#Ty Garrison

[guywrestlingaddiction]

Double Team Triumph (almost): Jude Johns v Ty Garrison & Gilles Laurent (bgeast.com)

Consider this match a cuckold fight taken too far.  In theory it might be fun to show off your wrestling skills in front of your guy, just be careful it doesn't all blow up in your face.  

Jude Johns v Ty Garrison & Gilles Laurent (bgeast.com)

SPOILER ALERT: I highly recommend viewing this match in its entirety before reading this post.  

The Backstory

We open on Ty and Gilles.  Are they boyfriends? Lovers? Whatever you call it, it's clear these two have some chemistry together when suddenly there's a knock on the door...

And we begin ...

The Triumph

Jude's body is a canvas of cut and sexy defined muscle, all of which became a formidable weapon as he swiftly subdued Ty. Unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of such punishment, Ty didn't take the loss lightly. In his mind, he envisioned overpowering his opponent, showing off his muscles, and perhaps celebrating later with his partner. Alas, the reality of the match unfolded in stark contrast to that dream.

Jude flashes a cocky look while Ty struggles against him.  

In a bid to salvage some honor, Gilles leaps into the fray, hoping to overcome the new stud, but it was all in vain. Jude proved to be an unstoppable force, a wrestler of such magnitude that both Gilles and Ty together couldn't match.

The Double Team

Every man has his breaking point and that last submission in French breached that point. Who the hell was this newcomer making him look bad and what kind of man is Ty if he can't protect his partner?  Ty isn't going to stand for this as he leaps into action to save his man.  

The match is over.  Jude may have won fair and square but Ty and Gilles was going to make him worship them as punishment for making them look bad.  

So what have we learned today? You can win the match but still lose yourself to your opponent(s). Jude is just a bit too cocky and arrogant, forcing Ty to summon his inner heel and knock him the fuck down. The line "Submit ... now in French" is the highlight of this match for me and the ultimate humiliation for Gilles. You see, while the wrestling itself may be average, the humiliation (and redemption) of these two men is an absolute triumph.

[mvshortcut]

For blorbo bingus: Dr. Garrison? 😇

Go girl give us nothing!

[amysterywrappedinanenigma]

For the character ask game - Dr. Garrison for 2, 10, and 23? (And also Curtain for 9. I gotta know the truth.) <33

Dr. Garrison:

2- When I think I truly started to like them. 

I feel like I generally liked her in the first season, but didn’t think that much of her. I thought she had a pretty interesting role as someone who was aligned with Curtain, but was also a voice of ethics that pushed against him, and I thought her character functioned as an interesting showcase of his manipulation. 

That being said, I don’t know what happened to me between season 1 and 2, but the second she came onscreen in season 2, I physically shrieked. And then I really liked her in the episode she was in, and I love her even more with the weird extensive world of lore we’ve kind of built around her. 

10- Describe the character in one sentence

Ethically questionable, emotionally unstable woman in STEM with divorced energy, who can do no wrong and who we hope will have the supervillain arc she deserves in the future, after extensive therapy and probably a hug.

23- Future headcanon

I think we’ve mentioned this a little bit in the past, but I really like to think her and Martina join up in the future and kind of go through things, and do a little bit of healing and moving on together. I just feel like they’d have a mutual respect for one another, and their dynamic would be really nice. (This also definitely involves Martina gently (or not so gently) bullying Garrison until she gets back on her feet and starts her villain arc). And it gives Dr. Garrison the chance to become an aggressive sports mom, and I kind of love that for her. 

Curtain: 

9- Your least favorite outfit of them

Oh that’s hard, there are so many to choose from and I feel like they’re kind of equally- just kidding, it’s the x-ray smock. We all know it’s the stupid X-ray smock. Stupid shirt haunts my nightmares and he has the audacity to wear it as if it’s fashionable. It inspires my rage just like he does. 

Character asks!

[zablife]

I love this, back again!!! For the spicy fic i thought of this lil bit — Tommy's wife having this habit of playfully biting his earlobe whenever tommy won't listen to her and teasing him but it secretly turns him on? 🤭 i'd love to see the spice level of this! <33

Ty for the request, M! I adore your head canon and I've transformed it into a blurb below. Thanks for the inspo! I hope you enjoy it!

Are You Listening?

"I think it best to move the charity dinner to the tenth, don't you?" you inquired thoughtfully, leaning past Tommy to survey his diary.

The gentle brush of your full breasts against your husband's arm was enough to distract him and he found himself daydreaming about ripping the tight bodice of your dress wide to expose you to the streaming sunlight.

"Tommy, are you listening?" you demanded, leaning down to nip at his earlobes. It was a playful habit you'd developed over the years which always brought him round.

"What?" he asked with a sharp cry, trousers growing tight from the tiny lick you'd used to soothe the bite, followed by the surge of warm breath against his neck.

"The dinner," you reminded him with soft touch, cleverly adding the piercing intensity of your fingernails to his muscular shoulder as you begged him to concentrate.

"Wh-what dinner?" he mumbled fumbling with your buttons, thinking of nothing more than sweeping the desk clear of every item so he might ravage you then and there.

You giggled at his preoccupation, then released a long sigh as you realized no business would be discussed that afternoon. Retreating to a position behind his chair, you stretched your arms down his toned torso toward his belt. "Your lack of concentration is disappointing, Mr. Shelby," you whispered, rolling the heel of your palm over his growing erection.

"I can assure you, you have my undivided attention," Tommy promised, head falling back into the chair with a wicked grin.

Zablife Sleepover

---------------------

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@red-riding-wood

@polishcrazyone

@elenavampire21

@little-diable

@lyarr24

@the-fangirl-diaries

@kmc1989

@stilestotherescue 

@helen06dreamer

@chaosinkest1996 

@pietroxreader 

@galactict3a

@ietss

@mostly-marvel-musings

@writeroutoftime

@yolobloggers

@outlanderuniverse

@anilovessadbooks

@tremendousstarlighttragedy

@elliaze

@leenieweenie

@snickersmee

@niktwazny303

@darklydeliciousdesires

@pono-pura-vida

@emotionalcadaver

@garrison-girl-08

@runnning-outof-time

@dandelionprints

@look-at-the-soul

@justrainandcoffee

@babayaga67

@kmhappybunny240

@aesthetic0cherryblossom

@emotionalcadaver

@peakyltd

@holacia3

@thomashelbyswife

[keravnous]

atop of cherry hill ; arthur shelby jr/fem!reader (18+, smut)

Thomas Shelby has had enough of Arthur's violent outbursts. Thus, he pays you to help the oldest Shelby brother with blowing off some steam. Or: Thomas "mistakes" you for a prostitute and Arthur pops your cherry.

word count: 12,1k

warnings: fem!reader, dubcon; implied but also not so-implied involuntary prostitution, (imagery of) blood and violence; unprotected sex (this man might not be real but stds surely are, so wrap it up kids), age gap (reader is in her 20s, arthur is in his mid to late 30s), power play and power dynamics, fingering, riding, backshots, dirty talk, name calling, slight bimbofication and dumbification - if you blink you'll miss it, corruption kink, loss of virginity/virgin kink, spit kink, spanking, rough sex, sir kink; late season one/early season two arthur, set somewhere between s1 and s2,, time is just a construct babes ; he's so pathetic and sad I love him; I tried to write Brummie but jfc I am just a small little German girlie alright I am so sorry; also grace is still in birmingham too?? bc i love her sm

this is so so so heavily inspired by foy vance's make it rain bc it just fits idk; also a big fat ty to my bud for keeping up with me live blogging my arthur thirst youre a gem bro; also why am I always so fucking late to everything, is this fandom still alive??

"Move."

"Mr Shelby, I-", you nearly stumble as Thomas drags you forward and you look up at him, dark hair framing his face, blue eyes shining sternly from the cavities of his skull-like and bone-pale face. You know him.

Well, not personally. But you have heard the stories - a multitude of them coloured in blood red and wailing agony - you have seen people clear tables in pubs for him and the streets for him. Something, no someone on your periphery moves, strolls over.

"She'll do", says the younger version of him approaching, moving the tooth pick in the corner of his mouth from one side to the other, "Lass got jus' wha'he fancies." He is walking towards you, slouching a little with his fists buried is pockets. Looking at you, he kisses his teeth, grins. "Oh, smile, sunshine. Tommy'll pay you nicely for this, y'got nuttin to loose."

"Get her inside, John", so that little prick is the youngest Shelby, then, "He'll be here, soon."

"What's got his knickers in a twist t'day, eh?"

"Sabini. Get her inside, and make sure she's--", Tommy eyes you up and down, the way you clutch your little embroidered handbag, "Nice and comfortable, right?"

John snorts, shrugs. "Right this way, mylady", he says, bowing mockingly.

The Garrison is warm, the air inside smells of malt and cigarette smoke. The pub is empty, except for a young blonde woman who stands behind the counter. She is currently polishing glasses, looks up as the door falls shut behind you. Relief washes over you.

You are not alone. There is another woman here. You will not be hurt. The woman gives you a quick once-over, and all hope flies straight out the window as she quickly unwraps her apron and drops it on the counter. "You're early", she says, to no one in particular, seemingly just to complain.

"Tell that to Tommy", John replies, pushes one door of the snug on your right side open, "Bring 'er some whiskey first and then clear the air, will ya?"

She mutters something to herself and turns around to the shelf behind her. "After you", John ushers you into the dimly lit snug.

You take a few steps forward, into the room. Unsure what to do, you just stand there, taking it all in. The room smells of cigars and men's perfume.

"Sit", John says, waves his hand aimlessly at the bench, seats padded with red velvet. Anxiety has the hairs on your body standing up, a cold rushing down your spine.

"I don't want to."

"Fine, suit yerself", he shrugs again, leans against the doorframe, "Y'know why you're here?"

You're not stupid. If the lawyer's office you had once worked at as a secretary back in London, had not been bombed out, you would have never returned to your hometown of Birmingham. Money is tight, with your gran being so ill and your father and grandfather being buried in Verdun. Your mother has left a long time ago.

You want to protest, to open your mouth and say that you are not a prostitute, - I am not like Lizzie Stark -, but the weight of five fucking hundred pounds in your bag drags your hands down, keeps your mouth shut. You really need the money. This much can easily get you through a few months, maybe even a full year.

Thus, when Thomas Shelby had stood on your doorstep, waving a thick wad of cash in front of your nose, and requesting your presence, you had no real choice but to accept.

"Yes, Mister Shelby", you say, voice small as you feel shame and anxiety washing over you in cold, sweaty waves.

John just nods and you want to ask Who will I be seeing today but something about his demeanour - the way he leans there, eyes cold and indifferent - tells you, that he wants to be here even less than you do.

Eventually, you do take a seat. The blonde woman brought some gin a while ago, which you neither touched nor drank, and you carefully sink onto the table next to it. She left right after putting the bottle and two glasses down, shutting the pub's door behind her. Minutes go by. A minute becomes ten, until an hour passes and the sun starts to set slowly. An hour grows into an hour and ten minutes, until -

There's commotion outside. The thundering of a motor carriage. People yelling. Steps approaching and then the front door being swung open, with such force that it rattles against the wall. John moves away from the snug's door just in time, before it too gets forcefully yanked open, revealing a man with neatly trimmed auburn hair and an equally as trimmed moustache. His face is ragged and hard with rage as he enters the room, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. He is trailed by Thomas, who immediately looks at you.

The new arrival does not bother himself with your presence, only wipes away at his forehead, which you only now notice is bleeding. A cut, right underneath his hairline, not too deep but deep enough to bleed. Profusely.

"That fuckin' rat", he bellows loudly, in such a deep baritone that his voice vibrates inside your chest. He sounds rough around the edges, his accent swirling along his tongue thickly with his throat all coarse, like something constantly pains him. Like that pain edged itself onto his voice, broken it up and now pushes it out all gravelly. "Y' should've let me kill him, Tommy, that's what ya fuckin' should've let me done", he throws his grey coat onto a chair, takes a drag from his cigarette and then slams his fist onto his palm, hard and loud, as if trying to prove a point, "He ain't gonna keep his fuckin' gob shut and then what, eh? Let me deal with him now. Let me cut his fuckin' tongue out, that fat bastard -"

Thomas says nothing, just stands there smoking his cigarette, while the other man continues enraging himself, throwing profanities around. "Tomorrow, Arthur. Tomorrow, I will let you deal with him", he eventually says, pats the man - Arthur - on the back, "Today, I want you to enjoy yourself for once, eh?"

Arthur. You have heard of him, too: the elder Shelby sibling - a vicious and brutal thug, cruel and pitiless, loyal to the family and the game. You once heard he had maimed someone, strolling down Birmingham main road after, drenched in blood looking like he bathed in it. Another time you heard he had beat someone to a pulp so badly, his brains and innards flew everywhere in a mushy mousse. Just a few days ago you heard that he tore someone's throat out with his teeth in a bar tussle.

You shudder. No. Not him. Anyone, anyone with a gentler reputation. You already expect him to lash out, explode like a fucking grenade in an instant and blow this place up with yelling and flying fists but --

But for now, he just looks at his younger brother, unmoving and back still turned towards you. "Brought you a gift", Thomas' mouth quips up in the smallest of smiles before his gaze drops to you.

And you just stand there, in your pretty dress, unsure of what to do with your hands as Arthur turns around slowly. His gaze lands on your frame. If he thinks of something, anything he masks it, face an iron mask of anger.

"Who's that?", he asks, plainly, as if he is missing something important here.

John chuckles and Thomas says, without batting an eye: "A whore."

"You got me a girl?", Arthur states flatly, blinks at you and you shift uneasily underneath his piercing gaze. And then, after no one says anything for a heartbeat or two: "What? D'ya think I'm fuckin' fifteen, Tommy?"

"Jus' thought ya could yer dick wet", John says, moves his tooth pick. Left to right. And back.

