds convincing. Sophie draws back her hand.

“Oi, big brother,” Sophie calls out playfully to Cillian, and after a moment he turns his head away from his conversation and raises his eyebrows at her. You feel awkward, severely out of place, and like you've forced yourself to start thinking back over all the things you'd glossed over since the weekend before your birthday.

“What?” Cillian is smiling at her with a sparkle in his eyes, and it goes a long way to soothing you to see him so animated.

“Give Y/N a hug, will you!” Sophie thrusts her hand towards you, “She's not used to all these people.”

When he turns to look at you, there is concern in Cillian's eyes and you shake your head with a small smile. “I'm fine,” you say, but as he reaches his arm out and rests it behind you again, like he had when you sat down, and cups his fingers around your arm, you do feel an immediate sense of security, an immediate rush of relaxation through your body, attempting to put out the fires of doubt in your gut. He pulls you in a little, and you rest your shoulder into his chest.

His voice is low and quiet, as he whispers his words into the top of your head, and his accent is thick and comforting. “Are y’alright?”

“I'm fine,” you say quietly, your head under his chin, “it's just a bit warm in here, that's all.” You lie easily. He rubs his hand up and down your bicep, and you inhale the smell of his skin and aftershave from the material of his shirt. He's home for you, for sure, and his mere presence is an antidote, but he's the catalyst of your anxieties, too, and you hate the contradiction. He doesn't remove his arm, and you don't pull yourself away. Despite Sophie looking back once or twice, you stay close and comfortable in his embrace. It's only when the table erupts into hellos ten minutes later that you both begin to separate.

Cillian looks around and offers a cheerful smile to the woman who has approached. You recognise her as Rebecca, though you've only seen her on that Zoom call, and you feel that twisting in your stomach again. She takes the vacant seat to Cillian's left, and you peer around him to offer her a smile as she says hello. For a moment your heart drops in your chest and you can't explain why. Cillian leans towards her slightly, talking to her quietly in the midst of the loudness around them, and when she laughs at whatever it is he's said, you have a brief moment of wanting to scratch her eyes out. You berate yourself silently. What are you thinking! You don't know her, and she's clearly just a colleague here. You scold yourself for your possessive stupidity, but you can't turn it off, either.

“Y/N,” Sophie calls out. You look up, and fix your expression to a smile. “I need the loo, fancy a chat?” You don't know if she's intuitive or just desperate form company, but you nod and stand up from your seat as she does. You sidestep awkwardly, to move from between your seat and the table, and crouch down for your bag on the floor. As you straighten back up, Sophie is behind you and rests her hand on your back. You're surprised, somewhat, that Cillian doesn't even seem to have noticed you've moved, and you walk away with Sophie without letting him know you're disappearing for a moment. The noise of the busy restaurant slowly filters back and you follow as Sophie leads off down a carpeted, low-lit corridor, behind two sets of double doors, before she finally indicates that the ladies toilets are ahead. “Good old trek in this place. It's like a bloody Wetherspoons; marathon distances just to have a wee!” She laughs lightly, and you chuckle. She stops outside of the door into the ladies, and turns as you come to a stop a step back from her. “Is everything alright?” She asks gently. “You seem a bit lost this evening.” She gives you such a look of understanding, you're almost ready to open like an unlocked box.

“No, everything's fine, Soph, really.” You play it cool. “Work has been heavy this week, you remember what to do, yeah?” You say, and while it's not a true lie, it isn't the whole truth. “There's been some hard stuff this week, and it can be hard to shake. If I pulled a face or something, it wasn’t meant!” You add a slight laugh, hoping it's convincing.

“I told you, didn't I, he gets into the mindset for filming and his demeanour changes. You'll get used to it, and you'll see which parts he's doing on purpose and which he can't switch off. And that's me speaking as someone who didn't go home with him at the end of the day!” She says gently. “Do you worry?” She asks and you frown deeper.

“Worry?” You repeat. “About what?”

“That he'll - and tell me if I'm speaking out of turn, but that he'll…” you watch as Sophie tries her hardest to voice her view without being offensive.

You take a deep breath, “That he'll do to me what we did to his wife?” You say, and first you see her look back at you in shock before she nods her head coyly. You shrug your shoulders, “Sometimes, maybe.” You say. But inside your head you scream ‘always’.

