#then I got addicted after plucking it

[kuuwo]

❄️Winter❄️

[astralnymphh]

work!from!home!ellie or housewife!ellie would be the perfect girl for me. the unconditional comfort and princess treatment you would receive after getting home from work, is indescribable. how do you even begin to describe heaven on earth? in respective epitome: her hands are heaven, and you are the earth. soon as your shadow pours through the cracks of your door, she is on her feet, waiting on the other side to greet you—perhaps, even carry you? “hey babe, was work good?” there is this ritualistic routine in place: ask about your day, plunge straight for your lips, kiss you softly to keep you wanting more, and pluck your bags away. sometimes, you'd express that you had a shit day, and ellie rearranges herself around you.

“c'mon, up.” she crouches below and scoops you into her lithe arms, raising you from that chthonic pain aching your ankles. it makes you roll your eyes; the act is damn old-fashioned. but, every once in a while, it hurts nobody. being brought to the cotton solace of your bed surely does the opposite of hurting. “want me to get down to buisness?” ellie asks with a dork-faced smile on her pretty, pink lips, teeth peeking in the middle. yet, her fingers are already sliding your socks off. “you already know the answer to that, idiot.” you nudge her in the side while her hands cup your ankles. “what did you spend all day doing, huh?”

everything, and at the same time, nothing. ellie never knows how to word it, but she definitely loves cleaning up the house for you. yeah, she has a mellow addiction to video games and other recreational livings, but the little services of love expand her heart thrice the usual. “nothin' much. but i got that faucet workin' in the bathroom now. wanna see my work?” little rewards for you to return home to, even if they happen to be salacious. “wanna feel me against you, huh? uhuh—okay, just lay back baby.” little whispers that crackle in the space of night, crisp yet soft things, twinings of the legs that weep wantingly in the center; her core so pent-up, she releases all over your entrance—fingering the rest inside with a whispered, “fuck, take me.” under her breath. her hips feel so fucking good at the epilogue of the day, holy shit. yeah, you think she deserves that playstation five.

a/n: will probably write more about housewife!ellie, tbh.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗬 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗦 - part five lando norris x  fem! streamer! reader (fluff) series summary . . . After unexpectedly making a new friend during a stream, Lando finds himself addicted to playing video games with this girl who he can't get out of his head. His addiction gets worse when he somehow finds himself yearning for her company, eager to spend time with her in any shape or form, whether it's online or maybe possibly in person.

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Lando looked around cautiously, pulling his luggage along the smooth airport floors to the exit. He pursed his lips with a sigh. Plucking his phone from his hoodie pocket, He pulled the cap on his head further down to avoid being recognised. But you knew it was him right away, jogging over. 

When Lando saw you you could swear his smile was so wide it lit up the whole airport. 

“So good to see you again.” You sigh, greeting him with a little hug. 

“You’ve grown taller.” Lando joked as he hugged you back, sighing internally in relief that he got to hold you again. He’s been spending a lot of his free time ( and his not-so-free time ) on Stardew Valley in hopes of interacting and spending more time with you. But nothing compared to actually being here with you.

The two of you looked at each other with a smile for a few seconds before his eyes caught the watch on your wrist. 

“Oh wow, pretty.” He hummed playfully, lifting your wrist to his ear so he could listen to the ticks of your Richard Mille— which was just an excuse so he could hold your hand.

“Alright, let's go.” Lando nodded, keeping your hand held in his own, the back of your hand pressed to his chest like it was some valuable treasure he feared others might try to steal from him.

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“We’re not going to get caught.” You assured Lando as you walked through the huge halls. The Brit was wearing inconspicuous clothes, trying to blend in with university students. You’d had one last lecture for the day and decided to drag Lando along because you didn’t want to leave him alone. This wasn’t Melbourne, “you don't know the place or people around here” was your excuse. Sure, Lando is a grown man and would do fine on his own for an hour and a half but you just wanted to drag him along.

Settling down in a row closer to the back, Lando finds himself getting bored pretty easily. He never graduated secondary school, you can’t expect him to understand the ecology of coral reefs. Leaning his cheek on his fist, watching you scribble notes and diagrams along with formulas with long equations and letters.

He was lucky that fifteen minutes into the lecture he discovered your gorgeous laptop waiting for him in your bag, using the mouse pad so his clicks aren't loud when he plays Fortnite. And when the two students snickering behind him snickered and laughed, he gave them a good glare that probably shut them up. A normal person wouldn’t expect an F1, Lando Norris nonetheless, to randomly be sitting in front of you in your lecture playing Fortnite and then glare at you when you laugh at them. 

When the lecture ended and people started getting up to leave, Lando lowered the laptop screen watching you go over your notes one last time, jotting questions on a stick before stuffing your belongings away and getting up. And just as the two of you were climbing the stairs to leave the room, “Ms. Ln, if I could talk with you for a second.”

Clenching your jaw, you give Lando a look telling him to stay right where he stood while you jog down the steps to your professor. Lando holds the strap of his bag as he watches you talk with your teacher before being handed a nice thick stack of papers. “Oh and Lando,” The man in his early forties called for your friend, rummaging through his book bag.

You found yourself blushing embarrassed at being discovered, not expecting your teacher of all people to recognize Lando. You watched as Lando jogged down the stairs when asked to sign the McLaren hat your professor had pulled out. “Is Yn a good student?” Lando joked with a smile as he drew his name with a Sharpie. “One of the best.” Your professor chuckled, returning your wave as you walked out with Lando.

“I’m pretty sure some kids recognized me so we better kick off.” He said quietly in your ear. With a nod, you checked your watch which gave a smile as it told you the time.

On the bus, you hugged your bag to your chest as you sat beside Lando. “Still can’t believe you don’t have a car.” You chuckled looking up at him with a smirk. 

“What? You’ve never been on public transport?” you tease back.  Lando scoffed. “I rode the train with Carlos once when we were going to the Drive To Survive premier.” He justified folding his arms with a huff. You rolled your eyes playfully. “I don’t mind busing. Doesn’t bother me. Besides, I can’t drive anyway.” You breathe out, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Lando knew you couldn’t afford a car when you called a cap to pick you up at the airport. You're out here on your own and studying in a foreign country, it’s common to not be able to rent or own cars. But never had Lando assumed that you couldn’t drive. He never expected it. And it just felt wrong. The Brit lets you lean your head on his shoulder, watching you scroll through your phone until you fall asleep.

He didn’t move a muscle, keeping a hand around your shoulders to hold your steady during stops or speed bumps. Or maybe he just wanted to hold you close to him. When it was time to get off, Lando was glad you had the trip active on Google Maps so you didn’t find yourself waking up in another city. He held your hand as he walked your still-sleepy figure off the bus and up to your apartment building. He was glad he was holding you again, even if it was just your hand. It made him happy that you didn’t let go.

“My roommate is only here on the weekends so we’re free.” You unlocked the door with your free hand and kicked your shoes off once you entered, the Brit copying your movements. You stretched your hands and body before crouching down to greet the cat that rubbed himself on your ankle. 

Lando chuckled as he plopped on the couch watching you open the fridge and pulling out Red Bull. “Default flavour, Norris?” You ask, tossing him the blue and silver can. Lando caught the drink easily and pulled the tab open with a ‘fzzzz’. Sitting on the couch beside him, you sipped your drink while looking disappointed at the mess of an attempt to build a shelf you had bought a few days prior.

“Sorry for the mess, I would've cleaned up if you told me you were coming sooner. Or should’ve just got it from Ikea where they give instructions.” You sigh, kicking the nails and wood away in hopes of gathering the mess in one spot so it could be forgotten in a corner. Lando waved it off. “You should see my apartment. ” He assured, “I can help you with it later.” He offered and you smiled with a sigh. “I’d love that.” You nodded looking at him. Lando returned your smile.

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“It’s not that hard.” Lando scolded as he slowed beside you, reaching over and fixing the belt around your chest. “Right pedal to go, left to stop.” he reminded. You watched him as he went off in his kart, stopping a few meters away to see if you were following. 

The perks of having Wednesday mornings off are that everyone is at their jobs and the kids are at school, leaving Lando the opportunity to drag you to a karting track in attempt to teach you how to drive. And he was successful, other than the fact that you were sticking to slower speeds than Lando would've liked. 

In the end, you’d stayed three and a half hours instead of the original one and a half. It leaves you feeling dizzy whenever you walk as if you were still driving. 

The walk from the track to was filled with laughter as you held your hands up. Lando wrapped his arm around your waist to keep you from stumbling, pulling you along. The laughing didn’t stop. You snuggled into each other in a cafe booth, sharing a menu.

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[la2yn0va]

Yo! I got an idea how with some of the character from the self aware au (honkai) with react with a reader that has 8 pure white angel wings and has a warmth and comforting aura. The aura is soo potent that just by being near or close to the reader can cure or calm anyone down (For example: it can cure or calm Jingliu or blade down from their marastruck state). Basically it removes anyone's bad intentions and cures evil thoughts. However this kinda has a down side as spending too much time with the reader can cause addiction, as the aura is too strong

As if they needed any other reason to be obsessed with you. But then again, what did they expect?

Of course you’d have such divine power. A true and pure healing power, not the fraudulent healing powers of Yaoshi.

When everyone sees your 8 wings of purity, they can feel the addicting effect of them, or perhaps YOU infecting them immediately.

Two smaller wings on the side of your head, like Robin and Sunday. Then three on each side of your back.

Luckily, or UN-luckiky, you’re able to retract your wings into your body, subduing the addicting effect greatly but not entirely.

But, the damage has already been done. The seed planted. Everyone loves you AND your wings, you shouldn’t be hiding your wings! They COMPLETE you!

But, it’s healing power makes the people of the xianzhou alliance deify you more than you already are AND more than anyone else in the cosmos. Your wings are the key to annihilating the abominations of Yaoshi and those filthy borisin.

They pray to you and your statues harder and more perfect then anyone else, They suck up to you whenever your around, on their knees begging and praising you nonstop.

Eventually, you accept their prayers, and let them… ‘cook’ medicine and weapons to kill or cure Mara struck individuals. But, you only allow lingsha and jiaoqiu to touch your wings.

Jiaoqiu is eternally grateful that you allowed him to partake in this… ‘cooking’ and that you accepted his prayers and begging. Lingsha is more so honored and prideful you chose HER to use your wings as a way to make the xianzhou a safer place.

First jiaoqiu tried to pluck a feather from you, but when he touched your wings, your knees buckle as you felt weak instantly, making jiaoqiu yank his hand away.

Lingsha quickly ran towards you as the two healers began asking a myriad of questions. But you stopped their questions, stating that the pain was gone.

This time, lingsha grasped your feathers and immediately noticed how sensitive you were to the mere touch of your wings. Honestly, their first thought was that you were cute like this, before they plucked two feathers from you.

The pain was unbearable but quick. It came and yet yet the shock from the pain even if it was just for 5 seconds, knocked him on the floor unconscious, due to the shock from the pain.

The two panicked, seeing that they had cause indescribable pain to you. They immediately put you on the table, getting rid of your shirt and beginning to perform CPR, But they stopped once they felt your breath and pulse.

They felt guilty, wondering if they should even use your feathers for what they wanted. But, after only two minutes, you woke up and…didn’t feel pain?

Seeing you not in pain seemed to solidify their choice, beginning to use your feathers to make medicine and weapons to cure others. While they did that, you stayed around people like feixiao and jingliu, giving them the freedom they desperately needed.

As lingsha and jiaoqiu took their SWEET SUCCULENT time, feixiao and jingliu slowly grew addicted to you and your wings, fighting each other to be in your comforting aura longer then the other.

It was until the two doctors finished their preparations, the two became normal, cured. Every Mara struck person was cured and you were always treated as a god in the xianzhou, more then you already were.

But, you always stayed around feixiao, jingliu, lingsha, Moze, and jiaoqiu. They treated you like a normal everyday person, and can joke around with you without fear of you ‘smiting’ them.

-The End-

[stellamancer]

entreat (reader x yuta okkotsu)

notes: hellow hellow! this is actually my first time writing yuta ahaha. he's a sweet boy who deserves the world (like most of the rest of the cast). intially the idea for this fic was a bit different but, i think this is cute too.

this fic was a request written as part of the @/ficsforgaza initiative as a gift for @yutaleks. my requests are currently closed, but if you are interested please do check the ffg tumblr out! there are lots of writers participating!

contains: gn!reader, food (mentions of, eating and sharing), yuta okkotsu being a cutie patoot

Whenever Yuta travels for a mission, he always brings back souvenirs; boxes of ridiculously sugary sweets for Gojo, bags of interestingly flavored potato chips for Maki, eclectic and downright gimmicky foods for Panda and Toge and for you—

Yuta brings back things he wants to eat with you. 

It started with the first-ever souvenir he brought back for you, from the very first solo mission he received after being reinstated as a special grade. He'd given it to you to say thank you for your support because just saying it has never been an adequate expression of gratitude for Yuta. 

But he'd apologized too, as he handed you the box– cookies from Hokkaido using locally sourced butter and cream, the prefecture’s pride and joy. 

Yuta is maybe the only person you know who would say sorry when handing someone a gift. 

“Why?” you'd asked.

He looked embarrassed as he answered. “I didn't know what you would like, but I couldn't just not bring you anything so I… got something that I thought sounded good…” 

His face was the picture of guilt, like he had admitted to the most heinous crime in all of history– not knowing what you would have liked. 

“It's okay if you want to throw it away or give it to sensei! I won't get upset or mad!” 

You remember distinctly thinking that if Rika were still here, she would send you to the grave if you threw away Yuta’s gift. Instead of that, you started to open the box, peeling away the wrapping and the box top to reveal two neat little rows of individually packaged cookies. You’d plucked one out and offered it to Yuta. 

“You said you thought it sounded good right?” you had asked. 

Yuta only stared, obviously unsure of what to do. 

“Come on, take it.” 

He hesitated, clearly not wanting to partake in a gift meant for you and for a moment you both stood there, unmoving. 

“Come on, Yuta, please?” 

That had been enough to get him to give in. You remember being surprised that was all it took. He gingerly took the cookie from you, handling it like a treasure, and you’d grabbed one of your own, knowing there was no way Yuta would eat one if you didn't first.

You'd tucked the box under your arm to rip the packing open and with another thanks you popped the cookie in your mouth. 

Honestly speaking, it had been one of the best cookies you'd ever had; crisp, yet tender, with a subtle sweetness that was nothing short of addictive.

When you had finished it, you stared at Yuta intently. It took him a second to realize that you meant for him to eat his, too, and with both yet another apology and yet another thank you, he delicately tore open the package and ate the cookie. 

You watched as he chewed it thoughtfully, evaluating the flavor. And when he finished, you tilted your head to the side and asked, “So, did you like it?” 

You remember how he nodded and smiled, carefree and innocent– a look you had always felt suited Yuta best. 

In return, you’d offered him a smile of your own. “You don't need to go through the trouble of bringing me back anything, but if you do, bring stuff like this— that we can share.”

And Yuta did just that. 

Now, every time he comes back from a mission, he comes bearing souvenirs from all over Japan: chestnut daifuku from Nagano, gyoza senbei from Tochigi, Kobe pudding from Hyogo… the list goes on. Sometimes, it’s just one thing. And other times, he comes back with two or three, looking apologetic as he tells you that he just couldn't decide. 

You don't mind, though, you never do– in fact, you actually look forward to when he brings multiple. More to share means more time with Yuta.

And this time, this time is no exception, but….

“...this is an awful lot…” you say looking at the array of ten different boxes that Yuta’s brought back from his latest mission. 

“I'm sorry!” He apologizes automatically and then, just like always he adds. “It was so hard to choose… Everything sounded so good.”

He's not wrong. Every single thing he's brought back sounds absolutely delicious and catered specifically to your tastes. It kind of makes you wonder if he's been taking notes all this time, commiting the things you've liked to memory. 

“It's fine!” you insist. “I'm just not sure if we can finish all this together…” 

At least not all at once. The things that are individually wrapped should be fine, but there are a fair amount of things that are probably meant to be eaten in a single sitting. 

“...maybe we should see if the others want some too…” you murmur thoughtfully. It's been a while since all of you ate together, between missions and the like. It would be fun. 

Yuta makes a soft sound and you look toward him. He’s very obviously avoiding your gaze, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. You know him well enough to realize that means he's got something on his mind.

“What's up?” you ask. 

He doesn't say anything, not at first, but it's obvious he's debating whether or not to tell you. If you wait long enough, though, you think he'll say it. And sure enough, after a minute or two Yuta takes a deep breath and says, “I was actually hoping we could still just share everything just the two of us!” 

The words come out in a two-breath rush and you stare at him as the meaning of his words sink in. You did tell him to bring back things the two of you could share, it just never occurred to you that he thought that meant only the two of you. 

Yuta, on the other hand, looks mildly horrified, regret instantly visible, as if it was a mistake to voice his own desires, and so he adds. “But— but if you want to eat with everyone, that's fine! I can call Toge and Panda and–”

“Actually,” you interject and while you don't want to talk over Yuta you want him to know— need him to know that it's fine. It's fine for him to say what he wants, because not only will you always listen, you’ll—

“I take it back. I think we can eat this all ourselves. Just the two of us.”

You’ll never, ever refuse him. 

[giggly-squiggily]

Hoodie (My Hero Academia)

Heyo! Bringing back some NOSTALGIA! :D So this was actually a fic I submitted to @otomiyaa's old blog waaaaay back when I was still a baby fic writer. The submission has been lost, but I figured why not blow off the dust, give it a fresh coat of formatting and editing and bring it here! :D I don't know if you're still a DabiHawks shipper Ginny, but I hope this brings some good nostalgia to you :3 Keep being amazing, friend!

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@myreygn @thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @wolfyeatstacos @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13 @nutzgunray-lvt @sarahmaystock5578 @rachi-roo @mochi-giggles @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @sevenincubistolemyheart @sp1racle

CW: Swearing- It's Dabi after all

Summary: Dabi likes to steal Hawk's clothes-even if they feel "weird" with all the feathers stuck within. Hawks decides to explore what that really means.

With Dabi, Hawks could never predict what was coming. And he loved it.

The villain had a way to him that drew at Hawks. It was endearing and baffling and all and all an addiction Hawks didn’t want to kick.

Sometimes the Villain would break into his home while Hawks was on patrol. When the Pro-hero checked his security alert, he would be given the sight of Dabi lounging about in his apartment, drowning in the birdman’s hoodie and eating his hot Cheetos.

Other times Dabi would tell Hawks to meet him in the most obscure locations, ones that required lots of twists and turns and always leaving the Pro hero exhausted by the time he got there. The information he received wasn’t always worth it, but the scarred yet gentle kisses Dabi gave him were.

Today was no different. Dabi had made himself at home in Hawks' apartment when the Prohero got there, once again wearing his hoodie as he stretched out along his couch. No snacks this time. Dabi’s jacket was folded behind his head in a makeshift pillow, and his boots were kicked off, placed neatly by the front door.

Hawks bit down a laugh as he closed the door, taking his time removing his jacket and boots before walking over. A sight like this must be savored. “Seems like you’re quite attached to that hoodie, huh?”

Dabi cracked open an unfairly blue eye, looking up at Hawks through tuffs of black hair. “Hmmm...” He drawled, stretching his arms lazily over his head and leaving them there, hoodie riding up and revealing a line of silver skin. “It’s warm. ‘S not like you wear it, anyway.”

“That’s because you're always stealing it.” Hawks replied with a smirk, making his way over to the cozy villain and climbing on top of him. A few adjustments later he was  bracing his arms on either side of Dabi’s head. “Not that I’m complaining, though. You look good in my clothes.”

Dabi rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the twitch of his lips at Hawks' words. “Whatever. It’s too big, and it's always full of feathers.” Dabi reached a hand out, running his fingers through the soft red wings that encased him. The gesture earned Hawks’ hum of approval. “I have to pluck them off before I can wear it.”