"Watch yourself, you little shite", Arthur hisses and John lifts his hands, laughs quietly - but backs off just a little, just to be sure.

"John, wait outside", Thomas' voice sounds exhausted, cold and John just looks at him for a moment, before tipping his cap towards you with a grin, making a real show out of exiting the snug and the pub slowly. Before the door shuts, Thomas is already approaching Arthur, placing a firm hand on his shoulder in pulls him in a huddle as he talks lowly. You try to make out what they are saying, but what you can catch sounds - apart from your name - like gibberish to you. That is, until you realize that they are talking in a whole different language.

While Thomas holds Arthur close, murmuring something, his gaze flickers back and forth between you and his older brother. Soon after Thomas leaves, pats his brother on the shoulder without offering you as much as one last word, one last look before he closes the door behind himself.

You are alone with Arthur now - Thomas Shelby's most powerful, most violent tool. The room suddenly feels too small, like the walls are closing in, suffocating you.

Arthur turns around to you once more. You say nothing and neither does he, just looks at you, let's his gaze wander over your form with hands buried in his pockets. The cigarette still dangles from the corner of his mouth, smoke curling and dissipating into the air. Neither of you says a word for a while; you just stand there, like that little robin that you observed in your backyard yesterday. It froze, as the stray cat sneaked closer and ever closer. As if it truly considered, not moving would make the cat believe it was either already dead or just plainly imagination, conjured by hunger. As if that would stop the cat from burying its claws into it, its sharp teeth to tear it apart and feed from its flesh.

You shift uncomfortably. A man like him, any man like the Shelby men for that matter, is a dangerous man. An image flashes before your inner eye - like a premonition, like a warning: you, battered and bruised, blood tickling from your nose as you stumble back home, dress torn and hairdo ripped apart with a few strands missing.

"You're clean, right love?", his gravelly voice pulls you from your thoughts. He looks at you, straight into your eyes and goosebumps erupt on your skin, while he remains where he stands. The question makes your cheeks heat up and you would really really love to just leave - but his gaze keeps you glued to the spot, piercing blue eyes boring deep into your soul.

"Yes, Sir", you answer dutifully, nodding, ignoring the shame heating up your face. One of his hands comes up, rubs his chin like he is thinking real hard.

"How'd that be?"

"Excuse me?"

"How's a pretty girl like ya clean?"

Heat rises on your cheeks, your eyes water. "I--", your voice breaks, "I am not-"

"Not clean, eh?", he says just as you usher out: "A prostitute."

Now, his face breaks. Brows shooting up, blinks rapidly, irritated. "'Scuse me?"

You swallow. Shit. Now he is gonna send you away, and Thomas will come for his money. You can't have that - you need that money.

"I just do hand-stuff, normally", you say, surprised at how easily the lie slips over your lips, fills the air in a steady tone.

"That's a prostitute in my book, sweetheart", he answers cooly, shrugs, and moves towards the bottle of gin, "Y'wan'a drink?"

Your hands shake, and he cannot - should not - see that and thus, you shake your head.

He mutters something inaudible, as he pours himself a glass, voice a low rumble. You decide it is best not to inquire. Not to move. You remain standing, as he pours himself another glass and downs it quickly just like the other, shoulders visibly relaxing, before sitting down on the red padded bench, throwing his half-smoked cigarette into your empty glass. Arthur looks at you, expression unreadable. "C'mere", he eventually says, the slightest bit annoyed and you follow hastily - muttering Yes, Sir that has the corners of his mouth quipping up in a dirty grin - placing your bag next to the bottle onto the table, before approaching him.

Arthur's legs are spread, the expensive wool of his trousers wrapping snugly around lanky but muscular thighs. You take him in for a second, the auburn nearly ginger hair gelled back, forehead stained by blood, his face hard and unmoving, the specks of blood scattered on his nice and expensive looking grey suit. You step closer and to your surprise he extends a calloused and freckled hand, that you gently place yours into - soft and fragile in comparison - and he takes it, helps you onto his lap. Your body is stiff with anxiety and you hope, pray, that he does not notice.

The first thing you become aware of, among the strange but welcome sensation of being so so close to another human being - to a man, is his scent. He smells surprisingly nice. Wooden and of foreign spices, rich and heavy. Like a bonfire. Like a twelve-hour shift at the coal factories. Still expensive, but as if the perfume cannot fully cover, hide his heritage as a working-class man. He smells of cigarettes and liquor and blood and money. The scent wraps you in, a cloud of luxurious silk and crackling fire wood in a heath, makes you ease into his lap.

You wonder if Arthur can smell the flowery toilet water you put on earlier. You bought it before the war, back in London. It is the last proper thing you own.

His hand forsakes yours, drops down to your thigh, where your dress has already ridden up your legs. His skin is warm on yours and then you feel it, like your sense coming back alive, jolting awake under a thick haze of fear: His hardening bulge pressing against your cunt, right between your legs. Huge and warm, already rock hard.

Your mouth falls agape slightly, cheeks turning a pretty shade of red in an instant. He chuckles, a deep and rumbling sound. You do not dare to look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the golden chain, that secures the watch in his waist coat. It gleams prettily in the warm and dim light of the petrol lamps, like molten sunshine.

"I really hope ya haven't planning on only givin' me yer hands tonight, sweetheart", he keeps his gaze trained on your thighs, watches how his hands rest on them, large and slender fingers on your comparably small legs, thumbs caressing the lace hem of your stockings.

You do not know what you have planned. You had no plans. You accepted an offer and only now come to realization what following through with the service required really means. You have no clue how any of this works: sex, prostitution, pleasuring a man. But you know what they all want in the end. And you are certain he will be mad, if you do not give him what he desires.

"Of course not, Sir", you say quietly, thinking about the money in your bag. You got this. You simply have to.

"Ya just a very prim 'n proper young lady, aren't ya?", he hums. You hear the clasps of your garters snapping open and they fall to the sides, allowing him to pull your stockings down down down to your knees. His hands are rough on your soft skin and the touch is foreign, but it electrifies you nonetheless, has you looking up from his watch chains.

Arthur meets your gaze - has been watching your shy, beautiful face the whole time while being visibly amused by your modesty - blue eyes gleaming in the golden hue of the lights.

There is a profound sadness in his eyes. It goes deep, deeper than you dare to look. His features are harsh and unmoving, his eyes hard but their gaze is surprisingly soft; a warm summer's day lake hiding behind the Atlantic storm. You wonder who hurt him. Who left him. Who beat him, broke his heart, chewed it up and spat it back out. You wonder if what happened to him was a tragedy or just the war.

You want to touch it, wipe the sadness away. The thought gives you whiplash with the way it sneaks up on you, hits you across the back of your head and pushes itself to your front-lobe violently. He is beautiful. In his own ragged, brash way - with freckles dusted over his nose and cheeks, some of them gotten lost on his jaw as well, high cheekbones and plush, worrisome tilted lips.

Your body betrays you as your thumb dances over the corner of his mouth and then you lean forward, gently put your lips onto his. It takes him a moment, like he is surprised by the gentleness of it all, before he kisses you back. And does he kiss you. Soft at first, he grows hungry quickly, desperately licks into your mouth and grabs your jaw, holds your head in place as he pushes his tongue against yours and your lower back flush against the edge of the table as he latches onto you. You have kissed men before, drunken at the fair or sober in back alleys, but no other man has ever kissed you like he does now. He is all force and passion and it disarms you, makes you soft and responsive in his hold.

You sling your arms around his neck, hands clutching at his jacket, as he leans into you. Arthur's hands are everywhere, roaming over your thighs, your hips, your back as he feels you up, pulls you closer. You feel like a ragdoll in his arms, being thrown around for his pleasure and your belly tingles traitorously. Arthur pants against your lips, drags his tongue along your lower lip before his teeth gently nip at it.

Not wanting to lose all control and staying close to him - his warmth, the friction of his lean, strong body against yours - you press yourself back against him, and he sinks into the velvet cushion, groans into your mouth as you roll your hips into his dick. Arthur parts his lips from yours, licks the corner of your mouth hungrily as you draw in breaths hectically, rolling your hips once more.

And then you feel it. You are so fucking wet. It seeps through your underwear already, and your body feels like it's on fire, tingles all over. Your upper lip stings from his assault, with the way his moustache has rubbed against your soft skin there and your bottom lip is sore from him pulling and sucking at it. Then, something happens within you; something that you have never felt with such intensity. It starts with a sharp electric tingle in your belly, that shoots right between your thighs, has your loins practically catching fucking fire. It feels like your whole body lights up - so heavily that your fucking brain shuts off, short-circuits.

Suddenly, you want him to be closer - no, you need him to be closer. Without thinking, without debating it with yourself first, without any form of making sense or weighing the consequences of your actions your hands run over his muscular chest, feeling him up while you lean in, pressing hot, wet kisses to his neck.

He feels nice beneath your hands, firm and warm and you wrap your arms around his neck as you dive in again, his eyes already trailing your lips, before you are locking them with his. You steal the air from his lungs as you lick into his mouth, rubbing your body against his, tits pressed to his chest, hips rolling into his dick until you pant into the kiss so heavily that he breaks from you, licks his lips. Instead of stopping to touch him, your hands trail down the lapels of his jacket, slipping underneath it, thumbs trailing the muscles of his stomach.

"Sweetheart", he says lowly, voice trailing off, eyelids fluttering. He has not been touched like this in a long, long time. And he feels like it is going to drive him insane, if he does not stop you soon. Your tender, soft fingers - delicate in comparison to his - keep brushing over his expensive suit, cradling his neck, caressing his shaved head right behind his ears, grabbing his face. It feels too gentle and he fears that his heart is going to explode from it. It's too much - too much for someone like him, someone who belongs nowhere, to no one, who is never cared for. Someone who is as lonely as he is. It has his blood boiling.

Grabbing your hands and pulling them off him, he looks at you - gaze sharp, hard; the sad sea icy. "Y' better get to it, now."

His words, cutting and sharp as shrapnel, yank you out of a cotton-candy stasis, your brain all mushy and hard to reach, hard to use. "Yeah, sure", you breathe, nodding, "Yeah, 'f course."

You swallow, as your hands move - shaking, fluttering nervously and a little aimlessly in the beginning - to get his wool jacket of first. He does not make it harder for you as it already is, but also does not help you much, only throws his jacket to the side carelessly once it comes off. Keeps his eyes trained on your face, studying your every move, on the lookout for any and every single twitch of your facial muscles like a fucking deadly desert predator.

And there it is, comes into vision: the predators, well - weapon. It sits silently, unmoving, in a holster beneath his shoulder. Its silvery handle peeking out towards you mockingly.

His gun.

You swallow. Visibly.

Arthur makes a guttural sound. "That ol' thing's scarin' ya, sweetheart?", he sounds amused almost, reaches for it and you freeze. "I ain't gonna hurt ya, relax", he takes it out of the holster, places it onto the table, where it clinks as it connects with the wood, before he adds with a playful wink, "At least not like tha'."

Unable to control, to stop yourself, you still peak over your shoulder, assessing where it lays. Just in case. Mustering the revolver, you --

A hand grabs your chin, surprisingly gentle, and your face is slowly turned towards back to then man, whose lap you are currently sitting in. Like the gun wasn't already enough to shake the foundation of your world, he now looks at you, coos quietly. "Aren't ya a panicky lil' bird", his hand caresses your cheek and you seriously do not know who he is anymore, with his sad but cold eyes, the dried blood on his forehead, the loaded gun on the table and his loving touches, "Relax, eh? Nothing's gonna happen, as long as I'm 'ere." And as if he is trying to prove this point - maybe even to himself - he straightens up a little, sits back up, the motion pulling you deeper into his lap, with one of his large, slender hands running up your back slowly, steadying you. Goosebumps erupt on your skin. "Yes, Sir", you say, voice small and it does not even sound convincing to yourself.

"Jus' forget about the gun and make me feel good, love", he whispers and grabs you by the hips, pushes them down to meet his. You feel his hard dick pressing against your clothed cunt again and that is enough. The fire returns to your loins, so rapidly it knocks the air out of your lungs. And your body stops belonging to you, as all reason gets washed from your head, leaves you a little dizzy with lust.

The red velvet of the bench is soft beneath your knees as you put your weight onto them and roll your hips. You immediately gasp, feeling his boner pressing against your cunt hard, its heat seeping through the fabric. This is different than your pillow. Better. You roll your hips once more, with more intent this time, grinding yourself down on his dick. And Arthur hums, a low and guttural but pleased sound.

You know, he has told you to get a move on but you cannot keep yourself from running your hands over his arms, up up up, feeling the muscular, veiny arms beneath your palms while you rut down on his cock, small whines and desperate gasps erupting from your throat. You struggle with his holster a bit and he does not seem to bother to help you anymore, his hands running up and down your thighs, to the curve of your ass. While you tug at the leather straps helplessly, gasping with each time your pussy brushes his cock, he looks over your shoulder, evidently distracted. "Your arse feels fuckin' nice, love", he says, hands gliding up your legs and over your girdle skirt, underneath your dress until they reach your butt and squeeze.

Pleasure shoots through your loins and you rut into him - hearing his breaths going ragged - as he grabs a fistful of your ass and deepens the movement of your hips, while you toss his holster on the bench, shrugging his waistcoat off. "Ever been fucked back there?", he husks, middle fingers dancing along the crack of your butt while he looks up at you through his auburn lashes and God Almighty, do you blush. Your cheeks burn with Red Red Red spreading across them, heat rising in your cheeks as well as your chest as you think about it - you on your knees, finger buried deep in expensive Egyptian linen sheets as he fills both your holes with his dick and his fingers. You shake your head shyly, lips slightly parted.

