#just a quick nip over to london for this

[rragnaroks]

my sis and i are going as a birthday present from me to her (like the p!atd tickets but in reverse) and it took some arranging but we made it work!

THE FIRST TIME WE GET TO SEE FALL OUT BOY!!!

and they'll be playing headfirst slide!!!! the song that made my sister finally fall for them!!!!

I AM GOING TO SEE FALL OUT BOY IN LESS THAN THREE WEEKS

[familyvideostevie]

toccami

theodore nott x fem!reader | 2.9k

you're high and horny. what else is there to do but fool around with your very handsome boyfriend?

cw: smoking weed, consensual high sex, thigh riding, unprotected p in v sex, blowjob, creampie, dirty talk, gratuitous use of teddy as a nickname, really just like, filth and more filth and even more filth from two people super in love.

a/n: yeah, i'm as surprised as you are to find myself here. it's fine. this is a Christmas present for @strangerfreaks. love to be depraved with you, hope this is adequate <3

--

"Are you high yet?"

Theo bounces his leg to rouse you. It jostles you from the pleasant daydream you were having behind closed lids, your head pillowed on his cotton-clad thigh.

"Theo," you groan. "That was rude."

You look up at him and he's already watching you, his face stupidly handsome even from this angle. Long lashes, dark curls spilling over his forehead, eyes flashing with mischief. Your gaze lingers on his lips and he notices.

"See something you'd like, darling?" he coos. You roll your eyes at him, cheeks hot. He laughs, a low rumble deep in his chest and steals your hand from where it rests on your stomach to kiss your palm. "If you want a kiss you need only ask."

His flat is less decorated and more lived-in. Piles of books and parchment, Muggle DVD cases for the player you got him. Jackets he's forgotten to hang up and ticket stubs from places in London you've been together. There are traces of you everywhere. A scarf you forgot, a pair of shoes you left after they got soaked in a rainstorm even though he spelled them dry. Your books, of course, and your work folders. A blanket you brought from your flat when you floo'd over to wait for him when you were sick.

Tonight, he rolled a joint with nimble fingers. You licked it at his request and he sealed it, lit it, and here you are.

He strokes one long finger down your nose and you realize you've closed your eyes again.

"I think you're stoned, love," he says.

"Am I?" you ask. "Maybe. Keep doing that, it feels nice."

He presses his thumb lightly to your lips instead, his other hand still holding yours, your palm near his mouth.

"I can think of some other things that might feel nice." The suggestion in his voice is clear even to your fogged mind. You've done that before -- fooled around high. Everything is more sensitive, more intense. You love it.

"I'm sure you can," you tease, smiling. Your eyes flutter open and his expression has turned lovesick.

"Merlin," he sighs. "You're bloody gorgeous."

"Teddy," you say, happily. You sit up and scoot closer to him, draping your legs over one of his spread thighs.

"I'm high," he says, cupping your face.

You frown. "You know you're high because you think I'm pretty?"

He kisses the corner of your mouth a bit sloppily. "No, gorgeous girl," he whispers. "Because I can't keep my mouth shut about it."

"Kiss me then, please."

He does. It's just how you like it, even though the haze of the high. He pulls your lower lip between his and nips you just a little -- enough that you yelp and open your mouth for him. HIs tongue slides in and tangles with yours, licking into your mouth with the desperation he so rarely shows.

Theo is the calm one. The laid back one, the one who is quick to joke, quick to counter. He's always watching, always listening, but doing both so well you don't realize.

You didn't realize he'd had his eye on you. His cool exterior had fooled you into thinking he was indifferent, that you were just another girl he worked with. But when you'd been put on assignment together -- he was funny. He made you laugh, complimented you skills, told you a bit about himself. It was different enough from the version you saw day-to-day that you realized that this was who he really is.

And now you love him.

Especially when he does that thing with his tongue.

You moan into his mouth and he smiles against your lips. Your hands are in his hair and you are pressing your thighs together hard. He notices.

"Darling," he says, lips trailing down your neck. His voice is raspy, you notice with satisfaction. You affect him, too. "I think a different position might be prudent."

Theo grips your hips like he means to help you into his lap but you surprise him and straddle one of his thighs, instead. The couch is deep and he sinks back into it with a slightly awed expression as you dig your knees into the cushion.

"How's this?" you ask with a smirk.

"Fuck," he breathes.

You grind down onto his thigh. He's warm through the fabric of his sleep pants and yours, but the friction makes you moan. Head thrown back, you grind even harder, bracing yourself on his shoulder. His fingertips dig into your hip and you hear his ragged inhale.

"Theo," you moan. You're probably making a mess of both of your clothes but you don't care. It feels so good and you're so wet. "Fuck, that's good."

"I wish you could see how you look right now," he murmurs. "What if I --"

He bounces his leg just a little, the same way he did when he woke you from your dream, and you have to bite your lip.

"No, no," he coaches. "Let me hear you."

He does it again and this time you don't swallow it.

"That's so good," you manage. "God, Theo, I'm --"

"You going to come from riding my thigh? With your clothes on? Fuck, darling," he laughs. "You really are high."

"And horny," you say, grinding down again. "I could -- ah -- take my trousers off -- fuck -- if you want --"

He pulls you closer so he can attach his lips to you neck.

"Oh, they'll come off," he assures you. "Keep going, love. You can do it, I know you can --"

The coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. God, are you really going to come from this? You're panting, eyes screwed shut as you move your hips, your cunt pressed tight to the muscle of his leg as he bounces in time with you.

"Theo, Theo, Theo, Theo --"

One of his movements causes the fabric of your panties to catch your clit and you're seeing stars, back arching and mouth open in a silent scream as you come.

"That's it, ride it out, baby, you look so fucking gorgeous --"

You flop forward onto Theo, mouth pressed to his temple as his arms wrap around you. Your chests are heaving in tandem.

Then he laughs.

"Holy shit," he says. "You just rode my thigh and came."

The giggles are infectious, everything heightened by the weed.

You shift your hips and groan at the stimulation. "And I still need more of you, Teddy," you whine.

His fingers press so hard into your hips they might bruise. "Fuck," he groans. "I'm so hard, you have no idea."

You rise from his thigh and gingerly step off the couch, knees a little wobbly. "I can change that."

Theo catches on quick, bright even when stoned, and quickly tosses a pillow from the couch onto the floor as you get to your knees. His legs are already spread but he lifts his hips for you to tug off his soft pants and briefs in one go. There's a spot on the fabric of one thigh, to your satisfaction.

His cock springs free and you giggle.

"Don't laugh at a man's dick, darling," he says. You look up at him and his pupils are totally blown. He reaches for your face, cupping your cheek and thumbing at the corner of your mouth. "God, you look so pretty like this."

"So many compliments, Nott," you coo, punctuating his name by wrapping your hand around the base of his cock.

He moans, head thunking back on the couch. You stroke his bare thighs with your other hand. Truly one of your favorite parts of him -- the chorded muscle from his days as an athlete and the rigor of his job, his vanity and his pride playing no small part. He's got his shirt on, still, but you can see the way his dark hair trails up to his navel. Around his cock, it's wilder. He's big, too, which you know well by now. It took a while to get used to.

"What can I say? I have a way with wor-- fuck."

You cut him off when you scoot forward and tongue the tip of him, dipping in and out of the slit before tracing the edges of the mushroom-shaped head. "You always taste so good, Teddy," you sigh.

"Merlin," he groans. "You're going to end this before it starts if you talk like that."

"You know I have a way with words, darling," you mock.

He winds his fingers into your hair, expression somewhere between amazed and lovesick. That's one thing about Theo that you adore -- no matter how cool he seems, how aloof he appears to strangers, he's never shy about how much he loves you. He'll scream it from the rooftops without hesitation. Always quick to defend you, even quicker to remind anyone with wandering eyes or careless words that he's yours and, by the grace of who-the-fuck-knows, you're his.

"Only a little, alright?" he purrs. "I want to finish inside you."

"My mouth is a part of me," you remind him. His fingers tighten when you drag your tongue up his shaft, the tug on your hair getting close to a sting. It makes you press your legs together even harder.

"Sweetheart," he moans. "Don't tease."

It's rich, coming from him. Just last week he wanted to see how long you could go without finishing. He brought you to the edge of your peak over and over again until you were a sweaty, screaming mess. But he's right -- you want him inside you more than anything. You want to hold him close, feel him in every part possible, to look into his eyes as he fills you.

The weed slows things down, makes you pay attention to the rise and fall of his chest, the flush that travels down his neck and fades at his collarbones. His nostrils flare and the muscles in his legs tense with every flash of your tongue.

"Alright, Teddy," you coo. "You want to say please?"

He tugs on your hair sharply for the sass but strokes his thumb down your cheek in apology after. "Please," he drawls. "Be gentle with me, my love."

It's sincere and sarcastic at once, hovering on the edge of petulant. Everything is so much more fun like this. You feel every point of contact between you like a brand. His cock is heavy on your tongue and you take your time, never taking more than a few inches at once. Other nights you'd stretch yourself, open your throat and let him go as far as you could manage, spit dripping down your chin and throat contracting around the head of him. But tonight is all about going slow and feeling it.

Theo loves your mouth. He loves every part of you, obviously, but you know he gets off on the naked display of trust, of control. Being at your mercy even if you're the one on your knees. You have all the power. It's evident when you fondle his balls, pulling on the skin with your lips. You trace the vein that runs up the underside of his shaft with your tongue, hollowing your cheeks and humming.

"Fuck," he groans. He tugs at your hair again but this time to pull you off him with a pop. You stroke him slowly with one hand, your leftover spit making the drag of his skin easier in your palm.

"Had enough?" you ask, panting.

You've wrecked him. His chest is heaving, shirt tossed aside while you were sucking his cock. The visible muscles make you clench your core, the dark dusting of hair below his navel and the heft of his pecs and obliques. He's a beautiful man, and a part of your blissed-out brain fixates on it.

He's yours.

"Never enough of you," he rasps. "Come here, please."

Please. You've really done a number on him.

"Reverse?" you ask, standing, fingers digging into his knees as you use them to rise to your feet. You tug off your top and abandon your bottoms and panties in one go, not at all sexy. You just want to be close to him.

"No," he says, quickly. "No, hold on--"

His hands drag up your bare thighs and over your hips, digging into your soft flesh. He scoots back on the couch and spreads his legs further, spine more upright.

"I want to taste you," Theo confesses. He palms your breasts, tweaking your nipples and you throw your head back, a grin permanently on your face. You feel so loved under his hands, so wanted. It's intoxicating. You've never felt as beautiful as you do under his touches. You grip his shoulders, imagining his mouth between your thighs, and moan.

"But--"

"Not tonight," he finished. "I want to fuck you even more. Do you think you can --"

You catch on before he can finish, straddling him properly this time. His cock slides between your folds immediately, catching your clit and you hiss. You're so turned on you might explode.

"I've got you," Theo mutters. "Do you need me to stretch--"

"No," yougasp. "No, Teddy, please, just --"

Your plea is all it takes. His hand on your hip grips even harder and he lines himself up with your entrance. "Sink down, love," he asks. "That's it. Fuck, you're tight."

You groan in unison, foreheads pressed together. Your knees sink into the couch and he holds you steady until you've taken as much as you can in this position, inch by inch.

"So big, Teddy," you babble. "God, I don't know how it all fits, I'm so full --"

It's probably half the weed talking but it's honest. You've never felt anything like Theo and he knows it.

"So good, darling," he moans. "Fuck, it's always so good with you, I feel like I could come right here--"

You rock your hips and you both hiss. You're so keyed up that it could either go for hours or it'll be over in minutes. You don't mind either way, so long as he's inside you.

"Can I move?" he begs. "Please, please say I can, it'll feel so good--"

You nod, lips brushing, inhaling each other's exhales. You rise up just a little and Theo meets your descent with a thrust of his hips that has you both gasping.

"I won't last long," you tell him, teeth nipping at his earlobe. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair. His lips trail down your neck, your collarbones.

"Me neither," he grinds out. "Fuck, you have a perfect cunt--"

Maybe it's the angle, maybe it's the force behind his thrust, but the head of his cock drags across a spot inside you that makes you see stars.

"Theo," you groan. "Again, please. Right there, I --"

He obeys, picking up the pace. "Are you going to come on my cock, baby?" he babbles. "Come on, I want to feel it. I was made to fuck you, to make you feel good, show me, show me--"

His hips pick up pace and you hold on for deer life. It feels like coming home, like you were meant to be joined liked this and any alternative is unacceptable, a violation against nature herself.

Theo drills into that spot and you gasp, tears building behind your eyes alongside the coil in your belly. The sounds of your smacking flesh fills the room alongside your pants and you chant his name like a prayer, a benediction, a blessing.

"Theo, Theo, Theo --"

He presses his lips to yours in less of a kiss and more of a lifeline, breaths mingling, eyes open and staring into each other's blown pupils.

And then you fall apart. Right over the cliff, so intense that your eyes screw shut and your entire body pulses in time with your cunt, Theo's name the only thing your brain can manage. He follows you, hips stuttering before his teeth dig into your lower lip and he empties himself inside you, warm and full.

Your tacky foreheads stick together but neither one of you makes to move. You could probably sit here forever, his arms around you and his solid length still inside you.

"Fuck," he manages. He wipes sweat from your hairline with his finger. "Are you okay?"

You drag your lips across his cheek to settle at the corner of his mouth.

"More than okay," you manage. "I've just been fucked within an inch of my life and I'm still high."

Theo laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs, and pretty soon you are a pair of naked, high adults so in love that you can't stop laughing.

"I love you," Theo says, suddenly. "This is perfect."

He's said it before. Many times, by now. But it's such an honest way to sum up your lives together that you can't help but grin like it's the first time.

"I love you, Teddy," you say. You shift your hips and feel his cock spring to life inside you. "So much."

"Enough for more?" he replies, voice hoarser than before. "I think weed decreases my refractory period."

You kiss him. Full on the mouth, sloppy, unexpected. He smiles into it, your tongue parting his lips answer enough.

"Bed, please," you manage to say.

Theo fumbles for his wand and there's a crack, a swooping in your stomach, and then you're falling back onto his pillows.

Lips on your earlobe, his cock still inside you, he whispers, "Your wish is my command."

[flemingology]

blurb request! a soft one where leah comes home from international break and spends the evening with r. maybe then have a cute movie night with pizza and cuddle on the sofa with a blanket draped over them? just overall cutesy and lovey dovey haha 💗

home is where you are ─ leah williamson x reader

in which: leah and you reunite after the international break

warnings: none

wc: 1.3k

Leah loved playing for England. She loved putting the shirt on, feeling the weight of the badge on her chest, wearing the captain's armband with pride. She loved winning with England. Whether that was a useless friendly, a Nations League group stage game or a major tournament, Leah was addicted to winning. But the thing that Leah loved most about her international breaks, was the prospect of coming back home to you after being away for the best part of two weeks.

The weight of what had been a grueling 14 days rest heavily on her shoulders. Sarina upped the intensity in training off the back of what had been a disappointing camp back in November. Leah wasn't one to shy away from training hard, but it had taken its toll on her body. It was the first time since her ACL injury that the England captain had played a good, consecutive run of games and she was starting to feel the consequences. She was happy, beyond happy, that her body finally felt like it had before her surgery. No more setbacks, no niggles, just her body, her knee and herself working back towards the level she was at before the dreaded injury.

Leah was lost in thought as she expertly navigated the streets of your neighborhood, her limbs aching more with each turn she took, as if her body knew that she was nearing home with each passing minute. She parked the car in the driveway and exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding in as she saw your car was there too. You had your own international break to attend, traveling to Spain for your own camp, so she was relieved to find out you'd made it home safely. You hadn't really texted today, the both of you caught up in traveling home, too busy thinking about the prospect of being in each other's arms again at night.

The defender took her bags out of the trunk and locked her car behind her, crossing the driveway to the front door in a quick few strides. Leah knocked on the door, not finding the energy in her to fish out her house keys that were probably somewhere at the bottom of her England backpack. The cold London air nipped at her exposed legs, silently cursing herself for not having changed into a pair of sweatpants before she left St George's Park.

Leah got pulled out of her thoughts as you opened the front door, dressed in one of her old Arsenal sweaters and a pair of fuzzy sweatpants. Your hair was slightly tousled from where you had been lounging on the couch, waiting for your girlfriend to come home. Your lips formed a small smile and Leah didn't bother saying anything before she dropped her bags on the ground and pulled you into a tight embrace.

She soaked you in, the warmth of your body spreading towards hers as she buried her face in your neck and inhaled your scent, which she had to miss for the past two weeks. "Hey, baby," you said softly, your Spanish accent laced through your voice as you spoke the defender's mother tongue. She pulled you tighter against her, mumbling something incoherently against the exposed skin of your neck, pressing a couple soft kisses there before pulling her head away and looking you in the eye. "I missed you so much," she voiced. Not awaiting your reply, she rested her hands on both sides of your waist and pulled you closer, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

You'd never get tired of kissing Leah. The way her lips perfectly captured yours time and time again, it always made you feel like you were made for each other. She let her hands roam across your back and then settled them on your bum. You pulled back a couple moments later for some air, and you breathlessly leant your forehead against your girlfriend's. "Can we go inside, please? I'm getting quite cold," Leah chuckled.

Leah and you spent the rest of the evening cuddled up on the couch, telling each other about everything that happened while you spent two weeks away from each other. You ordered pizzas, opened a bottle of red wine and enjoyed your evening together.

"You can't leave me again." Leah's voice startled you as you were engrossed in the movie she had put on earlier. "Hmm?" You cocked your eyes at her. "You know, for football. You can't leave the country anymore. I miss you too much." You let out a breathy laugh and snuggled a bit deeper into her chest. "I missed you too. Spain was nice, but not nicer than here. Although it was a welcome change from all the rain."

One of Leah's hands ran through your hair while the other rested comfortably on the small of your back. You were nudged in between her legs with your head on her chest, one of your hands on the side of her face. You couldn't possibly get any closer to one another, but you wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

"I hate it when you leave. When we're not together. I know it sounds cheesy, but I just feel like a part of me is missing," Leah whispered. The room was dark, only slightly illuminated by the tv, but you could feel the sincerity in your girlfriend's gaze and words. You sit up a little and cupped her cheeks with both hands. "I will never leave you for a reason other than football or family, mi amor." You pressed a soft kiss against her lips and tried to pour all the love and adoration you had for her in the moment. Leah's hands gripped your waist tightly like she was scared you were going to leave again if she didn't hold on tight.

"Next month, just come with me. I'm sure we can get the club to fake an injury or something." You chuckled at your girlfriend's suggestion, but soon quieted down when you sensed she was being serious. "Le, you know I can't do that. As much as I love you, and I'd love to spend every moment of every day with you, I have my own football career too. And I know, deep down, that you want me to do good."

Leah sighed dramatically, throwing her head back against the arm rest of the couch. "Ugh. I guess?" She drew out the syllables of her words, feigning annoyance but you didn't miss the slight smile that crept up her lips. "Te amo, mi vida. So much. I'm yours. Forever." Leah's eyes locked with yours and you didn't miss the unshed tears that were pooling there. You brushed your thumbs over her cheeks and pressed kisses all over her face, whispering soft reassurances and declarations of your love her between the presses of your lips against her delicate skin.

No matter how many times the two of you would have to spend international breaks apart, the prospect of coming home to her was one you'd never, ever get used to or take for granted. Nothing felt more like home like Leah's arms, laying in her embrace under a soft blanket on the couch. Soft kisses and whispers shared while nursing a glass of wine, munching on some pizza that definitely wasn't on your meal plan for the week. But you wouldn't have it any other way.

[iimplicitt]

HELLGIRL PT.1 | CL16

pairing: prof. charles leclerc x sainz’s younger sister/student

summary: when a body is found in the snow on campus there’s a ripple of unease that floats over the university of london. dr leclerc always considered himself a rational man. however, that all came crumbling down when someone he believed to be dead showed up in his office doorway.

warnings/topics: slight age gap but both are of age, secret relationship, eventual smut, mentions of death, depictions of violence, stalking, obsession, potentially paranormal, religious allusions, controversial prof!xstudent! relationship, mentions of certain mental conditions such as borderline personality disorder, narcissism, antisocial, etc.

songs for this series

a/n: first, anything from charles’ pov is based in the present. anything in sister! sainz’s pov is in the past. second, this in no way shape or form is based off reality or charles’ personality. this is an au with darker themes and it’s all for the plot. i already had a similar idea going but i recently had to write a paper on the association between stalking and a diagnosis of BDP and/or narcissistic traits or disorders (this does not mean they’re correlated), so i was feeling motivated. this is also not meant to romanticize anything, i purely find it interesting and challenging to write. i also feel it goes without saying that this sibling of carlos is completely fictional

enjoy <3

Charles

When they found her body in the early hours of that morning, a heavy sense of trepidation fell over the campus. Making the snow and wind seem just a bit more bitter than usual, nipping at any exposed skin as if microscopic needles were shooting through the air. It was still so early, the police tape freshly put up, taught against the winter weather and the snow was multicoloured as it soaked up the Christmas lights strung up around the university. The crowd was small at the moment, those who got to campus far too early were the only ones standing by the perimeter set by the police.