“Do they bother you?” Hawks asked, eyes curious as he reached up, capturing Dabi’s hand, rubbing his thumb along the scarred knuckles. They were old, no longer raw and painful. He wanted to kiss them again and again, even if Dabi couldn’t feel it.

“Not really. They just feel weird.” Dabi mused, smoothing out the miscue feathers with gentle fingers. “Pretty bird...” he murmured, making Hawks blush.

 The Prohero watched him curiously, hung up on Dabi’s earlier comment. “Feels weird, huh?” He let his free hand fall to Dabi’s hip, sneakily pushing the oversized cloth up with his hand.

“Yeah. They’re too- niieh!” Dabi flinched with a yelp when he felt something soft brush his skin. He glared down at the lone wing close to his exposed waist, then at the smirking hero above him. “Just what do you think your do-ah!” He flinched again when the wing brushed his side, aiming for untouched skin. Realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he glared fiercely, trying to ignore the growing blush filling his face. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

Hawks grinned, eyes alight like a child just discovering Christmas for the first time. “Weird, huh?” He asked again, quickly reaching up and trapping Dabi’s hand within his own.. “You’re ticklish?”

The villain didn’t respond, opting to glare instead. Hawks flexed his wings.

“Hawks, I swear to god, if you tickle me-“ Dabi didn’t get to finish his threat, clamping his mouth shut and squirming about as Hawk’s feathery appendage traced his skin, the tickly touch leaving trails of goosebumps along the pale skin.

“Hm? What was that?” Hawks teased, his smile growing as Dabi squirmed and quivered beneath him, cheeks flushed a soft pink and jaw set in an attempt to keep the embarrassing noises at bay. “Aww! What a cutie! Trying so hard to hide it-come on, let me see that smile!” Hawks teased, finally slipping a hand under Dabi’s hoodie and gently clawed at the sensitive skin.

“GAH! Ahehehehhahahahaha! F-Fuahhahahaha! Stahahap! Dahahahamn y-yohoohhhohou!” The dam broke. Dabi threw his head back and cackled, eyes squeezing shut with mirth as Hawks tickled him mercilessly. He thrashed and squirmed, kicking his feet against the couch cushions as he tried to wriggle free. “Freahhahahaking wiihihings!”

 The Pro hero grinned, delighted by the reaction from the usually somber villain. “There it is! I knew you had some semblance of joy in you! Tickle tickle tickle, Dabi!”

“S-SHuhuhuhuhut uhuhuhp! Ahehehehahhaha! GAH! Nohohohohoho bihihiihihrdie  stAhahahap!” Dabi arched with a squeak when Hawks’ fingers brushed over the lower parts of his stomach, fingers and feathers very gently teasing the terribly sensitive skin like a dance. It left the brunette howling with laughter- the tops of his cheeks burning like the flames he could create. If he still had working tear ducks, he was sure he’d be misty eyed right now.

And Hawks- oh that freaking Hawks. He was laughing with him,seemingly overjoyed by the sight of him so vulnerable! Though- he had to admit; the sound of him laughing was rather nice…

Finally, when Dabi couldn’t take it anymore- when he was just barely getting out a wheeze that embarrassingly sounded like a dog toy- did Hawks stop. The tickles came to an end; his hand opting to rest his hand against Dabi’s warm chest. As the villain gasped for air, he rubbed soothing circles into it, helping him compose himself.

“Ahehehehe..hehehehe…fuhuhuhuck..” Falling back into the couch cushions, Dabi closed his eyes-willing himself to calm. He felt both humiliated and exhausted and…free. Relaxed. At ease. The feeling of Hawks’ hand against his scarred chest- that comforting pressure as he listened to his racing heartbeat- it was nice.

Bastard.

“F-Fuhuck you...Birdie.” Dabi growled, reaching up and punching Hawks in the shoulder. Only the punch was more of a tap, and Hawks laughed as he caught his hand, bringing the scarred limb up and kissing his knuckles.

 “Hey, you enjoyed it! You could have broken free at any time.”

That comforting feeling grew as he realized…he was right. The entire time Hawks had him, he wasn’t holding on that tight- and if Dabi really wanted to escape, he could. The fact he had that option from the get go did funny things to his chest.

Then the humility came crashing back- leaving the scarred villain redder than Hawks wings, which was what he promptly shoved his face against to hide in mortification. “S-Shut up! I- don’t laugh!” His muffled stammering was enough to send Hawks into a laughing fit, flopping against the embarrassed villain and pulling him entirely into his chest.

 “Come now. Don’t be embarrassed. Everyone's ticklish. Even you.”

Dabi groaned against him, only peering out to glare at his feathery boyfriend. “I hate you.” 

Hawks smiled, leaning down and kissing him gently. “I love you too.”

Thanks for reading!

[cyxnidx]

MY ADDICTION !

character: sukuna x curvy!black reader

genre: a little bit of everything - some headcanons + scenarios of a teensy bit of fluff, brainrot, & some smut

a/n: decided to start makin' some black fics.

sukuna, who absolutely adores you, he might not show it, but he does. wholeheartedly.

sukuna, who often has his own way of showing you his affection.

you feel a pluck on the top of your head, looking over and seeing sukuna looking down at you, a smile on his face despite being met with confusion. "why?" "why not."

sukuna, who adores your earthy style with your coconut and vanilla scents.

sukuna watches as you finish rubbing lotion into your arms, smiling when you walk past him for your gel and he gets hit by a fresh coconut and vanilla scent. "you smell delicious." he compliments, watching as you sit in your chair in front of your vanity. still focused on your edges, you let a small smirk appear. "thank you." he hums before responding, letting his chin rest on his palm. "do you taste the same, too?" and with that, your smirk grows. "come find out."

sukuna, who finds the most peace with his hands against your hips and his face stuffed into the side of your neck.

"what the fuck." you say with a sigh. you've been in the kitchen with your boyfriends head in the crook of your neck, his hands rubbing soft circles into your waist while you cook. except, the foods done - and sukuna has yet to move. "what is it?" he asks as he feigns innocence. you look at him when he raises his face to look at you. "do you wanna eat or not nigga?" after your words register in his mind, a knowing smirk crosses his face.

whether that be while he's hugging you, or hitting it from the back.

"where all that attitude go? hmm?" sukuna questions behind you, face still buried in the crook of your neck, except the sensation of him massaging shapes into your waist was replaced with his cock pounding into your cunt from your mouth. "had all that mouth .. where it go, huh?" he prompts again, thrusts getting sloppier.

sukuna, who doesn't mind spending a couple hundred to help you keep your hair under control.

"go ahead, princess." sukuna says, twisting a curl of your hair around his finger after handing you $500. he leans down, mouth right by your ear. "go get somethin' pretty done so i can fuck it up again."

sukuna, who loves to see you dressed in white, and the way the color radiates off your skin almost perfectly.

sukuna, who can't ever get over your cooking.

"eating good, ain't you baby?" you ask sweetly, watching sukuna scarf down a thanksgiving meal you'd made for the holiday. the sight of him eating, as if it were his very last or very first meal, put a smile on your face. finishing his plate, he placed his utensils down, a toothy grin painting his face. "best i've ever had mamas."

sukuna, who loves watching you do your hair while it's out, watching mindlessly while you style your curls & lay your edges with precision.

sukuna, who loves your occasional attitude every once in a while.

"oh, and what's the matter?" sukuna asks, watching you roll your eyes once again. "you actin' like you don't got no sense 'bout what i'm saying sukuna." you say, damn near starting to yell at the man in front of you. though, he had a knowing smirk on his face. not because he found this amusing, but because you're the only person with enough guts to so much as breathe near him with any attitude.

sukuna, who commonly calls you an addiction, simply because once he got a hit?.. he couldn't help but want more.

[holybibly]

Yesterday I was talking to one of my bunnies and we had a very interesting discussion. Remembering San's life with the famous search for "fan fiction", I thought: what if someone from Ateez could be one of my anonymous bunnies?

So here we are.

Which member do you most resemble, bunny? Tell me in the comments. I'm interested.

Ateez as bannies in Holy Bibly blog

Seonghwa - Mommy's most obedient bunny

♥ First one to find the blog

♥ Totally under the spell of atmosphere

♥ Wants to call me Mommy

♥ Totally shameless but extremely obedient

♥ Wants to be called only "Good Boy/Sugar Bunny"

♥ Always asks permission before touching himself: "I've been a good mommy, can I play with myself?"

♥ Gets bored and needy if there are no answers from me

♥ Favourite AU! - Submissive idol, Mommy Hwa, bunny/kitten hybrid, househusband

♥ If he doesn't get attention, he goes a little crazy

♥ Every day he asks me how I'm doing and shows a lot of concern for me.

♥ Biting his lips and whimpering when he sees my answers

♥ Favourite ff - ℌ𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔦𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔤𝔦𝔯𝔩 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡

♥ A passionate desire to be the most loved bunny in the world

♥ A slut for compliments

♥ Uses his cute little bunny toy to rub his pretty cock all over it

♥ Silk pajamas and sweets

♥ A blushing, aching mess

♥ Soft NSFW Links

♥ "I'll be always belong to you, Mommy"

♥ He prides himself on being the most beloved bunny.

♥ He's jealous but doesn't show it because he doesn't want to upset me.

♥ When he touches himself, he moans and whimpers.

♥ Absolutely precious boy

♥ Writes tender vulgar messages in DMs

♥ He puts his fingers in his mouth, drools on them and rolls his eyes.

♥ Always asks for permission before he cum: "Please, Mommy, can I cum now? I've been such a good little bunny for you."

♥ Checking my blog is the first thing he does when he wakes up.

♥ In general, he really wants to be pampered and to be adored.

San - Shy and gentle / toxic bunny

♥ He found out about the blog by chance. He saw a message about the new post on Hwa's phone.

♥ At first he was terribly embarrassed by all the things. But then he became too addicted.

♥ He calls me My Lady, but secretly he yearns to call me Mommy.

♥ The only time he checks the blog is at night, when he is alone.

♥ He is too quick to be turned on by even the most innocent of messages. It just does things for him.

♥ Too shy to send a request, but would really like to do so.

♥ Wants to be called "Kitten/Handsome Boy", but secretly goes by "Sir".

♥ He is jealous and wants to have my full attention.

♥ Favourite AU! - Kitten Hybrid, Royal, Striptease/Sex Work, Professor Choi

♥ Licks his lips all the time during reading

♥ Bites his shirt so Mingi and Seonghwa can't hear how loud he moans when he jerks off.

♥ The kind of guy who likes to rub his dick all over the sheets

♥ He has a penchant for nipple stimulation.

♥ Favourite ff - ℑ𝔱'𝔰 𝔜𝔬𝔲

♥ Discovery of new kinks in himself after reading my work

♥ After several months of keeping quiet, he plucks up the courage to ask request.

♥ Overly excited about Sugar Weekend, but actually his favourite part is Unholy Hours

♥ Generally torn between wanting to be the best kitty and wanting to control me.

♥ One of the most possessive bunnies here.

♥ A bit of a toxic bunny, but very sweet.

Yeosang - lost/curious bunny

♥ Found the blog because Woo couldn't shut up about it.

♥ Confused by all the requests and the frankness of the bunnies

♥ The first few weeks he didn't understand what was going on.

♥ Literally 🧍🏻He even had to ask Hwa about it. He got a detailed lecture with a demonstration of the materials.

♥ The more he reads, the more addicted he is to it.

♥ He've set up notifications to alert him to new posts so he doesn't miss anything.

♥ He giggles and kicks his legs like a schoolgirl when he reads my replies to the other bunnies.

♥ Gentle baby.

♥ Favourite AU! - Heavy Dom Yeosang, Toxic Boyfriend, Sugar Baby.

♥ Calls me "Miss" or "My Queen".

♥ A very polite bunny who keeps asking me how I'm doing: "My Queen, are you looking after yourself well? You need to drink a lot of water and take vitamins".

♥ Really excited about Yeosang Unni - this is his Roman Empire.

♥ He masturbates in the shower and thinks about all my works.

♥ Each time he remembers the request for a bunny and a shower head.

♥ Moaning in a low and deep voice - "velvet moaning", his favourite phrase.

♥ Wants to be brave and send a request for the Unholy Hour. But doesn't know how to do it properly.

♥ An exquisite bunny with an elegant taste.

♥ He is a little puffy due to the amount of work about him, but he is waiting for Pastor Yeosang and is literally counting the hours until the publication.

♥ Because he wants to have an intimate relationship with me, he doesn't want to discuss it with others.

♥ He loves to be called "My love"

Hongjoong - cheeky/slutty bunny

♥ Finds out about the blog through Hwa. He talks about it all the time, bragging left and right about all the attention he gets from me. Also because of Wooyoung and Mingi's fight over the position of my favorite bunny.

♥ He immediately jumps on the topic.

♥ He has no shame "I'm good in all position"

♥ He boldly communicates with other bunnies, replies to comments and starts whole threads.

♥ No requests, he will write to me in DM right away.

♥ Favourite FF - 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔶 𝔉𝔩𝔲𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔡

♥ Sneaks around on web sites looking for new fur coats

♥ Wants me to call him "Daddy" when he calls me "Mommy".

♥ Attention eater

♥ Maddening jealous: "I just want you to think about me all the time. I'm your favourite bunny."

♥ When tired or upset, comes to talk about his day.

♥ Won't shut up about the results of the voting for a "gift" fic: "You know I'm better than Mingi, right?"

♥ Creates his own sex playlist.

♥ Fan of NSFW Links

♥ Jerks off late at night in his studio. Also likes to touch himself in the shower.

♥ Saves his favourite parts of ff in a separate file.

♥ A moaning mess.

♥ Sometimes forgets his cocky behaviour and asks me to look after him.

♥ All in all very gentle and needy.

♥ Loves to be intimate.

♥ Reading works about Hwa on the sly: "That's my boy" - heartly.

♥ Likes to have conversations with me about kinks.

♥ Favourite AU! - Sugar Daddy, Wolf/Leopard Hybrids, Dilf, Pirate King, CEO

Wooyoung - needy/brat bunny

♥ Found out about the blog by stealing Yeosang's phone. Poor guy choked on his protein shake when he saw Woo looking at the blog.

♥ Totally in love with everything that happens.

♥ Lives and breathes thanks to my work.

♥ Priest Wooyoung is his Roman Empire, rubbing it in everyone's face how fucking hot it was.

♥ He is shameless and open to the point of being impossible.

♥ DM messages 24/7 a day.

♥ He likes to flirt with the other bunnies.

♥ Likes to be called "Good boy / Sweetheart / Foxy".

♥ Will talk about anything and everything in the world.

♥ He deliberately upsets me so that he gets punished: "I've been such a bad bunny, is Mommy going to punish me?"

♥ Loves humiliation.

♥ Calls me "Mommy" in a very horny way.

♥ Spams me with the most depraved requests on a non-stop basis.

♥ Favourite AU! - Fox/Kitten hybrid, sugar baby, toxic boyfriend, religion, sugar daddy (he believes in his potential).

♥ Possesses jealousy: "I can be the only one, can't I?"

♥ Likes to deny himself an orgasm while reading - wants to cum with the characters.

♥ Always horny, so our correspondence tends to be more like a dirty-talking manual.

♥ Comfortably oversized clothes and bulging veins in his forearms.

♥ Favorite FF - 𝔇𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔲𝔰 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩

♥ He is incredibly affectionate: "Mommy, do you want me to take care of you? I'm going to behave, I promise".

♥ He will have the audacity to tell me that he masturbates and will ask me to help him with it.

♥ Incredibly loud when he's jerking off. Doesn't care who hears him. Has an amazing time and can't think of anything else.

♥ After a hard day, he loves jerking off in his bed. He takes his time and spreads the pleasure all over the place. Of course, he cum without permission.

♥ "I want to be punished, Mommy".♥ All in all, a soft loverboy.

Yunho - shy/slutty bunny

♥ Finds out about the blog from Hwa. Follows him like a lost puppy until Seonghwa shares the link.

♥ He is a bit shy at first, but he quickly gets involved.

♥ He leaves comments and sends sweet messages to the inbox like an energetic and inspired bunny.

♥ Shy to DM me, but really wants to.

♥ Unholy hours are his thing.

♥ Has a tendency towards corruption kink, size kink, size training.

♥ Yungi is his favourite pairing.

♥ Obediently waits for the second part of BOTH.

♥ Prefers to be called "Pretty boy/Puppy/Sugar bunny".

♥ Calls me "My Lady", but wants to be strong enough to call me "Mistress".♥ Shyly asks for permission to touch himself "May I? Please"

♥ He had no idea how crazy everyone was about his hands until he'd read my work.

♥ Will definitely try putting them in his mouth before mirror to see how that works.

♥ Waiting for new posts like an impatient puppy.

♥ Very excited about the upcoming Priest Yunho fic. Secretly angry about the fact that Wooyoung is the only one who has had his own fic in this series so far.

♥ Favourite AU! - Sugar Daddy, Sub Idol, Yandere, Office, Wolf/Golden Retriever Hybrid

♥ Checks the blog a couple of times a day.

♥ Usually jerks off in the late hours of the night after everyone else has gone to bed.

♥ Cries and pants when he starts playing with himself.

♥ He likes to be overstimulated. He cums at least 3-4 times and brings himself to tears.

♥ He has a fake pussy that he can play with.

♥ "It's so fucking tight, fuck"

♥ He will definitely tell me what he did yesterday evening.

♥ Other than that, he is just a sweet, golden boy.

Mingi - shameless/horny bunny

♥ He found out about the blog when Yunho accidentally spilled the beans about it.

♥ He fell in love immediately and forever.

♥ I'm definitely his favourite.

♥ Loves to read comments, has a big grin on his face all the time.

♥ Very full of himself.

♥ He gets horny too fast and is able to jerk off several times a day.

♥ Calls me "Mistress" in the most perverse manner.

♥ Sends me requests, writes in DMs, and wants my complete and all-consuming attention.

♥ Competing for be favourite bunny on the blog with Seonghwa.

♥ Prefers to be called "Dirty Boy/Fox".

♥ He will definitely write to me in DM to tell me how much he gets turned on by what I write.

♥ Receives a notification every time a new post is made.

♥ "You can put a collar around my neck and strangle me to death, mistress."

♥ He's waiting for a fic about himself as a fox hybrid, he thinks he'd look great with a bushy tail.

♥ DIRTY TALK

♥ He is very possessive: "I would hate to share you with anyone else".

♥ He tests my patience

♥ ℭ𝔯𝔞𝔷𝔶 𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔪 is his religion.

♥ Favourite AU! - Pervert Idol, Sugar Daddy, Striptease/Sex Work, Professor Mingi, Vampire.

♥ He likes to stroke his dick while reading, he is in no hurry with the pleasure.

♥ "Are you going to punish me, Mistress? I've been such a naughty boy."

♥ To punish him, I decided to write down the most detailed dirt on him and send it to him at a totally unexpected time.

♥ He bites his lips and moans softly, swearing terribly.

♥ However, he adores me and will never stop complimenting me.

Jongho - innocent/not innocent bunny

♥ He has no idea why his Hyungs are so obsessed with my blog. Figures it all out for himself through the search for my nickname on Tumblr.

♥ Thinks the whole dynamic between me and the bunnies is funny and he smiling all the time.

♥ Slowly becoming addicted.

♥ He is very interested in the Omegaverse and how it all works.

♥ The bunny that asks questions in the inbox.

♥ "What do I have to call you?" "Are there any rules to follow?" "How open can I be with you?"

♥ Sneaky sends requests about himself to the Unholy Hours

♥ 100% enabled new posts notifications

♥ Pisses off all the Hyungs by being friends with me.

♥ He and Yunho are the main gossips in the dorm and have discussions about everything and anything.

♥ A diligent and obedient bunny with a few hidden kinks.

♥ Loves hip riding, choking and spanking, these things makes him horny.