And Arthur's gaze drops down to them before he decides he has not had enough of you yet, leans it, locks his lips with yours again, groans into your mouth as you start to loosen his tie and unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt right after. You can see pale skin peeking out from there, dotted with freckles as many as there must be stars under the moon. "Next time", he murmurs to himself against your lips, throws his tie to the side where it slides of the bench and to the ground, "Next time I'll have ya back there." His arm wraps around your waist and pulls you even closer, your lower belly flush against his.

And that is when Arthur feels it. A dampness, that presses itself onto his cock, different from the small patch of precum he has already blown into his own undergarments. He whistles wolfishly, lifts you up a little.

There it is. A damp patch on his fucking 300 pounds suit, right where his cock strains against the fabric, the outline visible through the darkened wool. "Fuck me", he breathes, looks up at you, eyelids a little heavy, "'S got ya that hot already, love?"

You blink down to the damp patch, feeling your own wetness between your legs. "Oh God, I am s-so sorry", you stammer, knowing he will have to bring this to the cleaners if he isn't planning on carrying your scent with him for a least a few weeks. He will snap. You have heard the stories, he will-

"Sorry?", he echoes, a playful edge to his voice and it surprises, takes you aback, has you staring at him in disbelieve. "Y-your suit, I am terribly sorry I ruined it, Sir", you try again, voice small while you think about the revolver laying behind you, a reminder of his wrath.

"Fuck the suit", Arthur barks out a laugh, "And fuck that dress."

With that, his hands leave your hips and grab the button line at your chest, and riiip at the fabric. The buttons come flying, ricocheting of the wall and the floor noisily, the soft fabric tearing easily. You gasp, a little surprised and a little in grief. This was your favourite dress. A reminder of better times. You watch in both, shock and anticipation that has the hairs on your body standing up, as he peels the soft cotton off you, leaves you in only your girdle skirt. He acknowledges the lack of a proper undergarments with a barely noticeable grin, runs his gaze over your body. You have a nice pair of tits and a pretty waist, but there is something else he wants first and he tables the thought to mark you up and litter your soft skin with bruises for later.

"Imma buy ya a new one, love, don'tcha go soft on me now", he discards the fabric to the ground, places one hand on the small of your back and pulls you close, your naked tits pressing against his expensive button down. Your temple sinks on his shoulder, eyes fluttering and lips brushing over his neck, tasting his perfume and his sweat. He radiates heat, smells of lust as he looks at you through hooded, dark eyes. "I promise, eh? I'll get ya s'mthing prettier", and you ease into his touch, as he tugs at the girdle - your favourite, a blush pink with pretty lacing at the sides - but he just carelessly shoves it up up up and over your waist instead of untying it properly. His fingers brush over your panties, right where they meet your skin at your hipbones. "Add those to the list", you feel your skin sting as he pulls at them, impatiently and abruptly, tears at the fine satin and rips them clean off.

And Jesus Fucking Christ, he thinks he might smell your arousal right now - thickly sweet, the scent wrapping him in. Arthur yanks your legs apart by spreading his own further, and you gasp, as your knees press snugly against his thighs, cool air hitting your wet cunt. His hands run up your legs and one of them grabs your hips, keeps you steady as the other one brushes over your pubic bone before dipping between your legs. His hand presses against your pussy flatly as he practically grabs your cunt, feels your slick, and runs his palm through it. Your hips buck and you groan, a firework of arousal shooting through your loins.

Then, his fingers spread, two of them running through your folds, back and forth assessing your wetness, and feeling your cunt up. "'S a real pretty pussy ya got 'ere", Arthur looks up from watching his hand vanishing between your legs, lewd sounds of your slick already filling the air. All you can do, the sole response you can muster, is a looong appreciative whine, that gets stuck in your throat as his middle finger presses against your hole cooly.

Breath hitching in your throat, and you release a mangled sound as Arthur pushes his finger in recklessly. The dull burn has your muscles tensing up, your surprise over the sudden intrusion not helping as you clench around him, blocking him from sinking his finger into you fully. Arthur goes stiff as you furrow your brows, hands flying to his wrist, grabbing it in panic while you jolt up in his lap. A pathetic little noise slips over your lips, something that sounds like a broken, small plea.

"Fuck, so that's what he meant", Arthur blinks, stares down at where his finger barely sunk into you, with your hole clutching tightly around him. His palm shines wetly with your juices.

You whine, chest heaving, hands grabbing his biceps. "P-please", your voice sounds high-pitched and oddly foreign in your own ears. He can feel the way your hole nearly cuts of the blood flow in his finger, with how tightly it sits around him and he recognizes the tensity immediately. He has felt it time and time again and his blood sings with it, his cock giving an excited twitch in his pants.

"You ain't never been a prostitute, eh?", he looks up at you, eyes suddenly dark like the stormy sea at night. You can only shake your head, the intrusion of his hefty finger and the dull pain of your muscle being stretched by it are too much already, has your head swimming and heart racing. And it's not even in fully yet. "I fuckin' knew it", he rumbles, voice victorious and dark.

The tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine and arms. He does not seem to mind - rather, it seems to get him going, and his reaction makes you feel light-headed.

This is not how you imagined your first time to be like. You wanted it to be soft and slow, ideally on your wedding night, in a bed with a gentle man with soft hands and a respectable career. In the dark of the night, with candles burning, two bodies carefully and slowly, lovingly exploring each other. You did not think it would happen in a pub, of all places, on a late Thursday afternoon with someone who seems to have taken a sport in fucking virgins.

Realization hits you like a train. This is going to be your first time. This man, this violent animal, will be the one taking your innocence.

Arthur watches you intently, kisses his teeth. "I'll make it nice f'ya", he says like he can read your thoughts, voice sounding far away and strangely, you believe him. Believe his soft gaze, his hand that rubs a soothing circle onto your lower back.

"Will it hurt?", you whisper, barely audible. You have heard it does. Some of your friends were bleeding after.

That's when his gaze grows warm, with the darkness behind it still lingering but you barely register it as he is shaking his head - far too busy in wanting to trust him to notice the way his lips tilt up, eyes gleaming with perverse anticipation. He hopes his throbbing cock does not betray him. Oh, how much he will enjoy taking you apart, how much he loves seeing innocent, inexperienced women going dumb on his dick, seeing their pretty faces contort in ecstasy once he rips their maidenhead. Without doubt you will look pretty, too - beautiful even. Silently, he thanks Tommy. Look what the cat dragged in.

"It won't", he says, and there is such an earnest tenderness to his voice, that it shocks him just as much as it shocks you. Releasing a deep breath you did not know you were holding in the first place; you nod.

"Let go off me hand", and you do, grabbing his shoulders instead, as his other hand moves between your legs as well before his pointer and middle finger gently brush against your clit. The feeling that errupts in your belly is heavenly.

"Oh", you make quietly, voice a little high, as he starts to rub soft big circles over it, gently nudging it.

"See? It'll feel nice, love", and you feel it, too. Your muscles unclenching as pleasure shoots through your abdomen, your hole fluttering open after he works your clit for a while, taking his finger in willingly. You barely notice, how it glides in deeper and deeper, the stretch losing all its pain, while you moan and gasp, watching how his hand works your clit.

You sink against his hand hastily, wanting more, whining as the pad of his finger knocks against your walls and your hips stutter.

"Sh, sh, sh", Arthur tuts, his hand comes free from your clit, brushing free strands of hair from your face and behind your ear in one fluid motion, before cupping the nape of your neck, "Slowly now, love. I wan' you nice and loose, before I wreck you."

Nodding, you try your best to relax the muscles your muscles once more as he starts to move his finger slowly again pressing it in fully. You gasp, suddenly feeling the cold gold of his ring resting against your hole. There's little room inside of you now and he gives you gives a minute or two to let you get used to the feeling, before he carefully bends his finger, rubs along your hot spongy walls. "Feel that?", he says and you do. The tingling in your stomach rises, sends bolts of pleasure through your belly. You moan, looking down where his finger vanishes between your legs.

"Yeah", you breathe, lips agape. "'S good?", he asks, genuinely curious and it sends your head spinning.

You nod, hole already fluttering around his finger and he starts to move it slowly, pulling it back and forth, until he can fuck you with it easily. He retrieves it fully, leaves you mewling unhappily, before he prods against your hole with two fingers instead. "There ya go, girl, nice 'n steady", he adds pressure against the tight ring once more and you willingly spread your legs a little, the velvet burning on your knees as they glide over it, parting your thighs to make more room for him. Arthur pushes his digits in, and you moan sweetly, the stretch pleasant and not as hurtful as you would have expected.

And Arthur starts to move slowly, drags the pads of his fingers along your walls, slowly oh so slowly fucks you open with them. He takes his time, spreading his fingers apart whenever your moans sound too sweet and he wants you to squirm more, remind you for whose pleasure you are here until even that does not seem to bother you anymore and your hips roll against his hand eagerly. He is sure, if he were to put his fingers on your clit again you would combust on the spot and as much as he would like to feel you cum, really feel that tight little hole clench and cream and make it his appetizer, he would  much rather feel you coming on his cock.

He cannot believe he is going to break your flower, soil it. He does not want to wait longer, cannot push himself further, needs it now. "Ya feelin' ready now, sweetheart?", like he will give a fuck.

Luckily for him, you nod, whining as he carefully pulls his fingers from you. No need to hurt you, yet. "'S my good girl, just breathe", and you mewl, as you feel your hole clenching around nothing, "I'll fill ya up nicely, don't fret." You suddenly feel very very empty and the urge to be filled up, to be stuffed by his cock and cum makes you go a little drunk with it, hands beating his to the fly of his pants.

Making quick work of the buttons you pull his trousers and undergarments down as much as possible, just enough to get his cock out - your mouth first waters and then goes powder dry in an instant. His dick slaps against his belly, long and girthy and cut with a prominent vein on the bottom, head an angry red and glistening with precum. It sits there, between a neatly trimmed bush of auburn hair and it is so so huge.

You open your mouth, struggling to find the words. "I-it won't fit", you stammer.

"'F course it will", he closes his hand around the thick base, and guides it between your legs, the tip nudging your clit and you gasp, "Don'tcha hurt ya pretty lil' head 'bout that." Arthur grabs your hips with one hand, holds you steady and up as he runs his cock along your folds, slicks it up with your juices, before pressing the thick head against your fluttering hole. His dick is unbearably hot against your pussy, and you whine, biting your lip.

"Just the tip, love, don't worry", he mumbles, lips pressed against your cheek, peppering the soft skin with kisses, stache tickling and then he presses his cock inside of you.

The thick head of his dick spreads your folds apart and then your hole stretches around it. It is so so much thicker and harder than his fingers, so much warmer and your hole clenches as he keeps pushing. The pain is dull and your eyes tear up. "There ya go", he nuzzles the tip of his nose against your cheek, whispers sweet nothings into your ear. There's one last stretch and then you feel the whole tip of his dick inside of you, your walls so snug around it you, you would be able to describe what it looks like just from feeling it inside of you.

"How's it feel?", he rasps, having a hard time containing himself. You are hot and wet around his tip and he really really wants to just push inside in one fluid motion and fuck you until your bleed and are unable to walk. To ruin you. Until there is nothing left on your pretty, little mind but him. But he knows better, knows that he will have to get you there slowly and steadily, so that you will come crawling back on all fours willingly. Forever.

"Ngh", you make, brows furrowed in concentration as you grab his shirt, steadying yourself. You had hoped, he would give you a minute longer to adjust, with your cunt clenching and stuttering around it, but he does not - instead he just keeps inching in. You whine, hand pushing against his shoulder. "H-hurts", your voice sounding press, "T-too fast, please, Sir."

A low chuckle escapes from his throat. "Love, that ain't me", he cups your cheek with one hand, looks at you. And Jesus fucking Christ, what a sight you are - pupils blown wide, eyes darkened and wet with tears. "You're jus' so fuckin' tight, you suck me in, sweetheart", and he really can't help himself but to marvel at how that feels. He can feel how your pussy protests the intrusion, tries to push him out, but instead it just makes your hole tighter, pulling him in.

"'S too much", and he nearly takes real pity in you, leans in, and locks his lips with yours, while his hand forsakes your face and dives between your legs, rubbing wide circles over your clit.

Arthur lets gravity and your hungry pussy handle the rest, rubs your clit through every little millimetre that you sink down on his cock until he feels your muscles relaxing around him, swallowing him up.

That's when Arthur finally bottoms out, grabs you by the hips and seats you onto his cock fully, hisses just as a sweet, surprised moan escapes your lips.

"Yeah, that's fuckin' nice, ennit love?", he rasps, holds your hips steady as they quiver and shake on his cock. The stretch is delicious and so is the pain as he fills you up fully, thick base pushing your pussy apart like the heft of a sword.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, watching how your naked body is split on his cock, thighs rubbing along the thick wool of his dress pants.

"What a nice fuckin' tight snatch ya have, sweetheart", he groans, eyebrows furrowed together as he relishes in the feeling of your hole swallowing him whole, squeezing his cock.

"'ere, feel it", he grabs one of your hands and shoves between your legs, where your bodies are cojoined and his cock stretches your tight hole. He guides two fingers to the hot and thick base of his dick and you gasp, as you feel both: your wetness on him and the way he stretches the small ring of your muscles, the way you close around him snugly. "Wanna feel how I fuck ya?", he husks, and does not wait for an answer, pulls out of you just a little, only to push back in right after. You can feel the friction of his dick entering you, wetness pooling around the rim of your cunt as he forces himself inside. The sound that leaves your throat is wild, unbothered, high-pitched.

Your mouth is quicker than your brain, as all shame washes from you. "You feel so good", you breathe, and newly found confidence gets a hold of you, encourages you to lift your hips, before sinking back down. The burn of him stretching, moving inside of you, slowly subsides, gets replaced by feeling utterly full. You start to move in his lap, still a little unsure if you are doing it right, as you move your hips up and down. Small, desperate moans escape your mouth as you start to bounce on his dick slowly, hands on his chest. "There ya go", his hands rest on your waist, thumbs gently rubbing circles over your ribcage.