“What’ve they found?” Dr. Adlterton asked as her boots came to a stop next to his as they crunched through the fresh snow, steam billowing out from the lid of her to-go coffee cup as she raised it to her lips.

Charles looked down at her briefly, brows furrowing a bit before forcing his eyes forward again as the police began setting up a tent over a spot in the snow. “A body, I believe.”

His colleague’s hand froze just as she was about to take a sip, blinking rapidly before trying to crane her neck higher to get a better look, but the police were making quick work on privatising the crime scene. He bit the inside of his cheek as he observed her, finding her curiosity a bit macabre but he understood. Everyone standing out in the snow at that moment was curious. Clearly a tragedy had happened, but the mystery around who exactly tended to cloud any sympathy for the poor thing lying in the snow.

“Do they have any idea who it is? What might’ve happened? Who found the body?” The questions tumbled out of Dr. Alderton’s mouth, her coffee returning to her lips as she finally took a sip and he watched as her red lipstick stained the lid.

Charles sighed, running a gloved hand through his now damp hair as snow began to soak into it. “I don’t know, but you don’t seem very concerned. What if it was a student or a faculty member?” She rolled her eyes at him and he bit the inside of his cheek again as he looked down at her. He wasn’t overly fond of the woman. If she wasn’t able to dissect something she didn’t tend to be a fan of it. Much less spend any time in its company.

“Dr. Leclerc, of course I’m concerned. But what do you expect from me? I run the crime science department. This is an excellent learning opportunity–”

“Someone’s demise is a learning opportunity?”

She waved him off. “All of you in the arts are so touchy. It’s part of my job to compartamentalise.” She raised up on her toes one more time in an effort to get a look but it was no use. The tent was up and closed, police filtering in and out as more arrived along with investigators and the forensics division. She sighed and took another drink of her coffee. “I’m sure there will be an email about this. See you around.” She patted him on the shoulder before walking off.

Charles frowned at the spot she had touched him, feeling even colder than before despite the sun finally rearing its head and peeking out through the dense clouds. He shivered, the cold feeling different all of the sudden, almost as if someone was hovering over him and casting him in a shadow of frost.

He shook his head but his bones felt stiff regardless. Giving the area one last look himself, he turned on his heel and left as more people arrived, mostly students at that point.

His polished leather shoes clicked along the pavement as he walked with expertise on avoiding ice, nodding and smiling at those who greeted him. Most of the student body he was sure had no idea what was taking place in front of the Royal Holloway building. He was sure it would be leaking into the press any minute, however.

Charles tried to go on with his day as normal, death was a common event that happened every minute around the world. However, the fact it was simply so close was off putting. Bodies weren’t found on university campuses, at least not often. Especially not here.

He had gotten done with his third lecture for the day and was walking back to his office when he noticed people were beginning to look at him a bit different. Faces looking forlorn and unsure how to approach him. The complete opposite of how people typically acted towards him. Usually he was a magnet for socialisation. People lit up when they saw him because Charles was someone who always knew how to make good conversation. He knew how to make people feel important. He knew exactly what to do to make someone feel needed, and that was one of the most important things in the world. People needed purpose, and he was perfect at giving them one.

When the fifth person looked at him in that off putting way, courage must have gripped them because they came to a stop and whispered, “I am so sorry.”

“Pardon?” He blinked at the boy who was in one of his French Literature classes. Surprised to see him given they didn't have their next class for two more days. Only a few of his students actually liked to linger or catch up with him on course work. Although he was well liked, he wasn’t exactly easy on the workload he handed out.

The boy rubbed at his neck, not meeting Charles' eyes. “You don’t know?”

Charles lifted one shoulder in a partial shrug but his brows creased as he took in how nervous his student seemed to be. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s her.” He finally blurted. “The body they found, it was that Sainz girl.” The boy’s voice shook as he finally got the words out and Charles froze. Something cold and sickly crawled up his spine and was weaving through his vertebrae, making his nerves itch and he rolled his shoulders. Trying to make his skeleton feel right inside of his body but everything was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

“What?” Was all he managed to get out, his voice cracking and his tongue feeling too heavy for his mouth.

He stood still as the boy stepped forward and gave him a hug. In any other scenario it would’ve been awkward, but Charles felt reality disconnect for a moment. Not sure what else was said to him as he continued to stand in the hallway long after he was left alone.

Regret was an odd, painfully human thing. Sure, animals may have the sense of knowing better. Learned aversion after facing certain consequences. But the rotten feeling in his chest as he felt his lungs start to move again was purely human and simply awful. He pinched the bridge of his nose and he tightly shut his eyes, willing the pit in his stomach to go away.

God, what was he supposed to say to Carlos? He was sure he would be getting a call at some point. Or should he call first? Perhaps the former was better, letting his best friend come to him when he was ready.

Mourning had no timeline, he knew that. And everyone handled it in different ways, he just hoped whatever creature comfort he could muster up would be sufficient enough to abate any storms of curiosity. He didn’t have to feign any heartache, though.

She was everything to him.

That’s funny.

Charles’ head whipped around as chills ravished his skin, the reaction so sudden it nearly hurt as his flesh prickled up at the sound of the voice. Her voice. He blinked rapidly down the hallway but it was empty and well lit, nothing was lurking in the shadows. Not that there would be. That would be ridiculous.

Trying to shake some sense into him, he turned around but stopped short at the figure leaning against the doorway of his office. All too familiar, yet foreign. His breath was ripped out of him along with his ability to speak as he stared at her in horror. His eyes couldn’t adjust as she wavered. Steady but not quite right all that once.

She smiled slightly, those lips of hers pulled back in the coy smile he had adored so much. Her eyes though, they were off. Empty almost, yet equally heavy with a weight of something more. His own eyes flicked down, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Taking in her torn tights and her askew sweater hanging lazily over one shoulder. The pretty red one he had bought her for Christmas last year. Charles’ gaze danced over her necklace and landed on her slender neck that was coloured a faint, translucent vision of blues and purples.

He couldn’t quite remember if he had put them there in lust or in violence.

Is there really a difference?

Her voice swirled around in his head as they left her mouth and echoed, his ears began to ring as he stumbled away from her and slid to the floor. “How-” he finally managed to choke out, staring up at her and frightened he was having some sort of psychotic break.

She sighed, though no air was disturbed and she leaned down to meet his eyes, her dark hair falling over her shoulders and just barely brushing against his skin. Not quite touching but he could feel it. Feel her. She was so cold. Her eyes danced between his, her lips tugged downward and brows furrowed. Even now he was completely taken by her, looking as if she was personally crafted by God just for him to admire.

What have you done? She finally asked him, her voice soft yet chilling as her words sunk through his skin, making his bones shiver in a damp chill again like they had earlier this morning. Had that been her?

Before he could even fathom some sort of response a door opened down the hallway and she looked up towards the direction of the sound. Not a moment later she was gone. As if a screen glitched and she fizzled out. Charles could still sense something, though. As if something was now tethered to him. Feeling heavy on his lungs and he was freezing.

Ghosts weren’t real.

They couldn’t be.

tag list: @theonottsbxtch @fortunapre @ashbone @c8lap1nto @taasgirl @stopeatread @dying-inside-but-its-classy (if you’d like to be tagged please let me know!)

[theemporium]

The long stints on tour where you couldn’t join him were always rough.

As much as you wanted to, it was unrealistic that you could uproot your life and join Harry around the world for two years. He tried to convince you, he truly did. From whispered conversations in the dark just before the two of you fell asleep to casual discussions over dinner, all leading up to him even attempting to convince you with a powerpoint presentation he made with the help of Mitch. The boy had done his best to try and assure you that you could join him, that he could take care of you.

But you stood your ground. 

Because as much as you loved him and as much as you wanted to witness him on his biggest tour yet, you couldn’t just drop all your responsibilities for two years. You liked what you did. You liked that you never had to rely on him, despite what many fans thought. And you liked the idea that Harry would always have a home to come back to, that the place you two shared in London was just a little piece of you and him that you kept alive whilst he travelled the world. 

And Harry respected it, even if he selfishly wished you would join him. He respected that you didn’t want to spend the next two years in and out of hotel rooms, planes and stadiums. He respected that you supported him no matter what, and he wanted to return the favour. 

And it just meant the shows you did fly out for were all the more special.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Just like that.”

A whimper got caught in your throat as you felt his hands squeezing your hips, tugging you back against him until his cock was deep inside you and his hips were pressed against your ass. You waited for him to move, to pull out before thrusting back inside you, hitting that spot that made your eyes roll back and your head spin. 

But he stayed exactly where he was, squeezing your hips in warning when you tried to pull away from him.

“Harry,” you whined, your voice a little breathless and rough. “Please.” 

You could hear the smirk on his face even if you couldn’t see it. “Please what?”

“You know what,” you bit back, but he still didn’t relent the grip he had on your hips as you wiggled back against him. “Move.” There was a pause. “Please.”

“Such a brat for the camera, love,” he commented, so casual and nonchalant like the mere mention of his phone set up on the nightstand didn’t make your walls clench around his cock. “You just fucking love actin’ up, don’t ya? Love it when I fuck the lil’ brat outta you.”

“Just want you to fuck me like you said you would,” you retorted, a little snappy and maybe a little sassy with your response. But that was quickly fixed with a swift slap to your ass. 

“This is what happens when I leave you alone for too long,” he gritted out between clenched teeth as he squeezed the fat of your ass and thighs as you squirmed beneath him. “You get greedy. You get impatient. What happened to my good girl?”

“I am your good girl,” you murmured in response, far shier than your last comment was. But that wasn’t enough for your boyfriend. 

Your eyes fluttered shut when you felt his fingers threading through your hair before he tugged, quick and harsh. Your lips parted, a silent scream leaving your lips as he kept your head up before leaning over your body until his lips were pressed against your ear.

“I don’t think you are, love,” he rasped, his voice rough and gravelly and it made your stomach dip. “And you know what m’gonna do?”

You didn’t reply and he tugged a little harder until you moaned.

“M’gonna fuck you dumb,” he continued, his teeth nipping the shell of your ear. “Gonna catch every single second of it. M’gonna fuck the attitude right out of you and make you my good lil’ slut so I can watch it whenever I want.” There was a pause and you could feel him smiling against your ear. “So you can watch it and remember to fucking behave.”

“Harry,” you practically sobbed, all needy and desperate as your walls clenched around him.

“Atta girl,” he hummed as he sat back up, not relenting his hold on your hair. “Make those pretty noises for the camera, baby.”

And the phone set on the nightstand mocked you. 

It mocked you as it sat there, leaning against the lamp as Harry fucked you like he promised. As he pressed your body into the mattress, pushing you deeper and deeper into the bed with each thrust. As he whispered filthy words, as he slapped that pretty ass of yours, as he kept your head up so his phone could capture every single moment. 

It mocked you when you laid on the bed, a puddle of fogginess and pleasure after he had made you come too many times to count. It mocked you as he held his phone in one hand, the other gripping your cheeks and squishing your face as he cooed at you. It mocked you as he made you repeat that you were his pretty little slut. 

It mocked you just the way Harry did, in the way that you loved and would undoubtedly use in the weeks away from your boyfriend when you were desperate to remember what it was like to be his good girl.

.

[sleepingdeath-light]

alternate payment ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (24/12/21)

word count ; 654

content ; mild dacryphilia, wall sex, size kink, scratching, belly bulge, unprotected sex

fandom ; black butler

pairing ; undertaker x female reader

read also on ; ao3

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

When the overly friendly undertaker had proposed an alternate form of payment, you hadn't expected it to be so... degrading. To have your plentiful petticoats and skirts hiked up to your waist and your bodice pulled down beneath your breasts as you were pressed forwards against the cold wall of his parlour. To have to brace yourself with your palms and turn your face to one side as he roughly pounded into your wet pussy from behind, long nails digging into your hips as he forced you to follow his movements.

But you consoled yourself that this would all be worth it in the end; that you'd be able to recover your decency and reputation using the information that you were selling — nay, gifting — your body for. That you'd be able to avenge your husband and, perhaps, re-earn your spot in heaven beside him after this dip in morality was over.

So, with a renewed sense of certainty, you allowed yourself to give in and just enjoy the moment.

Enjoy what he was doing to you. Enjoy everything that you'd been without since your husband's passing: the feeling of a long, thick, heavy cock stretching you to the brink and filling you so beautifully that you when you reached down to adjust the hem of your bodice, pressing it down to stop it from slipping further, you could feel the outline of him through your stomach; the feeling of calloused fingers toying with your body, one reaching up to play with your nipples and the other reaching between your spread legs to start rubbing your aching clit; the feeling of teeth nipping at the curve of your throat, punctuating each brief bite with a crude compliment that had your skin burning and your eyes watering.

'You make a convincing whore, lady,' he practically growled against the shell of your ear, dextrous tongue darting out to briefly lick it followed by a quiet giggle when he felt you shudder, 'could've had me fooled,'

'You cry so prettily,' he remarked, forcing you to turn your head to face him as best you could, yellow-green eyes gleaming darkly through his long silver fringe, 'I can't wait to hear you sob.'

'You take me so well, such an eager little pussy,'

'You're being so loud, do you want everyone in London to know what a slut you are?'

Those amongst other such cruel sentiments slipped from his grinning lips, each one making you whimper and tremble — feeling oh so very small and vulnerable beneath his shockingly strong frame and unrelenting grip. Though you couldn't bring yourself to keep focusing on what he was saying when you were so close to release, spurred on by the lewd wet sound of him fucking you and the maddeningly deep and quick pace of his thrusts.

Then, with a well-timed bite to the skin just below your ear, you were sent helplessly tumbling over the edge of your climax. Heart pounding, lungs burning and vision blurring and speckled with white as you sobbed and whimpered and moaned — a string of words falling from bitten lips that sounded like something between a prayer and utter nonsense. Your cheeks were wet with tears, which the undertaker gladly licked up (moaning at the taste) and you could feel your slick gushing out of your sensitive, fluttering pussy and covering his cock and your thighs in an uncomfortable layer of wetness — a layer that continued to grow and spread as he continued to pound into your spent cunt.

And, through the haze of your orgasm and the growing sense of overstimulation, your muddled mind was only able to register a single thought beyond the overlapping sensations. That he wasn’t going to finish and give you what you needed until he was satisfied — and that he didn’t seem to be reaching that point anytime soon.

Though, strangely enough, you didn’t really find yourself caring all that much.

[uramilf]

A/N: Hi everybody! Here’s the prologue of my first series fic called The Record Shop. I’m extremely excited to share this, enjoy the first part! Don’t worry, it’s gonna get more exciting in the first proper chapter. I hope you guys like the sound of our main character Penny (she is named this because every OC i come up with is given a name that I would defo name a baby in the future and penny is my top name rn) Ps. the gif below is exactly how I imagine Matty looking for the duration of this fic lol. I’m sorry but I love mullet Matty xox

The Record Shop —Prologue

Matty Healy au x OC

Warnings: No smut in this part but this fic will contain smut and angst!

*Penny’s POV*

I moved to Manchester from London in June, ready to move on from my shit relationships, my shit job, and my shit family. I had managed to find a new job in a hairdressing salon, hopefully with staff nicer than the last one I worked at. It certainly seemed that way, and the higher pay was a thrilling bonus. My new flat was small but cosy, and I planned on making it beautiful. It was already packed with all the things I loved; scented candles and fairy lights and pretty cushions. I had stuck a few of my favourite bands’ posters on the walls and propped up my guitars in the corners. There were little potted plants on the windowsills and a couple of soft blankets draped over the sofa. My clothes were hanging on a rail in my new bedroom and my record player had been plugged into the wall beside my bed.

I looked around my new flat, thrilled with how much it felt like home already. That is, until my eyes fell on a pile of photos of me and my friends from back home. The pictures spanned over 5 years, from we were 16 and still in school, til now when we were 21. I had left school after my GCSEs (which were abysmal, so it’s a good thing I decided not to go to uni), did a short hairdressing course and got my first job as a proper hairdresser at 20. I worked in London for a year until my relationship broke down and I decided it was time for a fresh start, away from him and away from my family who were still upset that I didn’t complete my A-Levels and “make something of myself.” I felt a pang of loneliness while looking at the photos, realising I didn’t know anyone down here at all. I wasn’t yet friends with my new co-workers, I didn’t know my postman or the staff in the local shops, I didn’t know which nightclubs were good, not that I had anyone to go out with. I didn’t know my new doctor, or my new dentist, or where to get a nice cup of coffee. Everything that I knew about London was gone. But if starting over meant knowing nothing, I would just have to live with it.

—————

My first day at work was great - my co-workers were friendly and seemed like the type of girls you could really have a laugh with, the customers were chatty enough to keep me entertained throughout the day, and I felt for once like I was in control of my own life. As I walked out of the salon at 5pm clutching my handbag, all feeling of loneliness had dispersed; and I was elated.

A couple of streets away from my flat I walked past a little record shop with a neon pink “open” sign on the door. I could hear Fleetwood Mac playing from inside, which instantly got my attention. I decided to have a browse, maybe treat myself to a new record. Stepping inside, I had a quick look around. The walls were painted a calming cream colour and were lined with band posters and shelves of CDs and records, and I instantly spotted some of my favourites. There was no one at the cash register, but I assumed the staff had nipped out to the back as I could hear a couple of men laughing and chatting. I stepped into the 90s section the shop, flipping through the records in the middle. Just then I heard footsteps in the back corner of the store and looked up.

A boy about my age was standing there, wearing a black t-shirt with the store logo, a pair of black skinny jeans ripped at the knees and black boots. He was gorgeous; deep brown eyes and soft-looking brown hair that was shaved at the sides into a kind of mullet style (which usually I hated, but he made it work). One of his ears was pierced with a small hoop earring and his bare arms were covered in tattoos. He looked to be a good bit taller than me, and he was thin but the tattooed arms seemed quite muscular. The name tag on his top read “Matty”. He smiled a gorgeous smile at me and I felt my breath catch in my throat.

“Can I help you with anything darling?”

—————

A/N: thank you for reading! Soz for the very long note at the start but I wanted to get some things out there lol x

[theuniverseawakens347]

Cashay race is two white one male one female and slave.. a dark skin…

Okay house nigga coon burnt MENtale…

Look bitch…

WHEN DID I SAY THAT!? UMAR MALONE COULD!!!!???

What’s YG!???

What’s mozzy!??

SHORDIE SHORDIE.. MIKE SHERM…

Okay bluefasebaby…

LOOK DUMMY SIN AND AGAIN AND AGIN DONT KNOW WHY IM BEING TESTED BY RIM…

CAUSE YOU STUPID AND SEE AND UNDERSTAND ONLY YOUR SOUL… it’s burnt.

DEAD. internal and external… so YOU WANA BE DEAD.

Okay. IMMA KILL YOU.

Cause you can’t be THAT STUPID IN MY MY REAL KING DuMB… shordie sherm fase

… JUSTIN OF LONDON YOU IAN MCDOWELL. COLORIST. RACIAT RETARDED ALL THE WAY BURNT MENTAL FOR JUST MONEY.

7 deadly sins wrapped in green blue faces***

NIPSEY MY DARKNESS IN THE LIGHT … angelique.. BLACCsam.. baby hairs… MONI…

MY TRACY .. DARKNESS IN THE LIGHT BUT LEARNING TWO … light in the darkness for pops.

ME WHOLE BY MYSELF.

ILL SLIDE YOU AS A RATCHET GHETTO STREET CODE BITCH

But I’ll also VERBALL nurture you w a tough touch your mom OR dad missed a beat on.

… ITS NOT ABOUT SKIN COLOR.