♥ He is having the time of his life.

♥ Favourite AU! - Sugar Daddy, Hard dom, Omegaverse, Idol x Idol

♥ Reads my blog all over the place, as if it were just a news portal.

♥ He is one of the most sociable bunnies, but he is still anonymous.

♥ My stories make him horny and he doesn't like to lose control of himself.

♥ He ends up masturbating in the bathroom, breathing heavily and biting the palm of his hand to stop himself from moaning out loud.

♥ Loves the idea of NSFW links. He secretly saves all the videos on his phone.

♥ Wants to be called "Darling/Sweet".

♥ He is very caring, so he is always on the lookout for my well-being.

♥ He feels very comfortable and has a lot of fun with me.

♥ He blushes like a school girl when I call him "Sugar Bunny"

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 14.

Summary: Our second look through Oliver's eyes as he thinks back on the night he and Felix get champagne drunk on the bridge, and then when he gets to Saltburn. Looking around both Y/N and Felix's rooms, he gets to know more about them, and finally he meets the Catton Family.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: suggestive themes, reader is said/implied to be high for some of the chapter (based on my experiences & understanding of weed)

A/N: 8506 words. you have all deserved a good feed and i am here to provide. sorry it's been a week, the dam broke, things are looking good in my personal life which is nice, and i am BACK on main fic nonsense. we get another Ollie POV, please let me know what you think, im so excited to have everyone at the estate and hanging out!! got big plans going forward!! excited to be setting it all up!! yeah please feedback, my darling friends!!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Sometimes Oliver feels like he was put on this Earth solely to exist in Felix Catton's affectionate gaze. Everything else in life is just filler.

That night on the bridge, he and Felix in suits, drunk on champagne and bathed in the twilight of the evening, will haunt him, he's sure. He welcomes it with open arms, surfacing when his mind is idle and elsewhere. Felix smiling at him, Felix trying to bring him closure even if he doesn't really need it, Felix hanging on his every word, ever story he would fabricate to keep Felix's eyes fixed on him and only him. Felix so close, Felix with his arm around Ollie, Felix's thigh pressed up against his as they sat alone on the edge of the bridge.

Felix, Felix, Felix.

Oliver feels dwarfed by him, never more so than these moments where Felix insists on occupying Oliver's personal space, and then some. But he'll never complain; Felix's affection is intoxicating, addicting even. To be so wrapped up in it, in him, it's bliss, though Oliver never wanted to seem needy for such affection, that's why he waits for these moments, for Felix to make first contact. He wonders if Felix had realised the way you so quickly had in the beginning.

Everyone reaches out for Felix, everyone else appears so desperate. Its why Oliver's always held back from touching him, always waited and let Felix make the first move. Felix was made to be wanted, he basks in it; Oliver gives him the chance to want. Isn't there a thrill in that? A novelty?

And to be wanted by Felix... That was a gift in itself too.

Oliver had, admittedly, been worried that he'd lost his chance at that. After sleeping with you, Felix holding him at arm's length, he could feel his grip slipping. Plucking at the strings of Felix's clear saviour complex was enough to claw back into his life, but he now knew his place was precarious, and most tentative of all was everything about you.

So he'd held back from you. On purpose. Often distinctly, even when you'd give these confused, disheartened looks. He tried not to look at you in those moments; his focus was Felix, Felix seemed harder won.

But when he'd tried to apologise on the bridge - at first he wasn't going to bring it up, but it was dark and he was reasonably drunk and the only person who's ever smiled like Felix had been smiling at him in that moment had been you - Felix had, at first, laughed him off. No, he can feel it now, weighing on him; he needs to balance the scales. He wants Felix so bad it aches in his bones, but Oliver knows his want goes beyond just the beautiful boy by his side. Every part of you, how you interact with the world, interact with him, the way you exist and exude confidence and love, drew Oliver in like a moth to a flame. If Felix is the hook, you were the line. The bait, and the trap. The sun, and it's warmth. He wants to always be the focus of your loving, attentive gaze. Always wants you to want him too.

Oliver is the helpless fly in the web you and Felix have woven, to be so lovingly obsessed with you both as you are, and yet still drawn further in, to love the love you share. He feels trapped and utterly helpless against his feelings for you both.

So he has to make it right. Has to make it... even? Was that how to make it right?

But Felix is different on the bridge. Different to the jealous creature he tried so clearly to hide in the weeks before. Something had changed.

"You never need to apologise for making them happy," he says easily, affectionately. Oliver tries to be insistent, that he never meant to get between the two of you. He's rambling and tipsy, but not enough to miss the faint choked noise of what Oliver could have sworn was intrigue that Felix makes at that, but he knows better than to dwell or comment on it. Instead, Felix claps him on the back; "you wanna make it up to me we can say you owe me one," he says far too easily.

"Owe you one what?" Oliver frowns, playing oblivious for a moment as he takes a sip of the champagne before Felix gives him a cheeky wink and a grin.

"Shag, of course."

Oliver does a spit take with surprise, not having thought Felix would be so casual and genuine about it, almost falling off of the bridge in the moment. Felix catches him, arm around him as he laughs through an apology.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry mate," he wheezes, carefully clapping Ollie on the shoulder, "also I apologise for assuming, poor form, sometimes I forget people can be weird about these things- not saying you'd be weird, we've just never spoken about this kind of thing."

It speaks to how much he must genuinely trust Oliver, considering how light the conversation remains. Or perhaps it's the bubbly. Still, Oliver has a little bit of an inkling about what this kind of thing may be. But part of him needs Felix to say it, to confirm his suspicions, to keep stringing him along with further crumbs of hope.

"Assuming what?"

There's a single moment, the way in which Felix looks at Oliver out of the corner of his eyes, smile briefly frozen on his face as he must be considering the weight of what he's about to say. Its in the moment that follows, when Felix laughs almost self consciously and withdraws his hand that Oliver wonders how out Felix is. Oliver had always just kind of assumed - hoped - on the basis of his relationship with Y/N, but it occurs to him that the general perception of Felix, the talk and rumours and gossip that surrounded him, never really entertained the idea that he was actually queer. Felix's affection towards everyone in his life was simply a by-product of who he was, and you're his best friend - and his cousin, according to Farleigh - so of course you don't count, and otherwise Felix Catton was a known lady's man, right?

Not quite, it seemed.

"That you'd even be into guys like that," it sounds so easy when Felix says it, like Oliver can't see the tension in his shoulders as he reaches over, taking the bottle of champagne back. Its almost empty. Oliver doesn't mind if he finishes it.

Felix looks at the sky, at the stars.

Oliver thinks about the VHS tape of Maurice that he stole from a rental store after looking at the back cover. He'd kept it stashed in his sock drawer and watched every week under the cover of absolute darkness until it literally became unplayable. Yes, Oliver liked guys, and spent his teen years having just as many lewd fantasies about boys with posh accents, and charmingly youthful features, and floppy, brown hair, as he did about girls with big, dark eyes, and high, perfect cheek bones, in bright red wedding dresses. His sisters hated Beetlejuice, thought it was gross, but he and his mother would watch it together on occasion, sharing a blanket his gran had crocheted, and a bowl of popcorn. She'd get all giggly over Alec Baldwin, while Oliver couldn't help but fall for Winona Ryder for the duration of the film, every time.

For a moment, he thinks of the sunlit kitchen he grew up in, and his mother cooking Sunday lunch with a record playing. The last Sunday before he left for Oxford. In the yard, he can hear his father mowing the lawn, and he's sure Emily is in her room packing for her own journey back to her third year of studying. But Oliver comes out of his room just as Jump in Line (Shake Senora) begins to play. Serendipity. Already excited by the song, his mother looks up from the dishes, and practically lights up at the sight of her son. She's going to ask him to dance. He's going to say yes. They're both going to love this moment; she says it's their song, and Oliver dances along to their song. When it's over, Oliver won't admit that he's disappointed it had to end, but he tells his mother he'll miss her too when she hugs him especially tightly. For that one moment he hadn't ached to leave the way he'd been for months, for years.

Looking now at the rock in the rubbish that represented his father, there's a momentary pang of guilt for lying so dramatically about him he hadn't been expecting. So he pushes it out of his mind.

Felix finishes the bottle, and Oliver watches him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Effortlessly beauty.

Oliver wants to focus on his future, not his past.

"Haven't got too much experience with 'em, but that doesn't stop me from liking them well enough," feeling especially bold, he levels a sly smile at Felix, "so if it's all good with you, maybe we do say I owe you one."

Felix blushes the most beautiful scarlet as he barks a loud, pleased laugh. But most importantly, he relaxes.

"It's not that hard," he offers so nonchalantly, amending with a sheepish grin, "well it is, that's part of the point -" but Oliver can't help himself.

"I said I didn't have a lot of experience, didn't say I was completely inexperienced."

"No, I know," Felix's voice turns all smug and teasing, and Oliver can feel his face beginning to heat up as he realised the implications of Felix's tone, "I've heard rave reviews." Oliver had taken the time to have his fun, to have a few hook ups here and there in the past year, usually with girls or guys from town or other campuses who had no idea who he was otherwise. There's only one person who'd be giving him rave reviews, as Felix had called them.

Huh. It's quite the compliment; he had gone out of his way to give you the kind of attention he suspected few people ever bestowed upon you, but rave reviews? What had you actually told Felix?

Instead, considering that this still feels like potentially rocky territory, he tries to bring it back.

"It's one of the few ways I ever really learned how to make people feel appreciated," his gaze drops with his tone, and hopes that Felix takes the bait. The threads that tie back to the story of his unfortunate upbringing, but also perhaps the threads that subconsciously tie his attitude and behaviour to you in Felix's mind. Even if you don't say it, he knows it's part of how you operate, and he's willing to bet that Felix had picked up on that too.

It works. Felix wraps an arm around him, assuring him that he has so much to offer the world. God, he sounds so sincere when he says it; if Oliver hadn't knowingly baited him into the compliment, he would have believed him entirely. At the very least he basks in how good it is to hear Felix say.

They talk through the night, Oliver tentatively feeling his way towards his goal, the opportunity to spend Summer with Felix too, to make sure this connection doesn't wither in the interim. Of course he plays at being humble, at refusing the offer despite how clearly uninhabitable the sob story home he'd made up for himself was, but just as he'd predicted, Felix, ever the saviour, refuses to take no for an answer. Apparently his mother has people stay for months at a time anyhow. Oliver wonders idly if that's where Felix got it from.

"Y/N will be so pleased, I can tell you that," Felix mentioned with fondness. Of course Oliver had anticipated that you would probably be spending at least some of your Summer with them, but he's surprised that when he enquires further, Felix admits, "yeah they live with me at Saltburn when we're not at school, have for ages now."

"What, all the time? They really are a ward of the Saltburn Estate?"

Felix wears a strange little smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes; there's an unfamiliar kind of melancholy that doesn't look quite right on him, Oliver thinks, as Felix shrugs again.

"Some people's parents just aren't meant to be parents."

For a split second Oliver feels a rush of guilt as he comes to realise he may have fabricated a life for himself that you had actually lived. In the moment, however, he dips his head, a sign that he understands, that he agrees.

"Then we're lucky to have you."

Felix throws an arm around his shoulders, pulls him in tightly and presses a kiss to the side of his head, assuring him it's no trouble at all.

"What are friends for?"

Yes, this moment would be burned into his brain; Felix so warm beside him, Felix smiling against his temple, Felix champagne drunk and willing to share his life, if only for six weeks. Every fibre of Oliver's being is willing it to work out, willing it to be more than just these six weeks -

Felix, Felix, Felix.

Except the minute he knocks on the doors of the house that looms so large he feels like he's about to be swallowed whole by it, he feels like he's failed a test. The look in the terrifying doorman's eyes, his tone of voice, the unflinching scrutiny when faced with Oliver's continual awkwardness and questions, makes him feel like he's failed several more in rapid succession.

Oliver's actually pretty sure he's never been quite so glad to see Felix as the exact moment he calls out to Oliver with absolute joy. Which is saying something. It's never felt like Felix is judging him, at least not in a way he can't pass. Thank fuck. Felix, in this moment, is the only one who matters, he tells himself.

That being said, Oliver had been expecting you to be by Felix's side when he'd come bounding in to save him from Duncan's scrutiny. That's generally where he's come to expect you. Not that he wasn't grateful for Felix giving the tour, it was just... unexpected.

Honestly, when you appear from a door on the other side of the long gallery, opposite Felix's bedroom, Oliver's surprised by how relieved he is to see you. The room you've exited seems to be themed in pale purple from the brief glimpse Oliver sees, and you've got a leather bound folder in your arms, but neither of those is nearly so interesting as the look in your eyes. Looking back, Oliver sees Felix lounging in his doorframe, looking between you both with patient amusement.

"Ollie!"

Oliver's pretty sure no-one in his life has ever sounded this excited to see him. The only person who comes closes would be Felix, five minutes ago.

"Ollie, oh Ollie - Fi, hold this," you pass off your folder to Felix, who of course takes it without argument, before Oliver's swept up in a tight hug, "you're early, you smell nice," you hug him so enthusiastically the two of you spin for a moment, before pulling back, holding him at arm's length like you're assessing the state of him. Instead, you beam, holding his hands as you turned to Felix, "Fi, Ollie's here! We love Ollie!"

This time when you meet Oliver's gaze, he's surprised to see not just love, but want. You'd worn that look in the weeks before the two of you had fucked, like all you could think about was how you'd once begged him to want you, and how he of course admitted he did. When had he started missing this look in your eyes? All he can think about is that night in the warmth of your bed, the way you'd sounded so fucking certain and needy - of course I want you - and how he can see it in your eyes again now. For a moment his mind and resolve is fuzzy; why had he ever stopped reaching out for you?

"We do love Ollie," Felix agreed with further amusement, and that's when he remembers. Except... this isn't the jealous version of Felix that had shown up in the aftermath. This was the Felix who'd brushed off Oliver's apologies about the whole ordeal on the bridge and proceeded to overtly, if jokingly, flirt with him. Already he feels just a touch more relaxed in this new dynamic that was being set up for the Summer.

Actually, Oliver, for just a second, thinks he may have died and gone to heaven.

"Fuck, Ollie, look at your nails," he hears next, however, and it immediately shatters the illusion as he pulls his hands away from you and your judgemental eyes.

"Don't be mean," Felix chides, and you look up with surprised, as if you hadn't realised your own less than complimentary tone. Looking between Oliver and Felix, there's apology in your eyes.

"Sorry Ollie," you're quick to offer, and he awkwardly tries to act like he's not embarrassed, "I'll give you a manicure, I can paint your nails; we can match!" You smiled brightly, hands pressed flat and warm to his chest all of a sudden, "I match Fi's shirt today; Farleigh painted my nails -" your eyes go wide as if you'd just remembered; "Farleigh; shit."

You run for the door to the blue room. Oliver, deeply confused, watches you go. Then, he hears Felix sigh with fond exasperation, holding out the leather folder. A moment later you burst through the door again.

"Documents. Shit. Thanks, Fi!"

And you're off again.

"Is this... how they normally are just at Saltburn?" Oliver finally asks with faint concern, looking from the door to Felix in the darkened doorframe.

"My lovely cousin is an atrocious influence on our dear Y/N," Felix said with incredible diplomacy. But Oliver's mind momentarily catches on the wording.

Our Y/N.

Just like before, a strange thrill, a rush; he remembers the look in your eyes when he'd first said 'Our Felix' to you. An exclusive kind of possessive, one you'd willingly share with Oliver. He liked this dynamic, he wondered how hard he'd have to push it to get beyond the simple semantics.

We love Ollie!

We do love Ollie.

Perhaps it wouldn't be too difficult at all.

"What do you mean?" He asks instead, and Felix turns to him with that same amused smile.

"They're fine, don't worry mate, they're just high is all," clearly Felix's feelings are mixed on the subject; Oliver knows he has no problems with getting high himself, so he suspects Felix cares more about Oliver's first impressions of his home and his family than he was wanting to let on. You were his right hand after all. There's something endearing about how much he seems to want Oliver to want to be here. Which he does, for the record.

"So this is your room?" Oliver enquires, shooting for brightness, despite the momentary awkwardness. He watches the tension leave Felix's shoulders. It's enough for Oliver, and his gaze drifts, roams around and tries to catalogue every single piece of Felix he can glean from the clutter. Even with an army of servants there's something unkempt about how he decorates the otherwise old and ornate space. CDs he'll spend time poring over, stacks of books, and trinkets, and tchotchkes. Felix even has a balcony; stone railings and enough decorative chairs, and even a lounge and small table, for company.

Here and there in the room itself, however, a few things seem out of place; shoes that didn't look like Felix's sitting neatly by the door, two dressing gowns, one maroon and tossed over the bed, the other in navy and draped more deliberately over the end of the bed. Two glasses of water, one on either side of the bed. Tell-tale signs that clue Oliver in before Felix even confirms it -

"Mine and Y/N's, yeah," he says it so easily, so nonchalantly, no bothering with pretence here at Saltburn, "you'll be staying just next door," Felix continues on with a wide, easy smile over his shoulder as he continued to flit through the rooms, catching light, voice echoing amongst the decorative walls.

"Bathroom," he offers, before turning, adding, "we're going to be sharing a bathroom, by the way, I hope you don't mind," and Oliver finds himself drawn to the sight of the ornate bath, as if on purposeful display in the middle of the room, "otherwise you'd be miles away on the other end of the house," Felix explains, continuing on without even considering his words as he says them. No, of course Oliver didn't mind.

All Oliver can think of is everything that simple sentence implied. Closeness. Implicit want. A sudden flash in Oliver's mind as Felix continues through to the dressing room, of sweat beading along skin and hands clutching desperately at the cool, porcelain edge of the tub, of water sloshing and spilling and overflowing, and the sound of breathless moaning -

He tries to focus, tries to simply watch Felix's hands as he taps idly on the red walls of the dressing room as he lead into what Oliver can only assume to be his room. He stays out of his head, leans into the moment, and lets himself relax as Felix gestures broadly, brightly, grinning from ear to ear.

"Your room!"

It's bright, all wide, open windows looking over the beautiful grounds of Saltburn, honey coloured wood and lamps that glow in such a way that he was reminded of Oxford. Already someone's brought his suitcase up, set it out at the end of the bed; he'd get to unpacking that later tonight, for now he took his time relaxing into the space. Felix had already sat himself down, seemingly at home in the old, wooden rocking chair, watching Oliver, almost like he was trying to hide his nervous anticipation.

"I'm really glad you're here, mate," for just a moment, Felix sounds more honest than he'd been since Oliver had arrived. There's something in his eyes that Oliver hadn't been anticipating, in the brief moment in which their gazes meet. There's a kind of arrogance, Oliver thinks, to calling even a sliver of it something like love, but it's adoration and appreciation nonetheless. It's gone in a flash, too brief to be anything serious, he thinks once more as Felix stands, "right, I will, er... I'll leave you to it."

And Oliver is quiet. It's a kind of reverence, or perhaps it reads like shock and awe at the whole place, but he listens quietly as Felix tells him about his mother's aversion to stubble and ugliness and piercings and -

"Anything else I should know about?" Finally he asks, sensing Felix was close to rambling on a nervous tangent. Thankfully, Felix actually seems relieved by the interruption, assuring him that there was nothing else to worry about.

Felix tells Oliver that he just needs to be himself, that his family will love him. That it's relaxed. Oliver loves Felix dearly, but doubts he, a man who rarely seems to be anything but relaxed, would be the best judge of that. Especially in a place like this. Still, Oliver smiles like he believes him, and watches the way Felix hangs himself back from the door on his heels, almost like a little kid, telling Oliver that his family will be in the library when he's ready.

Library?

His mental image of Saltburn grows with each moment. Soon it will overwhelm him, he's sure.