You take your time, hands clutching at his shirt and steadying themselves on his muscular, lean chest as you try to find your own rhythm. The movement of your hips is rigid at first, as you roll them down and Arthur really, really has to take deep breaths and not get annoyed because he knows, that this is ironically the best part of it all - when they do not know what to do, all helpless and cunts tight, whimpering with the overwhelming feeling of it all - and he does want to enjoy it, too. He watches you, angles his elbows on the backrest of the bench, let's you handle yourself first. He considers having another drink as you straighten your back and roll your hips just right for the very first time, a sweet sweet moan escaping your lips and he nearly bites his lip to hold his own back down because that - Jesus fucking Christ, that felt good.

You seem surprised, but he can also see how it makes you more confident, repeating the same movement your hips just made and another whine slips past your lips. Part of him grieves that you found it so quickly, part of him is intrigued what else lies buried inside of you and Arthur takes a deep breath, nods.

"Keep goin', love", he encourages you and you look at him, blushing, nodding. Your rhythm is slow and steady and you feel it becoming more and more pleasurable with every single time you thrust yourself down onto him, your muscles unclenching and letting his cock in deeper. There is warmth spreading inside of your body and you suddenly feel so so good, that you speed up all by yourself, something that his moaning quietly and --

It feels like your pussy is trying to push him out once more, but this time it is different, less forceful and much more of a desperate attempt to be closer closer closer to the delicious friction of his pubes rubbing along your clit, his dick slipping in and out of you. And then you feel wetness gushing from your cunt.

You gasp loudly, lips shaped in a perfect little O, a hand flying to your mouth. And Arthur laughs, a bellowing and rude sound that gets swallowed up by a lewd moan, that rasps darkly in his throat. "Yeah, 's my girl", his eyes twinkle as he looks you straight in the eye, "My cock makes ya feel real good, eh? "

The shame is back as it burns on your cheeks as you nod nod nod, lifting your hips once more to sink down onto him. It's so so easy this time with you being wetter than before, and you hum gleefully at the sensation, immediately picking up a quicker rhythm.

It all feels so heavenly: sinking down onto him, your lower body rubbing along his, clit being nudged ever so gently by his pubes, his hands on your body. Eventually, he lets them travel a bit when he deems you ready for it, cups your tit and rolls your nipple with his thumb. "'Y got such nice tits, love", and he really seems to marvel at the sight, while pleasure ping-pongs through your body at the touch. You feel like you could do this forever, sit on his cock, and ride him to feel this good just once more, but your body strains soon, legs growing heavy and your hips start to burn from the steady movement.

Arthur can feel you stuttering, your hips growing heavy but he is nowhere near coming and he really cannot have you stopping now, so he decides to play it nice. "Need help, love?", and you whine so prettily that it sweeps the rug underneath him, his hands leaving your tits, dancing over your body and grabbing your ass instead, lifting you up before sinking you back down.

Soon, the small snug is filled with lewd noises: skin hitting skin, the obscene squelching of your cunt as Arthur plunges his cock into you, sweet sweet gasps falling from your mouth, mingling with his groans and heavy panting. Arthur angles your hips on his dick - as if he had done this a hundred times with you before - guides you up and down up and down aiding you with your own already fast rhythm. Your legs and hips strain from being spread on his lap, from working in overtime as you ride him but the way he feels inside of you drowns the painful pull of your muscles and strings out, leaves you wanting for more.

And Arthur - oh, Arthur feels everything, all at once. Hears his own blood thundering in his ears, smells your perfume mingling with the scent of your arousal, thickly sweet and heavy, and his chin churns, teeth grinding like he just a fat fucking line of coke. Arthur feels it all - the tremor his pulse sends through his body, the way your pussy grips his cock, the whiskey rushing through his veins, his chest fluttering. There's just as much adrenaline rushing through his body as there is when he kills a man - it's all the same to him, really - and he feels like he is going to pass out from it.

The desperate, high-pitched moans that fall from your lips have him reeling on the edge, spurring him on while his fingers dig deep into your hips.

A part of him, somewhere buried deep inside his skull in the farthest corners of his mind, wishes for things to be different. For you to have met him differently, for him to be a different man. To be gentler, and to mean it. If he were someone else, he would be soft and take his time, share the plethora of pleasure he has to offer with you until sunrise. He would hold you close, rest your body on expensive sheets and touch you all over.

But he is not. And thus, he shuns regret, locks it away, hooks one arm around your waist instead and presses you to his chest as his hip piston into you, cock digging deep and against your cervix, brushing against the spot that has you seeing stars repeatedly.

And that has you moaning his name, falling from your lips like a mantra, nearly exploding with pleasure. It's all too much and you aren't certain if your body can even take it all. You feel like dying. You feel so so alive. Every single one of your nerves is on fire, and you cling onto him for leverage until it isn't enough anymore. Lust shoots through your body, fills you out wholly and makes you feel so so so good and you just must give it more room, really really feel it and one of your hands darts up as you stretch your arm above your head, hand falling flat onto the wall. And Arthur looks up at you through hooded eyes as if he had been summoned, takes you in: the way your head tilts back just a little, exposes your flushed throat and cheeks, your eyes closed and lips parted, panting heavily. Your tits bounce with every single one of his thrusts as you start to meet them too, fucking back onto them.

He has never seen anything quite like it. Truly, never. You are better than any fucking prostitute, with your earnest moans and seeping wet cunt.

Arthur cranes his neck and latches onto the crook of yours, licking, biting, and tasting your sweat and the pulse beneath your soft skin, surely leaving you with a nasty beard burn. One of his hand snakes between your legs and his fore and ring finger tip against your clit, making you moan brightly, loud and clear. He starts rubbing small, fast circles over it, flicks it between his fingers and you cannot stop yourself - moaning and gasping in rhythym with his thrusts, as you feel your lower body clenching, an unknown and forceful heat boiling inside of you. And Arthur knows you're close. He can feel it too,

"Yeah, 's it love. Fuckin' come f'me, you whore. There ya go, milk me cock like the dir'y lil' --", and you nearly scream as you finally, finally do, after he speeds his fingers up, sounds of your wet cunt filling the air - before you are convulsing around him heavily, legs shaking and cunt squirting against his cock forcefully.

And that's all he needs, too. Feels you practically forcing his cum out of him and you whine loudly as he pumps you full with hot ropes of cum, shoots the deep into your hole, hits your walls with it.

"Ah, fuck", he throws his head back, cheeks flushed and his hips rock up up up, ramming his cock deep in your tight hole as he comes, fucks his cum into you, making your pussy squelch obscenely. You cling onto him for dear life, hands gripping his shirt, while sweet sweet moans fall from your lips as you ride out your own orgasm on his dick.

Collapsing against him, his hips continue to rut upwards into you, until Arthur is all spent, his breathing going heavy and noisily, mingling with your gasping.

Your surroundings get drowned out by the waves of pleasure that shoot through your body, making you light-headed, content, and tired. You feel worn out, but your nerves are on fire, your brain rapid-firing the floating sensation of bliss through your system. It takes you a while to come down back to Earth.

As you do, you are naked in his arms, chest heaving and legs shaking, as you bury your face in his neck inhaling his thick perfume. Your body feels light, limbs a little numb and he runs his hands over your back tenderly, easing the feeling back into you. You can hear his heart beating and the sound lulls you in, a delusory closeness erupting a warm fondness inside of you, that has your belly fluttering. There is still cum trickling out of you, running down your folds and your thighs, while he still plugs your hole up with his softening dick and you feel like you could stay like this forever, listening to his heartbeat and breathing, body comfortably resting against his, his warmth keeping you safe from the world outside.

You think that his cock should probably grow flaccid soon; but he does not, instead Arthur stays buried inside of you, grabs your face with one hand forcing you to look at him. He grins, flashing his incisors at you. "Look at ya, hm", he laughs dryly, "Got ya all soft 'n fucked-out now, don't I?" And he knows that's exactly what he did, feels your puffy hot walls and swollen ring of muscles pressing snugly around his cock. You're hot and wet and gripping at him and he takes a deep breath, thumb caressing your chin. "Ain't ya a pretty thing", he murmurs, more to himself really, and his gaze drops down, to your tits before his free grabs a handful, squeezes your left one not that gently anymore, "Imma break you now, sweetheart."

A confused noise leaves your lips but you are still too far gone, too tired and worn out, as he suddenly yanks you back up and flips you around. Your body gets pressed onto the dirty and sticky surface of the table as he manhandles you, his already once more hardened cock slapping against your ass as he puts your body in position on the table, and -- there it is again. The gun. Rest there, right in your line of sight. It just lays there, hammer pulled back. Arthur notices you staring at it as he positions your body, pulls your ass up up up, until your upper body lies flat on the wooden surface and you are standing on your tip of your toes, his cum tickling down your thighs. "Don't worry - If someone disturbs us, love, I'll kill'em", and you do not even doubt him. You doubt yourself - with the way your body reacts to this. Shivers run down your arms, your back, fresh wetness pooling between your legs. You wonder, how he looks when he kills someone.

"Or", his lips brush over your ear, voice nothing but a low, rough whisper that vibrates in your body, makes your blood sing, "You could 'ave a try at it. Jus' fire it, see what it does - see if you hit'em." He says, as he rubs his hard cock rubs along your folds, runs it through your slick and his cum that still runs out of your already sore hole.

You cannot help but imagine it. How Arthur just pulls your head back, hand in your hair as the door of the snug bursts open - some guy coming inside but you are so so close to coming and your hand reaches for the gun blindly, points, shoots, hits. Red blooms on the golden tapestry behind the dropping body.

"It's easy", he rumbles and so you have heard. What comes after isn't.

You shake your head, but it is not as certain as you wish it to be. "No?", he presses a kiss onto your neck, tip of his cock prodding your entrance, "D'you not feel ready, yet? Mh, 's alright. We have time." And with that he pushes inside of you in one swift motion - like he usually does, not that careful A-Woman-Is-Like-Fine-China-Shit he pulled earlier.

You tremble beneath him, gasping at the sudden intrusion and the feeling of it: how it stretches your abused hole that flutters open inviting him in, your sensitive skin prickling and body aching. Arthur doesn't waste any time, immediately starts fucking you with pointed, deep thrusts that send you reeling already, moaning sweetly for him.

He can feel your ass pressing against his groin, wet sounds of his skin hitting yours already filling the air, with his balls slapping against your wet wet cunt. This is it. This is what he needs you to be like for him - spread out, stretched enough to just take him like this. And you are so inexperienced that you don't even know how to handle it, what to do; you just lay there, taking it all in, your sweet sweet hole ready for the taking and you are enjoying it. Enjoying what he has got to give, what he will take from you. Time and time again. Oh, he is going to keep you.

"Y're fuckin' perfect", he groans, runs one hand down your body, keeps himself upright, steady, and you mewl, eyes rolling back a little with the agonizingly slow pace he has set and --

A hand comes down on your ass - hard. You jolt violently, your hipbones connecting with the edge of the table quite forcefully, glasses clinking against the bottle.

"What d'ya fuckin' say then?"

Your head swims. Your breath falls short. Panic seeps through you and then the pain blooms. Blooms so deliciously that you arch your back into him, moaning so shamelessly that you are certain, somewhere around Birmingham, a cross falls from the wall.

Another sharp slap hits your ass cheek, as his hand connects with it hard.

"I said", his voice is nothing but a gravelly, threatening rumble and you can imagine him clearly, grabbing someone by the lapels before beating their brains to a pulp, until it runs it out their ears a liquid, "What d'ya fuckin' say, you slut?"

"T-thank you, Sir", you whine and he rewards you with another deep thrust that hits the spot just right. "Good girl", he growls, before giving your another light slap, just for good measure, puts both hand flat onto the sticky table right next to your chest. He towers over you like this, head falling forward and strands of hair falling into his face as he speeds up. Rams his cock into you, once twice, with full force and then sets a quick and deep pace, that has him grunting with it.

His cock is dragging along your puffy, sensitive walls and you cannot, for the Love of God, form a straight sentence. All that leaves you mouth is incoherent babbling, as your breath grows shorter and shorter, pleasure pooling in your stomach. Your lips parted, you swear you hear yourself muttering Oh God Oh God Oh God over and over and over again as he pumps his cock into you and your eyes roll back into your skull.

You think you're drooling. No, you definitely are, a small pool of your warm wet saliva gathering at the corner of your mouth, the sheer force of his thrusts dragging your up and down up and down over the table, rubbing your chin through your spit.

"You're mine", he rasps, the glasses on the table shaking and clinking against each other, the table creaaaking along the floorboards, "No one else is gonna have ya, understood?"

"Uh-huh", you make unintelligently, parting your legs for him even more. He groans, as he glides in a little deeper and you do too, as he hits your cervix.

"Ya belong t'me now - I might jus' keep ya around. Would ya like tha'?", he gives your ass another sharp slap, that echoes off the walls of the snug and grabs a fistful of your right cheek, "Bet ya fuckin' would. Jus' keepin' ya with me, takin' ya everywhere I fuckin' go." He grunts, hand leaving your ass to brush a few strands of hair from his forehead that came loose. His scab popped and there is fresh blood running down his forehead, down down down his cheekbone, trickling over his cheek.

"Fuckin' keeping ya 'round naked while I do me fuckin' business, 'n you're jus' there waitin' for me to bend you over the fuckin' table when I please", Arthur's hand presses down between your shoulder blades, deepens the arch he has put your back into already, "Have ya kneeling there, shovin' me cock down your throat when I fuckin' need ya to shut up."

You do not even have to close your eyes, in order to see it on front of your mind's eye: You on your knees in front of him. His hand tangled in your hair, balling into a fist and yanking you forward towards his cock, already leaking and flushed red. Him forcing himself down your throat in the middle of the betting shop, that hums around you like a beehive, while you suck him off. You, on his lap, warming his cock during a meeting in a fancy hotel across the Atlantic. Bouncing on his dick while the other men present marvel at how he trained you so well.