WHITE PPL GOT THEY OWN FUCKING PAIN…

A COLONIST WAS LACKING SOMETHING IN ITS ENVIRONMENT THAT MADE IT WANT TO FEED ON OTHERS TILL “full”…

VEGANS … you stop eating MEAT A VITAL FUCKING PART OF GROWTH N NUTRIENTS FOR BLOOD FLOW … how ya get … HUNGRY HANGRY HIPPO… CRAVINGS. what ya crave.. MEAT .. what ya eat… THE FAKE SUBSTITUTE SHIT…

Okay go back to Bible sinner looking for “the whining gold” … where ya go? THE FAKE LIGHT BECAUSE THE MONEY “holds” … coi YOU WANT THE FINEST RICHES … what street problems did you have!???

YOU WAS HOING… 13- NOW .. but BEFORE MONEY INDUSTRY HO

YOU WAS THE BOTTOM OF THE BUCKET LAST LICK.. so YOU DO THE MOST AND “DONT give a fuck bc I GOT WVERYTHING I WANT” … was aids and STDs apart of the goal!? No baby plz.. that’s hard two hide .. but sell my seeds India love MORE MONEY PLZ … Amanda bynes show… keana thompson…

YOU DONT HAVE TO SEXXX TO ME A HO OR SINNER OR PROSTITUTION.. YOU SOLD YOUR SPERM HOW MANY TIMES FOR MONEY UMAR CHRISEAN JR … YOU SOLD YOUR LADIE PARTS!??

We ALL DO WHAT WE GOTTA DO TO MAKE SOMETHING OUT OF NOTHING … SOMETIMES A QUICK ROUTE IS THE ANSWER… but WHATS THE COAT IN THE LONG RUN!???

YOUR NOT THINKING LONG TERM YOU STOP YOURSELF SHORT THATS WHY YOU STUCK ON YOU TURNS ..

Ouroboboros : consume self CANNIBALISM COWS BRAIN.. YAA WANT DEATH BC.. DEAD END. STOPING THE FLOW.. IAN MCDOWELL KOREY 72 nd Vermont 2 SNAKE BACK TWO BACK ATE THEMSELVES LIKE THIS WHY!??? POISON IN THE ENVIRONMENT .. AND NO WAY OUT BUT… SUICIDE.

Nip “suicidal thoughts” A COVER UP TO THOSE AROUND HIM WHO DIDNT UNDERSTAND HE HAD A MISSION TO FULLFILL LIKE GRANNY LEXI LOVE LOTS TO GUIDE ME AND TRISTAN AND TAME .. GATES KEEPER TO THE SPIRIT WHeEALM … UPSIDE DOWN stranger things NETFLIX YA TALK MY LIFES .. but PRINCIPALS.

Vs

INFINITY OUROBOROS… : my holy trinity flows .. NO MATTER HOW I / WE YELL* or talk AT N WITH YOU IT GOES ROUND N ROUND BACK TWO MY BEING 3. Split over and over and over two one GOD. - THE UNIVERSE.

[izzysarchivedblogs]

There were several things in Clint's life that were never simple. Whatever this was with Tony, whatever the touch was, the sleeping together. The wanting so desperate to punch Tony because he was emotionally raw but not. The letting Tony make him spew his feelings. It's fucked.

It's fucking fucked and it's gonna take a beer to figure out what or more forget to even think about whatever this was. The touch had been nice though. He had been bored, lonely, and way too over his head in the lab. Too shaky, that calmed him a little.

❝ And I thought you wanted to get to London. ❞ A quick retort, the smallest poke and reminder of where they were headed. At least Clint didn't go for the darker joke. So he should get one of Captain America's gold stars. Clint was seriously contemplating the offer of kicking the pilot out of the seat. Lives would literally be in his hands, he'd had to be focused on plenty things that there would be no room but it wouldn't be the same.

It's not the kind of flying he meant or wanted. A biplane would be more fun than this.

❝ So you're admitting that I outclass you? ❞ He means that more in the Avengers gym and sparring sense but he'll take it on the pole as well. ❝ We could put that to the test. ❞ Tony means the pole, Clint, not whatever need you have to fight.

He holds his hand with two fingers up. ❝ Two words. ❞ Clint can remember that time. The first go-round as a secret avenger, tested by Steve to be the leader. Clint's pretty sure he failed to some degrees but he couldn't just admit that. ❝ Captain Britain. Brian Braddock. ❞

A groan is let out as Tony points out how much longer this plane flight was going to take. There's no alcohol. Tony really had to point out that he was itching. Should he just say sex? It wouldn't be a thought that wasn't in his head. Get it over with, nip whatever tension there was in the lab and that finger touch in the bud?

❝ I hate this. ❞

Fuck it, what more could he lose?

❝ Sex. ❞

Tony shrugged, studying Clint's face. There had been a few little tells, though Clint was good at playing his cards close to his chest. He'd reacted to the touch on his fingers, not in a stop touching me way, but a curiosity way. Tony could work with curiosity. The question was, should he?

There had also been a flicker when he mentioned flying. It wasn't for long, but Tony could tell it was something Clint wanted. Maybe not this plane but a plane. "I mean it," he said. "It's my plane. I can decide whose behind the stick. I fly it sometimes."

Tony laughed as the suggestion he get on the pole. He could just imagine how badly he'd go on the pole. But it could be a funny way to spend their time. And an excuse to keep touching him. Maybe if Tony kept touching Clint, he might forget that he's mad at him. "I'm not sure I'm as nimble as you are, nor do I have the core strength. You'd have to teach me."

Tony laughed again. "You hate Britain on principle? What did they do to you? Colonize you home?"

He leaned in a little and sighed. "So what do you want to do, Katniss? you're on a private jet for another -" he looked at his watch - "five and a bit hours. There's no alcohol. So what would distract you?"

[anatomieblogs]

4 New Year’s Resolutions for Travelers

As we prepare to ring in a new year, many of us are likely trying to decide on our New Year’s resolutions. While it’s easy to go for the popular ones, like eating healthier or getting more sleep, why not create a resolution focused on one of life's greatest joys? Travel! There’s nothing better than discovering the world around us. Below are some of the best New Year’s resolutions for adventurers and wanderers who love to explore, along with some travel tips.

Start the Year with an Adventure 

The best way to kick off a new year is by doing something you love, which will hopefully set the tone for the next 12 months. Consider taking a trip that will challenge, entertain, and excite you—like a safari. Purchase a versatile, stylish safari jacket and essential travel pants, and you have the perfect safari ensemble to accompany you on your adventure.

A safari jacket is an excellent investment as you can wear it for any of your travels, and it also makes for the perfect everyday jacket. This sleek, fashion-forward jacket is nipped at the waist for a flattering fit and features plenty of pockets for storing your travel essentials. Look for a safari jacket made from the finest European materials that are wrinkle-free, moisture-wicking, quick-drying, and durable—everything you’d want and need in a travel jacket.

Plan Weekend Getaways 

Even if you stay home during the work week, who says you can’t take a quick trip over the weekend? Whether you hop on a plane, train, or automobile, weekend getaways are an excellent way to explore the world without disrupting your busy life.

You can also plan longer trips during holiday weekends. For those who live on the East Coast, you can quickly jet set to Paris or London for an extended weekend. For nearby trips, toss your luxury travel clothing into a weekender bag, like your favorite skinny cargo pant, fashion tops, and cute shoes, and enjoy a few days in the city, trying new restaurants, catching a show, or going shopping. It’s amazing how a quick weekend trip can lift your spirits and help you hit reset before returning back to the office.

Pack with a Purpose 

If your New Year’s resolution is to pack lighter, you aren’t alone! Traveling with just a carry-on is popular for many reasons—you can save on baggage fees, skip lines, and enjoy a more stress-free travel experience. Break free from bulky bags and invest in a luxury travel wardrobe that is versatile and lightweight so you can pack less but get more from your travel wardrobe.

Unlike traditional jeans or pants, luxury pants for travel are incredibly lightweight, so you can roll them up and stuff them in small spaces, and they still look amazing when you put them on.

Invest in a Sustainable Travel Wardrobe 

Is one of your New Year’s resolutions to go green? Investing in a sustainable travel wardrobe can supercharge your greener, cleaner lifestyle. Forget fast fashion, which is often made using inexpensive materials that don’t last or are already going out of season, and switch to luxury travel clothing made from the finest European fabrics and designed to withstand travel demands.

The best luxury travel clothing is seasonless, timeless, and easily incorporates into your daily wardrobe. This means you can live a more stress-free life with fewer high-quality items that can be mixed and matched to create endless outfit combinations.

About Anatomie 

Travel in comfort and style with Anatomie travel clothing. Founded in 2006, this luxury travel brand fuses fashion and functionality with the finest materials. From the bestselling Kenya Safari Jacket to the Kate Skinny Cargo Pant, every luxurious piece is crafted with high-quality performance fabrics with European tailoring that fit and flatter your shape—a perfect combination of European aesthetics and unmatched comfort. These versatile pieces are fashion-forward and designed for travel and daily life. They are also incredibly low maintenance, so you can go from the plane to dinner while looking effortlessly polished and wrinkle-free. Anything’s possible when you’re wearing Anatomie, so shop their collection of premium travel clothes for women and find your perfect fit. 

Ring in the New Year with luxury travel clothes, available at https://anatomie.com/

Original Source: https://bit.ly/3RXm1km

[goaways-stuff]

Could I request a fic that reader is accidently seeing Steven naked, I wonder what would he react to the reader?

Accidents Happen

pairing: Steven Grant x gn! reader (mentions of Marc and Jake)

warnings: smut, loss of virginity, male masturbation, oral (gn! receiving), unprotected sex (be smarter)

summary: Racing down the streets of London to surprise your best mate, Steven. You are met with a bigger surprise when you open the door to his flat.

word count: ~1.5k

a/n: Marc talks Steven through some of the sex, but doesn't actually front. Jake is only mentioned. As stated before, I don't have DID myself, but I have tried to keep it as accurate to real life and the show as possible. But, if there's any harmful stereotypes/ misinformation, please let me know so they can be removed.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

The smile on your face told the world exactly what you were feeling. You had gotten off of work early and were going to surprise your best mate, Steven, with his favorite lunch.

The extra key to his flag was safely kept in your pocket as you raced down the streets of London, burritos in hand.

You greeted the worker on the ground floor of the apartment building and were all but screaming at the dinghy elevator to go faster.

Arriving on the fifth floor you were bouncing up and down with joy. You ran to his door and shoved the key in. Then you heard it- a groan. Then a whimper, then your name. He was touching himself. To you.

You should've left, should've either left it at the door with a knock or came back later. But the noise that he made was intoxicating, and you don't know what came over you. You opened the door and immediately felt bad. There he was, stark naked on the bed, cock in hand with a look of a deer caught in the headlights.

"Y/N! Oh my god, I'm so sorry, dear. I- I wasn't expecting you-" He explained, trying all he could to cover himself. You shut the door behind you before anyone else could look in.

"No- Steven, I'm sorry I should've knocked or even let you know that I was coming," You replied. "I just wanted to surprise you."

"It definitely was a surprise all right." He muttered, his face was blushed but neither of you really moved, unsure of what to do next. Despite his best efforts, you could still see his erection, prominent even from under the fluffy blanket. Before you could stop yourself, your mouth moved.

"I could help you." You blurted it, in a single quick breath. Welp, it's out there now. Steven couldn't even believe what he was hearing. He must be dreaming, he must be. There's no other way you walk in on him touching himself to you and then ask to help. But there you were, awaiting his response.

"Steven, I swear to god if you do not say ye-" Marc chimed in.

"Yes, oh gods yes."

You stripped your clothes off. Screw it. You had been hiding your little crush on him for months, not wanting to ruin the friendship you two shared. Fuck it, screw the friendship because you wanted more and now, more was here.

You rushed your way over to him and He sat up, welcoming you into his lap.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," He breathed, not yet closing the distance between your lips. "You're more gorgeous than I could've ever imagined."

His comments made you blush and close the distance between you. It was desperate and needy. Steven would've preferred having a more tender first kiss, but at this point, that idea was out the window. He could feel your heat and arousal on his cock. He was impossibly hard as you ground your hips down on him. Steven was vocal, he let you know exactly how he was feeling. It only made you want to do it more. His moans were music to your ears, and the way your name rolled off his tongue as you searched for his most sensitive spots had you reeling. He pushed you over, letting himself be on top. He connected your lips once more before making his way down, this time finding your most sensitive spots. He kissed your neck and nipped at your ear. He kissed down your chest, grazing his teeth over your nipple. To be truthful, he hadn't really gone this far with someone, and the further south he went, the more his nerves got to him. Marc encouraged him in his head, giving tips. While it weirded Steven out that Marc was watching, he took the advice as it seemed to be working. As Steven finally reached your entrance, he moved his head back for a breath.

"I've never really done this before, Y/N," He blurted. Your eyes went wide. You knew almost everything about Steven, from Marc and the Moonknight shenanigans to discovering Jake, from his favorite time of day to his favorite exhibit in every museum around here. But you did not know that he was a virgin and a wave of guilt flooded over you. Your silence worried Steven. Of course, who would want to have sex with a virgin who didn't know anything? That was a lie, he knew all about anatomy and where things were- he had just never done it in practice.

"If you don't want to keep going, I understand," He said, trying to hide his disappointment. But you knew better, you knew your Steven.

"No no no, it's not that at all. I mean- kind of. I just feel bad, your first time should probably be a little bit more special than this shouldn't it? Also, are you sure you want to lose it to me? I mean- I guess virginity is only a big a deal as you make it bit-"

"Y/N, I have never been so sure of something in my life. Ever. I want you and this is more than special enough. In fact, I couldn't imagine losing it to anyone else any other way."

You melted at his kindness. Your sweet Steven. Yours.

"Okay, then please keep going because I really need you."

His only response was diving his head between your thighs, eating you like a starved man. He licked and sucked and moaned into you.

"Oh my god- Steven, you're a natural. Fuck feels so good, baby," You moaned as your hand flew to his mocha curls. His coffee eyes looked up at you, watching every little reaction.

"Use your fingers, Steven," Marc advised. Steven went a step further and brought his fingers up to your mouth. You closed your mouth around them, wetting and sucking them which elicited another moan from Steven. Once he was satisfied with their wetness, he pulled his fingers from your mouth and insisted his middle finger into you. He curled it just right, hitting that delicious sweet spot inside of you. You arched your back into him, chanting his name along with praises. You felt yourself winding up as he continued his ministrations. He sucked at you while moving his fingers in and out and curling them right where you needed them. You were teetering on the edge, ready to come tumbling down any second.

"Stop, Steven. They're close."

Steven argued with Marc in his head, asking why because it was obvious you felt so good, why would he want to stop.

"Trust me, Steven. Just stop and tell 'em to be patient. Good things come to those who wait."

Steven stopped, right as you were about to cum, he stopped. You whined loudly, now displeased by his actions.

"Shh, darling. It's okay- be patient. Good things come to those who wait," He said, making his way back up to you. "You're so pretty when you're about to come. Can't wait to see what you look like when you actually cum," He said as he lined up his tip to your entrance. You swore you could've cum right then and there as he slid into you. He was thick, stretching you out until it was almost painful. Almost.

"Fuck, Y/N, holy shit- you're tight. Fuck you feel good. Feels so good." There it was again, his beautiful moans. You could listen to them forever. You let out noises of your own as he started to move, slowly but desperately. He had never felt so good before.

"Steven, more please- need more."

"Harder, Steven. Didn't you hear 'em. More…Atta boy."

His hips were moving fast, he was so deep inside you felt as though you could feel him in your stomach. He was angled in a way to hit all the right spots. You moved your legs around his waist, changing the angle to get the tiny bit more friction that you need. You were a ticking time bomb whose timer was about to go off. So close to the explosion of pleasure.All it took was a few more particularly deep strokes before you were cumming all over Steven and his cock. You squeezed tightly around him, sending him into his own orgasm. His hips stuttered and He moaned your name along with profanities and praises to you. You felt his warmth fill you up, and you don't think you could ever get tired of it.

He let some of his body weight collapse on top of you as Steven's brain went quiet. Marc seemed to hide away as the two of you were caught in the afterglow. Steven brushed your sweaty locks from out of your face.

"You're absolutely beautiful, dove. I was right, you're even more gorgeous when you cum," He smiled. You chuckled and kissed him, excited for the what the future holds for you and Steven, as well as Marc and Jake.

[duskholland]

Settle || Mob!Tom Smut

summary ↠ distance may make the heart grow fonder, but you’d spend every day by tom’s side if you could. warnings ↠ a bit of angst, and this is just.... so fucking smutty.... pwp but make it 8k of smut... 18+ minors dni !!!!!!!!!!! extended nsfw warnings below the cut <3 word count ↠ 11.7k. a/n ↠ lads... lost my mind I’ve lost it. the mob!tom energy has been absolutely overwhelming for the last month, and this has been a long time coming. thank you esquire. thank you gq. thanks tom too, I guess, even though his handsomeness is a double-edged sword. also thanks to chloe for motivating me to write this lmao. this was a lot of fun!! softness sweetness debased animalistic crazy stuff. we love to see it. lmk what you think !! <3 ***this is a part of my mob!tom series – a collection of oneshots set within the same universe. you don’t need to read the other parts for this to make sense! 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

extended warnings ↠ praise kink, breeding kink, cockwarming, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, crying, biting, spitting, oral + fingering (fem receiving), unprotected sex (the long-awaited return of cum-dumpster!reader), minor d/s dynamics ft soft!dom!tom, possessiveness in the dirty talk, and I wouldn’t say it’s degradation but there is some patronisation lmao. this is intense loving passionate consuming smut, esp the second section. pls practice safe sex irl x

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧ *:･ﾟSETTLE･ﾟ:*✧

Tom is wrapped around you, his rich scent overpowering each one of your senses. He consumes you. He becomes you.

With your face buried in the crook of his neck and your legs swung either side of his thighs, you’re clinging tightly to him. One of his hands rests beneath the shirt on your back, the tips of his fingers slowly stroking up and down your spine, and you can feel the firm press of his nose against the side of your head. His face nestles against your hair as he holds you to the warm skin of his neck. Every few minutes, Tom pulls away from the documents and spreadsheets resting on his desk and litters the side of your temple with short kisses.

There’s a persistent throbbing between your legs, but it’s worth it. Tom’s cock is buried inside you, his length enveloped by your silky heat. You can feel him, bearing in on every intimate space of your cunt. In your aroused state, you swear you can make out the lines of his bulbous head and the curves of his veins as they press up against your sensitive walls. You’re pulsing—every slight movement made by either you or him causing you to gasp softly and cling closer to your boyfriend.

“God, darling,” Tom murmurs, accented voice hanging low and heavy. He strokes over your back again, and you hear him click his ballpoint pen. When he tosses the heavy metal object back onto the desk, he sits back in the wide office chair that the two of you are precariously balanced on. You aren’t scared of falling off—you’ve done this before, countless times. You know that he’s got you. “So fuckin’ snug, aren’t you?”

You pull away from your boyfriend’s neck, sucking in a rough breath as you sit up to face him and receive the lightest of friction against your g-spot. As your teeth dig into your lower lip, you take a few moments to admire his ensemble—light white shirt, unbuttoned and hanging open, a delicate silver chain dangling over the golden expanse of his chest. He’s got his rings stacked over his fingers, and the bright metal pieces catch in your hair as he smoothes a hand across your cheek.

Tom smirks at you, his deep brown eyes flooded with lusting appreciation. With one hand on your face, the other slowly slides down your back, drifting over the loose shirt that covers your figure until it disappears between your legs. You cry out as his index finger reaches down to play with your clit, still wet and sensitive from his exploration earlier. He’d opened you up on his tongue before sheathing himself inside you.

“You just got so tight, angel,” he murmurs, voice raspy. “Do you like when I show you a bit of attention?”

“Yeah,” you whimper. You can barely keep your eyes open as he continues to toy with your bud. It’s hard to push down the temptation to start riding him, but you know that’s not the point of this. As much as you crave release and the opportunity to fall apart whilst being encompassed by Tom, there are other objectives at play. “I’ll miss this,” you admit. “I’ll miss you.”

“I know, my darling.” Tom’s expression briefly clouds over, some of the heat leaving his eyes. He rolls the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone, a gentle pout curling across his lower lip. “I don’t want to leave you.”

You lick your lower lip, pushing back the hot lump of emotion that simmers in your chest. All week, you’ve felt apprehensive for his departure, anticipating today with unease. Tom is a good businessman, and usually he’s able to control his own empire from the comfort of his West London mansion. For so long, he’s been near you, lingering close, never trailing too far from your side. But there’s uncertainty in the air, and they need him out in Manchester for a few weeks to whip the boys back into shape. Until the supply issue is resolved, he’ll be away—away from you, and your bed, and the life that you’ve constructed so precariously together.