So he tries, just for the moment, to get acquainted with the room he's been given. His own, honey-coloured piece of Saltburn, if only for the Summer. Hopefully beyond, that dreamy little voice of want whispers in the back of his mind. Another flash of desire runs through him, the image of a quiet evening on Felix's balcony, a purple sky and a glass of scotch, book in one hand and Felix's head in his lap. He'd be too big for the little sofa, legs hanging off the edge, but he's comfortably fallen asleep with Oliver's fingers carding through his hair; when you drape yourself over Oliver's shoulders, there's loving affection in the way you call them 'your boys' -

God he'd been entertaining these fantasies for months, sure, almost since he'd met you and Felix, but never this vivid, never so detailed or hard to push away, to pretend like he'd never had them when he next tries to look you both in the eyes.

Yeah, me and Y/N's room. You're right next door. We'll be sharing a bathroom.

This is either going to be a dream, or the hardest Summer of his life. Pun entirely intended.

The room itself is rather charming, once Oliver finally breaks free of his own fantasies. Charming in a different way to the rest of the house, but in a way that was hard to put his finger on at first. Saltburn was like if a place could put on a performance of itself, none of it felt lived in, or at least, not for a very long time. Except Felix's room, it had his youth and carelessness that gave it a feeling of home, as, for some reason, did Oliver's.

Except then he sees them. Then he understands. There's space stickers on the top drawer of what he can only assume is the otherwise expensive bedside table. Some are peeled off, some even leaving the ugly, half-peeled, paper residue of planets and stars and little cartoon astronauts. The second of the two drawers is in much the same state, but depicting a faded sea creature theme. It's so unexpectedly, joyfully childish. There's two books in the top drawer, a collection of Edgar Allen Poe's short stories, and a copy of Emma. Oliver swallows hard, trying not to wonder what you must mean by that. Otherwise the drawers are empty, almost hotel-like in it's severe starkness.

There's other little things, however. Fairy lights curled up and around the headboard that glow a comforting, warm white once he finds their switch. A digital clock at odds with the rest of the room's aesthetics, red numbers glowing in the afternoon light. The painting on the wall above the bookshelf that looks far more modern than anything else he'd seen so far on the walls, a rich, blue night sky glittering with stars, and a dreamy silhouette of a figure with a cigarette almost glowing orange against the darkness. Despite the vagueness of the figure, there's a comfort, a kind of love with which they'd been captured that Oliver can somehow feel in his chest when he looks at it.

The little bookshelf itself in the corner is filled with titles he can imagine you specifically enjoying, but a few anomalies here and there - books on botany and Edwardian flower code stick out in particular. It's completed with a small stack of CDs and a CD player gathering dust on top. When he crouches down, however, he's surprised to see an old, portable cassette deck taking up space on the bottom row of the bookshelf, mostly hidden behind several stacks of what appeared to be blank cassette tapes, crammed into the very corner, almost out of sight.

How strange. How... human.

There is an echo of someone else in this room, but to his relief, it feels like you. For the barest moment, he almost feels like he's already home.

It's a short-lived feeling, however, as Felix's words come back to him once more. His reflection in the bathroom mirror as he carefully rids himself of even the barest traces of stubble, doesn't meet the standards he's sure the mother of Felix Catton must hold.

Oliver's never considered himself particularly beautiful, nor did pretty much anyone else, it had always seemed. His mother was of course biased, Felix was filled with too much affection to be considered anywhere near reliable about that sort of things, and you - something inside Oliver squirms almost with embarrassment for even thinking so poorly of himself in the past few moments. Maybe a face like his would make Felix's mum happy, if the look in your eyes meant anything, every time you saw him.

Oliver chooses to leave the way he was brought in, taking a long few moments in Felix's room, leaving it untouched, undisturbed, but treating it like a museum to his best friend, clues about his life he couldn't glean from conversation alone. Felix's bookshelves were bigger than yours, stacked with comics amid countless fantasy and adventure books, but a surprising number of cowboy and western titles, though it's not as if there appears to be any kind of sorting system. There's a ceramic bowl that looks hand made, full of faded wristbands for events all over the world for the past five years. There's a shoebox that apparently used to hold a pair of lady's runners, now sitting at the end of one row that now has 'A Stupid Box For Feefs Stupid Rocks <3' sharpied on top in handwriting he doesn't recognise. A thick textbook about space on the bottom shelf with a cracked, worn spine and sticky tabs seeming to note various pages, various guitar tab books for different, popular bands that Felix would definitely be interested in. Four decks of cards stacked on top of each other, boxes looking so worn and used they were practically falling apart.

For a very long time, Oliver finds himself caught, looking at the little cork board full of photos leaning on top of the bookshelf. Countless photos of Felix, Farleigh, Venetia, and Y/N throughout the years. He hadn't realised just how long you and Felix had even known each other. How long you'd practically been a fixture at Saltburn in the Summer. There's a photo of the four of you all in your bathers, laying asleep on the grass beside the lake, all next to each other on brightly coloured towels, none of you could have been older than twelve; you fit right in along with the rest of them.

There's a photo strip, the kind taken in a booth at a mall or a museum, that Oliver thinks he recognises, but it takes him a long moment of staring at it to figure out why. It's you and Felix, and the strip itself says it's from an aquarium. Smiling. Laughing. You blurry, covering your laughter as Felix looks particularly goofy and pleased with himself, as if he'd just told a stupid joke. The last one has been ripped off.

Oh. Right. He'd seen it while snooping through Felix's wallet a few months ago; the photo had been the reason he'd put the wallet back at all. The way the two of you were kissing in the final photo, so wrapped up in each other, and love, and joy, had made Oliver feel almost physically sick with both want and jealousy.

God, he has to leave, has to stop snooping again and actually find this library and the rest of the Cattons.

Walking through Saltburn's many rooms alone makes Oliver feel like he's constantly out of bounds at a museum. There's hints of life throughout the building, but they're few and far between compared to the ornamental, carefully curated decorations of each room. Even the hints of the Cattons themselves seemed... too purposeful. The little, animated 'Catton Family Players' puppet show is the kind of thing only rich, whimsical weirdos could ever think was charming, and not just bizarre, vain, and haunting in the same way that porcelain dolls were.

But then he hears laughter, and warm chatter from down a hall, and the tinny, purposeful shouting from what could only be a movie or TV show. It sounds so much like his own family's living room on a cheerful evening that it's almost relaxing. Almost.

Because as he's approaching, he realises they're talking about him. They're picking apart the life he'd fed Felix as if it were mere gossip, speaking so airily, their sentiment so clearly out of touch that he'd probably find it amusing if he didn't have to pretend to be living it. Briefly, he wonders if they spoke like this about your life, or if the novelty of you had worn off in the years before. Perhaps you were just glad they could focus their pity and unapologetic classicism on someone else for a change; he couldn't hear you in there, which surprised him. Maybe part of him had expected you to defend him the way you had back at Oxford. Maybe you don't feel like you can at Saltburn. At least Felix sounds embarrassed, irritated as he admonishes Farleigh for having told the rest of the family.

Before he enters the library where the rest of the family has gathered, Oliver pauses by the door, both to get a better idea of what they're already thinking about him, but also because he'd spotted someone watching him from one of the adjacent rooms.

Bleach blonde hair, stars clinging to the tights on her legs, she's reading a book that Oliver can't quite see the cover of. Venetia was written on the collar of the little, blonde puppet in the Catton Family Players; Oliver suspects this is her. Oliver thinks she could be considered very beautiful, if she didn't seem quite so sharp. The way she huffs a laugh and wears a dangerously amused smile after she'd taken her own time in analysing him seems to prove as much. That being said, Oliver's not sure if she's laughing at something about him, or about the fact that they can both clearly hear her family's disparaging remarks about his apparent upbringing.

"Farleigh seems to think he's ghastly," Oliver hears a woman say as his hand comes to rest on the door handle, "why are you and our dear pet even friends with him, darling?"

"Dirt poor, not attractive, and his parents are drug addicts," a second woman's voice seems to surmise as Oliver lets himself into the room, "I can't actually -" but Felix makes a noise as he sees the door opening, and the woman goes quiet as Oliver peers in.

"And here he is now," Farleigh sounds as thrilled as he ever was to see Oliver, "we were just talking about you," like he's trying his best to make Oliver feel as unwelcome as possible. It's... kind of working. Bastard. However looking over at him does solve one mystery; you and Farleigh are sharing a sofa at the back of the room that's only just big enough for the both of you as long as you're tucked up against him, his arm slung over the back of the chair behind you.

And you're fast asleep against him.

The blonde woman on the sofa who shares Felix's elegant, effortless beauty admonishes Farleigh, even though Oliver can tell from her voice she was one of the ones very much talking about him only moments before. Oliver has the grace to pretend like he hadn't heard, though is still glad for the vaguely embarrassed, apologetic look Felix is already giving him.

This has to be Felix's mother, the blonde with the airy voice who immediately gets up to greet him, to assess him.

"Oh, what beautiful eyes," oh thank god, "oh, how wonderful!" There's genuine surprise and adoration in the way Felix's mother regards him, and Oliver can't help but feel relieved, like he's finally passed the first of what he's sure will be many tests during his life at the Saltburn estate.

"Yeah, we told you he wasn't a minger," Felix pointed out when his mother turns to him.

"Oh, but darling, you and pet are kind about everyone; neither of you can be trusted about those you're fond of." Pet? Does she mean Y/N? Suddenly Farleigh's comments over the months make a strange amount of sense. At the very least Oliver's heart begins to sing at the idea of you and Felix speaking so kindly of him to the others that they know you're both especially fond of him... And you both seem to think he's beautiful enough that you mention it when he's not around. Huh.

But yes, the moment the woman explains her aborrance of ugliness Oliver knows he's talking to Felix's mother. At least she seems to like him well enough, going so far as to ask if he'd seen Venetia yet, that even she'd been dying to see him, but had chosen to drape herself around the house as if laying in wait for him. Indeed that's how it had seemed when he'd spotted her earlier, but none of them have let Oliver get a word in edgewise.

Felix's father is the next to introduce himself, all long limbs and warm handshake to match his smile, just like his son. When he asks Oliver about his trip to the estate, Oliver finally breathes, can finally respond.

"Oh, God, don't with the 'sirs'," Felix's mother waves him over to sit down, insisting, "no, no, no, we can't stand anything like that here," though her outburst seems to have been enough to rouse you. As Oliver sits, he hears, syrupy and warm with sleep from behind him -

"Ollie!" As you had each time since he's arrived, you sound so genuinely delightful. Farleigh makes a noise in the back of his throat. Oliver turns in time to see you elbow Farleigh in the ribs.

"I liked you better when you were asleep."

"Fars," your voice drops low, like a warning, and Oliver's surprised by how sharply Farleigh looks away, jaw clenching tightly, "be good." Oliver almost thinks Farleigh might be angry, but then he sees the gentle way Farleigh's holding your shoulder, thumb rubbing circles against your upper arm; from what Oliver can see, he realises Farleigh's expression is almost embarrassed -

"Children, stop bickering," Felix's mother orders brightly, and your expression returns to unbothered and chipper as you refocus on Oliver.

"Hi Ollie," again, then as more of an offer to the rest of the room, "isn't he just lovely?" Oliver flushes, but gives you a fond smile, even as you settle back against Farleigh. Even though Farleigh persists with glaring at him, when he turns back, he rests his cheek against your head, oozing malevolence as he seemingly tucks himself against you too. But he does indeed remain quiet.

After the altercation passes, Oliver gets a brief introduction to one of the other house guests at Saltburn, Pamela, brief being the operative word as she's quickly sent away to ask about tea from one of the staff members at Felix's mother's insistence. Pamela herself doesn't exactly seem confident in the task, but that's once again when you speak up. Much to Oliver's surprise, you give a detailed physical description of the woman - Annie - and succinct directions to the kitchen itself, following it up with a yawn and -

"The Irish one, a bit mousy, might have trouble meeting your gaze but she's nice enough."

Pamela looks far more confident thanks to your directions. Oliver's genuinely shocked at your level of detail and knowledge, but everyone else seems to be so casually used to it.

"She is a bit like that, isn't she?" Felix's mother muses with an idle air, and when Oliver glances back at you, you still have your eyes closed, as if close to falling back asleep, while Farleigh has his faint, fond laughter pressed against your temple.

Before Oliver can even reckon with the moment that had just come to pass, Felix's mother is regaling him with all of Pamela's dirty laundry, before she dives right into pitying Oliver himself, and the sob story of his life and most recent 'tragedy' she's heard.

She looks at him just the same way Felix had. He think of the moment he'd decided to commit to this Dickensian kayfabe, that day in the pub when Felix's eyes were fixed on him, all pity and desire and a desperate need to fix, to save, to be a light in Oliver's life. The way this woman speaks, the way she looks at him in this moment, makes Felix Catton make total and complete sense. Something inside Oliver relaxes; she would not be hard won.

As they circle back around to the tragedy of poor Pamela, however, something about what Farleigh says, pointing out that the tragedy of her was the only interesting thing about her, sticks in the back of Oliver's mind.

Being beautiful and tragic would only ever get him so far, would only ever make him a novelty. It takes another glance back at you for him to realise a little more of why you behaved the way you did; tragic and beautiful and useful. That's the thought that turns over in his mind, even as Felix's mother starts her line of questioning about the sordid details of his upbringing, and Venetia joins them only to stare at him like a bug, and Farleigh only seems to be holding himself back from outright contempt at your behest. You are once again asleep. At least Felix makes a token effort to reprimand his mother, not that it appears to make much of a difference.

Oliver offers what little he can get away with, and feels only relief when Felix insists they start getting ready for dinner. Oliver practically bolts, he doesn't even wait for Felix like he probably should have, just desperately hoping he's got the right door to his own room. Clearly he has, swearing when he's finally in his little piece of sanctuary, but after a beat he realises that even that has been breached.

His suitcase is no longer at the foot of his bed.

In another moment, the door that connects his room to the bathroom squeaks open and there's two more people in his room without bothering to even knock. At least Felix is apologising for his mother. Part of Oliver thinks he should have expected the Cattons to be exactly as out of touch as this house implied, that he should have braced himself better, that it's not Felix's fault, but the apology is still nice.

Also he's rather distracted by the fact that all of his clothes have been organised neatly in the old, wooden cupboard.

"Did someone unpack my suitcase?" Oliver hears himself ask distractedly. Looking back when Felix makes a noise of guilt, he sees Felix sitting on the edge of his bed with an apologetic smile, and you next to him, laying back on the bed and looking at the ceiling.

"Uh, shit, yes, I should have told you," Felix admits, "they do that kind of thing here." Rich, whimsical weirdos, the lot of them, "the maids all report back to mum, by the way," Felix informs him, while you're just quietly swinging your legs off the edge of the bed. Felix's tone turns teasing, however, "so I hope you didn't pack anything scandalous." Oliver leans on the wooden foot of the bed, into Felix's space with an amused smile at the thought - pushing his luck, pushing into Felix's space to play off of the idea of scandal, so close to Felix and his mischievous smile. Felix leans back, the tease, giving Oliver space to quietly say -

"Just my old boxers."

You snicker. Felix grins.

"No, they're used to that, don't worry," but then Felix is up again, almost too close, looking at Oliver like he knows this is all some kind of joke, like he know - like he wants Oliver to keep looking at him, at his teasing smile, at his lips like that, "Duncan will be thrilled." Like this is all a game. Oliver snorts a laugh.

But the moment doesn't last, and Felix is moving again, getting up, telling Oliver a new rule - ahead of time this time. Dinner at Saltburn is an event you dress for, with the kind of dress code that requires a dinner jacket and cuff links and - Oliver would be properly embarrassed if it didn't mean he got to wear Felix's spare jacket. Felix seems almost embarrassed by it all, his casual nature clearly butting heads with the formality of his heritage. In this moment he almost seems childish, it's rather sweet. Judging by your smile, you're endeared by his behaviour without even having to see it; you hadn't even thought to sit up; your eyes have fallen closed, as if basking in this moment.

Oliver watches you, the way you radiate contentment. You were not born into Saltburn, but you'd made it your home. You'd won the love of Felix Catton, and a place in his life, that no-one else had managed to achieve. Hope was a beautiful thing, and you were both in this moment.

"I'm really happy you're here, Ol," Felix finally murmured, and finally Oliver believes him, "I'm sorry everything's so... old fashioned."

"No," Oliver's voice is soft, "it's wonderful."

The pleased smile Felix wears as he heads through to his own room makes everything about this strange, ritualistic, obsessive, critical world worth it. Over his shoulder, he asks if you'll be coming through too, and you tell him you'll catch up in a second. Felix closes the door over quietly, and after a moment, Oliver joins you, laying back on the bed.

"I like your room," Oliver breaks the silence after a moment. After a moment, a hum that's more like a contented laugh escapes you. You mumble a thanks; it's been a few hours since he'd seen you initially, your chatter had died down considerably, it seemed like you'd sobered up a good deal in the afternoon that had just passed.

There's a million things Oliver wants to say in this moment, things he wants to do, questions he has about you, about Felix, about Saltburn.

"It's not-" he finally starts, voice so soft as he finally turns to you, "it wasn't your fault, by the way."

When you turn to meet his gaze, there's surprise and confusion in your eyes, clearly not sure what he was referring to. Its been a long time now since he'd deliberately reached out for you, since you'd slept together, since Felix had first started giving him resentful looks. Things are better now. Much better.

"What?"

All it takes is a deliberate, gentle touch, his hand taking yours, apology in his eyes. Its enough to acknowledge that he'd spent time pulled away from you, that you weren't crazy to think that, and that you weren't at fault.

Oliver's always liked watching you process things, at least when you allow the world to see it happen on your face, not making an effort to hide it. You look down at his hand on yours, grip loose like more of a reassurance; raising your joined hands like you can't quite believe the sight, he takes the opportunity to link your fingers. It wasn't your fault.

Looking deliberately back at the ceiling, he gives you the time and space to process this development without feeling so watched.

"Oh," you mumble quietly, finally, "it's..." you give his hand a squeeze, "thanks?" Oliver smiles, and knows you see it, can see in his peripheries the way you're watching him now, but when he goes to withdraw his hand, you hold him tighter for just a beat, as if on instinct, before you let him go.

"Can I be bold for a moment?" He breaks the moment, breaks the tension, voice light and inquisitive.

"I like your boldness, Ollie, you know that," you respond automatically, matching his energy easily. Sitting up, Oliver turns to fix you with a scrutinising look for a long moment, and you wait, you watch him with eyebrows raised and an amused smile painted across your lips.

"You're sleeping with Farleigh," it's not a question. Your smile grows wider and far more smug.

"Ollie - Oliver - look at me," you prop yourself up on one elbow, gesturing down at your body, "look at where we are," you gesture around at the bedroom itself, "how many Summers do you think unrelated teenagers in close proximity, growing steadily more attractive with each passing year, can get through without ending up deciding to fuck to pass the time?"

Oliver, charmed by your blunt confidence, can't help but laugh, while also being able to connect enough dots to the implication that he should expect you to be just as close to Felix's sister too. You join him in his laughter, finally sitting yourself up. Oliver knocks his knee with yours, deliberate, and watches with a kind of fondness as you immediately focus on the moment of brief contact. You'd missed him, just as he'd anticipated.

But the laughter dies down, and you finally stand, sighing that you should probably get yourself ready for dinner too. Before stepping away, you lean back down with a wide, goofy smile that reminds Oliver a bit of Felix, and gently grasp his chin, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. Oliver, a little startled by the gesture but welcoming it nonetheless, feels want burn through his veins momentarily as he watches you head to the door.

"Oh, Ollie, there's some stuff under the sink for you," you yawned and stretched and Oliver tried desperately not to stare at the way your shirt rode up, "shampoo, toothpaste, contacts; junk like that, you know, just in case." Wait, what was that last one?

"Contacts?"