You think you might be begging for him to do exactly that right now - mind and body engulfed in the way Arthur's cock fills you up to the brim, fits inside of you perfectly - unable to resist the onslaught of pleasure he hits you with, as you babble unintelligently. It soon becomes too much, the constant friction against your spongy walls and the tight muscles of your hole, how his dick thrusts against the spot that has you seeing stars repeatedly. Your vision blurs and you shiver, as your limbs go soft, the only sensation in your body that remains is how he fucks you, how his hand presses you down.

All you can feel is him, barely realizing how much you are losing yourself in the friction, the smell, the pleasure: everything becomes so so blurry and the colours soften, the petrol lamps twinkling like stars --

Arthur groans deeply, hand gripping your hair and yanking your head up. "Is you bawlin', sweetheart?", his voice drips with patronizing sarcasm, making clear that he doesn't give a dime. And you are. Hot tears stream down your face, from it all: the sheer overstimulation and the burning pain in your back from the arch he put you into as well as the ruthless pace he drills into you with, leaves your hole sore and cunt dripping.

"Keep that up - noise fuckin' suits ya", Arthur huffs, "My pretty lil' girl."

And then he starts to rut into you like the depraved and rabid dog he is, lewd noises of your wet skin meeting his balls and the skin of his thighs - not quite the animal he usually is with fists, bruises, and razor blades, but the other: with fine Tokyo, booze and sweat. He feels himself getting lost, a red haze filling his sight as he plunges into your tight and begging hole.

Arthur's gaze drops to your face once more and he takes you in, observes how he ruins you, reduces you to your most primal sense like you never ever were a lady strolling down Picadilly but always just a cock-drunk little whore who liked being thrown around by a violent thug - your cheeks dotted prettily with red from exhaustion and wet with your tears, chin shining with your own spit. "Sweetheart", he coos, leans in and turns your head around to him as much as possible. The strain in your neck is so so painful but being able to look at him is worth it, the sight making your pussy clench. There is blood dripping down his face, his eyes are dark dark dark and brows furrowed. "If ya liked spit, ya could've just said so", he rasps and then his hand leaves the back of your skull, grips your chin hard and forces your mouth open.

"Good, jus' like tha', open up", Arthur says, mouth a cruel grin, before leaning in as he spits into your fucking mouth. His saliva is warm as it hits your tongue and it tastes of whiskey and cigars and the way he degrades you is so sick but so so good, that your eyes roll back in your skull, hips bucking against him.

"Bloody fuckin' hell", he breathes, lips parted a little as he sucks in breath after breath, watching you swallowing his spit and licking your lips, your tongue darting out right after. His hips stutter and your whole body yerks forward with the force of it, hands clawing at the table uselessly.

"Fuck, knew ya'd like that", he nearly laughs, but it gets stuck in his throat, comes out as a strangled groan. And then he gathers some more of his saliva, does you the favour, slooowly lets it drip from his lips onto your tongue, his gaze glued to yours as he ruts ruts ruts into you. The table creaks beneath you and you hum, licking the spit from his lips, swallowing it all.

"A-arthur", you breathe, not able to communicate much more, "'S good -- please."

Your head connects with the wooden table forcefully as his hand grabs your neck, presses you down and pain blooms in your skull, shoots right down between your legs. "You fuckin' dirty fuckin' slut fuckin' --", he grunts, grabs one of your legs and yanks it up, shoves your knee onto the table. Your whole body aches, you are dizzy and there is such a pleasure coiling in your lower belly, you feel like you might just die. Like your head's going to explode. The angle of your leg lets him slide in deeper and he holds you down like this: one hand on the base of your skull, the other digging into your thigh sharply.

And this time you do scream; his name falling from your lips like a dirty fucking prayer - Arthur Arthur Arthur - as he holds you down, legs shaking and hips bucking, cunt squirting against him like a broken hose. Your juices make a mess out of his trousers and his shirt, leave stains all over them as he fucks your wetness back into you.

You are nowhere near coming and yet you feel so so so close - just a whining moaning mess beneath him, skin sore and sensitive, your face wet with tears and spit and sweat as his thrusts drag your body through the filth of the table's surface. Everything is too much and too little just the same, leaves you wanting for more and absolutely flooded with lust.

Wailing, and in a desperate attempt to get his attention that you are so so close but not close enough, you lift your head, looking over your shoulder. Arthur looks up at you, from where he watched his cock ramming in and out of you. The sight knocks the air from your lungs: his hair is a sticky mess, darkened by sweat and blood, that runs down his cheek, stained his shirt and surely already dropped down onto your back; his throat and chest, at least where you can see with his shirt half unbuttoned, is flushed and he furrows his brows, lips slightly agape as he pants and grunts. And then he sinks down on his elbows, his chest pressing flush against your back, before he leans in, lock his lips with yours and fucks you into the table.

That is all you need. His tongue licks into your mouth and you fucking explode around him, cunt squeezing him so hard he feels like he is going to pass out and so do you, as your shaking rattles the table, while you cum, white filling your vision.

It does not take much longer for Arthur, who rails you through your orgasm, all soft and rigid moans against your lips, cheek, and ear, before he pumps you full with his cum, sinks down onto you after, while relishing the last few thrusts of his hips into your tight heat. His weight is heavy on top of you, as he barely supports himself with his lower arms planted onto the sticky wood, breathes heavily against your neck.

Eventually, Arthur straightens back up, you barely register it, too far gone. You close your eyes, drawing in shaky breaths as he wipes the blood and sweat of his face, reaches for the bottle. You hear him rummaging around behind you, the shuffling of clothes and his exhausted breathing, but you cannot focus on it. Your limbs are heavy and you just lay there, bliss wrapping your brain in making it all mushy and soft and you just feel. Your aching hole, your aching back, the dull pain in your head - the insane galloping of your heart that only slowly ebbs, the way your cunt feels empty and worn out now. And then you hear the bench behind you creaking, feel his hands on your hips as he lifts you from the table and into his lap again.

You sink against his chest, as one of his strong arms cradles your frame, pulling you close. Eyes falling shut once more, you just breathe, listening to the sound of his lighter clicking and him taking a few drags from a cigarette.

"You wan' a smoke, love?", he rumbles, nose brushing against the shell of your ear. Your heart still thunders in your chest and you crave tobacco, nodding. He gently grabs your chin and turns your head around, places the cigarette between your slightly parted lips while your eyelids flutter, gaze shifting from his calloused hands to his blue eyes. You can feel his cum trickling out of you and onto the bench.

His cheeks are still a little flushed, but eyes gleam like he has just won a race.

"Same time, next week?", he whispers, moustache tickling your cheek.

[jade-bright]

There's this image of Klance I just found on Pinterest where they're in Garrison outfits, and I don't mean like the uniforms, I mean like the suits or whatever it is that James and them wore when the group came back to Earth.

Anyway, they were pretty hot is what I'm getting at.

[EDIT: decided to just edit this instead of reblogging]

I have no idea who the artist is, but it's beautiful <3

[EDIT 2.0: ty to @voltronsideblognumber720 for letting me know who made this beauty]

Artist: @crycnics

Link to OG post

[blouisparadise]

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of November. We hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Countdown | Mature | 2,057 words

Note: The main pairing is Louis/Tommy Shelby.  

Tommy Shelby, pack alpha of the Peaky Blinders, has taken notice of The Garrison Pub’s new barmaid, an omega named Louis.

2) When The Going Gets Tough | Explicit | 2,486 words

Harry is going into unexpectedly early rut and right then, his new boyfriend Louis decides to be a dick and make him jealous.

3) The Things Nobody Talks About  | Explicit | 4,883 words

Twenty eight year old Louis Tomlinson walks past his stepsons room only to see the boy asleep spread out naked in bed with only a pillow covering his manhood and his arm over his face. His sheets are disheveled and it looks like he had a good time before passing out, but the reality is probably less exciting. England has been having a terribly hot summer and they don’t have air con. Louis stands at the door and looks in at the boy as he lays there. He has tattoos littering his fit wide chest and down his beautiful body and his long legs are spread out on the bed. He looks very inviting, Louis is sure he wouldn’t appreciate waking up to his overly horny stepfather ravishing him. Louis was married to Harry’s adoptive dad who passed away last year. Louis and Harry decided to continue living together even without his dad being around because they got on really well and have always been close. Louis and his late husband married when Harry was just nine years old so Louis became kind of another dad to him. Now Harry is an eighteen year old uni student who is home for summer break. Louis is still single and doesn’t get out much after becoming widower.

4) I Fall To Pieces When I'm With You (Cherry Kisses) | Explicit | 4,924 words

Where Louis lives in the country side of London and has a sort of long distance relationship with Italian Harry.

5) Do You Think We'll Be In Love (Forever)? | Mature | 4,983 words

Louis is the babysitter for Harry's children. The alpha invites him to spend the weekend with them at the summer house and there they put an end to the desires and fantasies of the two.

6) Eyes Full Of Stars, Heart Full Of Sins | Mature | 5,453 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

As their soul-tying ceremony approaches, Louis reminisces about his relationship with Harry, how they fell in love amidst the war, and how an uncertain foundation still led them to undeniable love.

7) Raise You Up, Pin You Down | Explicit | 5,679 words

Louis felt a bit distracted by the movement of the alphas lips, wet and pink. He gulped. “You can’t just pick up a stranger like that!” His green eyes flashed mischievously. “When I see a poor little helpless omega like you, I have to help. It’s in my nature.”  Signs of another smug look tugged at his lips. When Louis can't, for the life of him, reach the bar to get his drink, he's surprised with a little help from a handsome and cocky stranger.

8) Just Keep Holding Onto Me (And I’ll Hold You) | Explicit | 7,058 words

Harry, Louis, Zayn and Niall reminiscing and grieving together after Liams funeral.

9) I Used To Call You My Best Friend Way Back Before You Were My Everything | Explicit | 6,670 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

“Okay, this is going to sound insane, but I really can’t stop thinking about you.” Louis’ eyes widened and his heart skipped. “How do you mean?” he whispered. “I mean. I kind of, like, want you. And like. I don’t know if I can have you.” “Oh, yes you absolutely can,” Louis gained confidence at Harry’s sudden lack thereof. “What? I was supposed to look after you, and now, not only have I gone and put myself in a position to not be there for you, but I also just. Want you. What would everyone think?” “Harry, I—I want you, too. Who cares what anyone thinks? Do you mean my parents? They’ll live, considering they love you more than they love their own sons sometimes.”

10) Wild Love | Mature | 7,206 words

Louis don’t know how he ended up like that, he was just taking photos to post online, and now he has an feral alpha on top of him, scenting all his determination out, suddenly there seems cozy and a good place to be.

11) I Dig Your Cinema | Explicit | 7,331 words

Harry Styles is a famous actor in town. Louis Tomlinson doesn't care about him at all. Well, at least that's what Louis thinks. But when Harry's on his knees in front of Louis in the bathroom of a night club, he begins to draw different conclusions.

12) Free Falling | Explicit | 7,710 words

Harry came to London for a visit after meeting Louis at Superbloom, but he never really left. Now, sharing a life and a bed with Louis, he’s fallen deeply in love - but he doesn’t know if Louis feels the same. Navigating daily laughter and longing, Harry faces the uncertainty of their undefined bond. Is he truly part of Louis’ world, or just a passing chapter? As doubts build, he wonders: will their fragile connection deepen into something real, or will it slip away before it ever truly begins?

13) Always Yours | Explicit | 8,018 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Jealous and Possessive Harry when someone new arrives in their group and has a crush on Louis.

14) On a Night Like Tonight | Mature | 8,635 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Pop star meets star football player, aka Taylor Swift/Travis Kelce AU.

15) Airplanes & Apple Pies | Not Rated | 8,987 words

Harry & Louis are strangers flying home for Thanksgiving. They bond as the only passengers in business class - things may or may not get a little heated...

16) Cross My Heart And Hope You Die | Explicit | 9,347 words

Something about this man is getting under Harry’s skin in a record time. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” he questions after a moment of silence. Tomlinson exhales a cloud of smoke, smirks and then shrugs. “I know who you are. You know who I am. What’s the point?”

17) Home | Mature | 9,988 words

Louis has a crush on Harry, and Harry has a crush on Louis and they obviously don't know about each other.

18) Lights Go Down | Explicit | 10,449 words

Note: The main pairing is Louis/Zayn Malik.

Louis is in need of the perfect dom, and the best dom in the club has just parted ways with his regular sub. Can Louis be the sub Zayn wants?

19) A Flicker Of Hope That I Wanna Keep (Please Don’t Leave) | Mature | 12,230 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Harry is in love with Louis, and he had thought Louis felt the same until he accidentally left his journal in Harry’s home. He knows he shouldn’t have read it, especially when it only proved to be a reality check he didn’t want. Once Harry finds the green-eyed, curly-haired, gangly fucker that’s stolen Louis’ heart, he’d like to have a strong word with him.

20) Our Sacred Place | Explicit | 15,842 words

Harry knows that, if he wants to keep something from his husband, he has to do it carefully, considering Louis' curious nature. Mia, their daughter, feels capable of helping her dad in this mision so that everything devolps successfully.

21) We’re Leading Each Other Out Of The Dark | Not Rated | 16,187 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Harry leaves and never looks back, only for him to eventually come home to find Louis and a little girl that looks exactly like him.

22) Meet Me At The Rat Hole | Explicit | 16,934 words

Harry's voice drifts into a nervous ramble. “I mean, I know it’s not my place, but he deserves someone who’s gonna make him laugh, not just… not just be there, and—” Shane holds up a hand, cutting him off, his face twisting into a sneer. “Oh, I get it now. You want to fuck him.” Harry and Louis are best friends. Harry is in love with Louis. But Louis has a boyfriend named Shane. He suuuuuuucks. Harry and Louis want to go see the Rat Hole. but again, Shane sucks. Let's see what happens.