Sophie smiles at you and reaches out her hand, cupping her fingers around your upper arm. “The last two years, before he and Yvonne separated and then divorced, I know you two knew one another and things were quiet. He was really low, so unhappy. I mean, he wasn't rude - he never is, is he?! But Y/N, when I say he's happier than I've seen in forever, since the two of you are settled and happy, I mean it.” she says and you find yourself smiling at her conviction. “As for the next little while…Tommy sometimes seems to take him over,” she says with a little smile, “It's a heavy role, so just remember Cill is in there and he'll be back, don't think that it's because he's feeling a different way.” You find her words actually kind of comforting, and you stay outside, in the hallway, as she disappears into the ladies toilets. You step back, away from the door, and lean yourself against the wall, easing the weight off your feet and the painful heels you'd picked out. Directly in front of you is the door into ladies, and to your right is the doorway into the mens. You shuffle yourself down the wall a little to your left, just to give some space between yourself and the doorways.

As the door at the far left end of the corridor swings open, you turn your head and instantly you smile when it's Cillian walking towards you. He smiling as he walks closer. “I didn't know where you'd gone.” he stops before you. “What're you loitering out here for?” He asks, amused, with a single eyebrow raised.

“We travel in packs,” you tease and watch him smirk. “Sophie's in the loo, I'm just waiting for her.” It's nice to see him, and you feel absurd for that feeling when you've been gone for five minutes! But your mindset has changed with Sophie's words, and your heart feels a little lighter somehow. You just hope it lasts.

He nods towards the men's toilets. “I'll be back,” he says, and vanishes through the door.

You're about ready to remove your shoes when Sophie finally emerges, and she smiles at you brightly. She's refreshed her lipstick and her eyes sparkle a little as she grins. “Coming back?” She asks, nodding down the corridor to the doorway.

“Cill’s in there,” you thumb towards the toilet door. “I'll wait for him.” You say, and realise you probably sound like a lovesick teenager with that response. She smiles at you, then wiggles her eyebrows before giggling a little. “What?” You laugh back at her.

“You know they lock the accessible toilets in places like this?” Sophie grins, “You can't dip in there for a quickie.”

You gasp before you laugh, and she laughs louder at your response. “Stop it!” You shake your head.

“You're telling me you two have never…you know… somewhere risky?” Sophie asks. “Matt and I, just once, pulled over at a rest stop area, on a drive up to Scotland…” she says, laughing. “Put back the driver's seat…” she says, and then shrugs before she laughs even harder.

You find yourself completely enthralled as she begins to give you details, without the gory details of course, of her tryst in a lay-by and all you can do is laugh. “Sophie!” You shake your head, covering your mouth with her hand as she trails off.

“So you've never?” She asks.

“No!” You shake your head, then bite your bottom lip. “Well...not in a lay-by anyway!” You both silence abruptly, your heads turning in unison as the door to the men's toilets drags open and Cillian steps out, first completely expressionless then a little bemused as to why you're both staring at him. Sophie breaks first, tittering quietly as she turns her back, laughing more loudly, and begins to walk away. You hold your hand out to Cillian and shake your head with a smile, “Don't ask and I won't lie,” you chuckle as he clasps his fingers around yours.

“Right!” he shakes his head, but there's a smile on his lips that lets you know he's just happy you're happy. “Are you finding it a bit much?” He asks, pushing open the first set of doors.

You shrug, “I was, but I feel better now.” You say, and you feel like it's an honest answer.

“Tell me if you're not. I'll mind you, you know that, or we can go.” He says, looking at you for a moment before he reaches out his hand and pushes through the second set of doors, back out into the noise of the restaurant.

“I'm fine, really,” you say, and squeeze your fingers around his. “It's nice seeing everyone properly, you know? In the context you met them all originally. They're lovely.” You say, and he gives you a lopsided smile, his cheek bending into a deep dimple. “It's nice seeing you in this context, too.”

“What context?” He asks, looking a little bemused.

“Tommy fucking Shelby,” you laugh, and he rolls his eyes at the level of amusement you take from your own joke. A few steps from the table, you turn towards him fully and gently push a kiss against his cheek. You're not sure if you're stamping your ownership in front of people, or if it's simply because you wanted to kiss him, but when he squeezes your hand at the gesture, you're sure it was the right move.

[magspieart]

oh! so in your alien au, are they already integrated into human society or are they doing a takeover? (hostile takeover?)

So the plan so far is that the reader is abducted at the VERY start of the take over. Think sending scouts and stuff into the territory to check over the environment and fauna. Sun is the one who actually takes them (even though he is definitely not supposed to be there as the youngest prince).

It's more or less Sun seeing them and immediately thinking "this is so ugly I need to keep it", and then getting absolutely bollocked by Moon for doing something so stupid. Later shenanigans of trying to hide this from their VERY overworked eldest brother ensues.

As for the takeover side, while they like to think of themselves as unhostile it's definitely gonna be a lot of politics on the humans side. But we'll have to see how that plays out I suppose