"Yeah," like it was perfectly fucking reasonable, your hand on the door, "in case you didn't bring any or you ran out - there's actually a spare pair of glasses as well, if you'd prefer. Same frames as yours, I wasn't sure-"

"You know my prescription?"

"Yeah?"

"How...?"

You go quiet. You shrug. Its not a real answer.

Right; a magician never reveals their secrets. Its not particularly reassuring for a man lying about a large portion of his life.

For now Oliver just tries to remind himself of the way you look at him, the way you want him, the way he loves you, for who you are, for all you can do.

"Thank you," he says quietly, gives you a smile and hopes you believe it, "you're good to me." He's not sure what about that surprises you, but he catalogues this in the back of his mind. There's something beautiful and, he suspects, rare, about catching you off guard. But your next words are enough to return the favour, have his heartbeat in his ears, hopeful and quick as a humming bird right before you leave.

"Of course I am, Ollie, I love you."

And he's not sure why, but he believes you.

[justjams2003]

Over-ripe

I fear...people are going to be a bit upset with me for starting a new story and not updating any of my other ones... But I have to go where the old man obsession takes me! And I fear this time it's bad...those who follow my second blog know...

So, here is my vision. You've heard of Big Daddy Elvis (BDE). And you've heard of vampire!Elvis. So please all imagine for me, Alpha!Big Daddy Elvis.... I fear the brainrot has me...

Summary: After an exhausting night, overwhelmed by the crowd and meds, Elvis stumbles onto the wrong floor. Where he finds an omega, innocent, sweet like over-ripe fruit, ready to be plucked.

Pairing: Alpha!Big Daddy Elvis x Omega!Innocent!reader

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Omegaverse, grooming (kind of), reader just barely 18, talk of: heats, ruts, scent glands, rutting, scenting, fated mates. Over-protective, obsessive. Innocent reader. Toxic/abusive father, gambling addiction. Alcohol, drugs. Talk of divorce, mentioning Priscilla. Tell me if I missed any.

Word count: 4,4k+ unedited

Dividers by:@mmadeinheavenn and @crylynnluv

Everything is spinning like one of those damn globes on a stand. The music, it all just sort of becomes one big blur of a ringing sort of noise. The pheromones of a million horny teenage omega is just the thing to send an alpha like him into overdrive. The sweat drips in his eyes and as the people cheer his name but, he can only curse the name of one. 

That damned so-called Doctor Nick got the dose wrong again or something. Because this feels like a migraine had a love child with a hungover and birthed the damned throbbing sensation in his head.

Doctor Nick was supposed to suppress his senses and now it only feels heightened by a million. What only makes it worse is the people begging for his attention after the show. Clinging to him more than the sweat clings to his hairy stomach. 

"Sonny, God damn it, would yah leave me alone. All of yah!" His temper flares as a thick Southern rumble comes from him. His entourage all jump back, realising that the charming smile he gave on stage was as fake as it could come today.

He has no control over his alpha voice and everyone around him preens, baring their neck in submission. Not that he didn't love when people begged for his attention, except only when it didn't feel like someone was dead set on killing him. 

His feet drag across the carpet floor and in his messy haze he chooses 3 instead of 30. The white LED lights match the colour of the rows and rows of doors. And right now, he couldn't give a damn if he was on some random floor he didn't entirely recognise. Instead, he just sort of slumps down against the wall. His stage outfit feels entirely too tight, and he claws around his bulge hoping for some sort of relief. 

His head hangs in between his knees as chest heaves. Like his heart is going to explode. How long he sits there, he has no clue. But only when his hearing comes back it's sharply interrupted with a loud frustrated yell. And then the harsh slamming of the door. He doesn't bother to raise is head as his voice rumbles out. 

"Would you stop it with that damn hollering!" But it's more a command than anything, and his words are met with a sharp inhale. His head very slowly and carefully raises, he expected some sort of fight back for his command. Or at least some sort of faffing about his name.

But his heart is quickly grabbed and twisted right out of his socket when his eyes meet with ones so big and watery. 

A scent of an omega, so sickly sweet he hasn't smelled anything like it before. Like an over-ripe mango in the middle of summer. Nice and cold from the fridge, cooling your insides from the summer eat. The type you have to eat like the sloppy animal you are. Your teeth ripping into the soft flesh. The juices cover your mouth and drip-drip-drip down to your sweaty chest. Your hands a vibrant orange colour from the sweet nectar. And even days later when you lick your lips you can taste mango and nothing else. 

And suddenly the ringing fades away as he feels guilt stab through him for yelling at something so fragile looking. A girl, but a little thing compared to him, sort of slumps down against the door, same as he had. She pulls her knees up against her chest and then fiddles with the hem of her much too short dress.

"I-I'm sorry sir, I didn't know- I didn't think of- um-" She sort of stutters out an apology. Along with the honey covered fruit smell, she reeks of a beta. All around her like someone pissed on her feet to mark their scent.  

But he just can't seem to find himself to care all too much about the weak response. "What's got you all fussy?" The alpha in him instantly wanting to coddle the little omega.

He leans his back against the wall as he rests his hands on his wide spread legs. Almost as if he's making himself bigger for the little girl to either be scared of him, or trust him, he doesn't entirely know yet. His chest puffs out and he licks his sharp teeth. She might reek of another man but he's quick to notice no mating mark.  

"My papa, he's being a big... meanie." He almost had to stifle a laugh, that was most definitely not the response he was expecting. This 'papa' must be the one protecting or, or at least trying to, with his gasoline scent. "And why's that, little one?" Elvis asks, fighting off his iconic side smirk as he truly takes her in. As cute as a button, but with the body of a woman and yet dressed in something clearly not age appropriate. 

"That's just the thing. I ain't so little no more. I just turned 18, I'm a big girl. He brings me to Vegas. I thought that meant I could do yah know, what grown ups do." Her voice rambles, still playing with the hem of her too short dress. He can see her cute little pink panties showing but she doesn't seem to realise it. Or at least if she does, she doesn't seem to know it's a bad thing. He spreads his legs wider, hoping for some relief. 

"And what would that be?" Elvis can see when he just opens his mouth, a light dusting of pink falls on her cheeks before falling away again. "Yah know..." She mumbles, but it's clear that she isn't entirely all too sure. "No I don't, you'll have to tell me." His voice is coated with a condescending tone however it doesn't register with her. Instead she just sort of leans her neck to the side, already submitting to him. Such a weak little thing. No fight either.  

Her front two teeth capture her bottom lip before letting it go with a pop. He can see her small little canines and his subconscious mind immediately thinks of how tiny her mark would look on his shoulder.

 "Yah know... Talking about grown up stuff and dancing, all in pretty, fancy clothes." Elvis supposed that it could definitely be seen like that to someone like her. He however doesn't really want to break this bubble that she lives in and just nods, showing her to continue. 

"But he won't let me. Just tells me that he's got himself into trouble with dangerous men and that I can't go out. What's that gotta do wit' me?" Things seem to slowly fall in place for the famous rock star. A gambling addict, in debt to one of the many mafia that seem to run this place. Trying to keep such a frigid omega safe. But clearly, this little one needs an alpha like him. To mark her, let the whole world know she’s his. "He's right. Vegas ain't all that they make it out to be." 

She huffs, clearly not liking this answer and her tongue moves again. "How would you know? You ain't Elvis Presley." Now... now he really can't stop himself from smiling. "How would yah know, little girl?" Again, like before, she gets all wide-eyed when he uses a pet name like that. "My papa tells me Elvis is...is...a delinquent. Whatever that is... And a, uh, sexual deviant. And well, I don't really know what either o' those mean but I know yah ain't either of them." 

An earthy deep rumble laugh escapes him. "Aren't yah just something?" He mumbles, shaking his head. Usually he'd be pissed off that someone would go around saying stuff like that about him. But the way she stumbles over the big words that don't register in her mind can only make him laugh. She so needs someone to take care of her. "And why would somethin' like yah want to go out in Vegas? Doin' all these adult thangs?" 

She looks down, slightly embarrassed by his laugh. But also entirely unsure about this hot feeling that tickles her stomach when he laughs like that, or talks like that, or looks at her like that. Or this sticky substance that she feels coating her thighs.

"I like dancin'. But Papa don't like the way I dance, he don't like me dancin'. Says I'll end up becoming just like that Elvis fellow if I dance. But, a big girl like me should be able to do what she wants." 

She sounds so sure of herself and now Elvis really has to see this dancing she's talking about. "Well, I suppose so. But if a sweet thing like you goes around doin' what she wants in a big girl place likes this, she'd get taken advantage of." Just like he's about to do now. But he just can't resist bringing this little thing out and seeing the look on her face as he corrupts her. Safe her for himself, make her see the way he wants. She’s so easily could be moulded into his. 

She tilts her head to the side, like a confused puppy. Damn this damn costume really is too tight now. He stands, trying to adjust himself without her noticing.

"How about this, little girl. If your Papa leaves you all on your own again, you find the nearest elevator, m'kay?" Elvis speaks, a commanding, dominant, alpha tone in his voice as he points to her where to go. He knows the best gambling times are right before and during his shows, there are less people in there then. The Colonel is always gone at these times too... 

Like an obedient dog she nods her head, looking up at him. Wide eyes swimming with the sweetness her scent carries. "Then you gon' press the button for the very highest floor. Once you're there, don't get scared when a big lookin' guy asks what yah lookin for. Just tell 'em that Aron is lookin' for his little lamb. Alright? He should show you 'round then. Alright?" She quickly scrambles to her feet. 

She nods her head frantically, wiping her sweaty palms on her little dress, since everything suddenly just feels so hot. Elvis is quick to see the way her thighs rub together, a smirk falls on his lips and it takes everything in him not to groan. To not fuck her right here on the hotel floor and mark her as his.

What’s going on? He didn’t even mark Priscilla. He never felt this impossibly crazy, like a real fucking animalistic need to make her his...this just has to be something more. 

"Okay Sir. And that's your name then? Aron?" Elvis winces slightly. He doesn't like people calling him that. Sounds like his mama is scolding him all over again. But he also, really, for now, doesn't want her to know who he really is. She’d sigh away, hearing what her father said about him. "It's uh my second name, I don't want you quite knowing my name yet, dollface. I gotta go now though. But you'll be a big girl and do as I ask?" 

Her teeth find her bottom lip again as she fights off the whimper that threatens to escape her when he says something like that. Her pink lips become even pinker when her wet tongue grazes it. She leans against the door handle, needing some sort of support to keep herself up, as she nods, showing she'll listen. He gives his iconic smile. "Alright, good girl. See yah then."  

The girl gently slides open the door. The smell of alcohol is strong in this little rented hotel room. But she doesn't care. She leans against the door, a big smile forms on her face and she lets out a dreamy sigh.

Her thighs clench together when she thinks about that southern drawl of his again. And she just can't help but wonder if it was fated for her to meet this beautiful big man. 

He'll be damned. He didn't think that there was anyone left who didn't know what he looked like. Much less what he sounded like. His voice is just about everywhere these days and if she didn't recognise him at all it means he has discovered a gem he's been searching for. Someone who didn't treat him like the great Elvis Presley, but instead like some man. 

And even if he is just some man to her, she looks up at him like he's got some way to grab the sun an the moon down for her. Even if they've only just met. And then, right on time exactly as he had thought he smells her before he hears a faint knock in the door. Shy and gentle, almost afraid the wood of the door might hurt her. He calls for her, his voice is like raw honey. Deep baritone alpha that he is. 

He sees her head just barely peak out into the very dimly lit room. He can't help but let a lob sided smirk fall on his face. Just seeing her wide eyes, worried that everything about this might just be wrong. He holds out his arm, resting it on the backrest of the sofa.

"C'mere darlin'." She slowly closes the door and like a little mouse crawling towards a piece of cheese she steps towards him. He's quick to grab onto her tiny little dress, pulling her closer to him until her thigh is pressed against the outside of his leg. 

She's already hot, he can feel it. He can't help but wonder when her next heat would be. Or if she's ever even had one, surrounded by her beta father all the time. And even if she had, he knows the sudden exposure to his smell is sure to bring it on soon enough. He gives it give or take a week, if he has to guess. 

He's leaning back, his legs wide spread like the man he is. He's already in his stage outfit, just like she saw him last time. Her hair is tangled and he's sure if he were to check, the label of her dress would read "14-15 years." His hands trail up and rest on her hip, just wanting to keep her here. Keep her close. He could do so much for her. Make her so happy. 

"I wanna show yah somthin', but yah gotta promise not to be mad, darlin'." Her face contorts and her head tilts to the side like a confused puppy. "Why would I get mad?" He lets out a slight sigh and then readjusts his pants. She's just too damn adorable for her own good. He wants to grab her into his arms and kiss her until she's squealing his name.  

But he doesn't. Instead he licks his lips and speaks again. "You'll see, baby, you'll see." She hides her bottom lip in her front two teeth making her look like a little bunny. "Now, you wanna go like this or you want me to find yah somethin' else?" Then she let's go of her bottom lip and pushes it out in a pout.

She looks down, fiddling with the hem. "What's wrong with this?" Again he just sort of sighs, looking at how the dress is full of holes and sits just barely below her round bottom. 

"Well, don't get me wrong, sweet thing, I really don't mind this look on yah. And I'll give the dress back to yah. But I gotta take care of yah, since your papa is away. An' I don't want men looking at this body of yers. Your Papa would be very upset." She bites her lip again, tearing away at the plump skin. He just can't help himself but take her chin and pull the lip out from he violent teeth. 

Then slowly she nods her head, her head tilts to the side. "You talked to my Papa?" She asks, at least she has some sense of defence. "Oh yeah," Elvis lies, taking her delicate little hands in his. So mini, just like everything else of her. Softly squishing the small pads right below each finger on her palm. Slowly tracing higher on her wrist. His fingertips letting out as much of his scent as he can. That intoxicating sugary smell fills his nostrils.  

"He said he wanted me to take care of yah, while he's busy." Her doe eyes follow his fingers, fully entranced. He can’t help but bring her wrist to his lips. Soft, so soft.  She doesn't even question when he talked to his father, or what he’s doing, just sort of nods.

"A-alright. Gotta listen to yah." A smile prickles his cheeks when she says that. "Yes, exactly, sweet pea, now you understand." And his grin grows even wider when she preens for him. 

Elvis smiles and nods, slowly standing up and walking to his closet. He gives her a once over, hell, he'll have to find some of 'Cilla's old clothes, give it a better scent that Priscilla’s overwhelming Iris smell that still lingers all these years. In any case, that might be all he can find that would fit her. He rummages through and suddenly takes a sharp breath when he finds it. A wide smile across his face as he holds it up for her to see.  

Frilly pink dress from when 'Cilla was your age. And the moment this little girl sees it, she gets sparkles in her eyes. She bounces on her feet and he can see her hands are eager to grab at it. "Yah like it, little one?" Too excited to say anything, she just rapidly nods. She’s holding herself back as much as she can. 

Elvis hands the dress to her, she's so so careful with it. And he knows his scent is all over it, he's likely rutted into that dress a few times. After he tries to comfort himself after the divorce. Savour all of the flowery smell he’s now all too glad to get rid of. So he just smiles when she raises the dress to her nose, taking soft breaths.

He sees the sweat bead on her forehead and she stutters, not understanding what's happening to her. He frowns, that shouldn’t be happening yet. 

He then points to the bathroom, "Go on, put it on." It's almost as if she jumps into the bathroom. A low wolf whistle escapes him when she steps out in the pink frilly dress. She blushes like a sweet little strawberry made just for him to feast on. Rip into with his sharp canines.  

"My, my, little thing...I'm gonna have to fight off the other men." He chuckles, his hands slowly finding her arms, his thumbs rubbing up and down. Somehow she becomes even pinker and it takes everything in Elvis not to lock her away right now.

"Now c'mere, let me brush yer hair." This time she doesn't ask questions, just nods and follows as he puts her down on the soft matted floor in front of a bed. He takes his brush and begins slowly brushing.  

"I never did catch your name, little one." He mumbels, his hands slowly parting your hair in different sections. Making sure to 'accidently' graze your scent gland. Making sure his leather scent will stay. He loves the way your whole body shivers. And the name you give him too, sweet as the a honeysuckle. But he'll likely still prefer a cute nickname, how else will he get you all fussy? "An' you're an omega, right?" 

Elvis is caught completely off guard when she tilts her head to the side. "What's that?" Bless the moon goddess above, Elvis shifts his hips forward. Almost resting his knee on your shoulder, loving the way you take deeper breaths.

He bites down on his lip and looks up at the mirrored ceiling. Trying to keep himself from taking her right now. And the damn suit is too tight again. "Yah don't know...?" She blushes and fiddles with the ruffles of her new dress.  

"Papa homeschooled me. I don't know much of much." She says, quite ashamed of this but Elvis can only smirk. "An' where did yah grow up?" Elvis sees the way she tries to remember the name. "Something Mem...mem..." He chuckles, continueing to brush the knots out of her hair. "Memphis?" She nods, but just barely as to not bother his progress. 

"Why, baby I'm from Memphis. How come I ain't never seen you b'fore?" Again she blushes, "Papa didn't let me out too often." That's an understatement, seeing how she's wearing children's clothes and doesn't even know what a second gender is. "You're killin' me here, baby." She seems terrified of the thought, "O-oh no, I don't want that-" 

He chuckles, placing his large hand on her shoulder. He lets her now brushed out hair fall down. So long, never been cut before. "Don't worry, little omega, I'll teach you." She leans her head back, looking up at him upside down. "Yah will?" She asks, clearly so very hopeful. He nods, caressing her soft round cheeks. "Of course, your Papa asked me too." He lies. 

"Now... everyone... I have a very special guest with me today," Elvis has the mic in hand standing in front of his various band members that keep this show going. They all wait in anticipation for his next word. He moves the mic to the side and turns to you. His arm reaches out as he gently guides you in front of him. "C'mere, little one." 

You squeek, suddenly being at the attention of quite a few people. They all ooh and aah, looking over eachother at the tiny omega with the intoxicating smell. They can tell, Elvis has already scented as much of you as he could without you noticing. The little girl blushes even more when they all peak at her like some pet.

"Now, this little one tells me she likes dancin'." He says, the mic back up to his lips again. "Let's make some music she can dance to." He suggest to them and they holler and cheer at the thought. 

Again he whispers to you. "Don't get all shy in me now. Show me that dancin' you were talkin' 'bout." Elvis speaks, his hand still in your arm. Needing to be touching you somehow at all times. You just nod, taking a gulp already feeling shy. But something in his voice almost forces your body to comply. An overwhelming, demanding need to do whatever he says. 

"Alright, Glen, you gon' start us off." Elvis begins scatting into the microphone, letting the piano player follow his notes. "Get the bass up." They follow his command like he controls them.

"That's alright. That's alright. Any way you do~." The moment he begins singing it's like something comes over him. His legs and hips shaking as he feels the music. And as sure as hell, the same seems to happen to you. 

"Ah, ah, ah, ah," he repeats into the microphone, feeling the groove. "That's alright Mama, that's alright wit' you, that's alright Mama, any way you do~" He directs his words to the sweet little omega he found. Who is moving her hips like she was born to do so. And he's certain if his Mama were here to see it, she'd be crazy about you. 

He can't help but take your hand, spinning you so that your back is against his chest. He grabs your hips and presses it against his. "That's alright, that's alright now mama, any way you do," the way he grabs his southern drawl from the very depth of his stomach makes your gut clench and that stickiness forms around your thighs again. You bite down, really not wanting to ruin your new dress. 

"Now mama she done told me, papa told me too, son that gal' you foolin' with ain't no good for you." His hips jerk in movement with yours and he feels just about 20 years younger in that moment.

Your two bodies move like you've planned this whole thing beforehand. His large hand on your waist, gripping you as your hips move together. As if all his years of fighting for his right to dance on stage has paid off in the form of this cute little omega who moves like she'd been made for him. 