23) After Hours | Mature | 17,605 words

"I want you to take me all night when you get back," Louis whispered against Harry's lips. "You think you can handle me all night?" Harry teased. "You know i can." Louis replied confidently, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

24) Wolves, I Hear Them Calling For You | Mature | 18,392 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Harry was in love with Louis, but the omega definitely didn't see him that way. Or maybe he did.

25) Raspberry Juice | Explicit | 18,657 words

1. Louis will take the farthest bedroom down the hall. 2.Louis’ room is off limits. 3.No going through Louis’ things 4.Will share food, just ask first. 5.Louis will take two showers. One in the morning and again at night. So, don’t hog the bathroom at either time. 6.Only one guest permitted at once. 7.No parties. Ever. 8.Keep listening/viewing entertainment at low volume. 9.If you're gonna pop your knot, I don’t need to hear the experience while it’s happening. 10.Be out of the apartment every third Thursday-Sunday of the month so I can help my omega with their heat. This list was perfectly fine when Harry first moved in. But Harry's somehow grown attached to the scent of his roommate's omega...even if he's never seen them. He's desperate to catch a glimpse of the couple, to force his wolf to understand the omega is taken. He has no idea it will end in him getting a taste of his own.

26) Limelight | Mature | 20,056 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

During his first semester at Boston University circa 1989, a shy, socially awkward Harry meets a kind, outspoken Louis. In an attempt to show Louis how he feels, he creates a mixtape of songs. But Harry’s deep anxieties cloud him, and he can’t seem to understand whether or not Louis even wants him around, let alone likes him back.

27) In The Spotlight, In His Arms | Not Rated | 20,115 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Popstar Harry Styles and uni student Louis. Harry accidentally goes live on Instagram and his phone captures Louis sleeping peacefully. That’s how he introduces Louis as his boyfriend to the world. The world falls in love with Louis Tomlinson but will everyone really? Slight angst, insecure Louis, but lots of fluff and Louis is so easy to fall in love with.

28) Waiting For The Winds To Change | Explicit | 21,366 words

After leaving his husband, Harry retreats to a remote beach house owned by a friend to escape the tangled mess his life has become. Looking for nothing but a few weeks of peace and tranquility by the water, Harry plans to get his thoughts in order as he prepares to start his life over again. When a stranger arrives, seeking refuge from an approaching storm, Harry is thrust into a whirlwind romance full of self discovery, some hard truths and more than just a few realisations. As the waves come crashing in, their little bubble bursts and when Louis’ own secrets are revealed, Harry must decide if he’s ready to jump head first into something that could inevitably leave him heartbroken and right back where he started.

29) One Last Time | Explicit | 24,295 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Louis is a werewolf, and Harry is a vampire. They’re supposed to hate each other, but they’re too busy fucking to care.

30) My Everything | Explicit | 31,061 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

They got to the building and right before the door of the elevator opened to the lobby, Harry grabbed Louis’ hand and brought him to his chest. “See you later, my love?” he brought Louis to him for a soft kiss. Louis smiled, blue eyes studying Harry’s face closely before he moved his tie back, patting his chest tenderly. “Go save the world, Agent.” Harry chuckled and pecked his lips again. “You’re ridiculous.” Louis scrunched his nose happily, “See you at lunch?” “Always.” He pecked his lips again before the door of the elevator opened to their new day.

31) No Bananas In The Library | Not Rated | 36,436 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Sometimes it all starts with a dare, sometimes the dare comes later, and sometimes the dare is actually the push someone needs to be brave enough to talk to someone. Louis wouldn’t say Harry is his enemy but that loud frat boy can be incredibly annoying, always disturbing Louis when he tries to study, and Louis has certainly told him so. And he’s always eating his disgusting bananas. However, one day Harry approaches him to say that he wants to get to know Louis.

32) In Dreams You're Mine | Explicit | 37,530 words

Harry age 10, and Louis age 12, meet on a seaside holiday and become the best of friends. Their visit to a fortune teller sets off a series of events that changes their lives and dreams forever.

33) I Want You To Need Me | Explicit | 37,609 words

For Harry, finding his soulmate had always been his life goal. For Louis, soulmarks don't matter as long as he loves the person he’s with. And he truly loves Harry. Fate brought them together, on Harry’s 18th birthday, and they couldn’t stay away from each other, even if they tried. Louis is sure their marks will match, their love is that strong. But how will it affect Louis when Harry’s mark doesn’t match his and Harry decides to go find his one true love?

34) Wherever You Are (That's Where I'll Be) | Mature | 50,151 words

Harry took a deep breath, his fingers tightening into a fist. “I... I haven’t been sleeping well. Actually, I haven’t been sleeping much at all,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “It’s been getting worse for weeks now. I think it started with nightmares, but now... it’s something else.” Dr. Sinclair leaned forward slightly, his eyes focused on Harry. “Something else?” “Voices,” Harry whispered, almost as if he was afraid saying it aloud would make them worse. “I’ve been hearing voices, even when I’m awake.”

35) From Underneath Your Glow | Explicit | 53,524 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

With years of bitter experience and a tuition debt that would outlast three generations, Louis did what anyone in his position would; he developed an almost flawless five-step system for scamming alphas.

36) Forever Yours | Mature | 54,130 words

Harry and Louis are very much in love and expecting their first baby together. Everything is perfect until it's not anymore and hearts get shattered, promises broken... Five years later, Harry comes back after realizing the life he left behind was the one he should have chosen all along. Is it too late or can he get his family back?

37) Total Distraction | Explicit | 57,805 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Love On Tour just finished and Harry finds himself being shipped off to Mykonos for three weeks alone. He expects to spend them bored and lonely until Louis comes sashaying down the beach and changes his life forever... or at least for the next three weeks.

38) Midnight Doesn’t Last Forever | Explicit | 63,658 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

When Harry learns that his beloved grandfather has passed away, he also discovers that he's inherited the lake house that he so fondly remembers from childhood. However, it comes with a stipulation - he must be legally married before he can take possession of it. Enter his best friend, Louis, who is an accident-prone freelancer who has a desperate need for health insurance. All seems to be going well with the plan until Louis finds himself in an unfortunate accident that robs him of his memories of Harry and their marriage of convenience.

39) As The Summer Fades Away | Explicit | 66,491 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Harry and Louis were not supposed to be. And that was a fact Louis had been very aware of for the past decade. It was just the way the universe was. And Louis knew there was no bending and pushing that would change the facts. Harry was his neighbor and his father’s best friend. A constant in Louis’s life for years. Sturdy and unmoving, with an ever present frown pulling on his mouth. Unattainable. When Louis landed back in Texas after graduating college, he learned that sometimes the universe could bend a little at his will.

40) I Love It Better If I Repeat It Many Times; Firefly, Firefly, Firefly  | Not Rated | 65,661 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

“Louis, don't marry him.” he gasped loudly as the alpha cornered him at the engagement party. Louis watched behind Harry to make sure that no one was paying attention to them. “Please don't.” he begged, Louis' blood was boiling, he roughly pulled away from the curly’s firm grip. He couldn't believe his audacity. “What's wrong with you? You just asked Naomi for her hand, you asshole!” He yelled through clenched teeth, still looking behind his back. Harry shook his head for a few seconds, holding his hair that was ruined in a flash. “I can't believe it. You’re-” “I know you don't love him. I saw it in your eyes, Lou. Please.” The brunette omega fell silent, opening his mouth in astonishment, the ring he'd received from Rowan identical to Naomi's weighed heavier against the accusation that fell from the alpha on him. Harry took a step closer, they were practically already close from a start, right now, their chests were brushing. He watched his pleading gaze, his large, warm hands clinging to his arms, Louis felt his mark burning. “Harry-” “If you ask me, I won't get married. If you ask me, I’ll give up on all of this.” His heart along with his knees went weak.

41) I Know Your Love’s Not Real | Mature | 67,890 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

With a simple bet that could’ve given him his ticket out of this town, Louis finds that taking the virginity of the nerdy alpha came with lots of difficulties and consequences. One being his lack of patience, the other being a broken heart.

42) Bring Me To Life | Explicit | 143,572 words

Louis no longer wants to live and his plan to leave the world behind was almost a success. Almost. That is, until Harry, a vampire, saves Louis' life and grants him immortality with his bite. However, Louis is far from grateful when he wakes up to his new reality. Harry had envisioned the creation of his first offspring very differently and now has to deal with a suicidal young vampire who hates him and constantly tries to end his own existence. As they navigate their tumultuous relationship, they begin to uncover secrets about Louis' family that could change everything they thought they knew.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[callmelyc]

Angsty post canon concept:

When Allura dies what if the Altean magic she used on Shiro and Lance weakens and that's how ppl find out Lance also died?

Both Lance and Shiro start with symptoms they can ignore and ones doctors brush aside. They get told it's fatigue, they get told it's after effects from fighting In the war like they had for all that time. Neither realize it all starts after Alluras death.

Then they end up with things unexplainable. Things like extreme full body tremors, sudden extreme chills and are icy cold to the touch no matter the temperature. Their bodies ache in the ways they had in their deaths but neither man admits it out loud too afraid of what that might mean so neither is aware they aren't alone is this bizarre and sudden turn of events.

It's not until Lance collapses and is rushed to the Garrison hospital that they discovered it something more.

His body deteriorating from the inside out seen visibly from their newest high tech scans. Rotting, closing down, slowing or lacking proper function like his body has given up. Like his body is referring backwards to lack of life but no one knows why.

It's almost like its frying itself from the inside out, it's path crawling closer and closer to his heart with every passing day like bolts of electricity pulsing more and more upward.

Shiro is the first to realize what it means once Lance is finally giving the symptoms they'd had to pry out of him. He realizes with dread that his fellow paladin has things that match up too close to his own.

He only realizes bc he's felt similar things, only his resemble his own death and he knows for a fact its thinfs in Excruciating pain, a pain he thought no one but himself would ever understand.

To get lance to admit what happened Shiro goes through the scans himself to prove his point. No one enjoys hearing Lances story, Allura hadn't even known she was capable of what she'd done to him So he's worse off than Shiro is and terrified of the idea of dying again this slowly

both get taken to an off planet hospital, one that could preserve their symptoms until the rest of their team and families could find a way to heal them

But without Alluras alchemy No one knew what to do.

First they try talking to the alteans on new altea but none have any knowledge of the alchemy allura had used for them

Then the team spreads out

Pidge uses her ranking in her field to gain any and all database information she can get her hands on

Hunk uses his connections To the Balmera and other species to attempt to find any information on healing abilities that might help

Keith is the most successful, the man he loves and his brother are dying and he wouldn't accept that one bit

He sends all the Blades willing to look for any possible Leads and anyone who might know anything about healing magic or alchemy

Keith is the one who comes across one of haggars old druids, one well versed in altean alchemy and one bitter at what had become of the craft

She had understood, to a degree, what Allura had done to Save both men

She had tied their life force to her own to ground them back to this plane of existence and now that she's no longer tied to one universe her connection has faded and so has theirs

"You must tie them to another life to keep them but this practice is taboo. If this next life dies they will with it."

Keith doesn't hesitate for a moment "just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

He ends up tying Lances life force to his own, Lance so sickly he didn't get a choice and Keith apologizes the entire way

He combs fingers through lances thinned hair hoping it brought any comfort to the man that had no energy to even stay awake anymore "you can be as angry as you want after this, as long as you survive I don't care anymore..."

Shiros husband does the same for Shiro

They know it's worked when their bodies stop dying and start to finally try to heal.

The damage so extensive they both spend months in newly crafted healing pods that do everything to try to reverse it.

Both come out whole, alive and maybe a little worse for wear than before All this took place.

But no one cares so long as they stay alive.

And, if when Keith tells lance what he'd done to save him, Keith earns a strict slap to the face for his recklessness that's followed by a gentle kiss.

Well, no one says a word.

[thedirtiwalkoniswet]

I've talked in great detail about Ahsoka, Obi Wan and Acolyte, and while I've pointed out many details in Andor I loved, I haven't made a similar lengthy post about it. So get ready.

The writing, the strongest part of the show. Star Wars is so notorious for having bad writing that Andor is in very stark contrast to this. Arguable the most well written show I have ever watched. No other show has captivated me this much with it's dialogues/ monologues as Andor. So many lines stuck with me. I already made a post about my favorite parts, so I will keep it at that. Something that could be criticized, is that it is sometimes very heavy with preachy monologues. On the other hand is it so well written that I don't mind it at all. If it was written worse, it very much could be something to criticize.

It also doesn't hold your hand, it doesn't explain everything right away and you learn organically what they are talking about. It allows it to have a much greater rewatch value.

Next up, the characters. Every single character is full of personality, even when they only have 5 minutes of screen time, in matter of seconds you already know who they are, what purpose they serve, what relationship they have to each other. It's the combination of the fantastic writing and incredible acting. We also see the motivation behind every big decisions a character makes, nothing comes out of nowhere.

Many of the live action star wars shows suffer from having antagonists that feel flat and one dimensional, whose motives are shallow or none existent. When Syril was introduced, we understood why he's doing what he's doing. When Dedra was introduced, you find yourself rooting for her. It was such a genius introduction, seeing her react to the only other woman in the room speak. She is a minority in this room. You watch her fail to someone who in this moment seems more 'evil' than her, so you want her to win. And then you do watch her win, by being smart and cunning (something a lot of star wars villains are not). But then you realize that her winning means others have to suffer, Paak and Bix first and foremost. You don't root for her anymore.

There aren't just the good guys and the bad guys in Andor, they all have layers. Syril obviously belongs to the bad guys, but he doesn't know that, he believes he is doing the right thing. Luthen is ready to sacrifice many lives to destroy the empire. Almost taking this Robespierre approach, where the violence of the rebellion is affecting the allies negatively as well. Making you question if the position of power he has build for himself is going to corrupt him in the future. Which he is aware of and even addresses, something that still differentiates him from the imperials or Saw Gerrera, who refuses to see any flaws in his believes.