In this world of drugs and darkness, nothing is certain. You fall asleep beside Tom each night thankful that he’s safe, he’s here, he’s content. You know plenty of people who haven’t been afforded such a luxury. Your boyfriend has enemies who seek revenge and retribution, and their greedy eyes follow him from every direction. They’re like wolves, every single one of them—suppliers, rivals, the law—waiting in the shadows, preparing to pounce at the first sign of weakness.

You shouldn’t love him. He’s not a good man. Tom has told you as much repeatedly—in his deprecating words, in the underhanded dealings that go on around your dinner table, through his violent actions against opponents. But he loves you, and he is a good man, to you, and maybe that’s all that matters. Maybe you can take the pain and the darkness, because it affords you a glimmer of light in the form of your boyfriend. Tom holds you at the very centre of his universe, and as he cups your face in a gentle hand and coaxes you in for a sweet kiss, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way. Your life may be characterised by uncertainty, but there is no doubt in the way that he loves you, so recklessly and fiercely. He gives you everything that he has without hesitation.

The kiss grows deeper, and you moan into Tom as he presses his tongue into your mouth. He’s still rolling your clit beneath his thumb, and you reach up to grab fistfuls of his hair. When he’d pulled you into the office earlier and begged you to spend time with him, it’d come with the caveat that you need not distract him from his final pieces of work. He seems to have abandoned that decision now, as he ruts up into you when you groan into his mouth.

“Sweet love,” he purrs, voice darker. Tom squeezes your cheek, the cool metal of his ring pressing to your skin as he holds you tightly. He releases your face a moment later, fingers shifting to your waist as his lips grace over the tender part of your face. “God, I’ll miss you. Miss this fuckin’ cunt.” He kisses down from your cheek, shifting back and towards your ear. You release a wispy moan as he finds your tender spot, sucking harshly against the skin then soothing the ache with his hot tongue. “So perfect for me.”

“You’re perfect,” you murmur, mind slow. Tom holds your hip slowly and encourages you to move, and both of you release sounds of enjoyment as you begin to ride him. Your entrance aches, stretched wide around his girth, but as his finger rubs persistent circles across your bud, it soothes into pleasure. “Fuck, Tom… You fill me up completely. You’re in so deep.”

“I know, darling,” he murmurs. When you toss your head back and start to move faster, he’s quick to attach his lips to your neck. “Tightest little thing,” he adds, voice scalding against your ear. “I know I’ll be dreaming of you, angel. Every single night.”

You cry out as he helps you shift slightly to the side, optimising your pleasure. As the crown of Tom’s cock rubs up against your back wall, you shudder, breath hitching. The sounds of your heat, so wet and silky, being fucked repeatedly as you come down on him again and again spurs you on. It grows wild quickly, Tom leaving your neck and sitting back in his chair just to watch you ride him so perfectly. His eyes are dark and passionate, and his gaze so intense that it’s as if he’s trying to burn the memory to mind.

“I don’t think I can hold it,” you admit, eyes threatening to roll back. After sitting on his cock for fifteen minutes, you were already riled up. Now, you’re on cloud nine. Pleasure has your toes curling, the muscles in your thighs tensing and straining as you cling to the back of Tom’s head and tug on his curls. “T-Tom.”

“That’s it, gorgeous. Say my name.”

His ring digs into your side, spurring you on. As the cool metal nicks at your skin, the coil in your stomach tightens further.

“Oh,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut. No longer able to see Tom’s handsome face, you’re left only with the sensations, pulsing out from your centre. You’re on the verge, inching closer with every time Tom pulls you back onto his cock. He works you open, thrusts into you deep, leaves you gasping.

“C’mon, pretty baby,” he murmurs, hot lips moving forward to press at your neck. “Make me cum. I know you want it, don’t you?”

A throaty groan travels past your lips as you know exactly what he’s talking about. You’d stopped taking birth control a week ago, and though both of you know that the chances of you falling pregnant so soon after ending those hormones are slim, the possibility is there. Sex now feels dangerous, the extra weight to it filling you with arousal and excitement.

“Yes,” you whimper. “Please.”

Tom nips at your ear, the bite of pain making you moan.

“Go on,” he coos, voice sweet, sultry. “I’m going to fill you up, darling. Give you something to remember me by.” His hand slips from his waist and travels to your lower stomach, resting there. “Right here,” he adds. “Do you want it, love? You need to work for it. Cum on my cock, mm? Let me feel how desperate your tight little pussy is for my cum.”

Tom snaps his hips up to yours, and a few moments later, you peak. Your climax burns through you, your walls clamping down around his length in a way that makes him groan loudly. You open your eyes to watch his face seize up, freezing with pleasure and enjoyment as his jaw tenses and his eyes squeeze shut. You feel his cock pulsing as you continue to move over him, lost in the pleasure that spirals out from your cunt and your clit. His pants are laboured too.

When you come down from it, you settle in his lap, sweaty palms grasping at his face. Tom pulls you closer, wrapping you up in his arms as he presses his forehead to yours. His nose bumps against yours, tip warm. Every part of him is warm.

“I love you so much,” he says, voice serious. “More than you could ever imagine, Y/N.”

You smile. “I love you too,” you whisper.

Tom pulls back from you to pepper his lips across your face, dusting every inch of your skin with his mouth. You’re still connected at your centre, and you know the moment you stand, you’ll feel the evidence of his love dripping down your thighs.

“I—”

A rough knocking sound bursts into the room, hard knuckles drumming over the office door. You jump, and Tom’s brows crease. He brings both of his hands to cover your ears and kisses the tip of your nose before sitting up a little straighter.

“What the fuck do you want?” he hollers, voice terse. He’s muffling the volume with his palms, but you still wince, and he kisses your nose again in penance.

“Sir, we have to go. The men are waiting—”

Tom’s face ripples with irritation. You watch the vein stand out in his neck, fading only when his eyes sweep back to your face. He deflates as he brings his lips down across your forehead.

“I’ll be two minutes,” he barks back. “Now piss off. I’m with my girl.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tom peels his hands away from your ears, then rubs each one of your earlobes with the soft pads of his thumbs. “Sorry about that, my darling,” he mumbles, shadows covering his features. His teeth dig into his lower lip as he sighs. “I need to go.”

You feel your face fall, and break eye contact when the intensity of his gaze grows too much. “Okay,” you mumble.

“Hey.” Tom grasps your chin between his index and his middle finger. “I’ll come back to you,” he promises. You know he can feel your reluctance to let him go, can see it on your face without you having to verbalise it. You wonder if he’s been able to tell how unsettled you feel about the whole ordeal, and if maybe that’s why he’s let you be more clingy this week.

“What if you don’t?” you breathe out, unable to keep it in. You blink a few times, trying to hide the watery film of tears that shakes across your eyes. “What if something happens to you whilst you’re away, and you don’t come home?” You reach down and grab at his shirt, clenching your knuckles around the crisp material. “Tom, you are my home. I don’t know what I’ll do if—”

“I’ll come back, baby.” He kisses you softly, a few fingers brushing up beneath your chin and tilting you to him. “I always will. I promise. I’m a man of my word, so you know that’s true.”

You manage a thin smile, heart aching even as Tom cups your face in his hands. “I love you,” you say finally. “And I’ll be waiting for you to get back.”

Tom nods. His cheeks are still flushed, and his hair is a mess, but the fire in his eyes is undeniable. When he deposits a light kiss to your cheek and then lets his lips brush you against your earlobe, you know that he’ll be back. You know he’d never fail you.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A month passes. You miss Tom desperately.

For the first three weeks, you manage to control the sadness in your chest. Finding distraction in your job and your friends, you’re able to forget about the giant Tom-shaped hole in your heart. He lingers on, though, his love persistent even in his absence. Despite finding certain ways to limit your anguish, like daily calls, and soaking your wrists in his cologne each morning, the time only worsens your heartache. You’re miserable without him.

In the fourth week, it reaches the point where you can no longer pretend you aren’t aching for him. You miss him in a way you’ve never felt before, his absence from your home like a sharp spire ever-present in your chest, burrowing deeper every lonely morning. Tom can’t ease you, doesn’t know himself when he’ll be able to come home. The job he’s had to do has spiralled, with mutinous men and delayed shipments, and it’s in too precarious a position for him to leave and come back to you. When you’d suggested visiting, he’d immediately wiped that option from the table, citing the acts of violence and uneven atmosphere as too great a risk to take. You understand it, but you miss him, and it permeates every part of your life.

It’s late Tuesday night, and in a fitless trance, you find yourself walking up to the third floor of the mansion. When you’d moved in, almost a year ago, Tom had tried to make you feel as comfortable as possible. In his efforts, he’d installed an art studio for you to use. The gesture went in tandem with his greatest gift to you so far—your very own art gallery, right in the centre of London. The studio is a large room, framed with huge windows which overlook the sprawling estate. Tonight, all you can make out is the dim driveway and the crescent moon, hanging thinly in the sky.

After turning on some music and slipping on your painting apron, you take your place in front of your easel. As you stare at the blank canvas, your fingers shift up to absently run the line of Tom’s ring. It hangs on a chain around your neck, silver and bold. You hadn’t realised that he’d left it with you until you’d reached into your pocket the day of his departure and found it sitting there. You know the matching ring stays wrapped around his pinky finger, and it brings you a sense of comfort to trace the smooth band and feel connected to him, even in a small way.

You decide to paint Tom, trying to coax him to life from your memories. Shades of gold and brown take form over your canvas. With every brush stroke and flick of your wrist, you feel lighter, some of the ache lessening.

Hours pass, interrupted only by the ringing of your phone. Biting back a small curse word as you feel your concentration shatter, you put your paintbrush down and tug your phone from your back pocket. Your frown fades as you see Tom’s name, flashing on the screen besides an image of his face.

“T,” you greet, the relief in your voice obvious even to you. “Hey.”

There’s silence for a few moments, then his voice crackles down the line. “Hi, darling,” Tom speaks. “It’s not too late to talk, is it?”

You glance up at the ornate clock sitting on the wall. The feature is grand and solid gold, matching the themes of the rest of his house. Tom likes decadence. His luxurious touch is evident in the patterns of red, black, and metals that cling to each article of furniture. When you see that it’s 2am, you blink a few times, shaking off your surprise as you realise how much time has passed since you’d started to paint.

“It’s okay,” you reply. “I’m painting.”

“Ahhh.” You hear the rustling of sheets, and you imagine Tom in bed. He’s probably bundled up in sweats and a hoodie, sprawled out across his mattress. The house in Manchester always runs cold, and you’ve heard his complaints consistently for the last few weeks. The image of him resting up against the headboard, pouting from beneath a pile of blankets makes you smile. “What are you working on?”

You smile into your phone, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “You,” you tell him. “Just your eyes at the moment, and the outline of your hair.”

“Me again?” Tom speaks, and his tone is like soft velvet, gentle and crushing at the edges. “I’m flattered, darling.”

“Mmm.” You fiddle with his ring. “I’ll need to dedicate a wall to you in the gallery. You’re my favourite muse.”

Tom chuckles. “That’d be an honour,” he says, voice dropping in volume. “It’s a privilege to be loved by you.” His voice twangs sadly, and you feel yourself frowning.

“Are you okay, baby?”

He’s quiet for a few moments. You find yourself biting your lip.

“Yeah,” he says, voice thicker. “Long day.”

“What did you do?”

He sucks in a harsh breath, air catching on the back of his teeth. “Can we just talk about you for a minute?”

Worry furrows your brow. “Okay,” you say, drawing out the syllable as you scramble for words to fill the gap. “Today I visited your mother.”

“Oh?”

“She wanted me to show her how I made those biscuits, from your birthday last year?” You pause until he makes a noise of recognition. “Ended up staying there for a while, had some tea. Gossiped about you.”

Tom snorts. “Learn anything good?”

“Only that you were just as much of a terror as a child,” you reply. “She sent me photos. I’ll text them to you later.”

It’d been a sobering experience to see Tom so animated and innocent as a child, but you don’t tell him that. So much as changed since he was seven and running through a field with his brothers. He has lost more than you could ever fathom.

“Did she show you the one with my head half shaved?”

You laugh. “Yeah,” you say, smiling against the phone. You’re holding the device tightly in your fingers, clinging to it almost desperately. “I can’t believe Harry did that to you.”

“Well, I did piss him off,” Tom reasons. “I got him back, anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah, darling. Put a bunch of, like, millipedes and creepy crawly things in his bed.” Tom pauses to laugh, his voice lighter. “He hated me for about a year after that. Tried to kill me with his eyes every time he saw me.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re a nightmare,” you respond. “I’m seeing him at the weekend, and Sam. I can’t wait to get their perspectives on the demon you used to be.”

“I’m still a demon now, darling.”

“Yeah.” You lick across your lower lip, mind briefly darkening. He can be particularly devilish, whenever the mood strikes. “Love you, though.”

“And I love you.” Tom’s quiet again for a few moments, and when he speaks, his voice is gentle, “I love how much you like my family. It’s really special to me that you get along with them.”

You suck on your lower lip. “Of course,” you reply. “I love them. They… They feel like my brothers too, sometimes. Is that weird?”

“No.” You hear rustling again, followed by a soft grunt as he tries to find a better position to lay in. “Darling, family is everything to me, you know that. It’s a joy to see you fit in with my family, and I know they love you like a sister, too. Mum’s always saying how she sees you like a daughter.”

You glance up at your canvas, the shapes blurring with unshed tears. “She said that today, actually,” you murmur.

“Exactly.” Tom’s voice is passionate, alight and engaged. You can feel his strain. “You’re family.”

The air between you stills, and you wonder if he knows that you’re on the verge of tears, if he knows how grateful you are to him for inviting you into his life and letting you touch each piece of him without hesitation. The intricacies of his soul have gone so long unfelt, but he’s let you handle them, let you dust them off and admire them.

“Show me your art?” Tom adds, voice slightly thicker. “Please?”

“One sec.” You swallow down the hot lump of emotions that press at the back of your throat and pull your phone away from your ear. After briefly tousling your hair, you tap at the screen and enable the video setting. You flip the camera so it’s facing out in front of you, the canvas being framed by your phone screen. “This is what I’ve been doing today… Over there are the ones from the last few weeks.”

Tom spends a few minutes on a virtual tour of your studio, cooing soft words of endearment as you talk him through each piece. He’s tired, his voice often interspersed with soft yawns and grunts of fatigue, but he blows away all suggestions of disconnecting. Your tour takes you all throughout the house, showing him the slight alterations you’ve made to a few pieces of furniture in his absence. You end up in your bedroom, showing him the new blanket you bought for your bed.

“I want to see your face,” you whine, finally settling in bed. You’re laying on his side, head resting on top of the pillow that smells of him. Tom had watched you change into pyjamas, witnessed you brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed. All you’ve had is a black screen. “How am I supposed to sleep without seeing you, Tommy?” You pout at the blank phone, trying really hard to get him to yield. It’s 3am now and you’re delirious with fatigue, but you’re craving him more than ever.

“I don’t look nice, though,” he complains. “I look ugly.”

You practically recoil at the words. You hope he can feel the ferocity in your gaze as you glare at your phone’s camera.

“You don’t,” you say. “You never look anything short of handsome.”

Tom chuckles. “You’re too kind,” he says, “but really. I got beat up a bit. My face is all…” He makes a sound of nonchalance. “Well.. It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to know the gory details.”

Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead at the word gory. “Show me,” you ask, voice softer. You snuggle further into bed, pulling the sheets further around your figure and trying to pretend you’re being hugged by your boyfriend instead of the feather down duvet. “Please, baby. I’m worried.”

Tom sighs. “Okay, but before I show you, you have to promise not to freak out.” As he sees your widening eyes, he adds. “Exactly! Don’t freak out! I’m fine. Can’t even feel it, the amount of painkillers I’m on. I’m alright.”

“...Okay.”

A few moments pass, and you hear him curse as he clumsily presses at the screen. When your phone lights up, showing a depiction of your boyfriend’s face, you have to bite back a gasp. Bruises cloud his left cheek, deep shades of red clinging to his cheekbone. There are scratches, too, riddled with scabs and lined with pink skin. The most obvious and upsetting sign of his injury however is his nose.

“Did you break your nose again?” you ask, voice soft. The skin beneath his eyes is bruising, and there’s a dark mark across the bridge of his nose.

“No, thank god,” Tom murmurs. “Just got hit on it.”

He’s laying in bed too, and you turn onto your side and prop him up on one of the pillows so it’s as if he’s laying beside you. With a dark burgundy hoodie pulled over his head, obscuring his curls, he looks pale and tepid. His cheeks are sunken, and it’s not just from the injury. Tom seems exhausted.

“Are you okay, apart from that?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay, Tom?”

He offers a weak smile. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” His voice fades with each iteration. You watch as Tom bites his lower lip, then reaches up to press his fingers into the tense lines of his pebbled forehead. “Just tired, darling. It’s been a busy week.”

“Come home,” you say, sleepy and wistful. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I can’t, my darling,” he mumbles. Tom’s eyes look at you sadly. “Things would fall apart.”

“You’re falling apart.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Will you?”

Tom’s quiet for a while, and you watch him swallow. He gives you a tense nod, lips pulled into a frown. “I have to be.”

His words hurt you, but you know you shouldn’t push it further. Not with his eyes glassy and his chin twitching.

“You don’t,” you say softly. “Come home.”

Tom hums. His eyes are like two diamonds, holding the weight of the world, of a life so recklessly lived. His gaze skitters across your phone, and he arches a brow when he sees you stifle a yawn. “Goodnight, darling.”

You wish you could hold him, or touch him. You wish you could get anything more than the static and the empty bed.

“Night, Tom,” you whisper. “Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams to you too, baby.” Tom puckers up his lips and blows you a kiss. You return it, lips tweaking into a soft smile. “Love you more than anything.”

Your voice feels thick as you echo the sentiments. “Talk tomorrow,” you murmur, tired. “Love you.”

“Bye, bye, bye.”

You’re the one to disconnect, unable to take the imminent heartache that comes with being the last to say goodbye. Tom fades, and you let your phone fall over.

The pain returns, pressing into your heart. It’s raw and cold, and it makes you shiver. A few tears soak into the pillow that smells of him, cool against your hairline.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You wake up the next morning, slowly at first, then all at once.

It’s light in your bedroom. Your sleepy mind wonders if you’d forgotten to draw the curtains when you’d crashed out last night. As you bemoan the bright light that hurts your closed eyes, you slowly twitch awake. Feeling an ache in your arm, you try to move, only to find something rendering you incapacitated. You frown in your tired haze, trying again to move, just to stay exactly where you are again. Your brows furrow next, and you slowly rouse to consciousness as you try to work out what’s going on.

Your heart rate spikes as you realise there are two arms wrapped around you. Warmth envelops you, pressing into your back, your legs, your waist. You jerk awake, panicking for a moment before you feel his lips on your shoulder, and smell the familiar scent of him.

“Shh, darling. It’s me.”

Immediately, you roll over, twisting in his arms until you’re looking at him. His eyes are soft, hair a mess, and he offers you the gentlest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Tom?!” you exclaim, voice catching in the back of your throat. “H-How— but—?”

Both of Tom’s hands go to your cheeks, and he pulls you in for a blinding morning kiss. You sigh as warmth fills every part of you, his lips washing away the angst and the sadness you’d felt just hours earlier. You moan into it, a soft rumble, and curl into him. As you run your hands over his bare form, you appreciate how his muscles are firm and supple beneath your fingertips. You map him out attentively, touch dipping into the shades of his muscles as you try to imprint him to your memory again.

When Tom breaks the kiss, he presses his lips to the tip of your nose. As his warm breath fans out across your face, he stares at you, eyes gentle. Keeping one hand on your cheek, Tom lets the other drift down. When he reaches your neck, he tugs at the chain you keep looped around your throat, his nimble fingers going to play with the ring on the end, still there, hanging between you.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says slowly. He pulls on the chain and brings you in nearer, kissing you again, softly. “We said goodnight, and...”

Your hands are in his hair, gently stroking the mane from his face. It’s longer now, thicker and brighter than before. You push it away and look at his features. The bruises don’t seem as pronounced now, and you think he must’ve spent time in the sun. Light freckles dust the bridge of his nose, slanted and wonky but perfect nonetheless.