You feel his pudge rest just above the curve of your ass. Something hard pressing against your back and you chase this sort of giddy feeling forming in the bottom part of your body. Like adrenaline is forming in your stomach. And these butterflies that cause your thighs to press together. His smell, you've never smelt anything like it before. Leather, lemon and sandalwood.  

It all comes from this hot and heavy sweat that makes him look so shiny. It bewitches you and makes your vision hazy. Makes you want to press your face in his dripping hairy chest where before you'd cringe at the thought. The urge to lick it up like a dehydrated animal burns under in your belly. You have to bite your tongue to stop yourself. What’s happening? What are these strange thoughts you’re having? 

It’s as if he's burning down all your defences, making you feel things you've never felt before. See things you've never seen them before. Chase after things you never thought to chase before. What is this you're feeling? So hot, so so hot. Burning. His scent is burning you up and the only place that feels cool is where he touches you. 

Elvis notices it immediately. The way your eyes glaze over when you look at him, your breast perk up as if your body is trying to sell itself. And your sickly sweet fruit scent develops into that of intoxicating alcohol.

A sweet gin that you could so easily drink straight from the bottle. No need for tonic. He doesn’t even like alcohol but he needs to taste more. It makes his head swirl and he grips your waist tighter and bends down. 

He presses his nose down into your scent gland. His canines grow, he licks the crook of your neck. No omega or beta or even a weak alpha could notice the change so slightly. But he does, it's like he's gotten the manual to your body and has dedicated his life to studying it. "Come on, baby, give me just a few more hours. Can’t you wait just a bit longer?” 

Elvis begs and pleads and you’re entirely sure what for. Or if you can give him what he wants this time... 

I don't know if I'm going to write a second part, but if I do, comment to be added to that taglist!

[kwlsn]

It was almost ten past fifteen and Mikey still hasn't touched his dinner; eyes fixating on your silver white hair — the shade that was brighter than his, like a glimmering star.

"Your hair is ugly."

He spat viciously, putting his utensils aside as you kept your head down. You felt disgusted and angry at the faux silver, wondering what made him purposely taunt you like this after years of no contacts.

Even when Grampa got hospitalised, he never showed up just like Shin. Leaving Emma taking care of the house all by herself as you had to find a professional coach for the dojo, unable to put any hope on the two guys anymore.

"Are you saying yours, too?"

"Watch your tongue."

Sanzu pressed his gun against your temple, giving you one last warning after you had been disrespectful towards Mikey for three times straight; trying to provoke him whenever he tried to talk to you.

"Sanzu Haruchiyo, I suggest you not to act brashly."

Ran took out his baton, looking at the pink-haired guy menacingly before you placed your hand on top of his. Giving it a light squeeze to ensure him that you'd be fine.

Giving Sanzu one last glance, Ran put his baton away and Mikey told Sanzu to do the same with his gun. Hoping this dinner would end with no blood splattered over the walls or someone's head on Mikey's dessert plate.

You looked down at your meal. It was your favourite pork cutlet and it went cool now, unfortunately. The sauce was already absorbed into the meat and the crispy part was too soggy for your liking now.

"The three of you, leave now."

Ran gave you one last glance before leaving the dining hall, mouthing a 'good luck' as you were now alone with one of the most wanted criminals in the whole of Japan.

It made you wonder how he was still able to waltz around the city and not attract anyone when his face was almost everywhere; where the same thing applied for Shin.

Bonten and Black Dragon were two groups that no one wanted to talk about but one thing for sure — they weren't nice and merciful, even to the women and children.

"It's already late, at least eat something."

Mikey whispered to you, moving your heart slightly as you finally gave in and took a bite from the cutlet; enjoying the soft meat slowly melted into your mouth, the taste kept getting addictive at every single bite and when you realised it, you had finished the whole plate.

Mikey stood up from his seat and walked in your direction with a bottle of wine, placing it on the table beside your left hand.

"Do you want me to pour you some?"

Before you could reply, Mikey poured it onto your glass; not showing any sign of stopping as the wine began to overfill and spill over to the table.

Thinking fast, you tried to move your glass away but somehow your body wouldn't move and Mikey plucked it from your hand gently, pressing the glass against your lips.

Mikey was happy that you were still as gullible, trusting your brother who took you out for dinner even though he could bend the rules to his heart's content; participating in money laundering for drugs, prostitution, human trafficking and successful assassination of high-ranking officers and ministers.

Feeling grateful that Sanzu had put a lot of different drugs on the food and drink, Mikey picked your unconscious body up from the chair and told the manager to clean it up, leaving no trace of him in case of police going here.

"Don't worry, you'll be okay now."

Mikey looked at your sleeping form on his lap, looking like a part of the lost collection of Michaelangelo's best creation.

The way your hair fell against his chest, eyes closed and lips slightly parted — you always drove him insane and he knew that his choice this time would be the correct one.

Placing your body onto his bed, Mikey ran his fingers over your soft and plump skin; licking on his lower lip as he couldn't wait to finally own you forever.

His hands started to strip you off your clothes, watching every curve on your body before tracing them slowly; trying to find which part would be the best for you to bear his mark of ownership.

"Fuck, why are you so hot.."

He took off your bra, kneading your left breast gently and watching the way your face contorted whenever he focused on a certain spot; low moan and heavy breath kept escaping from your lips.

This time, he ripped your panties off and spread your folds open; feeling a slight twist in his heart when his thumb slipped into you, trying to find your spot as his finger brushed against a soft, spongy spot inside you.

A broken moan ripped off from your throat, another call for him to induce you with more drugs before you could wake up; a side of him urging Mikey to overdose you but his choice landed on one pill, not wanting to lose you again.

After pushing another pill down your throat successfully, Mikey picked up where he left.

He knew it was wrong for him to do this but it felt right; you laying down under him, wrapped in his arms and no one to call for you.

The day he watched Shin kiss you, marking the day where he had lost his respect towards the older man and making his way onto you before the Black Dragon could trace you.

"It'll be fast."

A warm, heavy breath escaped from his lips. His eyes made a beeline, watching your bare body and feasting on it; Mikey knew he'd have to snap out of this indulgence one day,

but, then again, he'd always enjoy it while it lasted.

"So, trust me on this one."

He put two digits inside of you, listening to the squelch your walls made; clinging on his fingers, begging for them to pay an equal amount of attention as Mikey pulled out, not wanting for you to cum all over on his fingers for tonight.

We always have time for that

He unfastened his pants and took them off with his boxers, a small wet patch on it already told him enough whenever he looked at your face; he got a hard-on and already leaking precum, dripping onto your stomach.

Gripping on the soft flesh, he spread your legs and pushed the tip in; a moan caught at the back of his throat, you were wet enough but still too tight for his fat head to slip in with a single thrust.

"I see, you've been saving it for this moment, huh?"

His cheeks got warmer at the thought of you saving your first time for him, biting on his lower lip harder before he forced his way in; throwing his head to the back as he could feel his tip brushed against your cervix.

This is not enough

He wrapped your limp legs around his waist, thrusting deeper until his pelvis made contact with yours; knowing it was the right time to finally cum inside you, not wasting any single seed and stayed in that position for a few minutes before pulling out.

"Finally, you're mine — we'll have a little family we could call as our own."

He nestled his head against your stomach, pressing a line of kisses up to your lips; cupping your cheek before he fell asleep, knowing tomorrow would be a better day from now on.

A few days later, Takemichi was currently facing one of the hardest situations he had ever met.

Every billboard at the Shibuya Crossing was showing the same shocking news, no matter how hard he ran and looked away, he would always see that.

'We wish for Manjiro Sano and his wife a happy and harmonious marriage life. Congratulations for your marriage, Mr.Sano'

The displayed picture was both of you and Mikey, wearing a white three-piece suit while you were wearing a white mermaid gown with a deep sweetheart; a beautiful black garnet necklace adorned your neck and a pair of platinum rings on both of you and Mikey's ring fingers.

"I failed to save her again this time."

Takemichi's head started to spin and felt lighter than before. He had to sit down on a bench as an expected text notification popped up on his lock screen.

Mikey : takemicchi, make sure to come to my wedding reception tonight~

Mikey : bring Hina, too, 'kay? My wife missed both of you

Mikey : invitation.pdf

Mikey : make sure to show it before entering, 'kay?

He thought years ago, it'd be the best for him to join Toman and pledge his loyalty for Mikey for years.

It felt so right since he didn't see any troubles within his friends' and colleagues' personal lives; Mikey also has cut his contact off with you, meaning your death could be avoided this time.

He decided to abandon his morale and kept Hina close to him, fearing that she would die if he made a slight slip up.

But, when he already avoided his fiancée's death; he forgot about one of the biggest factors that ruined almost everyone's lives in Tokyo because of Mikey's reckless decisions — yours, his beloved wife.

He didn't think that he'd see you when you were so much younger and what made him shocked the most was that, Mikey was your big brother.

He knew Mikey was insane in the future due to his obsession towards you, but when he first joined Toman; Mikey always gave him a warning.

'Make sure not to get yourself saved by my sister again, Takemicchi.'

He leaned against an electric pole, thinking that everything had been twisted from the start. There was nothing he could do to prevent Mikey's obsession towards you and that meant, you'd always die three years after getting married to Mikey.

"What to do now..."

He looked down at his hand, scurrying over to Hina and thinking about one thing he never tried before.

The runaway bride

[serenaisavillain]

The Veiled Serenade - II

Summary: Prince Aemond and his brother Aegon traverse amidst the murky depths of Flea Bottom, where darkness reigns supreme. A web of intrigue is woven, fraught with forbidden desires and veiled intentions. As alliances shift and secrets unravel, the stage is set for an ardent tale of power, betrayal, and illicit love affairs in the heart of King's Landing.

Warnings: Contains sensitive themes, including imagery of graphic violence, as well as depictions of sexual assault and harassment. The story contains explicit language and mature themes, including substance abuse and addiction. Word Count: 1.4k Series: I Authors Note: I'd love to hear your thoughts on the fic.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" the Queen boomed through the threshold of her second son's chamber.

The prince swore the candles that hung above their heads flickered at his mother's sudden outburst.

Aemond swallowed.

His toes clawed into the Sunspear rug below him as his eye focused on the ridges of the stone behind his mother's auburn head, her face turning scarlet.

"Aemond?!" She grabbed a fist of his small clothes.

"Mother?" His tone fell flat, his pale lilac eye trained to hers.

Her lips fell agape.

"You are not even listening! Of course not! No one listens to me!" She muttered to herself.

The boy exhaled through his nose.

"Why? Why must you encourage him?" She asked with glassy eyes, her eyebrows knit together.

His mother was always on the verge of tears, it had grown quite predictable, quite a bore.

"He is the oldest..." She began, shaking his shoulders with her frigid hands.

"And you are the wisest..." they said in unison.

The Queen dowager blinked rapidly, her brown eyes searching his for any semblance of remorse, instead, she found something darker, something that broke her gaze.

"I went with him to make sure he did not drown in his cups and soil himself in Flea Bottom... again." Aemond huffed.

"And well?..." she folded her arms.

The prince sighed.

"He got drunk and taunted a rhymester…”

KING'S LANDING was alive under the dim light of heaven's stars. Y/N traipsed along the dirt road, lifting her silk gown, its gold color glimmering. She often walked before a performance to scare the spirit of cowardice from her heart, but, tonight she was finding it quite the arduous task.

Two pale hands pulled her out of the road and into an alley knocking the breath out of her lungs.

THE DAY WAS SPENT at The Crimson Lotus, a bath house in the bustling market district. Renowned for its exotic offerings; specialty baths infused with fragrant oils, rare botanicals from across the Narrow Sea and especially noted for the Dornish ladies who worked their glamor magic.

It was an unfamiliar place for the girl, but Fin had spared no expense, ensuring that every aspect of her grooming was attended to with the utmost care. He was well aware that the more alluring his songstress appeared, the more coin they would earn.

Before the grooming began, she was brought a chalice of a spiced Dornish red. She brought it to her lips, humming in satisfaction.

Her hair was meticulously washed and styled, mimicking Sunspear women. They took their time twisting and creating intricate patterns. Sandalwood and vanilla musk oil were added to the bathwater, before slices of blood orange were added along with cinnamon and clove. Once submerged in the steaming bath she soaked for a time, her skin becoming soft. The women gently cleansed her skin with a traditional herbal scrub leaving it radiant and smooth.

After she was rinsed, she was dried and laid out on a wooden table where several women tended to her. Every stray hair expertly plucked or shaved. Finally, floral oils were applied to her skin, leaving her glowing and fragrant.

Y/N emerged from the bathhouse a newborn doe, legs knocking together without grace.

"I see you enjoyed the Dornish red I paid for." Fin laughed.

The girl only nodded in response.

The two strolled to their dwelling. Fin stealing the occasional glance.

"You are staring..." the girl hummed.

Fin felt his face warm and scratched the back of his neck.

When they arrived, the girl's amber eyes trained on their humble surroundings; a bucket, a bath, a mattress, and a chair. Fin always slept in the chair despite the protest of Y/N. The girl collapsed face-first on the lumpy mattress and groaned.

"How long do we have?" she mumbled between inhales.

"A time," the man laughed, taking off his boots.

He rose quickly, reaching what was left of their water to bring to her.

"We can get drunk later. I cannot have you slurring your songs on stage,"

Y/N hummed in response before sitting up and eagerly bringing the bottle to her lips. The man grinned. Fin was always smiling in Y/N's company.

THE DARKNESS OF THE ALLEY was all-consuming, and the stench of piss and horse dung wafted through the damp air. Y/N let out a muffled scream behind the rough palm of her assailant. Her legs kicked at his, hoping to shake his balance.

"Shh..." he whispered, his hot breath fanning over her ear.

"I am going to uncover your mouth. Do not scream," he said, his voice steady.

The girl nodded.

"I do not have any coin I-" she began whimpering.

The figure grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. Under his hood, she spotted the flow of his Targaryen locks, the shape of his punchable jaw, and that pleased expression he wore as if it were his birthright.

"You!" she scoffed, her finger jutting at his chin.

"I knew not of other ways to attain your attention…" he mumbled, his gaze dropping to the floor as scarlet dusted his long face.

His eye flickered to her strange ensemble, the way the garment hung on her frame; the fabric cinched at her waist and flowing past her legs.

Y/N let out a long, weary breath, her shoulders sagging slightly.

"I... wish to apologize... for yesterday..." he croaked.

The girl let out a dry laugh.

"And I suppose I am to forgive you now? After you have dragged me into a filthy alley against my will?..." she sneered.

The girl looked down at her dress now stained with godsknew what.

"I came here to apologize! You should be grateful... not many can say they have heard such words fall from my lips..." he spat.

"Thank you, my Prince..." she bowed, "what great honor you have bestowed upon me. I think I will be going now." She smiled politely.

Y/N stepped from the alleyway with caution, so as to not spoil the garment's fabric much further.

Aemond closed his eye, letting his head fall back against a wall. The Seven, if they truly existed like his mother preached, clearly despised him.

Fin's brown eyes widened when he saw his friend's state.

"What... what happened to you?" He asked, rushing to her side.

Y/N's eyes filled with water.

"I ruined your dress..." she sobbed.

Fin cupped her cheeks. Her tears spilling into the wrinkles of his fingers.

"Shhh Y/N... it is just fabric and dye... it is okay..."

Unbeknownst to the pair, the pale-faced prince prowled in the shadows.

The tavern was filled to the brim. Lords sat among sellswords and whores alike. T'was a rare sight. Y/N felt as though the entire kingdom had come to see her perform. Fin had one of the barmaids scrub the dress as well as she could and re-apply what little makeup Y/N had worn. Rouge coated her lips, and Kohl graced her eyes.

The candles shone extra brightly that eve, illuminating the stage on which she and Fin stood firmly planted. He began plucking an upbeat tune as the girl began clapping, the crowd following suit. The tavern shook with the thundering clasp of palms.

"What is good for the goose

is good for the gander,

But I am no man,

I sit and wonder,

when it will be I am asked for my hand

When will I see the love of a man" She began.

A few chuckles rose from the audience.

Prince Aemond lurked from the corner of the room, still enveloped by his dark cloak.

The crowd swayed as she continued singing. Aemond eyed the pleased faces of women and the awestruck faces of men, their expressions changing with every clever lyric, every high note that Y/N whistled out of her mouth.

When Fin's thick fingers plucked the last string of his mandolin the room filled with applause. Y/N bowed, her unruly curls falling forward. The bard walked through the crowd with his satchel open collecting coin from eager patrons.

The one-eyed prince had seen enough, slinking through the crowd, making his way out of the tavern and slithered his way back into The Red Keep.

He knocked before entering his mother’s chambers.

“The songstress denied me an audience… however she sang for all of King’s Landing,” Aemond sighed.

Alicent mused, thinking behind her pretty red head of hair what to do next.

She swallowed the wine from her chalice, “Make her an offer she cannot refuse…”

[corroded-hellfire]

Hey it’s me again!

You send my mind running in loops.

So As you wish, older!Eddie, after the things happened.

Reader finds out that Eddie thinks of her in the shower, so one day after she has put the boys to bed, she sneaks in and joins him. And he’s all like “she’s my dream girl”

Love you bye! 😘

An As You Wish Story

Oh, I love this! I had so much fun writing it. Couldn’t resist having Eddie finally get to reveal that he’s been a bit jealous over reader hehe. So, this takes place between parts 1 and 2, just as a heads up!

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), shower sex, jealous!eddie

Words: 4.4k

“Well, shit. Never done that before.” You huff a laugh as you attempt to catch your breath. Eddie looks as wrecked as you feel. 

“What?” Eddie asks, his head falling back against the wall with a smirk on his face. “Never used a private study room to have sex? What kind of college student are you?” He swipes his hand across his forehead, wiping off some of the sweat that coats his skin. 

The small room—more of a cubicle with walls and a door, smells like sex and is filled with the sounds of labored breathing and clothing being adjusted.

“The kind who’s been going home every night and rubbing one out while thinking about her boss,” you say, bending down to swipe your panties off the floor. 

“I’ll take those.” Eddie plucks the panties out of your hand and shoves them in the back pocket of his jeans he’s just slipped back on. He chuckles when you scoff at him. “Need a souvenir, sweetheart.” Cupping your warm cheeks in his large hands, he presses a sweet kiss to your lips. “Gotta have a reminder that this actually happened and I’m not dreaming.”

“If we’re dreaming, don’t wake me up,” you whisper against his lips. It’s only been a few days since the two of you gave into your desires for one another, acting on what’s gone unspoken for so long. But you were both instantly addicted to one another now that you’ve had an actual taste. And knew the other felt the same. 

It was hard to find time to be alone with one another. When Eddie came home from work, the kids were there. Then Brittany would come home. But all day, Eddie worked, and you had classes until you had to pick up the boys. This led to sneaking in time for one another when you could. A short and quiet makeout session while the boys took their baths. Eddie leaving for your apartment as soon as the boy’s stepped on the school bus so he could bring you coffee before you left for class. And the latest stolen moment was Eddie taking his lunch break to come see you in between your classes. Originally, it was meant as a lunch date. The plan was to take him to a cute cafe right on the edge of campus. But somehow, the library with its private study rooms lured you two in like a siren song. So, Eddie ended up eating something, it just wasn’t food. 

“I really don’t want to go back to work,” Eddie says with a groan. 

“I don’t want you to either. But I’ve got class, too,” you say as you redress. 

“Don’t want you to put your clothes back on either,” he says with an adorable pout. You can’t help but chuckle as you adjust your jeans. 

“You know what I look like underneath them. You can picture it the whole time you’re changing oils or rotating tires if you want.”

“You think that’s all I do?” Eddie asks with a laugh. Now fully dressed himself, he grabs you by your hips and pulls your body flush against his. “And it’s not the same. I’ll get all worked up and hard while I’m putting a new engine in the Subaru that’s waiting for me.”