Another thing Andor shows, which is missing in many other shows, is culture. It organically integrates parts of Chandrillan or Ferrix culture. The drinks, the way marriages work in Chandrillan culture, the fact that it is very heteronormative. The way people of Ferrix warn each other about imperials, the tradition of funerals, which is an incredible concept by the way. Also seeing how people live, their homes, something you see so rarely in Star wars since so much takes place on ships. Syrils, Mon's and Ma's homes, all widely different and adding so much to the world building, by doing such a small thing. Additionally do you see how the empire works on a more in depth level, without the focus on wars or the elimination of Jedi.

The empire is a real, suffocating threat. The rebels in this show have to go through great lengths just to communicate with each other, they need to slip through tiny cracks to get around the empire. And even then they sometimes fail, like Kreegyr or Bix did. Half of the rebels attacking the garrison died trying. It's not easy, it's messy, dirty, it took great sacrifices.

And that is the main theme of the show - sacrifice. Tying back to the fact that Cassian ends up sacrificing himself for the rebellion. Everyone sacrifices something to help the greater good, wether it's money, relationships, inner peace or lives.

On a more facile note, the costume design is amazing. We all already know that Mon's closet is incredible, but so is the one of her husband or Tay Kolma. The same goes for the people of Ferrix, who have a clear style that adds to the beauty of the planet and culture.

I also think it was a smart decisions not to have aliens among the main cast, since bad make up or cgi can ruin the vibe to a degree. But the ones we do see all look great. They can also save budget focusing on other things instead.

There is so much good in this show, so many details worth mentioning, I could go on forever. It's not going to be the last time I praise this show, that's for sure.

[voltronisanobsession]

may i request an Altean!reader (possibly fem) who is also a bodyguard? Im thinking about if King Alfor put them in a pod too to help protect Princess Allura once she came out. im mostly thinking of the princess x bodyguard trope 🤭 but the reader x other paladins are fine too! i can't exactly remember, but i don't think they trained them to fight at the garrison. I think it would be nice if reader helped them at the start with their stances and such.

ty for reading this, regardless of if you get to it ^-^

Being Allura’s Bodyguard Headcanons

I LOVE THIS IDEA😻😻😻 IMMA MAKE THIS A FEM!READER CUZ IM A SUCKER FOR FEMALE GUARDS 🤪🤪 this feels all over the place BUT IGNORE IT

This feels a little weird though, let me know if I did you justice🤨💔

OH MY GOSH BODYGUARD READER???

UM YES PLEASE

If you were put to sleep with Allura and Coran, that means Alfor REALLY trusted reader

You probably trained to be Allura’s guard specifically as you both grew up

So that means you were around each a lot as children and teens

I think reader might be a year or two older than Allura, so in a way you grew to be protective of the younger girl, naturally

She was always able to confide in you no matter what, whether it was about a problem that bothered her or complaining about her potential suitors

I think because y’all spent so much time together, a little crush might form between yall

But being her bodyguard, you knew you had a duty to uphold and couldn’t let silly feelings get in the way of that (much to her dismay)

You would always playfully roll your eyes whenever she tried using a pickup line on you

When you guys wake up from the pods, despite your drowsiness, you’re immediately at Allura’s side, pushing away the weird creature with round ears from her

Like your sword is drawn out and pointed to Lance, ready to attack if the group in front of you poses themselves as a threat

Yeah, the group decides that it’s best to take several steps away from you LMAO

You’re always by Allura’s side no matter what, the princess being your main priority

You’re kinda like her shadow, always standing guard, waiting for the unexpected

I think reader would begin falling hard for the Allura (much to her delight) when she saves her from a life or death situation

The whole point of being her bodyguard was to protect her, but seeing how she risked her own life to drag you to safety made your heart flutter

Like no one had ever done that for you😭

You were taught and trained to fight for yourself, trained to protect others

So Allura being the one protecting you led you down in a spiral

And it’s a QUICK spiral, may I add

You begin seeing the princess in a different light

The way not a single hair moves from its placement when she’s fighting, whether it be training or when out on a mission, entranced you

You admired the way she demanded attention with just her presence alone

And Allura notices these changes AHH

Like this girl is internally screaming when you gently take her hand when you’re trying to bring her away from any danger

I like to think Allura would be flirty with her bodyguard lowkey

They’re used to each other from the years of being together so this isn’t an odd occurrence

But things do change when you begin turning pink whenever she uses her dumb pickup lines

It’s gotten to a point where the princess was able to beat you in a duel for the first time when she randomly blurted one out

(You claimed that you were feeling a little sick that day lol)

Even despite the fun flirting and knowing looks shared between you two, you would still be hesitant to start an actual relationship with Allura

You have so much respect for the passed King Alfor that you want to continue being the bodyguard for his daughter

You feel like you might be betraying his trust if you start pursuing his daughter

Coran would tell you to go for though if you talk to him about it

He knew Alfor best, so hearing him say that the king would want you and Allura to be happy, you immediately go to the princess

You confess and she’s just jumping on you in pure joy cuz FINALLY

The rest is HISTORY as you guys finally pursue each other AHHH

You’re a much more gentler bodyguard, you’re less tense when out of the castle and honestly just enjoying every moment with Allura

Instead of protecting Allura, you both fight along side each other

The respect you guys have for the other is just so UGH!!! If Allura wants to fight her own battles, you watch from a close distance

Honestly you guys make each other better I can’t even

And because you’re less intense now that you’re with Allura, you treat the team with much more patience

Since they had no idea how to fight at first (most of them at least), you offer to train them

Altean style😍

They wouldn’t take you seriously at first, except Shiro, until you bodyslam Keith to the ground when he gets too cocky with his attacks

After that, they take training very seriously LMAO

You taught Shiro and Keith how to fight efficiently when in close range, showing them fighting techniques that they could also use if they don’t have their weapons

You teach Hunk and Lance how to properly use their guns, showing them the right positions to hold their weapons as to not injure themselves

And with Pidge, you show her how to use her weapon in general because of how unique it is compared to the others weapons

They grow to become strong fighters, you may even shed a tear, happy you were able to help them

You’re still able to demolish them even after everything you all have been through though

Every now and then you guys hold a tournament to see whose the best fighter, you still winning most of the times

Except when you go against Lance for some reason, he’s a slippery one you need to keep an eye on💀

You grow to care for everyone in your own way, vowing to protect them when if it ever came down to it

Being Allura’s bodyguard is honestly a very rewarding duty

She appreciates everything you do and risk to keep her safe, and she promises to do the same for you

I also think you’re the voice of reason for her cuz y’all remember when they went through that dimension jumping portal? And how Allura believed those Alteans were the same ones she knew

You would be there to let her down gently, even comforting her after that entire ordeal happens

You’re her rock, being an emotional support for the princess whenever she needs it

Out of the entire team, I’m like 99% sure that bodyguard!reader is the greenest flag out of everyone

Allura won the lottery honest, her bodyguard being her lover😫😫😫‼️‼️

You’re always by her side, through thick and thin, no matter what happens to you guys

Loyalty is literally your middle name heehee

[darkstrawberrytimetravel]

Come hell or high water. Pt.2

18+, MDNI. Tags: Gore, severe injury, trauma, amputation

Pt.1

Gaz.

Gaz watches as the whole operation turns to shit. One minute he's at the back of the line as the small group silently pick their way through the wooded area back towards soap and the rendezvous point, daring himself to think about what he'd do as soon as he's back on solid ground at the Garrison. Next both he and Price are blown onto their backs, as he watches you take the whole force of the explosive and roughly land in pieces on the upturned earth. While nothing could have prepared him for this moment, both he and Price automatically reverted back to the SOPs drilled into them from the start of their careers. Price flicks the switch on the Comms, informing Soap of the unfortunate development.

Price: “MAN DOWN!”

Soap : “SIT REP, NOW!"

Price: “CONTACT IED!”

He listens as Price updates Soap further, telling him to get the HALO free fall rig kit they'd stashed close by to the RV point before they'd engaged with the targets. And not to leave his position.

The next few minutes drag on, it seems like hours as Gaz and Price manually belly crawl forward and around you as they use their combat knives to check for any further IEDs within that immediate vicinity, digging into the soil carefully so as not to further detonate anymore. As soon as they've established the area to be as safe they get to work providing first aid. Flipping you over, they dig through your uniform pockets for the standard issue tourniquets all soldiers must carry.

“Mum… I want my mum… Fuck… can't die…like this.” Gaz hears as you whimper. The fear in your voice grips at his heart.

“S’alright, see Price and me are patching you up? You stay with us. We'll all laugh about this when we go for our pint, they'll slap a fucking bugs bunny plaster on you and call it a day.” He says, self assured. Only then does he look up and meet Price's gaze, the odds of you making out of this alive… he doesn't even want to think about that.

Tying off mid way up the thighs of the bloody stump and wrecked remains of your legs, tight, Gaz watches as the blood slows to a trickle. Looking up he spots Price as he tends to a penetrating injury on your right arm, applying another tourniquet there. Only then do they pause for a moment, realising that you've become still. Price puts his hand on your chest and simultaneously leans forward to listen for your breaths. There's nothing.

“Fuck! COMMENCING CPR!” He shouts, both he and Gaz work at cutting and tearing the clothing from your upper body until they see bare skin. Gaz moves to your head to provide the rescue breaths as Price compresses his fists hard into your chest.

“...twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

Gaz watches as Price gives the allotted compressions before stopping and allowing Gaz to give the two rescue breaths. They go through three repetitions,Gaz about to take over from Price's exertions, before you finally take your own breath. It's shallow, weak. But you're breathing.

Gaz watches Price gingerly pick you up in a fireman's hold, and they cautiously retrace their steps back to the tree line before Price finds the original route the group had taken. They march in silence, it's only a matter of minutes before they're on the other side of the copse and they see Soap further down the road, waving his torch at them in the dark. They quickly make their way forward, meeting Soap half way, Price slowly and carefully laying you down on the dirt road as if you're made of bone china.

The next few moments are filled with Price's rapid fire shouting into the Sat phone, updating HQ of the situation, Gaz can barely keep up with the communications and the roaring in his ears. He looks down at you, unconscious, carefully laid down on the dirt road, your breaths short, gasps even.

Price: “ZERO, FOUR ZERO ALPHA, CONTACT IED. ONE CASUALTY. WITH CAUSALITY, NOW HAVE STABILISED AS BEST, NOW AT RV. GRID 542 736. WILL MARK WITH TORCH LIGHT. OVER.”

HQ: “BRAVO BRAVO ONE, HAVE ENGAGED MEDICS ON EVAC FLIGHT. ETA FIVE MINUTES. OVER.”

Pt.3

[guywrestlingaddiction]

That Wrestling Moment: Letting your Jobber (briefly) win - Ty Garrison v Jean-Luc Menard (bgeast.com)

Top heels know when to give and take.  Sure one-sided matches can be fun, but master heels know when to let their jobber take the reigns ... only to crush them later for maximum effect.  

Ty Garrison v Jean-Luc Menard (bgeast.com)

SPOILER ALERT: I highly recommend viewing this match in its entirety before reading this post.

The Backstory

Ty and Jean-Luc meet on bgeast's UK wrestling mat for a knock down drag out.  Since this is a Ty Garrison match you better believe that someone will be knocked out at the end of this.  You see Ty is not like the other pretty boy wrestlers out there; this man came to dominate the ring.

Jean-Luc may be all smiles now but give it a minute.

The Action

It all comes quick.  Ty takes down the tall lanky Jean-Luc within a few minutes of the match.  Jean-Luc may have the size and reach advantage but Ty fights like he's from the streets and he knows how to take guys like him down.  He could literally end this match whenever he chooses.  

Easily take down the big man and humiliate him.

Straddle him and force him to look up at you. 

Ty's got him in a vice forcing Jean-Luc to squeal 

Ty knows how to take advantage of that lean torso that's begging to be pummeled. 

Big guys like Jean-Luc aren't used to being manhandled so it's extra satisfying for guys like Ty to crush them.  

Ty: Give! Give! Jean-Luc: *Groan* *Groan* ... I ... give ...

The Moment 

If you look up heel, you'll find Ty Garrison's image somewhere.  The man is not only the definition of a brutal top but he also clearly loves his work.  So like all top heels, the man also knows when to give his jobber the win, albeit brief.  You see a heel's victory isn't complete without giving a jobber some semblance of hope before totally obliterating their dreams.  

Jean-Luc: You'll pay for that ...

A minute later ... Ty takes him down putting him in his place.

Ty: Fuck ... Fuck *groan*

Jean-Luc on top.  Is this the upset victory we've been waiting for? 

So what have we learned today?  Good heels are confident in their place to know when to give their jobbers hope and no victory is sweeter than after shattering that hope.  You see good heels need a good ending and Ty is among the top heels out there.  

[mvshortcut]

🌀👄🌀 (for the ask game!!)

lmaoo me when I stand up slightly too fast

🌀Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing...

I have not actually written the Girlboss Dr. Garrison crack fic yet but I have so many vague ideas frantically rattling around my brain. Basically the premise so far is that Dr. Garrison has a midlife crisis, accidentally acquires custody of a teenager, and discovers a fondness for pineapple mocktails.

also this one is just titled "war crimes <3" in my docs lmao

[amysterywrappedinanenigma]

For the MBS character ask game: a mix of Constance Contraire and Dr. Garrison.

This is mostly based on your posts mocking Jeepers and Curtain's outfits (which were wonderful by the way 10/10). Which Constance would totally do to make fun of them (because they deserve it), and I feel like if Jeffers or Curtain saw those posts, they would be emotionally devasted and Constance would be so proud.