“Hmm?”

Tom licks his lips. “I couldn’t stay away any longer. I left it all to Haz.” Again, he steals your lips in a kiss. He follows up the action with several more, light dustings in quick succession. He tastes minty, and you wonder how long he’s been cuddling you. “I don’t care if we lose Manchester. I don’t care if we lose everything.” He swallows seriously. “I can’t lose you.”

“You were never going to lose me,” you whisper. You brush your thumb across his unscarred cheekbone. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But I missed you,” Tom whines. He drops his face, lips drifting down to suckle at the base of your neck. You giggle as he leaves tickling kisses all over your skin, mouthing at all the spots that make you laugh until he’s found his way up to your lips. With a hand on your jaw, fingers on your chin, he guides your face to look at him. “Time away gave me a lot of time to think,” he adds, voice drifting lower. A shadow of a doubt passes over his face. “I spent a long time pondering.”

“Yeah?” If he wasn’t holding you so tightly, you’d be concerned. Instead, you continue to muss your thumb across his cheekbone, gazing at him adoringly. “What were you thinking about?”

“Hmm. Well…” Tom lies back, sitting up with his elbow digging into the pillow as he turns to rest on his side. You mirror his position, stretching out your legs beneath the covers as a small yawn slips past you. “I realised that you’re the only person who makes a nice cup of tea. Even I can’t make one as well as you.”

You smile softly. “Don’t let Harrison hear that.”

He chuckles. “He’d be a bitch about it.” Tom’s eyes slide over your figure, gaze soft. You hum in quiet agreement, and he sucks in another breath. “I realised that no one else loves my friends like you do, and the same with my family.” Tom reaches out, hand slithering beneath the duvet until he finds your waist. His fingers are smooth, without the jewelry that usually adorns them. His calloused fingertips roll across your hip, and everything about the moment feels bare and authentic. “I love you now, and I know that I’ll love you forever.”

Something inside your chest clicks, and you find yourself looking at him a little differently.

“Where’s this all coming from?” you ask, looking at him, eyes wide.

“My heart.” Tom pulls you a little closer, and you think you see him swallow nervously. “C’mere, angel.” He turns and lays on his back, gently coaxing you to straddle him.

You settle over him, laying on top of his bare chest. He’s in boxers, and they rub up against your shorts as you shift around on top of him. Tom’s hair presses into the white pillow, wild and messy, but not unlike a halo. With the late morning sun highlighting his worn face with golden stripes, he looks ethereal.

“Darling,” he murmurs. “Gimme a kiss.”

You bend over, and Tom greets you with a warm open-mouthed kiss. He doesn’t seem to care that you’re tired and groggy as he reaches out to cup your cheek, the other hand resting on your hip. You smile against his lips as his fingertips dip beneath the material of your shirt, rubbing light circles to your flesh as you sit up eagerly and press back in. His kisses feel like droplets of fire, setting off small chain reactions with each press of his lips to yours.

When you pull back to admire him, the chain around your neck goes swinging. Your eyes widen as you hear the thump of heavy metal colliding with Tom’s chin, followed by his soft grunt.

“Oh,” you exclaim, immediately feeling your face fall. “I’m sorry, baby. I always forget about the ring on the end.” You bend over to kiss his chin, then sit up straighter, hands absently travelling along the chain. The metal feels familiar beneath your fingertips, and you sigh softly. “I haven’t taken it off since you left,” you admit. “It was nice feeling connected to you, and the ring you left—”

The words die in the back of your throat when you reach for the ring and feel two instead of one, looped side by side on the chain. Confusion twitches across your face as you look down and inspect the piece of jewelry.

Tom’s ring is still on the chain, silver and bold, but sitting beside it is a dantier ring, the band thinner. It lacks the brash family crest that Tom’s harbours so proudly, and has a diamond as its centrepiece. Your fingers go to it immediately, and you find yourself trembling as you pull it closer to your face, inspecting the perfect cut of the sparkling diamond. It’s a large jewel, but it isn’t too flashy, and the ornate twisting of the band is beautiful.

You look back to Tom, who’s watching you with his lower lip pulled between his teeth. Nerves shadow every one of his features, and it’s such a rare look on him that it takes you off guard.

“Angel,” he says slowly, reaching out to take one of your hands. “I love you. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together… I want to grow old with you by my side, and wake up to you each morning. I want to watch our kids muck around in the back garden, and I know… I know I’m not supposed to want these things. I don’t deserve them, and I’m being incredibly selfish even having you here with me right now, but I love you, and nothing will ever change that.” Tom squeezes your hand. “You’re the only woman in the world that I’d ever be able to love like this, and it would be the greatest honour of my life if you married me.”

You’re quiet for a few moments, processing his words. Entranced, you shake off his hand and reach up, tugging off the chain that hangs so heavily from your neck. You unpick the clasp and the necklace falls open, depositing both of the rings into the palm of your hand. They sit there, side by side, and you feel a tear skate down your cheek.

“Tom,” you say, voice thick with tears. “I’d love to marry you.”

The rings press into your palm as he hurries up to kiss you, smiling against yours lips. Tom’s nose nuzzles against yours, and when he pulls back, you see his eyes are red too.

“Thank fuck,” he murmurs. “I was so worried for a second that you were going to say no.”

Your laugh is light and vibrant, and you hold out your hand for Tom to pick up the engagement ring. As he slides the engagement band up your finger, you take his ring, chunky and heavy, and tenderly press it up his finger, joining it with his fourth finger instead of his index. You bend over to kiss the rise of his knuckles, then pull back as you feel him do the same to yours. Through blurry eyes, you bring your hand towards you and admire the gem as it sparkles there.

“In what world would I ever say no to this?” you muse, after a few moments. “I want to be with you forever, Tom. You know that.” Tom’s still looking at his ring, at where it joins at his knuckle, but he glances up when you drift nearer. “I came off birth control.”

His eyes darken slightly. “I know.”

You hold his face in his hands. “You’re silly,” you say. You peck his cheek. “I need to brush my teeth,” you decide. You know exactly where this is going, and you want it to be perfect.

Tom pouts, but he helps you up from his lap. He watches you walk across the room, and his gaze stays on you as you keep the door to the en-suite open and start to brush your teeth. “Miss you, darling,” he calls out. You roll your eyes, but your heart beats a little faster. “You look ethereal.”

When you’re finished in the bathroom, you hurry back to bed. You find your way back into Tom’s lap, sinking into him to share a fresh kiss. “Tell me more about what you want with me,” you continue, voice darker.

With a determined smirk on his lips, Tom flips you. You release a huff of air as you find yourself laying on the mattress, head on the pillow, with him suspended above you. He plants a forearm on either side of your head and gazes down at you fondly.

“I want to settle down with you,” he says slowly. “Maybe start to divide my assets, give a little bit more power to Haz. I want to focus on you.” He pecks your lips before continuing. “I want to watch your gallery grow into the most successful place in London, and I want to be by your side at every opening. I want a big white wedding, with the cake, and the confetti, and the best honeymoon that’s ever been had. I am going to spoil you rotten.”

“You already do a very good job of that.”

“I’ll kick it up a level. I’ll have to. You’ll be my wife.” Tom’s face darkens. His hand shifts down to rest over your lower stomach. “We’ll need to wait for a lot of those things to happen, but there’s one thing that I want that we can start working on right now.”

Your mouth goes dry, and you feel the space between your legs throb. You tilt your head to the side as you stare up at his handsome face. “And what would that be?”

“Our heirs, darling.” He smirks when you whimper, warm fingers dipping beneath your shirt until he’s able to touch the flesh of your belly more directly. “I’m gonna fill you up with my babies, angel. Fuck you really good. ‘M gonna keep cumming until you’re full of me, then fuck you full again.”

You moan as he drops his face to your ear, suckling hard marks against your skin. “Fuck,” you murmur, burying your hands in his hair. “That sounds so obscene.”

“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you? You’re my dirty little thing, hm?” Tom bites at your neck, teeth nipping you and making you shiver. “I know you want me to cum in you so much that it drips down your thighs for hours after I’m gone. You want me to make a mess of your pretty cunt.”

“Please, Tom,” you whimper. You feel hot and bothered already.

“Eager, darling?” Tom sits back and gently reaches for the hem of your pyjama top. You bring your hands above your head as he gently tugs it up your arms, throwing it off to the side without thought. He crawls back over you and seizes your breasts in his hands, his metallic ring like a cool shock against your skin. When he nibbles at your nipple and follows up the action with a lap of his tongue, you whimper.

“Don’t be a tease,” you beg, squeezing your thighs together. “I need you, Tom. Haven’t been with you in so long.”

He looks up at you, tit held between his lips. Tom winks as he gives the bud a noisy suck, then pulls back to address the other. He keeps his thumbs busy, and as he moves away his mouth, he replaces his touch with the pad of his fingers, swirling his spit around your skin with ease.

“There’s no rush,” he announces. He keeps his hands on your breasts, kneading softly and stimulating your nipples as he knows you like, but his mouth starts to move. Tom trails light kisses down your form, keeping his eyes on yours. He observes you through darkened eyes. “Don’t whinge,” he adds, the tips of his teeth sparkling ravenously. “I’m going to fuck you so well you’ll cry, but not yet. Let me enjoy this.”

His promise makes you squirm, and Tom takes advantage of the fact your hips are off the bed and tugs your shorts and panties down your legs in one fell swoop. As you part your legs, you invite him closer, biting back a frown as Tom settles between your thighs but pays your legs attention instead of your centre. Your folds are slick already—you can feel them wet, hot, pulsing with more urgency the longer you spend watching your boyfriend’s muscles flex as he draws his lips across your figure.

Tom teases you, drawing out the moment until you’re quivering. His lips draw down to your shins, his whole body sliding down the bed until he’s just out of reach. You lean back against the pillow and try to enjoy it, revelling in the warmth that he dusts across your bare skin with each small kiss. Tom traces love hearts up your legs with his fingertips, drawing large ones over each one of your knees before tracing over the outline with his tongue. As his spittle cools over your skin, Tom finally parts your thighs.

“Such a pretty sight,” he moans, taking a moment to admire your glistening cunt. You think he’s going to dive straight in, but then he smirks, and you know that was just wishful thinking. Instead, Tom nuzzles his nose against the soft flesh of your inner thigh and goes back to kissing.

He’s needier now, moving with fervour. Sucking harshly, you know he’s marking your inner thighs, drawing an arrow towards your centre with a line of bruises. He delineates his journey, marking out the precise route he needs to take up to your sweet lips as if leaving instructions.

“Tom, please,” you moan. He’s so close to you that you can feel his hot breath coming out across you. He looks up at you and throws out a wild grin, his eyes bright and his smirk as bold as ever. “Please stop teasing me.”

He hums softly. “Okay, my darling,” Tom murmurs. You release a deep sigh of relief. “But only because I can’t go another second without tasting my pussy…” His thumbs gently move along your petals, light with his touch and teasing you until your cunt clenches around nothing. “You don’t mind if I’m a little rough, do you, angel?” He blinks up at you innocently. “I tend to get a little bit lost in you, but you know that by now, don’t you?”

“It’s okay,” you say. “Give me anything… ‘m aching for you.”

Tom’s devilish smirk makes you wonder if giving him complete control was a good idea, but the thought goes flying from your mind as he nuzzles his face closer and finally indulges himself. Moaning loudly as he tastes you, his lips gradually envelop your clit, hot tongue lightly glancing off the engorged rise of the bud as you cry out. He’s wet with you, letting his tongue make your slit all messy.

Tom brings two slender fingers to your lips and parts them in a V. His nose brushes up against your clit as he slowly moves down. As the thick muscle of his tongue presses against your dewy entrance, he emits a low-pitched moan.

“God, darling,” he purrs. “Tastes even sweeter than usual.” As the vibrations of his words thrum over your cunt, you shiver and grab at his hair. One of Tom’s hands grabs at your inner thigh, pushing it up and opening you wider until he’s able to move deeper. You gasp as both of his thumbs shift down to hold your lips apart, tender petals parting easily.

As Tom slides his tongue into you, your eyes roll back in your head. You squirm against the sheets as wetness drips between your cheeks, a mix of your heat and his spit as Tom devours you. He moans against you, dragging his tongue against your tender walls. The sensations of his smooth muscle twisting against your sensitive pussy makes you shiver, and when he adds a thumb to your clit, you cry out loudly.

“Tom, oh fuck.”

He traces around your bud with a light finger, teasing the edge of the bud with his fingernail. Impatient and needy, you rut down against him, a choked sob bubbling up in the back of your throat. Your chest is heaving, your nipples perked and erect, and your fingers shake as you hold him to your heat. Tom seems to go deeper with each thrust of his tongue, moaning as he makes you messy, leaving no part of you untouched.

You call out a quiet warning, blind with lust and on the verge of tears. “‘M gonna cum,” you mewl. “Feels too good.”

He hums aggressively against you and dives deeper with his tongue, touching your clit until you peak. The feeling of your walls clenching and contracting against his face makes you whine, rutting down against him as you ride it out. Tom takes it, stays pliant as you grind onto his tongue, continuing to stimulate your passage until your back arches from the bed and you break into a hot sweat. When Tom pulls back, he’s quick to replace his tongue with two fingers, and the moan you release is garbled and excessive.

“T-Tom,” you cry out. He curls his index and middle finger into you with ease, his fourth dropping down to rest between your cheeks. You can feel the metal of his heavy silver ring, cool against your skin. “S’too much.”

He finally looks up at you after an eternity admiring your heat. His eyes are wide and feral, his chin coated in your juices. You whimper as you see streaks of white cum clinging to the early morning shadow of his chin. Tom grins inquisitively as he thrusts his fingers faster, your heat so slick and open that the movement draws out loud noises.

“I don’t think it’s too much, darling,” he mumbles. “I think you’re being my good girl, hm? We’ve barely started.” He drops his lips and nuzzles further between your legs, looking up at you with your clit held loosely in his mouth. He gently laps across the rise before releasing it and pressing a light kiss to the engorged bud. “I’m going to make you cum so much you forget your name, lovie. Gonna show you how much I appreciate you today and for every other day of our lives.”

You like the sound of that, and your cunt throbs persistently as Tom curves his fingers up and his fingertips brush against your ridged g-spot. As your hips threaten to spasm from the bed again, Tom sits up and shifts his arm, so it weighs down your lower stomach. “More,” you decide, hearing your heat prickle as Tom speeds up his fingers.

He adds his ring finger, and you cry out as the smooth band of metal presses up against your entrance. The contrast of cold against the ravaging fire of your hole is almost orgasmic in itself.

“Pretty little pussy,” he muses. “Need to stretch you out for my cock, da’ling. Haven’t taken me in so long, I don’t want to hurt you when I stuff you full.”

You’re so wet. You can feel the flat of Tom’s hand coated in your arousal, hear your heat as he fucks you. You try to pay attention to him, but you find yourself slipping when he drops his lips back to your bud and starts to suck on it. As Tom traces incessant circles over your clit, he alternates between long laps of his tongue and more focused kitten licks. Your desperate fingers curl around the silky sheets as you recognise that he knows your cunt well, and he’s learnt the right angle and depth that he needs to travel to in order to get you to the edge. He’s persistent and ruthless in the pursuit of his objective.

You peak for the second time as he curls his fingertips up against your tender g-spot, moaning around your clit under you’re crying out. Your eyes burn with tears as you call out his name, voice clouded by curse words and desperate sounds of enjoyment. You’re loud, thrashing in the sheets until he has to reach up and press you into place, not moving as he continues to stimulate you through it. It feels unending—an eternal tunnel of throbbing pleasure, your cunt squeezing his digits until it’s almost too much.

When you grow too sensitive, you tell him as much, and Tom pulls back to reach blindly for your hand. He finds it, then separates from your mound. His fingers slowly slip from your aching cunt, causing you to gasp, but he softens it out by kissing over the knuckles of your other hand, then your lower stomach.

“Perfect, angel,” he coos. Tom pushes your legs shut again, being careful not to hurt you as he crawls on top of you. He squeezes your hand as he continues to kiss all over your stomach, hips and chest, retracing his tracks from earlier until he finds your nipples. You moan as he laps at both of them messily before moving up to your face and kissing you intensely. His tongue tastes of your juices, your arousal sticking to his tongue. The tangy hue sticks to your own mouth, and you moan as you taste it.

“God, I love kissing you,” he murmurs against you, voice rumbling into you. Tom gasps your face with his clean hand, holding you tightly. “Could do this for the rest of my life.”

You’re hungry as you chase him, body tired but craving more. As Tom starts to roll his hips against yours, the press of his length to your centre makes you excited.

“I can taste myself on your tongue,” you admit. The blend of you and him makes you feel ravenous.

“Really?” Tom sits up, his face flickering with enjoyment as you start to grind up against his hips. He circles his waist against yours, both of you enjoying the little pleasure until you find the capacity to nod. “You’re nice, aren’t you?”

You lick your lips, watching the way he stares at you. “Yeah,” you say. “Tastes of you, too.”

Tom reaches up, and with the hand still covered in your juices, he feeds three fingers into your mouth. You moan around them as he imitates thrusting motions, smearing your cum over your tongue. There’s a metallic twang as he pushes deeper, his ring brushing up against the tip of your tongue as he fucks towards your throat. The taste makes you shiver.

“There you go, clean me up,” he coaxes. He presses a soft kiss to the tip of your nose before hovering above you. Tom’s eyes, dark and hungry, shift down to your lips, and he raises a brow. “Such a pretty mouth. Wish I had time to fuck it, too, but shit… I need to be in you, darling.”

When he pulls his fingers from your mouth, you feel empty. Your tongue is light—too light. A pout settles over your lips.

“Why are you frowning?” Tom adds as he sits back on his shins. You sit up a little straighter, strength regained as you watch him move around and shed his boxers. You almost moan as you watch his cock spring free, tall and flushed red. You’ve missed it. You’ve missed him.

“Feel empty without you,” you respond.

Tom slides over you again, and you part your legs. With ease, he slots himself between your thighs, his throbbing crown resting against your clit as your wet lips envelop the rest of his member.

“Well, you’re going to be very full soon,” he murmurs, looking up to kiss your jaw. He waits above your lips, quirking a brow. “Open, then, if you’re so needy.”

Your teeth catch your gnawed lower lip before you follow instruction, opening your mouth for him. Tom presses one of his hands against your shoulder as he leans up. He rests a thumb to your chin and looks down at you, eyes glimmering with mischievousness as he puckers his lips and hums. A moment later, Tom spits into your mouth, his dirty spittle falling onto your tongue. He groans at the sight, and you reach up to grab at his broad shoulders as the heat of the possessiveness rolls over you. Tom chases his action with a deep kiss, his fingers rolling back down to pull up your thigh and open you for him.

As he enters you, it’s a smooth movement. Everything flows together—your tongues, your bodies, your hearts. Tom’s able to guide himself inside you almost seamlessly, and you’re so aroused already that the stretch is comfortable.

“Fuck,” you gasp, falling back from his lips.

“Oh, god,” Tom groans. “That’s it. Fuck yeah.” He kisses you again as he slowly pulls out, sliding back into you with ease. His lips are hot as they rest on yours, unmoving as he gets lost in the pleasure.

“You’re so big,” you whimper, eyes rolling back as he continues to thrust into you. Tom’s building it up slowly, rutting deeply against your heat as his member explores your walls. It’s a little clumsy before he establishes a rhythm, his groove coming back after a few weeks apart, but when he gets it right, it feels otherworldly.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, dropping his face against your shoulder. You bury your hands in his hair, fingers tensing around his strands when he bites at your skin. “Love of my life,” he coos. “Love this pussy more than life itself. Love you more than anything.”

Overwhelmed, you hum, the sound twisting into a gasp as he grinds against you and the crown of his flushed length hits your sensitive spot. “God, yeah,” you agree. “Feels so good, Tom. Go deeper.”

He obliges you for a few moments before his rhythm fades, and he stills with his cock stuffed deep within you. Your fingers play with his hair as you feel him kiss your shoulder, then follow up the action with a lap of his tongue.

“I want you on top, darling,” Tom grunts, words smearing against your neck. He’s panting, hot breath making your skin wet. “Need to see my beautiful wife.” You clench around him, and you feel him chuckle into your shoulder.  “C’mere,” he coaxes. “I’ll help you up.”

It’s dizzying to readjust, but as soon as you’ve taken your place in Tom’s lap, you feel better. You’re impossibly close, able to watch his face constrict with pleasure every time you lower yourself on him. He’s got his head thrown back against the headboard, half-closed eyes watching you, ringed-fingers digging into your hips.