“Wish I could help you out with that,” you say, running your hands up his chest. The heart necklace he gave you catches the light and makes Eddie smile. It had been the only thing you were wearing while you were fucking. 

“I’m used to taking care of it on my own, baby, don’t worry,” he says with a self-deprecating laugh. 

Frowning, you fiddle with the pick necklace that’s hanging around his neck. You had never wanted to pry into Eddie and Brittany’s relationship, and the same is true now. But there’s always been a part of you that’s wondered how long it’s been since she let her husband do anything to her—even just touch her. 

“Eddie?”

“Yes, princess?” He presses a kiss to your forehead. The nickname makes your tummy all tingly and your head fizzy. 

“Um, I mean you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but—I, uh… I was wondering how long since you and Brittany have been…intimate?”

Eddie’s finger hooks under your chin and tilts it up until you’re looking at him. He’s frowning and it causes a knot to tangle in your stomach.

“You don’t think that’s what this is, do you? That that’s all I want from you?”

“No,” you quickly assure him.

“Good,” Eddie says, tension slipping from his face. “Because you make me so unbelievably happy. God, you’re the best thing to come into my life since…well, Luke.” Your giggle has him grinning like a schoolboy. “But you can ask me anything, sweetheart. I’ll always be honest with you.” He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “And to answer your question, I’d say about six months or so. Eventually I just stopped trying. Started getting off in the shower so often that now the sound of running water turns me on.” He huffs a laugh, and you join in.

“Guess it’s harder to have porn around with kids in the house,” you say.

“Eh, I’ve got a little bit hidden away, but can’t bring them in the shower and that’s my only alone time.”

“Gotta rely on that imagination,” you say.

“Luckily, I had some great material to work with,” Eddie says. His hands slowly slide down your body until he’s cupping your ass. 

“What’d you think of?” you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Well, uh.” Eddie chuckles, his face turning a light shade of red. “You.”

It takes a moment for the word to process through your mind. “Wait… me? Really?” The way you look up at him with wide, beautiful eyes has him wanting to lay you back down on the study table.

“Yes, you. Is that…weird for you?”

“No,” you say, far too quickly, making your cheeks warm. “I mean, it’s hot. You already know I’d get off thinking about you. What’d you think about?”

“Different things,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Sometimes I’d think about you joining me in the shower. Sometimes, usually when I had a rough day, it’d be me coming home from work and just dragging you to my bedroom and having my way with you. Or think about you visiting me at work. That was a popular one. Um, oh.” Eddie pauses to chuckle. “A lot of the times it would be me fucking you in that plaid skirt you wear. That drives me insane, you have no idea.”

Listening to Eddie talk about the different scenarios he’s thought about you in has you clenching your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure. If you didn’t have to be in class in ten minutes, you’d be getting back on your knees right now. 

“Aw no, did I get my girl all needy?” Eddie asks, a devious smirk on his gorgeous face. 

“Maybe.” But he can tell he has; you both know it. 

“Can you be a good girl and not touch yourself tonight?” he whispers in your ear. “Just wait until I can take care of you, baby?”

“Okay.” It almost comes out as a whimper, your knees going weak at Eddie’s tone. 

“That’s my girl.” Eddie presses one last long kiss to your lips, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head. “I’ll see you when I get home, yeah?”

God, how you wish he was saying that in a different context. 

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’ll see you then.”

“Bye, sweetheart.” Reluctantly he pulls away from you, reaching for the doorknob.

“Bye, Eddie.”

When Eddie gets home after work, he tells you that Brittany called him before he left and said that she was going out to dinner with some coworkers. There’s a possibility she was telling the truth, but who really cares anymore? 

“Want me to make dinner?” you ask. 

“I can cook, sweetheart,” Eddie answers.

“Um,” you muse, wrinkling up your nose in a way that Eddie finds adorable. “I suppose…”

“Calling me a lousy cook?” Eddie asks with a smirk. He’s decent, but you both know that you’re better.

“Yeah,” Ryan answers his father’s question that had been directed at you. Ryan giggles and plops into a seat at the kitchen table.

“Hey!” Eddie pouts, walking over to his oldest son. “Whose side are you on?”

“The side of the better cook. Right, Ry?” You throw him a wink and he nods in agreement. “Hmm, now what would you like to eat?” You pull open the fridge and let your eyes gaze over whatever ingredients are inside. 

“Chicken!”

“I can do that,” you say. “Why don’t you boys take your baths now? It’ll take a little while to make.”

“Fine,” Ryan says with a sigh. He heads into the living room, where you and Eddie can hear him share the news with his brother. “We gotta take our baths now.”

Once both of the boys are down the hall, Eddie comes up behind you as you’re mincing cloves of garlic. 

“Gonna distract me?” you ask. “I might lose a finger that way.”

“Never,” Eddie says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Just watching my girl make dinner for me and my boys.”

A warmth spreads across your body at Eddie’s words. You’d never thought of it that way. Cooking is something you enjoy and have always been good at. Suddenly that skill comes in handy in this domestic setting, and it sets the butterflies in your stomach aflame. 

“If you help me, I can get the chicken in the oven faster. And if that happens before the boys are done—.”

“Eddie time?” he asks, making you laugh. 

“Yes, Eddie time.”

He grabs a knife and starts to chop the onion on the counter next to you. Firsthand experience told you how talented and deft Eddie’s hands are, but that aspect also applied to chopping vegetables, it seems. Prep time becomes quicker with four hands working instead of two, so you’re able to get the chicken in the oven while the boy’s voices are still far down the hall and muffled by a door.

“C’mere, you.” Eddie pulls out a kitchen chair, sitting on it before tugging you into his lap. One hand wraps around your back while the other rests on your legs. “Missed you after lunch.”

“Yeah?” you ask as you rest your forehead against his. “Think about me?”

“Every second.”

“Me too,” you admit. “Couldn’t focus on the lecture on genetics my professor was giving. I’m glad my lab partner was paying attention so he could answer the questions on our worksheet.”

“He, huh?” Eddie raises an eyebrow at you, making you roll your eyes. 

“Yeah, he. I do go to a co-ed school, ya know. And,” you pause, letting out an over-dramatic gasp, “have male friends!” 

“So, I’m jealous.” Eddie shrugs and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Sue me.”

“You literally have a wife,” you remind him with a laugh. 

He lets out a pitiful groan and drops his head down to your shoulder. “God, don’t remind me. But you know you’re better than her. You’re better than any other woman.”

“You’re better than all the dumb college boys, Eddie,” you reassure him, running your fingers through his curls. He presses a light kiss to the side of your neck. It brings a smile to your face as you rest your head against his.

“Smells good!” Ryan’s voice sounds from down the hall and you’re quick to hop off of Eddie’s lap. Eddie pulls his chair closer to the table and you open the oven to check on the food.

Both boys walk into the room, Luke shaking out his wet hair like a dog, letting droplets fly around like stray bullets. 

“Hey, watch it,” Eddie says, making Luke giggle. He snatches his younger son up in his arms and holds him hostage in his lap.

“Ryan!” Luke calls. “Help me!”

“Nope, I think I need his help with dinner. You’re on your own, buddy,” you say, throwing a wink to Ryan.

Eddie chortles out an evil laugh and starts to tickle the boy’s sides. 

“Nooooo!” Luke cries. 

“Wait!” Ryan says, hopping over to his father and brother. “Daddy, don’t do that. This is his most ticklish spot!” Ryan grins wickedly as he begins to tickle his little brother right beneath his chin. Luke struggles even more, letting out loud squeals of laughter as he’s attacked.

Chuckling to yourself, you lean back against the counter and watch the three Munson boys being their crazy, usual selves. 

Both boys talk up a storm before dinner, but once the food is served, they’re too busy inhaling their meals to talk. Though Luke does chat a bit, sending little bits of chicken flying on accident. You stick around after dinner and Luke begs to watch The Lion King. The four of you curl up on the couch together, the boys between you and Eddie. It warms your heart that the boys like being between the two of you like this, but when the movie comes up on the part where Mufasa dies, you’re wishing you were next to Eddie. It’s one movie moment that’s always made you cry, and you’d love to bury your face in his neck right about now. Ryan sniffles next to you, and you look down to see a few tears running down his face. He looks up and lets out a small giggle when he sees that you’re crying too. One of his little hands reaches up and wipes the tears from your face, so you return the favor. 

Once the movie is over, it’s time for the boys to go to bed, but both of them want a shakeup in their nighttime routine. They want you to tuck them in instead of their dad.

“Well, fine,” Eddie scoffs, mocking offense. “I see how it is.”

“Good,” you tease, throwing him a wink over Ryan’s head. 

“Guess I’ll go take a shower.”

“Wait! Still want hugs!” Luke attaches himself to Eddie’s leg. 

“I guess you can still get hugs,” Eddie teases, bending down to envelop the five-year-old in his arms. Ryan is next, pressing a sweet kiss to his dad’s cheek before pulling away. 

You shuffle the boys into their bedrooms and Eddie goes into the bathroom to take his shower. Luckily, both boys are quick to fall asleep, and as you double check on each of them one more time, you can’t help but once again think of how something must be so wrong with Brittany to not want to be here for this. 

The water is still running as you step down the hall, and a smirk grows on your face as an idea forms in your head. Making your way to the bathroom door, you slowly inch it open so Eddie doesn’t hear the hinges squeaking over the stream of water. Easing your way in and closing the door behind you, you start to take your clothes off in the steamy bathroom. Your shirt and bra come off silently, joining Eddie’s clothes in a pile on the floor, but as you attempt to take your jeans off, you trip and have to grab the sink to steady yourself.

“Hello?” Eddie calls.

“Thought you might want some company,” you say.

The shower curtain jerks back, and Eddie’s head pops out, hair half shampooed and curls weighed down with the weight of the water. His eyes widen as he takes in your mostly nude figure, a grin spreading across his lips. 

“Am I fantasizing right now?” he asks as you shimmy your panties down your legs.

“Nope,” you say as you click the lock into place on the bathroom door. “You said I wasn’t allowed to touch myself tonight, right? That I should be a good girl and wait for you to take care of me?” Raising an eyebrow at him, you stalk forward. “Well, I’m being a good girl and doing as you told me.”

You step into the shower with him, and Eddie instantly pulls you against him, attaching his lips to yours as the spray of water bounces off his back and starts to soak your hair. His mouth devours yours, teeth gently tugging on your lower lip and tongue licking into your mouth insistently the moment you open for him. Soap-lathered hands run down your naked skin until they land on your ass, which he gives a generous squeeze. When you moan into his mouth, he can’t take it anymore. Eddie’s mouth breaks from yours and travels down your neck, licking at the water droplets that cascade down your skin. 

“Need you,” he mumbles against your shoulder. “Need you so bad, baby.” 

“I’m here for you,” you tell him, breath becoming labored as he leaves a bitemark over your collarbone. “Do whatever you want with me, Eddie. Want it to be like one of your fantasies.”

“Shit, this is already better than all of those,” he growls. You reach behind him and grab his bar of Irish Spring soap. The fresh smell mixed with motor oil is the distinct perfume you think of when it comes to Eddie, and you can’t think of anything better than smelling like him when you go home tonight.

“Wanna soap me up, baby?” you ask.

“Fuck yes,” Eddie says, taking the bar from your hands. He makes sure to take his time, relishing in rubbing the soap over every inch of your body. A giggle escapes your lips when Eddie takes especially long washing your boobs.

“Gotta make sure they’re nice and clean, baby!” he says. 

“Can I wash your hair?” you ask once Eddie’s determined your body is as clean as he can get it. 

“You want to?” he asks.

“Are you kidding?” you ask, widening your eyes. “God, I always want to have my fingers in your hair.”

The smile that grows on Eddie’s face can only be described as adoring, maybe even a little shy. “Sure, baby. Go ahead.”

Excitement washes over you as you get your fingers in Eddie’s hair. As your fingers scratch at his scalp, he lets out a pleasurable groan. It only adds to the burning in your lower abdomen. There’s a blissful look on the metalhead’s face as he leans back and lets the water rinse the shampoo out, your fingers helping the cause. 

“That felt so good, sweetheart,” he says. 

“Bet I can make you feel even better,” you tease, running your hands down his chest, over the sparse hair. 

“S’that so?” Eddie arches an eyebrow and lets his hands rest on your hips, thumbs brushing over your wet skin. 

“Mhmm,” you hum. “Up to you how, though.”

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, squeezing you in his grip. “Would love that pretty mouth of yours. But after washing this perfect body, don’t think I’d be able to take that and be inside of you. And I really, really want that.” 

“Can always have my mouth another day, handsome.” Your teeth graze his earlobe before you turn around and plant your palms against the shower wall, arching your back and presenting your ass to Eddie. 

His pruning hands run over the smooth expanse of your skin. Letting out an appreciative moan, he gently smacks your ass to watch it jiggle in front of him.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “How’d I get so lucky?”

“Don’t go getting a big head,” you tease, smirk hidden from Eddie’s view as you face the wall. “I let all the dads I babysit for fuck me.”

The smack of Eddie’s cock against your clit has you gasping, fingers curling against the slick shower tiles. 

“Gonna keep teasing me, baby?”

“Y-You know you’re the only family I babysit for,” you say through a laugh. 

“Did we not establish earlier in the evening that I have a jealous streak?” 

Eddie lines himself up and tauntingly slowly begins to push inside of you. 

“Shit,” you hiss, grabbing onto the rack that’s holding the wash clothes. 

“Aw, no witty comeback this time?” Eddie asks. “And I’ve barely even started with you.” 

You both let out a collective breath when he’s finally seated all the way inside of you. 

“So big, Eddie,” you moan.

“Still not used to me, baby girl?”

Letting out a breathy laugh, you shake your head. “Don’t think I could ever get used to this. To you.”

Eddie’s fingers dig into your hips as he begins to pick up his pace. 

“Fuck! Right there.” Your knuckles turn white as your grip on the washcloth rack tightens. The fingernails of your other hand are scratching against the tiles, and you swear there will be claw marks embedded there before he’s done with you. 

Tongue poking out of his kiss bruised lips, Eddie keeps thrusting into you at the same angle, hitting the same spot that had you crying out. Both of you are startled at a sudden crack echoing within the shower walls. You’re suddenly off balance as one of your hands falls, the washcloth rack snapped in half from how hard you had been holding it. Eddie’s quick though, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you from falling headfirst into the tile wall. He pulls you up against his body and your fingers grip the arm that’s around you. Taking a few calming breaths, you close your eyes.

“Sorry,” you say, dropping your head back against his shoulder.

“S’okay, baby,” Eddie says before running his nose along your neck. He presses a few sweet kisses against your shoulder. “Easy enough fix. Plus, think it was my fault anyway. Just made you feel too good, huh?”

You can feel him smirking against your skin, but he deserves to; he’s right. 

“So, get back to it,” you say, lifting one arm so you can wind your fingers in his hair. 

“Anything for you, m’lady.” Keeping his one arm wrapped around your waist, he uses the other hand to wrap around your body and rub circles on your clit. His hips start rocking against yours again, causing you to squeeze your eyes closed and let out a whimper. 

The warm water trickling down your skin only adds to the sensation as Eddie brings you closer to the brink. Being surrounded by the scent of his soap on both of you, him holding you so close in the small space of the shower, you feel completely wrapped up in everything Eddie. It’s almost overwhelming and it has you racing towards your release. 

“You feel so good, my girl,” Eddie growls in your ear. The endearment that claims you as his has your walls clenching around him. You’re so close and can hardly find the words to let him know.

“Eddie, I—shit, I’m close,” you manage out in between breathy moans.

“I know, sweetheart,” he says, fingers picking up their pace on your clit. “Your pretty little pussy always squeezes me extra tight before you come.” The fact that he knows that after only having sex with one another a few times has you dizzy. “Come for me, baby girl.”

“W-Want you to come, too,” you tell him.

“Mm, don’t worry about that, princess,” he purrs. “M’gonna fill you up so good.”

“Fuck. I’m—fuck. I’m coming,” you say. The way your walls clench around him mixed with your pretty moans, Eddie’s hips are stuttering against yours before he’s spilling into you. Feeling his warm release coat your walls only prolongs your pleasure, fingers tightening in Eddie’s hair. 

“Shit, you’re so perfect,” Eddie says as he stills inside of you, his rising and falling chest brushing against your back.

“That puts no pressure on me or anything,” you say with a laugh between your labored breaths. 

Eddie chuckles and drops his head to press kisses along your shoulder.

“No, just mean that you’re everything I ever could’ve wanted. Everything I never thought I’d have. Shit, baby, you’re my dream girl.” 

A pleasant warmth comes over your body, having nothing to do with the intense orgasm you just had. A whine leaves your lips as Eddie pulls out of you, but you waste no time turning around and wrapping your arms around his neck. He wraps you in his strong arms and presses your bodies flush together, the sweat from both of you mixing with the shower stream bearing down on you. 

“Seems fitting since you’re my dream guy,” you tell him. “And I’ve had many, many dreams about you.”

“I wanna hear about all of them,” Eddie says, leaning in to press his lips against yours. 

“Could take a while,” you muse. 

“Good thing I plan on keeping you then, yeah?” Eddie smirks and presses a kiss to your nose.

“That so? How long?”

“As long as you’ll let me, sweetheart.”

“Sounds nice,” you say, slotting your mouth over his. Eddie kisses you slowly and softly until the shower water runs cold over the pair of you.

“Wanna borrow some of my clothes, baby?” he asks as he turns the water off. He steps out of the shower and hands you a towel before wrapping one around his hips. You’re distracted by the way beads of water trail down his skin, glistening over his pale skin until they meet the blue cotton towel.

“Uh, yeah,” you say, tucking yourself up in your towel. “Can I wear a pair of your boxers home as well?”

Eddie groans and tugs you into his arms. “Please do. God, you really are my dream girl.”

Letting out a giggle, you rest your head against his shoulder. With your hand, you gesture to your pile of clothes on the floor, nestled together with his. “You wanna keep those panties, too? Add them to the collection you started with the pair you took from me this afternoon?” 

“Hell yes,” Eddie says. “Those are still in the back pocket of my jeans.”

“Had them there all day?” you ask.

“Kept me in a good mood while I was working, knowing they were there.”

Chuckling, you lean up and press your lips to his. “I’m not sure if having your boxers in my backpack during class tomorrow will give me the same effect.”

Eddie pouts, jutting his lower lip out and giving you his best puppy dog eyes. “You mean you won’t carry them around like a trophy?”

You shrug, trying to appear as if this particular look on his face isn’t absolutely melting you.

“Pick me up after my class tomorrow and find out. Maybe they’ll be in my backpack, maybe I’ll be wearing them.” 

“Fuck, I’ll be there, baby.”

[demonlovingsheep]

An MC who is addicted in helping the brothers maintaining their horns, wings, and tail. Why? Cause :

You have such a huge area on Lucifer’s wings and plucking out the old feathers until their all gone is so satisfying. It’s like plucking white hair from your older relatives, except you don’t even get paid a nickel for each cause this is a volunteer service. Maybe the first or second time, but after Mammon saw you get rich, he was offering Lucifer to groom his wings before you and stealing your job 😡.

MC “MAMMON FACK OFF, THIS IS MY JOB I’M BROKE.”

Mammon “WELL I’M BROKER”

Mc “AND WHO’S FAULT IS THAT?!?!”

Lucifer got annoyed at this and stopped paying entirely. You gave Mammon the silent treatment after that and he begged you to forgive him, which you did eventually.

Mammon’s wings are leathery. Maybe use a lint roller to roll all the dust and stuff off. The sound is nice too. You also can’t help running your finger over the boney parts up to his back, which he will flinch and get fluster.

Mammon “Wha-what are you doing? S-s-stop!

MC: I’m taking the elevator up to get closer to your heart 😘

Mammon *turning red like a tomato* “S-Sh-Shuddap dummy.”