I also love you header and Dr. Garrison posts (which are also funny), and you have wonderful "I support women in STEM vibes". Though, to be clear, you remind me of Dr. Garrison in that your posts are well-made and well-thought out (not because of the fact that she's done crimes and cried in a root cellar).

Oh my god I love both of those, that’s so wonderful! (And the detail is amazing, you pulled sources and everything, I’m so impressed). And I feel like they suit me really well! The idea that Constance would be proud of me is truly SUCH an honor, I feel like I have a tiny constance in my brain when I make those posts, and I hope I get her vibes again for any future posts of that sort. 

And I love the comparison to Dr. Garrison! She’s always been very interesting to me, both in an analytical character way, and then half in a meme way, but I do really like her, so being compared to her is super fun! (Also thank you so much for saying my posts are well-made and thought out- that’s so sweet! I think the same thing about yours!) 

[zablife]

Birthday Gift

John Shelby x Y/N Solomons

Summary: John celebrates his birthday with his bestie, but things don't go to plan.

Author's Note: Part of my Partners in Crime series about John and his problematic bestie Y/N Solomons. Ty to @dreamlandcreations for this idea!

Warnings: language, drinking

“Where have you been? Party started at eight. It’s gone ten,” John stated as he saw the top of your head weaving through the crowd gathered at the Garrison to celebrate his birthday.

“Take a butchers at this, you ungrateful arse!” you shouted above the din of the crowd. As the people standing in front of you parted to make way for the enormous tray you carried, John was finally able to see you head on, noticing something that vaguely resembled a triple layer chocolate cake. However, it was so unstable, it teetered precariously in your small hands and John’s eyes widened as it swayed before him.

“Would you Adam and Eve it?” you said with a wide grin, your pride swelling as you offered your gift.

“I can, it looks bloody awful!” he said with a boisterous laugh, fueled by the drinks he’d consumed in the hours before your arrival.

Arthur turned from the bar and poked his head over John’s shoulder, knitting his brows together and squinting his eyes which swam in their sockets from his own indulgement as he asked, “What’s this, eh?”

“You having a bubble? What the bloody hell do you think it is?” you asked, incredulously.

“Looks like a pile of dog shit,” Arthur mumbled into John’s ear, making them both erupt into drunken laughter, whisky splashing onto the floor as John gripped his brother’s arm to keep from falling over.

You stamped your foot and pursed your lips together, unamused by their buffoonery. “I spent five fucking hours on this!” you huffed, blowing hair out of your face from the corner of your mouth as both hands were occupied. Looking down at the increasingly heavy monstrosity you held and back up at your friend you wondered why you had bothered when this was the thanks you received. “Bloody shame is what it is,” you whined.

“That you dropped it?” John asked, voice dipping into a low and serious register all of a sudden. He scratched his ear, considering how the pathetic looking confection seemed to have fallen from a great height and been crammed back together hastily with fistfuls of icing. He waited anxiously for you to explain as your face grew ten shades of red.

“Dr-dropped it?” you stuttered, temper rising in your throat as you thought of all the time you’d spent in Alfie’s kitchen, covered in flour, pressed up against his disgusting, foul smelling workmen. Your hands were still cramped from holding the icing bag used to decorate it in tiny rosettes the way you’d been shown. It might not be the most beautiful creation you’d ever seen, but you were still quite proud of it.

“Yea…cos it’s leanin’, see?” John pointed as he cocked his head to to the side, attempting to view the cake as it might appear right side up. “And this whole side is pretty much….well, it’s gone, love,” he commented, gesturing toward the left top tier which was missing a large chunk. Your mouth hung open in speechless horror as you realized it had fallen off somewhere along the way, probably food for the rats in the streets by now.

At that moment, Finn walked up, studying you and the unfortunate mess you held in your hands. “Y/n! Is that food? I’m starving!” he drunkenly yelled, lunging for the cake.

Before he made it to you, Isaiah pulled him back by the elbow warning, “Careful, mate. Probably came out Alfie’s bins by the look of it.” Then turning to you with a cheeky grin, he asked “Is that why they call you alley cat, darlin’? That lovely little tail of yours been digging through the rubbish for scraps? Hope it’s not poisoned!” he chuckled.

“Alright, that’s enough!” John intervened, straightening himself. It was alright for him to make jokes, but he wouldn’t allow anyone else to wound your pride. “It might look a bit dodgy, but I’m sure it tastes…well, better than it looks,” he gulped, eyeing you and the cake wearily, knowing he’d have to try it now.

You felt the tips of your ears burning as your rage boiled over, vocal chords thrumming as you screamed, “Would you stop rabbiting on about the bloody give and take!” Tears formed in the corners of your eyes, mostly due to exhaustion.

Finn stood motionless, glancing at John in panic. He shuffled forward, placing a hand on your shoulder as he assured you in a meek voice, “I can’t wait to try it.” He gave you a weak smile before stepping away, deathly afraid of the murderous glint in your eye.

“What are you drinking, alley cat?” John asked, attempting to appease you.

“Drop of needle and pin,” you answered, allowing the distraction as you looked around for a place to rest the cake.

As he rejoined the conversation, Arthur asked in confusion, “She gonna sew the fucking thing back together?”, a hiss escaping from between his teeth as he found amusement in his own joke.

“You’re brown bread, you hear me?” you threatened, gritting your teeth together tightly. You’d had nearly all you could take of relentless taunts for one night.

“So long as you ain’t the one bakin' it, sweetheart,” he replied with a wicked grin, raising his glass in a sarcastic toast.

That was all it took for you to snap, fingers raising the edges of the hefty tray as you grunted under the weight. 

“Oh, fuck!” Finn called out, but you were already launching the cake through the air toward Arthur. Even in his state of inebriation, the tall, lanky man managed to duck the flying pastry, his boxing reflexes serving him well.

However, the cake found an unanticipated target as John turned from the bar at that moment with your gin in one hand and a fresh pint of beer in the other. Unable to defend himself, the confection hit him squarely in the face, the weight of it nearly bowling him over in the process. The drinks sloshed out toward you, soaking your new dress in alcohol and you gasped at the feeling of cool liquid running down your cleavage. The room seemed to quiet for a few seconds afterward as John turned to place the empty glasses on the bar and wiped his face with a handkerchief. 

“Y/n?” he called out to you through a mouthful of icing. You didn’t reply, frozen in place with your hands to your face in genuine shock over your outburst. Then the laughter began, a silent shudder against your ribs at first as you attempted to hold it in and then an undignified snort as your amusement grew for the entire pub to hear. 

“You fucking laughing at my brother?” Arthur asked, picking up a handful of sponge and tossing it at your dress, ruining it further.

“You prick!” you yelled and grabbed a handful yourself, attempting to hit Arthur in the face. However, you missed and pummeled his chest, smearing his new tie with hideous brown streaks. As his face contorted in anger, Finn attempted to pull you away, but Arthur was already charging at you with the ferocity of a bull. Although John tried to hold him back, he only succeeded in slipping and sliding in the chocolate icing with his brother, landing on the hard wood floor with a thud.

Soon everyone was covered in unappetizing shades of brown, a sickeningly sweet smell permeating your nostrils as you threw chunks of cake at one another. You took pleasure smooshing a large portion into Isaiah’s face as you asked, “Enjoying the rubbish, darling?” And you couldn’t stop giggling as you noticed an overly intoxicated Finn licking his fingers greedily behind a chair. At least someone is enjoying my efforts, you thought. 

The shouting had long since turned to peels of laughter as the fight devolved into happy chaos. Even Arthur began to smile, until a distant voice began yelling over the crowd in sharp authority.

“Oi! What the fuck is going on?” Your head snapped up to see Tommy standing over all you. He watched you rolling in what looked to be mud as he picked at the bottom of one of his pristine leather shoes with disgust. 

“Tommy, I thought you were in London tonight,” John coughed out, attempting to shake crumbs from his hands. His face looked like that of a naughty child and he quickly averted his eyes, ashamed of his untidy appearance in contrast to his brother’s spotless three piece suit.

“We was celebrating John boy’s birthday,” Arthur added, attempting to stand, shoes skittering to one side as he clutched for the edge of the bar to remain upright. As he tried to smooth his hair back, you hiccuped out a little laugh.

“Y/n Solomons, might have known you’d be here,” Tommy mumbled through clenched jaw, disapproval evident, before announcing, “Everyone out of my fucking pub!” Chairs squealed and feet shuffled as partygoers who had been cheering and laughing moments earlier turned silent, no one wishing to incur the wrath of Tommy Shelby as they exited with haste. 

“Sorry, Tommy,” Isaiah mumbled, his ever present grin permanently faded as he fetched a mop and bucket. As the junior peaky boys began to clean, shooting daggers at you through their eyes, you realized the night had officially ended.

John leaned against the wall outside the Garrison, blowing smoke rings up toward the heavens in the peaceful silence of the evening. Cigar finished and stamped out on the cobblestones, he shoved his hands in his pockets, bouncing on the heels of his feet to keep warm. As he looked over at your disheveled figure, he laughed, “That was some birthday, alley cat. Haven’t had that much fun since I was kid.”

“Is that a thank you, I hear, Barney?” you asked, stamping out your cigarette with the heel of your boot. 

“Yeah, spose it is,” he chuckled. “Tommy’s face was a picture though,” he said, shoulders shaking as he laughed.

“Think he’ll tell Alfie?” you asked.

“No!” he snorted, indignantly. “Who cares about a mess in Tommy's pub?” John asked with a wave of his hand.

“Not the cake, you stupid git, THAT!” you said with a flourish, pointing to the brand new Triumph parked at the corner. 

“Alley cat, what have you done?” John asked, noticing the motorcycle for the first time that night.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked, eyes as big as saucers.

“All yours, my love,” you said with a nod.

“No!” John gasped, running toward it and jumping on the seat with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

“Yes!” you squealed, following him. “Just don’t drive it round London,” you said, biting your lip nervously. 

John looked over his shoulder at you with furrowed brow, “Alley cat…” he began in a warning tone, knowing full well how you'd come into possession of the bike.

“Don’t ask,” you cut him off, holding up your hand.

He burst into laughter as you asked, “Does this make up for the birthday cake?”

“Yea, I’d say so!” he replied, stroking the handlebars lovingly.

“Good, then I never want to hear another word about my baking as long as I live!” you replied with a satisfied smirk. 

---------------------------

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@wandawiccan60

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@christinasyellowflowers

@notyour-valentine

@theshelbyclan

@areyenotfondofmelobster

@polishcrazyone

@elenavampire21

@little-diable

@lyarr24

@jomarch-wannabe

@the-fangirl-diaries

@kmc1989

@everythingelseisextra

@raincoffeeandfandoms

@cillmequick

@pono-pura-vida

@iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface

@xxblackballoonxx

@brummiereader

@callsign-shark

@moral-terpitude

@padfootdaredmetoo

@anonymooseforever007

@peakyltd

@mystcldydrms

@thegreatdragonfruta

@mythos-writes

@emotionalcadaver

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday-!! 💛

Hello, yes, it is Wednesday already, and quite unbelievably, I have done some writing in spite of Dragon Age leeching almost all of my spare time (you all almost got a drawing of my Rook for this, buuuut. Well. I haven't started it.)

Tagged by @hircines-hunter , tagging @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter and anyone wanting to share a WIP :3 I've definitely forgotten some names here because I'll usually try to tag people who have recently tagged me but The Boopening happened and my notifications are messed up at a certain point as a result....

I hope everyone is doing okay. Lots of hugs from me.

---------

“Why do they always seem to hole themselves up here?” Lydia sighed as she and Elyse stood at the split in the road leading towards the crumbling fort. She brought her hand up to her head and brushed some loose strands of hair from her face, before reaching up to behind her head and tying it up to keep it out of the way. “Added some not-so tasteful decor too...”

Elyse pursed her lips together as she glanced at the cages which hung from flimsy looking beams just outside the entrance. There was no sign of life in any of them, but the bodies within looked to have been living and breathing mere hours ago. She had grown used to experiencing death in her time in Skyrim, but unease still settled within the very depths of her being. There was no dignity in being killed and used to send a message.

“With luck... This will be the last time we clear this place out. I think that Balgruuf has plans to try and garrison Fort Greymoor with guards, with the repairs to the Western Watchtower still being a long way from completion.”

Lydia glanced at Elyse, and gave her a playful nudge with her elbow. “Getting all of the insider information, living with the Jarl, hm?”

Rolling her eyes, Elyse shook her head. “No. It’s because I’m-“

“Well well... What’s goin’ on here? A pair of lovely ladies stopping for a rest? Looking for somewhere to put your feet up?”

Elyse tutted quietly as she was cut off by a bandit who was slowly trudging out of the fort, a bottle of half-drank ale in his hands. Just as he did that though, another bandit emerged atop the walls of the fort, adorned in what was most definitely some of the stolen goods from the missing merchants and travellers. They looked exasperated and red in the face.

“What’re you doing, you idiot?! They’re not travellers, they’re mercenaries! Armed to the fucking teeth! Don’t fuck with them!”

The two women exchanged a quick glance, before Elyse took a deep breath. And after that came a shout. Not one strong enough to kill the drunken fool who had ignored his allies yelling at him to stop what he was doing, but enough to make him collide with the fort’s stone walls and crumple down into a heap on the ground. As that happened, the bottle of ale shattered, and a dagger which had been concealed in his other hand slipped from his grasp.

“Shit! It’s the fucking Dragonborn! Everyone grab a weapon and kill that bitch!”

Lydia gave her a side-eye as she raised an eyebrow and pulled out her bow and an arrow, ready to start picking off the bandits that were emerging atop the walls. “I was expecting you to conjure your swords or your wolf, not shout at him.”

“He was armed. I wasn’t going to let him get close enough to try and attack us, but we needed to bait the rest of his allies out...” She then drew upon her magicka, and summoned her swords. “Let’s handle some bandits then. Just like old times?”

The housecarl chuckled and nodded. “Yeah.”