“Tom,” you whimper. “Feels so good.” Your eyes are rolling back, your body trembling as he helps you move. With each bounce down, Tom ruts his hips up to meet you, and when you shift slightly to the side and lean forward, his tip brushes up against your spot. Arcs of electricity zing through your centre, adding layers to your enjoyment.

“The way that you look right now should be breaking the law,” he says, voice held tight. Tom grabs one of your tits in his palm, roughened thumb toying with the nipple until you squirm. “You’re stunning, angel. All mine…” he drops down to kiss at the base of your neck. “Mine forever.”

“Y-Yeah, ‘m yours,” you stammer, voice hitching as his index finger trails back down to your bud. It knocks you off balance how quickly your third high threatens to surge across you.

Tom sees it on your face, growls as he feels you clench around him. “Come on, darling. Give me another one.” His greedy fingers continue to move your hips as the others play around with your clit. The bud tingles, stimulated beyond anything you’ve felt before, but the ache makes it better. “Always the prettiest when you cum, angel. Make the prettiest sounds too. Go on, my love. Let me hear you sing for me.”

It takes a few moments for you to peak, and when you do, you go loose in Tom’s arms. It ripples over you like a blur, your limbs feeling equal parts boneless and taut. Everything fades, pulled back to the bare primal motions of orgasm, warmth spreading through your entire body until it consumes you.

No sooner have you finished your release does Tom scoop you up in his arms and press you back against the mattress. He continues to drill into you, moving roughly against you, grinding his hips into you. Both of you are sweaty, and the space between your legs is sticky from all the aroused fluids that you’ve released, but he doesn’t care. He buries himself in your heat, losing himself in the feelings as you claw at his back, unable to comprehend the pleasures of overstimulation on a scale as intense as this.

“You’re okay, yeah?” Tom says, pulling away from your neck to stare at you. You’re slack-jawed and panting, but you nod. He likes to push you, and you like being stretched to your limits, but he never does it cruelly. He’s always attentive as he picks you apart, slowly breaking you open until you’re shattered into pieces that only he can reassemble. There’s love behind everything he does with you.

“Yeah,” you manage, voice broken. Hot tears of enjoyment pool in your eyes, a muffled groan leaving you when Tom reaches for your thigh and tugs it open roughly. You curl your leg around his back, allowing him in completely, and as you gain that familiar friction back against your g-spot, you melt against the sheets.

“You know what I’m going to do, angel?” Tom grunts. He’s heavy on top of you, body a blur as he fucks you harder, faster, deeper. “I’m going to get your initials tattooed on my ring finger, so you’re there even without the ring.” He stares down at your face, love swirling in his frenzied eyes. “I’m going to—fuck, I’m gonna fuck you so good for the rest of your life, darling. I promise you that. Yeah.” He nuzzles at your cheek, hot breath panting across your skin as he drops his voice to a gritty whisper. “I’m gonna love you, cherish you, fucking adore you… Gonna put a baby in you.”

“Holy shit,” you mutter.

Tom slows his thrusts, his hips stammering in a way suggestive of the way he’s near a peak and wants to put it off. With an intensity that you’ve never seen before, he reaches down, balancing on his strong arms until he’s able to rest his hot palm against your lower stomach. He presses against your skin as he thrusts into you a few more times, slowing but burying himself deeper.

“Can you feel me?” he says. “I’m in so deep, darling. I can feel everything. Such a wet pussy. So greedy.”

“Yeah,” you whimper. “You’re so big, T. I can’t think about anything else.”

“Mmm, good, ‘cos you’re the only thing I’m thinking about right now.” He dances his fingers across the soft skin of your stomach, contrasting the gentleness as he drops his head to the crook of your neck and nips at your skin. “Can’t wait to fill you up,” he admits roughly. “Thought about it every night I was away.”

“Yeah?” You brush your hands through his sweaty hair, tugging as he drives a little deeper.

“Fuck yeah, baby. Go on, touch your clit.” Tom waits until you’ve done as instructed to continue with his musings. “Thought about how you’ll look, belly all swollen with my cum. I love those pretty whimpers you make when I pull out, and my seed pours down your thighs. Can’t wait to fuck it back into you until you’re crying.”

“—oh god,” you whine.

“Mm, yeah. I felt you clench then, darling. I know how much you like the idea of taking fuckin’ everything I give you.” Tom presses firmer against your lower stomach, accompanying the action with a particularly hard rut. “You’re gonna feel me here, lovie, right in your womb. Gonna stuff you to the fucking brim until there’s no chance you aren’t pregnant. Gonna fill you with my babies, give us the heirs we both deserve.”

“Please,” you beg, voice broken. It’s overwhelming in the best way, your bud rebelling as you toy with it. But you’re persistent, matching the deep rolls of Tom’s hips as you feel another climax stir in the pit of your stomach. Everything feels so fluid and wet that it’s hard to tell where you stop, and Tom begins. He’s tangled up so completely in you that he has become part of your existence. “Please, Tom, I want it.”

“What do you want?” Tom teases. He’s a devil, looks up to smirk at you. You can feel how badly he wants to snap into release just from the way he’s controlling his thrusts, but he isn’t going to cave until he gets exactly what he wants. “Use your words, gorgeous girl. I know you can do it.”

He’s in so close, lips on your cheeks, chin, nose, and lips. His heat envelopes you, clouding your brain. With each nudge of his tip deeper against your walls, you get closer to losing it, clinging to the firm muscles of his back like it’s your only lifeline.

“Give me it all,” you choke out. “I want it, Tom, deep in me. Want you to fill me up with your cum.” His curls are sweaty as you reach up to fist your trembling hands in them, entirely at his mercy. “Wanna feel you lose yourself in me.”

“Mmm, okay, baby,” he groans. His voice is broken, thick and tired from exertion. He kisses you roughly, all tongue and teeth, the noisy meshing sounds of your lips mingling with the chaos of his hips slapping down against yours. “Oh fuck,” he pulls away to say. “Oh fuck. Oh—”

With a heavy grunt, Tom finally spills. He releases a loud groan, hips snapping forwards with an animalistic force as he drives his cock deeper, shaft pulsing as your walls squeeze around him. You cry out, cumming for the fourth time. Your climax feels like the main attraction, as if every other orgasm has merely been part of the buildup. You push up against him, breasts pressing into Tom’s chest as your eyes screw shut, tears cascading down your cheeks as pleasure burns through you. His name pours past your lips like a prayer until it’s all that you know, all that you care to know.

It ends, and you’re trembling. Intense aftershocks rock through you, and you feel Tom kiss all over your cheeks as he coos soft words of endearment into your ear. His lips become wet, and you realise that blissful tears have skated down your face.

“Lovely girl... Best girl…” He’s gentle, tender. You jump, opening your eyes suddenly as Tom slips from you, causing your aching walls to spasm. He looks up at you, lifting a questioning brow as he reaches down towards your clit. “Finished?” he asks. When his fingertips lightly make contact with your bud, you wince. Everywhere aches, and it’s nice, but it’s enough.

“Definitely finished,” you choke out.

“Okay, okay… sorry, love.” Tom gently pulls back, flashing you an apologetic smile as he kisses your inner thigh. He shuffles around, eyeing the sight of his cum leaking from your hole, and you watch him shudder. “Fuck….” You can feel it slowly dripping from your entrance and clench your walls just to see his reaction. Tom groans, chewing his lips and continuing to stare until you shiver. He smoothes a hand over your thigh. “Sweet thing,” he whispers. “I’ll bring you some water.”

It only feels like he’s gone for a second, and you realise you’re drifting, ecstatic and loose-limbed. Tom is suddenly behind you, delicately hauling you into his arms. He sits against the headboard and pulls you into a tight hug from behind, kissing over your shoulders as you whimper softly. You can feel the soft fabric of his sweats as he settles you in his lap.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs. He presses a glass of water into your hand and helps you take a sip. As the cool liquid soothes your throat, you relax into his hold. “Love you, love you… Love you so much.”

He’s so warm against you, holding you tight. Your eyes still feel wet.

“Love you too,” you say. Tom takes the glass from your hand and puts it down on the bedside table, and you turn in his arms to kiss him. Your lips feel puffy and sore, but the ache is worth the relief of feeling your fiancé’s mouth gently press to yours. You sigh as the tension leaves your shoulders, draining away as he loves you, and holds you.

“Am gonna clean you up, now,” Tom mumbles, voice soft. You look at him, curious until you feel a warm cloth pressing against your thighs. You part your legs, turning back in his arms and snuggling further into his grasp as he delicately runs the material over your centre. “Sorry, darling,” he says as you wince. He’s so gentle, but it still aches in a way that hurts.

“What time is it?” you ask, mind running slow.

Tom throws the cloth aside, then reaches out and grabs one of the thick furs that sits on top of your bed. “3pm.”

Your eyes widen. “What?” you murmur, brows creasing. “What time did we wake up?”

“Around midday.”

“Wow.” You smile softly as Tom tucks you both in, covering your shivering form with the blanket. You reach up, leaving your left arm above the fur and reaching out to take Tom’s hand. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

He laughs and tangles your hands together. Tom’s palm is warm against yours, and his other hand curves around to fiddle with your new ring.

“Indeed it does, darling,” he coos. “I had a lot of fun. Did you?”

“Always.”

You watch him play with your ring for a while, his lips moving over your sweaty neck. You’re still hot and exhausted, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He holds you tight all the same, not caring that you’re messy and still quivering from the aftershocks. Soft sentences of adoration pour from his lips as he holds you.

“After this,” Tom says, voice slow, “I thought we could have a nice bath… maybe drink some champagne, have some dinner… then I want to hear everything you’ve been up to for the last month, and maybe we can celebrate some more.”

You nod softly. Turning in his arms, you sit up to face him properly, dragging the large blanket with you and draping it over you both as you straddle his lap and rest your arms over his shoulders. The bruising is still on Tom’s face, but he looks more handsome than you’ve ever seen him before. There’s a golden glow to his face, a certain lightness that you’ve never seen before. You reach down and take his hand, bringing it to your lips and ghosting your mouth over his ring.

“I love you so much,” you say, looking up at him from behind his hand. His smile is like the sunrise. “Thank you for everything you do for me.”

“Oh, darling.” Tom pauses to kiss you, smiling against your lips. “Don’t you know the pleasure is all mine?”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

will i burn for this ? perhaps. but it’s worth it. thank u to my lord and saviour mr mob!tsh... i love u.

lmk what you think......? +++ if you want to see any more specific scenes from my mob!tom x reader universe?? any other milestones you’d like to see? lmk! <3

mlist + taglist are through the link in my bio <3

thank you for reading!! <3<3

[songbirdstyles]

i’m on fire

summary: harry can’t keep his hands to himself after getting home from filming.

warnings: breeding kink, spanking, smut, slight fluff, pregnancy mention, slight dom/sub

word count: 2.7k

song inspo.: i’m on fire - bruce springsteen, girls on film - duran duran, tango in the night - fleetwood mac

You’ve hardly glanced in Harry’s eyes as he walks into the foyer of your London apartment before you feel your back slam into the door behind you - your head thumps against the wood and a groan threatens to rip out of your throat but he steals it before you get the chance to make the noise, lips on yours and tongue stuck down your throat.

Your hands have nowhere else to go but to bury themselves in his hair, fingers curling around chocolate brown curls and tugging until you hear the soft hitch in his breath that indicates just how much your grasp affected him. And, God, it did affect him, clearly, as he pushes his hips further against yours until you can feel the thick bulge in his pelvis grinding against the softness of your inner thigh as you hike your leg up to hoist around his waist. He moves one arm from where he had been grasping your throat as if to steady him to the present and his free hand grasps the underside of your thigh, pulling it further up his abdomen until the stretch in your muscle makes you whine.

“Jesus fuck, Har -”

He shuts you up from whatever you were going to mutter as he deepens the kiss, teeth tugging at your bottom lip as his knee grinds into your cunt until you’re crying out, goosebumps overtaking every square inch of your skin even through the thick sweatshirt adorning your upper half. You hadn’t had much of anything valuable to say, anyway, but it’s the principle of his interruption that makes you grasp for his cheeks and pull his face from yours with a heaving gasp.

“What’s gotten into you, hmm?”

You’d almost be concerned about Harry’s state if you couldn’t feel him rutting his cock against your thigh - his face is red and hot, eyes half lidded and breaths panting and desperate with each sharp inhale of oxygen. Christ, he looks a sight in the best way possible, and your instinct is to snap your thighs shut at the feeling that rushes through your body when he leans in, pressing soft lips to the sweaty skin of your throat so it muffles his response. His hands find the hem of your sweatshirt (or his sweatshirt, really) and you have half a mind to raise your arms so he can pull his lips from your neck to tug the cloth off of your torso before he finds a vein in your throat with a newfound vigor, sliding his other hand up to grope at your bare tit like a teenage boy whose only just seen one for the first time.

“Jus’ wanna love on you, hmm - wanna love on m’girl, please -”

“Hmm -”

He grunts, then. Nips at a vein in your neck that pulsates beneath his lapping tongue and you can’t help but giggle, however childlike and naive the noise sounds, but it’s enough for him to drop your thigh from around your waist - grab your cheeks and spin you around, pushing you backwards and backwards until your feet hardly feel like they’re moving, like you’re floating through the entryway of your apartment until you reach the kitchen. Though Harry loves fucking you every which way in your bed, huge and comfortable and soft, there’s something primal about pushing you against the kitchen table and ripping down your flannel sweatpants and burying himself into your heat that you know he secretly prefers over the sacred oasis of your bedroom.

Your lower back hits the edge of the island but it doesn’t stay there long before he turns you around, pushing the front of your body against the island until your body has folded in half to bend over the slab of marble, cold against your bare tits and stomach. Your boyfriend reaches around to the front of your sweatpants, then, arms wrapped around your thighs to shakily untie the knot that you had carefully tied in the strings of your pajama pants - his chest rises and falls against your back, hips still pushing into yours over and over and you jut your ass out to meet the grind of his cock against the clothed globes of your ass.

“Tied this thing fuckin’ tight, didn’t you?”

“Didn’t think you’d try to rip them off like an animal,” you retort, lifting your hips from where they’re firmly pressed to the edge of the island once Harry has successfully untied the knot, tugging your pants down the slope of your ass until they unceremoniously drop to a puddle at your feet, and you impatiently kick them off as Harry snaps the waistband of your panties just to hear you squeal. “Come on, Har - know you’re impatient -”

“Mmm.”

His finger slide beneath your panties, knuckle dragging through your slit that’s positively dripping with your slick, and you hear his low moan at how ready you are for him but the truth is you’ve been fucking dripping since he sent you a selfie of him in his makeup chair on set two days prior, hair messy and eyebrow arched, and it hadn’t even been a serious selfie but it still made your clit throb when you saw it. He’d been gone for nearly two weeks for filming when you’d gone a full year of almost never being apart and, fuck. Seeing him like that did things to you.

Harry’s yours, god fucking dammit. The thought makes you spread your thighs more for him as he dips his finger into your waiting hole, curling them up once just to watch how your back arches, how you moan as though you’d been coded to do so. It’s a game he likes to play, testing you, seeing just how needy you are for him even if all he wants to do is bury himself inside of you and fuck you until tears streak your cheeks and you’re begging him to cum.

No - no, he does want that, you know that. Wants it so bad it makes his knees weak, makes his stomach flip and turn, but he wants to watch you fall apart more than anything. Needs to know you want this just as much as he does, if not more, and if he were truly dedicated tonight he’d finger you until you came at least twice.

Neither of you can wait for that.

“Jesus fuck,” he breathes, voice raspy and full of sex and wanting and you could nearly sob as you feel him finally start to tug them hem of his joggers and boxers over his cock. “Gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

But - but -

“Wait.”

He pauses. The head of his cock pokes at your ass in a way that would be funny if the revelation you’d just been hit with hadn’t hit you yet but it has, and you turn your head to press your cheek against the marble.

“Wha’?”

“I got my birth control thing out yesterday, the one in my arm. Remember - I told you I have to get it replaced. M’getting it tomorrow.”

There’s a pause in the kitchen, then, that hangs heavy over the both of you as you hear Harry’s shaky breathing behind you. And then -

“Did you just get harder?”

Harry exhales and even without seeing him you can picture the smile on his face as he presses his hips further into yours - “M’sorry - s’hot, babe.”

“Me not being on birth control is hot?”

“Yes,” and as if for extra reassurance of just what he means, Harry pushes his cock between your thighs until it’s slotted in your slit, head nudging your clit and making your legs quiver and shake as the stimulation rolls over you, eyes rolling back and head feeling fuzzy. “Makes me wanna fuck you so bad.”

There’s a quick consideration, you suppose - of the possibility of getting pregnant and the fact that you know there’s probably not even a single condom in your apartment for him to quickly put on, and even if there was the moment would die - and, come on, you’ve been together for almost 4 years and you’ve talked about kids in passing. If it happens it happens - that’s been your philosophy on it with him.

If it happens, it happens.

And it wouldn’t be the worst thing. Harry loves kids and you love kids and more than that, you love each other like the world depends on it - could never picture yourself living life without him at this point, and more than that, there is something hot about imagining him fucking you completely raw.

“Fuck, Har,” you moan, feeling your clit spasm as you grasp the edge of the counter. “I don’t care. Fuck me, pl -”

The final word doesn’t make it out of your mouth before Harry’s slamming himself inside of you and there’s no slow or sweet - it’s raw and unfiltered, giving you half a moment to adjust to his size after two full weeks without his cock, and it’s huge, feels like it’s splitting you open, like you’re back to the first time he’d ever fucked you and you’d had the fleeting question of whether it would even fit. It did fit, though, over and over and over, and yet the first stroke always makes you gasp.

Or scream.

“Oh, shit!” your resounding moan is shrill and punctuated by your legs just about giving up, knees collapsing until the only thing holding you up is Harry’s cock slamming into your cunt over and over, his nails digging into your bare shoulder blade before scratching up to tug at your hair. Forms it into a loose ponytail to tug at your hair like a damn whip, forcing your lazed face off of the marble until you’re staring into the darkened kitchen before you with blurry, watering eyes and a cunt that already feels fucked sore from just a few thrusts.

“Oh - god,” and Harry’s voice shakes and leaks with arousal, breath picking up as he pistons into you, cock stroking spots inside of you that you didn’t even know existed before him, before he had fucked you slow and sweet and made you oh so aware of every sweet spot your cunt was filled with. God, he’s good at it, at a fast unforgiving pace that makes your head spin and your throat go raw with sobs, and you slam your palm against the island with a moan. “So fuckin’ tight f’me - made for me, right?”

You don’t respond, words feeling snatched from your tongue with every stroke of his dick into your pussy, milking every drop of arousal for all that it’s worth.

“This - this fuckin’ pussy - s’mine, isn’t it?” And when his seemingly rhetorical question goes unanswered there’s a sharp slap to the bottom of your ass that makes you shout, throat aching with the noise. “Whose fuckin’ pussy -”

“Yours!” It’s a near shriek that’s fucked out of you, and there’s another slap to your ass as you babble, “yours, Harry, yours - belongs to you -”

“Sure fuckin’ does,” and then he pulls out and you want to shout, to slam your head into the island because surely there’s nothing worse than the emptiness that fills you in the worst way possible, but just as you begin to whimper Harry is gripping your thigh, grasp tight enough that you’ll surely see bruises come morning, and he hikes your leg up over the edge of the island, exposing your near-abused pussy to him fully.

The tip of his cock runs along your slit, spreading your slickness around your folds and before you can plead with him to stop teasing he pushes back in, cock drawing along your velvet walls and eliciting a raspy moan that feels nearly involuntary at this point. His grasp on your hair is released and you nearly drop your head onto the island in surprise but then he’s leaning down, clothed chest pressed to your sweaty back, and his forearms snake beneath your neck until he’s nearly caging your neck in his arms, lips pressed to the back of your neck.

His hips pound against your ass, the sound of skin slapping skin nearly overpowering your choked moans and yet it doesn’t quite manage to - you’re sure your downstairs neighbors must think you’re being murdered with the volume of your sobs, or perhaps they’re used to hearing you get fucked within an inch of your life just about every night. Harry going away for filming surely must have been their own vacation from being awoken every night to yours and his pathetic moans mingled together -

But their vacation is over, goddammit.

“Harry, I’m gonna - I’m gonna cum,” you gasp, voice staccato and quiet, and his lips close around the back of your neck until you can feel him suckling at the skin, desperate to watch your skin erupt in hickeys from his work. “Please don’t - don’t stop -”

“Never gonna stop, baby,” is your boyfriend’s response, nearly cruel with how nonchalant he sounds, and his pace picks up where he’s sliding in and out of you with squelching wet sounds. “Cum for me - cum f’me and m’gonna blow it, baby, blow m’fuckin’ load into your cunt -”

You whimper, making a halfhearted attempt to reach behind you and wind your arm around Harry’s neck but you can’t muster up enough strength, feeling the orgasm building in your abdomen build and build like a rubber band about to snap. It’s a feeling that’s all too familiar when you’re with him, like you’re always one stolen smirk away from straddling him in front of everyone and having your way with him -

“M’gonna cum in you, baby,” Harry whispers, voice low and hot against your ear, words being shot directly into your eardrum and sending a chill up your spine that has nothing to do with the chilled temperature of the kitchen. “Gonna knock you up, right? S’what you want?”

“Yes - yes -”

“Y’want me to fill you with my cum, hmm? Get you fuckin’ pregnant? All round w’my fuckin’ kid, fill you ‘till you’re dripping -”

“Oh, God, Harry!”

“Cum on m’fucking cock. Wanna feel y’cum around me ‘fore I blow it, sweetie -” It’s all the encouragement you need, a moan mixed with a sob tearing out of your throat as you throw your head back, body nearly convulsing as your orgasm racks through you like a tsunami on shore - and it’s everything, like he’s set you aflame and left you to deal with the inferno, and not for the first time you think about how you’re fucking made for him, for this, cumming harder than you’ve ever cum in your life, the rubbr band snapping and sending waves of pleasure through you -

“Fuck!”

Your orgasm hasn’t even come close to ending when Harry’s hips slam firm against yours, pressed taut against your ass and you feel him, feel every curve and vein of his cock against your walls and your mind goes blank as he cums, warm spurts filling you every which way and it only makes it better when he moves one of his arms from beneath your neck, snaking his hand underneath your body so he can shakily rub three fingers against your clit, milking your orgasm for all that it’s worth. You clamp down on him, every sensation too much and yet not enough in the best way possible, and you swear you see nothing but stars.

There’s a beat of silence, filled only with your heaving breaths and his soft gasps for air mixing with each other in the thick, suddenly humid air of the kitchen. Harry’s chest is sweaty against your back even through his shirt, lips still pressing warm, wet kisses to the back of your neck just underneath your hairline.

“Fuck,” you breathe, soreness already settling in your throat as you swallow, somewhat regretting your vehement moans and cries and shouts but somehow not at all - “Should probably go shower.”

“Not yet.” “Not yet -?”

“Stay here for a few minutes,” your boyfriend murmurs against your damp, sweaty skin, tongue poking out to lick a thin stripe from your collarbone up to the side of your throat, lips pressing just underneath your ear. “Gotta make sure it works. Gotta make sure you’re not leaving this fuckin’ kitchen without m’fuckin’ kid inside you, baby.”

~~

TAGLIST 

@hoeeforstyles @pcterparxer @hhh33-3l @saintsmotels @ficrecrry @bunny-munchkin-luvs-music @masumiyetimziyanoldu @luxplsr @strawberryystyles @shawnxstyles @harryslilkat @harryhub @golden-hoax @repostcentral @harry-styles-l​ @mintchipstyles​ @fallinforstyles  @zhangyixingxing1​ @goldenxstyles7​ @tobefalling​ @hslotcherry​ @alwaysclassyeagle​ @galacticferns @nineteenfiftyone​ @havethetimeeofyourlifee​ @sstarkme​ @stylesfics-xx​ @thecitiesintheseas @harrypinks​ @morethanamelodyy @lovesickrry​ @prettymuchxarreaga 

[cevans-is-classic]

SPREAD

Jason Sudeikis x GN Reader

18+ only, please. Warning: my attempt at Dom and Sub, sexual content, unprotected sex, and adult language.

My Masterlist

And JS/TL is here!

It’d been months since you’d been able to see him, months since you’d been able to laugh with him in person and fall asleep with him next to you; months since you’ve had more than your own toys and his voice over the phone to keep you company.

That’s how all of this started, his voice, your desperate need to feel his tongue between your legs, and that pesky jet lag being pushed to its limit. That’s what this had meant to be, him, you, and quick, dirty sex before you both went your separate ways and lived your own lives.

Somehow — between a roll in your bed, his hand around your throat, your wrists tied to the headboard and you flying out to London on the red-eye, meeting schedule pushed back as far as you can and a package in discreet wrapping arriving at his flat meer hours before you — it fell from stress relief to ‘I want you with me and not just for mind-blowing orgasms.’

Not that you still weren’t getting the mind-blowing orgasms.

Or you would be if Jason would stop pulling the vibrator away right as you were about to tip over the edge; your mind floating, limbs heavy as you tried to whimper for him to put it back.

“What was that?” He smiled, leaning over your body to nip at your ear, “Repeat it for me, Baby.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, drowning out the sound of his chuckle when you aimed a feeble pout in his direction.

“That’s not an answer.” The distant vibrating sound disappeared, and a high-pitched whine clawed from your throat as your thighs tried to close around his hand only to be stopped by the grip of the spreader bar.

You hated that damn thing.

“Look at you,” Jason glanced down at you with rapt attention, his dark eyes wild, sweat beading his forehead, “You look amazing.” He bent to capture a nipple between your teeth and your free hand went for him, grabbing at his hair and gasping beneath the swipes of his tongue.

Your limbs shook, mouth dry from airy moans and bitten off curses — even your grip was weak — all of it was nothing to the way you’d gripped his thighs as he had fucked your throat hours ago. His spend still coated your chest and chin. Jason had commented you were the most beautiful painting he’d ever seen, and the praise had gone straight to your core and left you floating high on his taste. When you’d attempted to reach for him — wanting to hold his body against yours and feel his breath against your chest —Jason had grabbed your wrist, kissed across the curve of your palm, sliding it down across the bed until he could cuff it to the bar behind you.

You weren’t sure when the spreader joined the fray.

It must have been between him holding you down as he fucked his tongue in and out of you and when he’d left you speechless; crying and begging for more than he wrung you dry with a toy.

Jason liked to keep you going until he was ready again, liked to keep you overstimulated, deep in that wonderful place that made every touch feel electric and every kiss stole your breath. He said it was a gift, a priceless sight to behold and he will never understand how you’d allowed him to have it.

“Jason.” Your free hand shook, fingers slow as you traced them over his head and down his cheek until you could attempt to lift his chin.

He hummed, nipped at you once before pulling away and looking up at you. He watched you for a moment, eyes going soft, “Missouri?”

The way he spoke the safe word, soft, sure, willing to step away the moment you agreed it had been too much made your whole body catch on fire. How, you couldn’t help thinking, did you manage not to fall in love with this man from the beginning?

You shook your head, “No,” Your other hand tugged at the cuff it was in and Jason shot his gaze to it before leaning over you to undo the binding, letting your hand fall, blood rushing back into the appendage as you flex your fingers, “I want-” his hand touched your stomach, rubbing his come into your skin as he hummed; waiting for you to articulate what you wanted.

The words had fallen from your mind at the touch of his fingers, the drawing of patterns across your skin. All it took was for him to touch you and your whole mind went blank, your body aching for him to use it, use you, make you his in every way possible. Jason dragged his fingers across your stomach, over your hip, and rubbed at the bite marks he’d left behind hours ago. When things were normal, sober, clothes on, and your lives going on around you, he always seemed to watch every move you made. Knew what you needed, what you wanted even in daily life.

Over time, he’d become attuned to your needs without you having to say them.

When his fingers slide through your folds, collecting slick and come, using it to fuck his fingers in and out of you, you cried out, words useless the moment of intrusion. Jason caught your next cry in a kiss, shifting his body until he could reach for the spreader bar, pushing it further apart, “I know what you want.” He murmured into the kiss.

“I need you to hold on to this okay?” You blinked, trying to comprehend what he was saying as he moved away, sliding down the bed until he stood off the edge and pulled you down with him. He lifted your legs, gripping the bar until he had your knees bent, exposing you to him in every way. He pushed the bar until you reached for it yourself, his eyes flashing with pride, “That's my dear one,” He moved closer, sliding his hands along your thighs, “Good little pet.” You whimpered, gripping the bar as he tugged you further off the bed and lined himself up.

“Honey,” He bent down, his cock nudging at your hole and you wanted to move, to slide him inside of you, “I need you to hold the bar for me? Keep yourself comfortable. Can you do that?” He moved his cock, rubbing it into your clit, sliding it along your slick before letting the tip of it play at you again.

“Yes,” You pant, “Yes, I can, I promise.”

Jason smiled, lifted, and kissed your knee before fucking himself into you, one moment you were aching for him to fill you up, and the next you swore you could feel him in your throat, his thrust starting out slow, deep, hips circling as you white-knuckled the bar; letting your hips move with each thrust of his. It was intense.

He let you get used to the feel of him, your thighs and arms shaking with the effort it took not to fuck down against him, wanting to ride his cock until you exploded and Jason was all you could feel for days. His movements stayed tame long enough for you to grow whiny again. Needy, little aborted movements of your own matching him until he caught on to what you were doing and gnashed his teeth.

“Baby,” His fingers curled around the bar, covering yours, “You keep moving and I’m going to have to turn you over, get you on your knees.” Your stomach twisted, your core tightening around him, and Jason gasped, bent over until his hand caught on the bed.

He looked down at you, “Oh,” He grinned, “That’s just what you want isn’t it?”

You could see it. Jason bent over you from behind, fingers rubbing at your clit as he fucked into you, “Yes.”

An eyebrow rose before he moved, uncuffing the bar and helping you out of the cuffs, “What-” The bar had been your punishment, what you deserved for rolling your eyes at him when he’d offered to pick you up from the airport. Why was he taking it off?

“Turn over,” He helped move you, hands soft despite the gravel in his voice, “on your knees, Dear one.” You were quivering, hardly able to hold yourself until Jason slid behind you, pulling you back against his chest and helping you hover over him, “Sit.”

This position settled him deeper, his fingers already playing with you as he fucked up into you, your head falling back onto his shoulder where he could place his lips against your temple.

“I think about this all the damn time,” He rasped, hips slamming into you, gravity pulling you down with each drop of his hand around your thigh, “I think about you riding me, about you sucking me, about you sitting on my cock where everyone can see.” His movements were growing stuttered. With a grunt, he shoved you forward your knees catching your fall as your hands slipped across the bed and you pressed your cheek into the mattress. Jason kept his fingers moving over your clit, the snap of his hips going faster, harder. He moved to bend over your back and bury himself deeper.

“I think about you too.” You whisper, trying to breathe as your knees burn, your stomach tightening with anticipation, “All the time.”

Jason kissed between your shoulder blades, fingers moving faster and you tried to tell him you loved him — the words about to tumble over your lips but your orgasm rips through your body, wrenching free another cry as your vision went hazy and all you could hear was the sound of your own heart and Jason choking out your name.

I wrote this in like two hours. I apologize for it!

@wonderbreadbucky @sudsevans @theultimateslashgirl @bcriss11

[mroddships]

Looking Good in Red

MacGregor doesn’t know why he volunteered but he did and now he is here in one of London’s most elegant Tailors searching for a wardrobe for Frank, the 400 and something-year-old skipper who hadn’t left the jungle for centuries. Lily was off doing whatever Lily wanted to do, most likely searching for a new adventure that the trio could embark on. For now though MacGregor’s only adventure would be to get through these next hours staring at a very beautiful man. 

MacGregor has dated before of course. He’s been with a few women and once he realized he wasn’t into them he had slowly moved on to the other gender, men. Being gay during this time was an awful situation and he could be ostracized from society so secretly he has dated a few men but it was never anything too special. A quick month or 2 month-long hidden relationships here or there. So it wasn’t like MacGregor didn’t have experience in the dating pool, it just was the fact that he hadn’t really “dated” anyone. Not really anyway. Not the way he’s heard of from his evening books or from his annoying but happy neighbors. Frank though felt different. Sure Frank and MacGregor weren’t even together but… well… MacGregor hopes they can be one day. He fully respects his sister and would never try anything while Lily and Frank were together but maybe, just maybe they would split up? God, MacGregor hates thinking this way. He adores how Frank treats her and thinks that the skipper is a perfect match for his headstrong sister. He just also adored Frank.

It is apparent though that MacGregor has no chance with the other man and so while they are both here today fitting into nice dashing suits, he has decided he will try his best to ignore Frank’s gorgeous muscles. That may be hard though since Frank keeps walking out of the fitting room half-naked complaining that most of the things in there didn’t fit him. Every time the taller man would walk out his upper body would be completely exposed, no jackets, no vest, no shirt. Just pure muscle. So MacGregor’s little plan isn’t going to plan whatsoever. 

“It’s just not fitting right! The shirt is too small, I can barely get my arms through the tiny holes and when I do I can barely button it. Is every man small here in London?” Frank comes once again out of the small fitting room with the shirt in his hand. He seems somewhat upset by the situation but mostly amused. “I swear MacGregor I didn’t think your face could get redder but I am mistaken.” He smiles at the smaller man, causing him to blush more. “See! It keeps reddening.”

MacGregor, now frustrated from Frank’s complaining and the heat in this room, walks over to Frank and grabs the shirt from his hand. “Well if you weren’t so damn big they would fit and yes Frank, my face reddens often. Glad you noticed now. Now please just find a shirt that fits and make it work so we can finally leave this god-awful place. I’m sweating buckets from this heat.” The smaller man walks around, searching for another shirt. His eyes land on the fairly huge red one. Not quite what MacGregor would wear but Frank isn’t him and a bold color might actually work for the giant. Grabbing the shirt, he heads back over to Frank and nearly shoves the shirt into his chest. “Here! Try this.” He leaves Frank who stands there and rolls his eyes before making his way back into the dressing room. MacGregor’s frustration slowly dissolves as he finds a pleasantly looking red tie. Maybe red could be his color? MacGregor never quite liked it on himself since he didn’t want the attention but after their near-death experience in the Amazon Jungle, MacGregor’s confidence had increased. Frank couldn’t be the only one who could pull of red. So MacGregor grabs the tie and turns to one of the huge mirrors in the waiting area.

“Hey!” whispered a voice next to MacGregor. Startled he turns around to see where the noise had come from. Frank’s head pops out of the room and he gestures for him to get closer. “I need some help.” Frank’s head disappears and MacGregor’s frustration comes back. 

“Oh, Frank I swear it is so infuriating to take you-AHH!” The smaller man was in the middle of his venting when Frank’s hand reaches out to him and grabs him by the almost done red tie around MacGregor’s neck. He is pulled into the small fitting room and is immediately pushed against the wall. “Frank what-”, MacGregor tries to ask but gets cut off by Frank shushing him. 

“I need your help, I don’t know what I am doing wrong.” Frank backs up a bit from the smaller man, allowing him to examine the problem. Frank had somehow screwed up the order of his buttons. How this man lived life for centuries, MacGregor will never understand. 

“You buffoon, you simply need to unbutton it and line them up correctly.” MacGregor begins to unbutton Frank’s shirt starting at the top. He is so busy that he didn’t realize just how close they actually are to one another. As MacGregor gets to the middle of Frank’s chest, he realizes and his eyes look up at the taller man who is looking back down at him. “Umm… see… its very simple.” MacGregor’s eyes go back down to the shirt and his hands work on the buttons the rest of the way. He works slowly, admiring as he reaches the bottom. Once the last button is undone his eyes snap back up again, staring right into Frank’s. Usually, the taller man’s face was expressionless unless there was some kind of smile but at the moment Frank’s eyes were filled with something MacGregor’s only seen during those secret relationships, desire. “Well, there you go. If you’d like I could help you with the rest but honestly I-”, MacGregor is cut off as Frank tugs on the red tie, pulling him forward. 

They both sit there silently, MacGregor feeling both scared and excited. “You look good in red. I noticed the tie earlier and had to get you in here so I could have a better, more private look.” Frank pulls the tie harder, causing a noise to come from MacGregor. His other hand raises above MacGregor’s head against the wall. “You also smell amazing. Like sweet vanilla. I’m not sure how but you should try to smell like this all the time.” Frank’s lips hover over MacGregor’s ear, sending chills down the smaller man’s spine.

“I… I try my best.  You also look very… very good in red. Very charming.” MacGregor struggles the last part out as Frank’s grip gets tighter. “Frank I don’t-”

“I already talked to Lily. She knows.” Frank hums. He nips the smaller man’s ear and receives a small moan.

“Oh my… umm… she knows what? Exactly?” MacGregor’s confusion fades as Frank begins to lick his ear.

“That you could also be world enough for me.” Frank backs up, causing MacGregor to whimper from the loss but Frank moves onto the other side, this time licking and nipping the smaller man’s neck. “Lily is everything to me. But so are you.”

“Oh, Frank… that sounds wonderful. I would love that deeply.” MacGregor exposes more of his neck to Frank, letting him explore even further. “Yes, I would love to be your everything.”

Frank bites down hard, MacGregor groaning from the pain grabs onto the taller man’s broad shoulders. Frank licks the spot and pulls away to a very dizzy-looking MacGregor. “This probably isn’t the best place to say something like that bu-”

This time Frank is cut off by MacGregor leaning forward and meeting his lips. MacGregor relaxes next to Frank, enjoying his strangely soft lips. “Any place would have worked for me. Now shut up and just kiss me.”

Frank’s eyes light up with joy and he smiles, leaning in to give MacGregor what he wants.

[spiltscribbles]

Ahh I've always wanted to send a prompt. How about “Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you.” with some sleep intimacy. Can I just say I love you and your writing.

~Notes: 😭😭 OH KY GOD SUGAR!!! You are so beyond adorable! I love you to pieces! And I do not deserve such kindness💜😘😘 So I at first read this as sleek Becs i am an idiot... so honestly this is 4700 words of pure smut😳😌😌 but uts early morning so it’s stilly sleepy intimacy kvdjhj Thank you for the prompt! But if smut isn’t your jam plz lmk and I’ll write you something else😣😣😘💜

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Send Me A Prompt  |   A Reblog Is Like A Huge  

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If asked to choose his favorite feature of Remus’s, Sirius reckons he’d have a difficult time with it, like to a ridiculous degree. It could easily be the dimple that shows up right on the apple of his cheek when he sports that glowing, reluctantly amused smile that only appears after Sirius or James have hexed a Slytherin prat right in front of him, and not even his Prefect sensibilities prove strong enough to scold them for it. Or maybe it’s the splatter of freckles that dance on the tops of his shoulders and the bridge of his nose right after summer hols, and he looks gloriously golden and it’s all Sirius can do not to kiss each one right in front of all the wizards congregated in nine and three quarters. Or maybe it’s simply the way he gnaws on his bottom lip whenever he’s thinking particularly hard on a subject— a habit usually reserved for potions lessons and when it’s a late night in the library and they’re both tucked away in a dark nook and Sirius has pushed Remus up against a bookshelf while stroking him in his trousers with intense precision. One corner of his mouth curled in challenge, dipping down to lick at that hollow on Remus’s long neck, tacitly reminding him that he best keep quiet lest Madam Pince has their heads on a couple of stakes she surely keeps beneath her desk for opportunities just like this.

Alright, if Sirius is being at all honest, it’s a frequently alternating list of all of Remus’s most splendid attributes, but at the moment, Sirius thinks there’s no question that in fact it’s Remus’s eyes that can ruin him with just a glance. His eyes that are a deep, vibrant green with flecks of amber that dance in their depths. Eyes that look like September, like the very start of their school term. Eyes that make Sirius think of the forest where Padfoot and Moony roam. Eyes that make Sirius think of fire lit common rooms and the taste of butterscotch on Remus’s lips, and such an overwhelming sensation of adoration that it could very well suffocate him if Sirius isn’t careful. It’s such a contrary color from the crisp and cool shades of emerald that accent the regality of 12 Grimmauld Place. Remus’s eyes are something warm and wonderful and where Sirius would gladly choose to get lost inside of for the next eon to come— Most especially if it’s a moment like this, with one of his hands knotted in Remus’s hair while the other one is busy thumbing small circles into his bare stomach. Where Remus is enthusiastically kissing Sirius back— fervent and famished and so fucking gorgeous— His arms loosely tangled around Sirius’s neck from where he’s lying beneath him, long legs bracketed on either side of Sirius’s narrow waist, and yeah, Sirius has always had three inches and two stone on Remus, but he often forgets that Remus’s lithe stature isn’t just for show— he’s got discrete strength beyond a normal wizard, and he chooses to fall under Sirius. Chooses Sirius who’s all hard edges and marble planes. He chooses Sirius simply on the merit that he’s him, and they’ve always been at least somewhat drawn to one another, even before either one of them really knew what it meant.

Sirius inwardly preens, presses more forcefully down against Remus and revels in the slight whimper Remus lets out just then, hands grappling Sirius’s broad shoulders just that bit tighter, keeping him close just that bit more desperately.

It’s remarkable.

The dormitory’s blessedly quiet this Saturday morning— James is off being a ponce on the quidditch field in preparations for their match against Slytherin in a couple weeks— the final one before they graduate and leave Hogwarts’ hallowed halls for the final time— And Peter had kindly buggered off after some not particularly well veiled threats waged by Sirius so he could get some alone time with his sodding boyfriend for Merlin’s sake. They have all morning to stay like this. Sirius can spend hours on end watching as the early light unspools in Remus’s hair— lacing into his curls and turning them a lovely tawny color— and he gets to revel in how Remus’s breath quickens every time Sirius bucks down and rubs their barely clad, already hard cocks against one another. And Sirius can whisper sweet nothings into Remus’s still sleep supple skin— sometimes filthy, and occasionally wicked, and always exultant— letting himself drown into the sounds that Remus moans out in turn, poetry if anyone were to ask him. And they don’t have to worry about nosey roommates or trying to keep quiet or staying inconspicuous from prying eyes that threaten to snatch this snapshot of bliss away from him.

If Sirius could stay in the slice of eternity for the rest of their days and beyond, he’d choose it every single time. And maybe that could be their future, their life after Hogwarts— far away from this looming war beginning to ravage their world as they know it, and divorced from the whispers of the Order that Dumbledore has created to fight against those barmy, blood crazed lunatics.

A future that’s normal and safe and glittering like the silvery film around their patronuses.

Remus would probably get a Muggle job, maybe in a University of some sort. Sirius always thought he’d make such a brilliant professor, make all the school kids mad with how he’s so brilliant and beautiful and compassionate. Sirius and James already know that they’ll both end up in the Ministry as Aurors, because of course that’s the job for a couple of dashing young lads such as themselves. He supposes by then Evans will have been convinced to stop the on again, off again nature of her relationship with dear Prongsie, but he knows that even if not she and Remus are as thick s thieves, she’ll never just let him get away from her friendship after graduation. So maybe she’ll come visit in their flat after her internship at St Mungo’s, and of course Pete is always terrified that if he doesn’t spend every waking minute with at least one of them that he’ll be forgotten, so he’d be there too. The five of them, bombastic and bright and babbling on a lazy weeknight with glasses of fire-whiskey and plates of take out and Remus perched securely into Sirius’s embrace, and everything being just as it should be. Something golden, something wonderful, something splendid.

But as he begins to nip at that point against Remus’s sharp collarbone that’s become his favorite through the duration of their nearly year and a half of dating, he wonders not for the first time if Remus has the same prospects— if he wants to spend countless mornings just like this and endless nights in a similar way, if he wants to pick up Sirius’s discarded socks and eat the dinners Sirius makes for them, if he wants to tumble so thoroughly with Sirius that they don’t even know where one begins and the other ends anymore. Sirius wonders if he wants any of that, or if Remus is planning to go back to Wales with his parents instead of taking up Sirius’s casually thrown around offers for him to stay in the London flat that Alphard had left Sirius along with the gold and the watch and all the expectations of doing better than the Black name has always meant.

And the possibility of that— the possibility of Remus not dreaming of the same forever as him— cuts Sirius to the quick, and he doesn’t let himself think about it, instead sits up on his forearms, so that he’s peering down at Remus now, and he cups the length of him over the cotton, squeezing to hear the melody of Remus’s gasp and grounds himself into the moment once more.

“You’re in a mood this morning,” Remus intones, more than a bit breathily while Sirius moves his hand to push beneath Remus’s pants from behind, cupping one of his cheeks for a good and proper squeeze.

“Mmm, careful, or else I’d think you don’t like this method of being woken up,” Sirius counters, feels himself preen at how Remus’s face dusts scarlet, though it doesn’t last long when Remus retaliates by tugging at his hair, beyond mulish looking at Sirius’s glee.

“You know, I do have to do some more research on that final paper for charms that Flitwick gave us,” he muses— the unrepentant tease.

“Are you sure of that,” Sirius asks, dipping back down to worry the skin of Remus’s earlobe between his teeth, while the pads of his fingers make a pedal soft trail to the cress of his arse, lighter than breath while he circles the small, tight entrance of him— just grazing around the hole with languid intent, occasionally dragging over the opening with a dry finger, never delving any deeper than that. And it gets it’s intended effect— namely, the balls of Remus’s heels pressing up against Sirius’s back, and him gasping out these guttural, maddening mewls as he tries to buck down, tries to finally get some penetration.

“Merlin, are you going to just tease me till those wankers get back, or will you finally fucking do something, Black.”

“I think I like keeping you on the edge, sweetheart.” Sirius retorts, punctuating the point with a small wiggle of the top of his pointer finger, the one now comfortably nestled inside of him.

“Absolute prat,” Remus fumes, though when he begins to try moving once more, Sirius stunts the action by lying his forearm against hiss lightly muscled stomach, pressing most of his weight there while he gives one final, goading push with his finger and drags his hand to instead rub against the expanse of Remus’s pale, thin thigh, wants to lap at the skin there but also doesn’t want Remus to win this little battle he’s waged— not yet at least.

“Well Maybe if you ask nicely?”

The twist of Remus’s features tells Sirius that he’s absolutely fuming, but also he won’t leave because he’s gagging for it just as much as him. “You’re the dog, if you don’t recall. Maybe I should make you beg to hump even my leg.”

“No need for such a wicked tongue, Moons,” Sirius sneers, hitches Remus’s legs higher on his waistline so that the head of his cock can graze at the concealed hole. “Just a please would suffice.”

Remus scoffs. “You’re mad.”

“I’m also very patient,” Sirius leers, begins thrusting only slightly, nudging at him and delighting in the flicker of emotions that flashes over Remus’s face— going from indignant to wanting to abashed and landing on a cool sort of resolve.

“Oi, if you’re all talk, I’m sure I can poke around in the library, see if Leon is still—“ The rest of Remus’s sentence is swallowed up by the frenzy of movement that clashes inharmoniously from one moment to the next. And suddenly Remus is lying flat on his front, with one of Sirius’s legs pressed unswervingly between his legs, an accioed bottle of lube in one of his hands while the other nearly tears Remus’s pants trying to drag them off.

“You’re such a little arse, Lupin.” He hisses, tossing the garnet to the side along with his own before he begins palming his prick with the Muggle lotion type substance Remus had brought along from after easter hols, when they had visited that brilliant little shop in Soho— and Sirius isn’t sure if he should be proud or simply smug at how it’s already emptied by half.

“You like how little my arse is, Black,” Remus retorts from where his head is now squeezed partially onto his pillow, punctuating the point with a small shake of his bum.

“Right, so that means I’d rather not think of the other plonkers who’ve seen it before I got my hands all over you,” Sirius snaps, not actually irritated— even if he hates the sight of Leon sodding Bennett more than anything else.

“It was just a joke,” Remus tells him, soft and sincere and away from that playful tone he was using from before.

“Yeah, you better have been,” Sirius says, but then dips down to kiss between Remus’s shoulder blades— to the left of where he’s got a hand spread across his back— just to assure him that he’s not actually upset.

“You’re brilliant you know. The best in every way, I hope you understand that,” Remus tells him, a bit quieter and a bit more reserved, in a voice that wavers only slightly with the nerves of the admission. “I’ve only ever been in love with you— And I know that it’s probably not the same, I know that you’ve had others and we’re only eighteen and—“

Sirius cuts him off with one single, quick smack against the width of his arse— an arse he can probably write a thousand sonnets and a million more odes about— and he returns to kneading at the muscle there. “Don’t be an idiot, Remus. You know I love you like mad, more than anything— you’re everything.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s good— Erm, I mean—“ Sirius can only see half of Remus’s face from this angle, and most of it is obscured by his curly fringe, but he can detect the pinkish flush feathering over his sharp cheekbone and the way he’s begun to gnaw on the end of his mouth, eyes half lit and hooded. And God, sometimes Sirius thinks that it’s the blind leading the blind with them as they dance along this precipice of the most precious thing either of them has ever held in their quivering grasps.

“Right convenient if you ask me,” Sirius says instead of something from the stream of soppy poetry he’s thinking about— the love sick lyrics dedicated to Remus and Remus alone. He doesn’t want to potentially fracture this single understanding that they’ve finally revealed to one another. Rather, Sirius scrapes another chunk of the slick, Muggle substance into his hand and cloaks himself completely before taking a bit of it against Remus’s arsehole, his insides melting like molasses once he feels the warmth of Remus cloaking him, the way Remus’s entrance is practically fluttering, practically trying to swallow Sirius whole.

“Oh, yeah— Just a bit more.”

“Shh, let me take care of you, Moony,” Sirius reproves with absolutely no heat, instead sounding more than a little horse as he adds another digit and watches as Remus expands beneath his touch, watches his long fingers being devoured by him— the bronze tan Sirius always sports during the warmer months melding into the pale patches of Remus that rarely sees sunlight— watches their jagged edges piecing together like a sacred tomb, and Sirius knows right then and there that he’d want to be lost in every facet of Remus for every eon to come, even when they’re nothing but cinders and ashes and wisps of starlight. He’d want this, he’d crave this. He’d always need this, need Remus in any way he’d take him.

“Oh— Sirius, please, right there.” Remus suddenly squawks, jolting forwards and grappling for either end of his fourposter’s wooden bars. “Pl— Please.”

Always beyond eager to watch his lover come undone, Sirius adds one final finger before crooking them inside of Remus, skimming the little nest of nerves found there, and repeating the action twice more before he hears Remus’s choked off demand, “Bloody hell, Sirius! Will you just give me what I want!”

“I thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.” Sirius absolutely beams, gingerly pulling out from his gaping and empty entrance so to lather himself one final time, kisses the freckle behind Remus’s left ear as he snakes a hand beneath his stomach to raise him up slightly. “Can you stay like this, baby.”

His arms still slightly shaking from when Sirius had been teasing his prostate, Remus nods resolutely, shuffling around so that he’s resting his chin on his forearms, and his back is arched so beautifully with his pert arse stretched back in an inviting fashion. “You just worry about making this last hour worth my time.”

Sirius sniffs, pats Remus’s behind with a tad bit more intensity than strictly needed. “You and that lip is gonna get the best of you one of these days, Moony.”

“Mmm, I’ll believe it when you actually begin proving as much,” Remus barbs, and God Sirius loves him so fucking much— feels his chest absolutely contract with the ferocity of it.

“Right, well, you just sit there, looking pretty. All right?” Sirius intones, cards a hand through Remus’s hair and tugs just slightly before letting go completely to adjust his position from behind him— both hands on either end of Remus’s waistline and his dick poking at his hole— and God the throbbing is becoming painful with how badly Sirius just wants to plunge inside, to fuck and pound and thrust into Remus until he hears his boyfriend— his partner— absolutely sing with pleasure. “You are beautiful, Remus, you know that, right? Know that I think you’re the most bloody gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen, that the scars just show how otherworldly you are?” Sirius emphasizes that final point by thumbing across the one skirting across the the side of his neck, stretching from the bottom of his ear and ending at the point of his collarbone. It’s the most prominent one, the only scar besides a scratch on his pinky that can’t be covered up by a trusty jumper or pair of corduroys. The one Remus is most sensitive about, and the one he probably hates nearly as much as the bite marring his inner thigh.

“Sirius, please. Just not now,” Remus implores, sounding like a blown out candle all of a sudden, and Sirius can’t have that. Doesn’t want him to feel anything close to shitty while they’re doing this, while he has him this way. So with an obedience he only has if Remus asks him for as much in his more cautious of cadences, Sirius clenches his jaw, and keeps the adoring words stuck to his teeth, and he distracts himself by finally moving forwards, and it’s like a blink of the eye wen suddenly everything around him goes hazy, feeling like a disillusionment charm has been cast with how everything feels intangible, floaty, feels unsubstantial in comparison to the hot, tight pressure of Remus wrapped around him, made all the more etherial by the sounds of Remus’s melodic moans and gorgeous gasps and the way he moves in tandem with Sirius, how he cants back to meet the electrical current of Sirius fucking into him.

And he isn’t sure who says what in the gargle of words being spilt between them, is pretty sure he’s saying something about how beautiful Remus always is for him and then Remus replying with something about Sirius giving more to him, giving him something harder, deeper, quicker, and then, somehow, Sirius has got both of remus’s wrists in his hand and he’s pressing them against the small of Remus’s back, and he’s slowing down, suddenly wants this to last so much longer, wants to keep Remus this pliant and open and uninhibited for him for just that bit more.

“Merlin, I love you,” he says, focussing on the sweat collecting into the divot of Remus’s pinched shoulder blades and leans down to lick over the spot. “So fucking much.”

“Me too, Sirius! Sirius, I love you too! Please don’t stop, please.” Remus begs, canting back and twitching his fingers, obviously needing some sort of friction, though Sirius doesn’t think he’ll give it to him quite yet.

“What if I do though?” He asks, affecting an innocent tone while he slowly pulls out of Remus, pushing inside with shallow thrusts now, giving him hardly more than his tip. “What if I keep you like this, wait to see how long it takes you to come off of this alone, untouched. Just by my cock teasing you like this?” Remus makes another, strangled sort of noise deep in his throat, and he shutters in a way that convinces Sirius he’s not completely opposed to the offer. “You’d like that, yeah? You’d like me holding you down like this and watching you absolutely go feral? Go unraveled beneath me? Hell, I bet you wouldn’t even mind if I kept you like this for the rest of the morning. If I fucked you stupid and didn’t let you come even then. Just plug you up with that naughty toy we got from that Muggle shop when you visited me over Easter in London. Trap my spunk inside and just keep you nice and open until I decide to give it to you once again— drag you to a bathroom stall or an empty cupboard and fuck you senseless. Bloody hell, Remus, you probably wouldn’t even last a minute, hmm?”

Remus stays quiet, doesn’t unclench that taught muscle in his jaw, but his pupils are blown and he’s completely flushed, and Sirius is so thankful he can read the smallest nuances of him, loves knowing how absolutely wrecked just the idea of that has gotten his beautiful Moony, the side of him that no one else could ever see. The side of him hidden by his aloof exterior and measured words when around others. No one else gets to see this hauntingly beautiful, desperate little thing he becomes under Sirius’s hand, how he’s strung to vivid colors by Sirius mumbling such wicked contemplations into the expanse of his warm, golden skin.

“Are you going to answer, love,” he asks, with a lecherous sort of grin, pounding into him with a lack of delicateness from before, only twice, only enough to get Remus writhing again. “Do you not want that?”

Remus squeaks as the top of his head grazes against the headboard from the impact, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut while his thin lips fall open. “I reckon— Erm, I reckon that would be all right. Just to try.”

“My lovely academic, has to give everything a go,” Sirius crows, returns to thrusting measuredly in and out of him, kisses the nape of his neck with soft reverence. “But you know, we wouldn’t have to sneak around like that in only a couple weeks. We’ll be graduated,” he twists his hips slightly and presses down a bit more viciously than the slow paces probably would’ve entailed, and Remus quite literally groans at the feeling of it. “I’ll have that bloody huge flat, and you could be there too. We could spend every morning like this, Moony my love. We could christen every sodding room on the first day alone, and then I’d make you some of that veggie curry you like and you can sit there with an ice pack on your bum after I’m done with you.”

“Oh— Hah, you think you’ve got that sort of stamina,” is all Remus manages out in response, his features going tight with hunger when Sirius retorts with a staccato of uneven thrusts inside of him, stopping only when he feels the release willing up his own body, doesn’t think he’s ready to end this conversation quite yet.

“With you in one of my T-shirts and nothing else?” Sirius asks, watches the way Remus’s toes quite literally curl when he slides inside his used hole once more, shaking Remus slightly with how he moves and thrusts and squeezes his wrists hard enough to bruise. “I bet I could get it up an infinite amount of times! THere will be studies invoked for the phenomena of my cock, Moony. Potions inspired that’d never work, because they could never get it right when I tell them it’s the sight of you waiting for me looking wide eyed and teasing— waiting to be debauched— that’s got me so erect. I’ll be a household name, you watch.”

“You— Oh, oh. Yes like that please Sirius just a little more— Hah, you’re a madman.”

Sirius leers, does as told and grabs forcefully against Remus’s biceps and pounds him flat on the mattress, fucking into him and thrills with all the different noises he’s dragging out of Remus, the way he can’t even form words amidst his groan. “Then you best stay with me, who knows what a madman could do all on his lonesome.”

Just because he’s always been a bit sadistic, Sirius stops his graceless rutting, lies nearly entirely against Remus instead, tugging on the back of his curls so that he’s got a better view of Remus’s gaze. “Wha— Oh, yes, fuck yes you plonker. Of course I want to move in with you, just wanted you to ask properly instead of beating round the bloody bush!”

Sirius feels his brows hike up, absolutely gleeful. “You wanton little slag, you just wanted me to use my manners, eh?”

Remus huffs, looking beyond grouchy. “Yes, yes, and obviously, like the contrary bastard you are, you decide to actually do as much when I’d rather you be beating inside of me., but thus is my fate being stuck in love with such a wanker.”

Sirius can’t help but cackle at the incredibly cross expression Remus has got painted over his features, and he pecks a path down his temple and down to the dip of his shoulder muscles in apology. “You know I’m not one for subtleties, Moony.”

“Humph, well how’s this for subtle. Will you just ruddy fuck me and keep this discussion on the back burner for afterwards?”

Always eager to please his boyfriend, Sirius gently presses him back down on the sheets and rises only enough so to continue the easy rhythm between them, only increased by one of his hands circling Remus’s blazingly scarlet cock, pushing him through the loop of his fingers every time Sirius rocks harshly into him, going speedier and speedier with every choked out plea coming from Remus.

“What about this for a wanker?” He asks snidely, snapping forwards especially roughly, and twisting remus’s prick only slightly in turn, knows how much he enjoys the contrast of that.

“Yes— Yes, yes, yes Sirius! Just keep going, please, love, please. God, I love you. Holy fuck.” 

And it’s not another thrust inside before Remus is spilling into Sirius’s palm and the contracted muscle pumps the orgasm out of Sirius himself.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Sirius groans in a voice that’s nearly completely faded, and totally pious, careful to move outside Remus’s overly sensitive hole, and still panting while he absentmindedly grabs for a spare vest. He mutters a labored aguamenti before he brings it to Remus’s behind and begins to dab gently at the skin there, smattered with lube and Sirius’s come and a good amount of wetness from his sweat.

“Oh,” Remus shakes, sucking in a breath and tensing at the sensation of the intrusion.

“Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you,” Sirius assures him gingerly, tossing it to the corner when he’s finished, and can’t help but kiss the small dimples found right against the skin that cups over his arse.

“The, mmm. The house elves, Sirius. They don’t deserve that to deal with.”

Sirius only barely manages to hold back the roll of his eyes at Remus’s tendency not to understand how much those buggers enjoy any and all cleaning. Merlin, leave it too Moony to feel bad about something that someone wants to do for him. “I’ll grab it later, promise. Bin it o whatever.”

Remus only replies with a soft sound of consent, letting himself be gathered into Sirius’s arms properly, his head cradled against Sirius’s chest and Sirius’s arms wrapped around him while he kisses the crown of his tawny curls.

“You want a kip then?” Sirius asks amusedly, feeling his own eyelids beginning to droop.

“Hmm, yeah. That’d be nice. Then we can talk about that hideously orange breakfast table you’ve got in the flat. I bloody well won’t be living in any proximity of that monstrosity, Padfoot.”

Sirius can’t help the laughter that spills out, and he agrees to the conversation but demands that Remus call Winifred by name, lest she gets her feelings hurt.

“Madman,” Remus reiterates, completely fond as he dozes off, and when Sirius feels the breaths falling out of Remus’s lips even out, he thinks that them nestled into one another like this might be the only salvation he ever wants to know, the only sensation he could ever crave— The only sunlit snapshot he ever needs for the rest of his days.