Levi’s tail is like removing dried paint from the wall. If you never seen a snake owner holding onto the snake while it moves to shed, you are missing out.

MC “Levi, your tail is awesome, beautiful, gorgeous, majestic, long, sexy, and….looks tasty. *Chomps*

Levi *jumps from his chair and howls, then he died*

Satan’s bones tail often has gunk between the cracks. You use a tweezer to remove them section by section and marvel at the pile your able to remove.

Satan “MC, don’t go too deep, you’ll touch the nerves and it’ll hurt a little. I’m sure there is nothing there anyways.

MC “No no, just give me a moment. I’m sure there is something in here, I needa- *pulls out a huge chunk of dusk gunk* holy hell.

Satan 😳 “Oh my tail is a bit more flexible now. So that’s the reason why.”

MC *happy cause the pile of gunk got bigger*

Asmo is the same with Mammon. However his wings smell nicer and you marvel at how his wings connects to his back. Not something you see often and you wonder if his wing muscles are stronger since his wings are small in proportion to his body but he can still fly.

MC “Asmo, your wings are smaller than Lucifer’s but it looks a bit small in comparison to your size. How do you fly?”

Asmo: Because everyone loves me darling. And their love powers me and is able to carry me off. Oh ain’t I just the prettiest being of the world ❤️!”

Your eyes was about to roll to the back of your head.

Beel’s translucent wing makes u put a hand under it while you wipe it with a towel on the other side. You were kinda playing with it’s characteristics, tracing the lines that runs through it with your finger. He finds it very ticklish but thinks your adorable.

MC “You know, in the Human world there is a thing called palm reading. It’s where you can predict all sorts of things like when you’ll get married, your luck, you longevity, and everything by the lines on your hand.”

Beel “Really? Well I sure hope that there is a line on my wing that means we will be together forever” *smiles happily*

MC *wraps arm around Beel’s neck, nuzzling him* “You don’t need a line to tell you that. I love you and will be there forever!”

Lemme grab that floof at the end of ur tail dammit. Belphegor’s tail is like a cat’s toy and you can’t resist just targeting that floof, oohh that floof. And you will take care of it as if it’s a small fluffy animal. You will bath it, blow dry it, brush it, and top it off with a bow tie. Finally you give it a kiss and this whole dam time Belphegor is getting jealous of his own tail LMAO.

Belphie “MC, give me more attention up here.” *pouts*

MC “No! I want to spend more time with Luna.” *Rubs face against fluff*

Belphie “Luna? You named my tail? What about Belphie? He needs attention too. *Lifts tail away from your hand*

MC “NOO GIMME BACK LUNA U MONSTER!”

Belphie: >:(

*I thought this would be a short post but as I started to write, it just keep going, holy.

[outlastrabbit]

I can't even begin to tell you how many times I find myself revisiting your blog just to savour your writing once more.

If you have time, could you maybe do Leland with a female smoker? Do as you please SFW or NSFW both sound good. Merci beaucoup.

Thank you!🥹💖

Leland Coyle With a Smoker!Reader

SFW💕

We all knew that smoking killed. But in your case, it actually saved your life.

You were being chased by Coyle relentlessly around the police station. Due to your constant smoking, you couldn’t run for as long compared to the other reagents. You were lucky though that Coyle almost smoked twice as much as you, with him only power walking to get to you.

He panted heavily as he sped after you, the embers of his last cigarette slowly burning out. You had a cigarette in your own mouth as you ran, it burning bright while lodged firmly between your lips.

“Perverted fink!”

Coyle slashed his electric baton through the air, effectively striking you across your back. You cried out in pain as the electricity coursed through your body, knocking you down. The very little wind you had got forced out of you as your sore back hit the floor.

“Guilty.”

Coyle pressed his boot down onto your belly, squeezing a wheezy cough from you. As he was about to lower his baton down to shock your ESOP, the glow of his cigarette died out completely. He sighed and grumbled, plucking the cigarette butt from his lips and examining it. You looked up with wide eyes as he ignored you for a moment, his boot still on you but his attention elsewhere.

“Ain’t shit.”

Coyle usually had dozens of cigarettes on him, but this was his last one. He flicked the butt away with a huff, clearly addicted as it turned him to a grouch. You could relate to that though, and it gave you an idea…

“Need another?”

Coyle’s fierce gaze snapped back down to you as you shakily spoke. His eyes narrowed and sized you up behind his sunglasses, his expression unreadable to you. You rummaged through your pocket for a moment, hesitantly pulling out one of your cigarettes.

“Could give you them all if you let me live. They’ll be all fried and ruined if you shock me again.”

Coyle stared down at you for a long moment, his face cold and stern. He grumbled a small sound of consideration before groaning, taking his boot off your stomach. You sighed in relief and pulled yourself up into a seated position.

“Thank you. You won’t regret this. I only got the best.”

Coyle crouched down to your level, holding his hand out expectantly. You handed him a cigarette then pulled out your lighter, but he was already using his electric baton to light it. You took a drag of your own, and he sighed in contentment whilst he savoured the taste.

NSFW💕

On your second trial with Coyle, he was all over you. Something clearly had him worked up, with him pressing his groin flush against yours. He pushed you against the wall outside the courthouse, hidden away in the dark from everyone else.

“Oh, sweetness.”

Coyle took your cigarette from your mouth and held it in the same hand as his own. Before you could protest, he was slamming his lips hungrily onto yours. He moaned into your mouth as he tasted your smoke, lapping at your tongue. He moved it with yours sensually, licking all over to savour the taste of tobacco.

You moaned back, wrapping your arms around Coyle’s neck. You kept your hands closer to the back of his head and scarred cheeks, careful not to touch the crackling car battery strapped to his back. His damaged skin sung at the contact of your gentle fingertips. It had been so goddamned long since he’d done anything like this.

“Fuck, I missed you.”

Coyle’s raspy voice was a deep purr against your ear, his smoky breath puffing over your flesh. You shivered in delight and moaned a little. You couldn’t believe how riled up you got him.

“Really…? I missed you too.”

Your chest heaved under your ESOP, another moan escaping you when he pressed his erection harder against you. He began to unbuckle his belt, slobbering and kissing all over your neck.

“Gonna fuck you so good, darling.”

Coyle unzipped his pants and pressed a wet kiss to your cheek. He then yanked your own pants down, rubbing you through your underwear. You whimpered and begged, throwing your head back against the wall as he moved his hand along the damp fabric.

“The slicker you get, the better it feels for me.”

Coyle tore your underwear down your bare legs, grinding into you a final time before sliding in. You clung to him and mewled, clenching around his length. You both let out long moans, and he pressed his forehead lovingly against yours.

He thrusted up into you at a steady pace, your moans growing louder the deeper he went. Leland was quite vocal himself, grunting and panting heavily whilst he fucked you so good. Just like he said he would.

[blueraineshadows]

Hey I have a Garreth fic idea if youre down for it?

So I was thinking about Garreth being absolutely infatuated with MC, and it drives him mad when she keeps being whisked away to defeat poachers and dark wizards.

Then she gets severely hurt and taken to hospital, where Garreth had a sudden outburst of frustration when she's in the hospital bed and he storms off.

After MC gets better she decides to confront Garreth where he spills out his feelings about loving her and being afraid of seeing her badly hurt (or dead if one of the raids goes wrong).

MC also has strong feelings for him and she admits it too, then they make out hard and then things escalate from there if you know what I mean 😏

I hope the idea is good enough as I've never made a fic request before 😅

I love a Garreth request! ❤️

Have some Weasley Wednesday content!

Garreth Weasley x F!MC - fluff, injury, angst, smut NSFW 🔞

He just couldn't help it. He just had to shuffle a little closer and peer over MC's shoulder as she stirred her cauldron. Her potion was looking fairly decent he noticed, the colour almost perfect. He dared to lean a little closer, the scent of her perfume teasing his nose. "Not bad, MC," he said.

She gave him a little sideways look, her lips curving up into that cute little smirk she did. His heart did a little flip. Why was she so damn cute? It was killing him.

"I guess all the pointers you've been giving me are paying off," she said.

He beamed at her praise, shifting to lean casually against the work table in an effort to look cool. Unfortunately, his elbow caught against a pot of dittany leaves and it tumbled over, the leaves scattering everywhere. "Oh, shit," he muttered. He quickly scrambled to gather up said pot and leaves, a blush colouring his cheeks.

MC bit back a giggle. "What are you doing?" She hissed under her breath, turning to keep an eye out for Sharp. Garreth didn't need any more detentions.

Garreth was scooping the leaves frantically into the pot. "It's fine, no problem," he muttered. He put the pot back where it had been, dusting off his hands and throwing her a sheepish grin. "See? As if it never happened."

Her smile did things to him, fluttering, chaotic things, but he was finding it to be quite addictive. If she was nearby, he had to have an excuse to be next to her. If he got to accidently brush up against her, or, even better, if she put her hand on him, (which she had done, three times now!), then it was enough to make his day.

After following her with his eyes for two years, he might finally pluck up the courage to do something about it. Maybe.

When class was over, Natty leant close to speak into his ear as they packed up their things. "Why don't you just ask her out?"

"Who?" He asked.

Natty gave him a look. "You couldn't be more obvious. She isn't seeing anyone, you know. Just ask!"

Garreth chewed his bottom lip as he watched MC walk out of class. If only it was that easy.

....*....

"Psst!"

Garreth looked up from his book, glancing around the courtyard. He had found a quiet spot to study, catching up on some reading ready for mock exams that were fast approaching. He frowned. Who had made that noise?

"Psst, Garreth!"

He looked up again, a smile brightening his face as he saw MC beckoning him over. She was peering around a column, clearly not wanting to be seen. Curious, he closed his book and headed over.

As soon as he was close, her hand whipped out and clutched his sleeve, she yanked him behind the column and led him towards a shadowed corner. "Ooop, what's this then?" He asked, a little surprised.

She double checked nobody was looking before pulling out a wooden box from her enchanted pocket. "I have a gift for you, but it's er...how shall I put this...hot property? Black Market stuff?"

He looked at the box, his eyes shooting back to hers at her choice of words. "You mean...stolen?"

She cringed. "Shhh!" She pulled him further into the corner. "Not so loud. But, yes...I acquired them, so to speak. I raided an Ashwinder camp, and when I was having a rummage through their supplies I saw this, and I immediately thought of you."

He frowned. "Another Ashwinder camp? Merlin, MC, I thought you were done with all that these days."

Her smile was rueful. "I stumbled across it," she said. She gave a little shrug. "What can I say? I'm addicted to the adrenaline I guess."

"You could get seriously hurt," he grumbled. The very thought made his stomach twist up into knots.

"I'm fine," she insisted. She gestured to herself as proof and smiled. "Perfectly well."

She was most certainly perfect. And too good at winning him over. His gaze dropped to the box. "So, what is it?"

"Open it," she said, excitedly.

It was a fully stocked potion kit, and some of the ingredients were very rare. He gasped as he inspected some of the vials. "These are amazing!"

She was practically bouncing with joy. "I knew you would love it."

He smiled at her, all forgiven. She smiled back. Gods, he could just fucking kiss her right now!

But he didn't. He just gave her a hug instead. And when her arms squeezed him right back, he knew he would be replaying this moment over and over before he went to sleep tonight.

....*....

Garreth had been lounging back on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room, reading up about some of the ways his new ingredients could be used, when he heard some 6th year students come in, gossiping.

"Did you see all the blood?" One of them said.

"Yeah, she didn't look good," the other replied. "I've seen her in Crossed Wands, she is bloody good at duelling, whatever this was it must have been bad."

"It was Sallow's face that got me," the first one said. "I always thought he was scared of nothing, but he looked scared as he carried her in."

Garreth sat up, an unsettling feeling washing over him. "What's that you said? Why was Sallow looking scared?"

They both paused and gave each other a look. The boy gave Garreth a grave face. "We just saw him carrying MC to the hospital wing. She was cut up pretty bad."

"Not moving either," the other one said.

Garreth shot up from the sofa, panic gripping him. "When was this?"

"Just now."

Garreth ran.

....*....

Sebastian was sitting just inside the entrance of the hospital wing, a cut on his forehead and lashes on his arms. Garreth gaped at him. "What happened?"

"Ashwinders," Sebastian sighed. His face was tight with worry and he looked towards where curtains had been drawn around a bed. "I only just managed to get MC out of there. It was bad."

Garreth sighed in fear and annoyance. "Why do you two do this shit?"

Sebastian scowled. "Don't start, Weasley. I've just had Ominis chewing my ear off, I don't need you at it as well."

Garreth was struggling to get a full breath in his lungs. "How bad is she?"

Sebastian paled. He stared at Garreth. "I know you like her..." He trailed off. He swallowed and looked back towards MC. "Just...prepare yourself. She got hit with a pretty powerful Diffindo."

It was a while before Garreth was even allowed to see MC. Sebastian sat with him for a while, but Nurse Blainey sent him away with strict orders to get some sleep. Sebastian promised to be back first thing.

Finally, Garreth was allowed to see her. As he peered around the curtains, Garreth winced, his eyes burning with tears at the sight of her asleep in that bed. Her skin was awfully pale, and the wounds...gods! How was she still alive?

He sat on the chair beside her bed and took her hand into his. He had always imagined what it would be like to hold her hand, he never expected the first time to be like this. It hurt. It made him angry. He could have lost her.

Who was he kidding? He didn't even have the nuts to ask her to be his. And look at her, running around fighting dark wizards and facing death on the regular. He didnt even deserve her.

But he would still sit at her bedside. There was nowhere else he would rather be.

....*....

It took a week for the worst of the wounds to close, and she was weak. But she still had a smile for him when Garreth visited, bringing treats from Honeydukes, and telling her about the exciting new ideas he had for the box of ingredients she had given him.

"You will have them all used up in no time," she said. She smiled. "I'm glad you like them."

"Even if I do use them all up, you won't go out looking for more trouble to find more, will you?" Garreth felt his stomach clench at the thought of her out there again, risking her life.

"I don't look for trouble, Garreth," she frowned. "But, I also won't stand by and watch others cause pain and trouble either. Innocent people get hurt!"

"Like you, you mean?" Garreth bit out. "And why is that your problem? You should be here, studying, preparing for your exams, not running around catching dark wizards."

She stared at him. "If I want to be an Auror then it's all experience," she said. "I have a unique gift, Garreth. Of course I am going to use it for the greater good."

He knew he was being a git, but his fear was clawing up his throat. He couldn't get the image of those wounds out of his mind. They were almost faded now, but he would always remember the red, angry slices on her beautiful skin.

"You almost died! If Sebastian hadn't been there, you would have!"

"But he was there," she said. She reached for his hand. "I'm alright. I will be out of here in no time."

"And then you will be running off to get yourself killed properly, I suppose."

She pulled her hand back. "I'm not going to let this stop me from doing what is right," she said, firmly.

"Then I guess you'd better hope that Sebastian will always be there to catch you when you fall," he said, bitterly. He shunted the chair back and stood, his hands clenched into fists. He had to get out of here.

"Garreth..." She sounded hurt, sad.

He paused at the curtains edge and turned to look back at her. She was utterly beautiful, pale and tired, but so perfect. He thought he might cry. "I just...I just can't lose you. I'm sorry."

He rushed from the hospital wing, regretting those last words out of his lips and the rawness with which he had spoken. The truth of them rung in his ears and he blinked back tears.

....*....

He couldn't face going back to the hospital wing to see her. He felt like an idiot, and he was pretty sure he had annoyed her. None of it seemed fair, and he had been in a foul mood for the last two days. The only time he bit back his frustration was when he asked Sebastian how she was doing.

Sebastian clapped him on the shoulder. "She will be out tomorrow, mate," he said. "You two need to talk. Not only am I sick of seeing your miserable mug, but I am getting rather tired of listening to her worrying over you."

Garreth frowned. "Worrying over me?"

Sebastian sighed. "You haven't been to see her, and she's noticed."

....*....

"So, this is where you've been hiding."

Garreth looked up from his notes, the parchments spread out on the bench in front of him covered in scribbled notes, some crossed out, some underlined. Beside him, his potion box was open and there were vials scattered around the cauldron that was simmering away nicely.

Working on his passion was always a good distraction, and he had begged to use the classroom after hours. Lately, he had been rather well behaved in class, and his assignments had been receiving good grades. Somehow, he was in Sharp's good books.

The reason for the need of distraction had just walked into the room. He had set himself up around the corner, hidden from the door for maximum peace and quiet. But, MC had found him. He put down his quill and slid his hands into his pockets. "Hi," he said.

She moved closer, her wounds healed, her face looking much healthier than the last time he had seen her. His mouth couldn't help but curve up a little. He had missed her.

"What are you working on?" She leant onto the table, picking up a parchment to see his notes. She grinned. "How can you even read these? Your scribbles are barely legible."

"I know what it says, and this way nobody can steal my ideas," he said. He tapped his temple and gave her a wink.

Her cheeks turned a little pink and she slid the parchment back towards him. She cleared her throat and peered into the cauldron. "So, tell me, what genuis are you brewing up this time?"

He pinched his lower lip between thumb and forefinger, eyeing her carefully. Was she going to be cross with him? He'd had to do something. The fear and worry was driving him crazy.

She met his gaze, curious. "Garreth, what is it?"

"It's..." He sighed, cringing a little. "It's an advanced healing potion. I figured that if you really were that determined to go off fighting every bad wizard that dares step foot in your vicinity, then I would rather you went prepared."

He rubbed his hand through his hair, feeling like a first class prick. It sounded like he didn't believe in her capabilities, but he did.

She stared at him, lips parted in surprise. "Why would you do all of this for me? I thought you were mad at me."

"I wasn't exactly mad at you," he said.

"Then what was it?" She asked.

He couldn't meet her eyes. She would see the truth. He was a rubbish poker player.

He startled as she grabbed his hand. His eyes flew to hers. "Tell me the truth," she begged. "I know you sat by my bedside, and you told me you couldn't lose me. Now you're trying to make a potion for me, to stop me getting hurt. What I want to know is why you can't even look at me? Why are you avoiding me? Please, Garreth...I can't lose you either!"

He sucked in a breath. For the life of him, he couldn't tear his gaze from hers now. She was close enough that he could see the little flecks of colour in her eyes, each eyelash curling up to frame those beautiful eyes that he could drown in. He was up to his neck in it with her, it was quite possible he would drown.

"I think I love you," he admitted. "You're beautiful, and you drive me fucking nuts. You're brave, you're brilliant, you make me smile...fuck, I think about you all the time."

The words just kept spilling from his lips, and her eyes were getting wider and wider, but now that he had started he just couldn't stop.

"When you run off to fight Merlin know's what, I'm scared shitless that you won't come back. I couldn't bear it if I never saw you again. Seeing you lying in that hospital bed damn near floored me, MC. I wasn't angry...I was scared."

He put a hand to his mouth. He had to stop this spouting off, she was going to run right back out of this room at any moment, shouting to whomever cared to listen that Weasley had lost his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away. Exposed was too mild a word for how he felt right then. He felt his cheeks growing hot and he wanted to disappear through the floor.

"Garreth," she whispered. He felt the gentle tug of her fingers on his shirt sleeve. "Garreth, please, look at me..."

His breath shook. What an idiot! But he dropped his hand and braced himself to turn back to her. He gaped. She was crying!

"Er...shit...what?" He was confused, his hands flapped uselessly as he thought about touching her, offering her some kind of comfort, but then thought maybe it was best not to. "You're upset...oh, shit. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say all that. Ignore me, I'm an idiot. Fuck, me and my big mouth..."

He grunted as she pressed her hand against his mouth, then she huffed a laugh through her tears and now he was really fucking confused. What was happening?!

"If you would just shut that big mouth of yours for a minute, then I just might be able to get a word in!"

He didn't dare move. His lips were tingling under the touch of her fingers. "Sorry," he mumbled. The word muffled against her restraint.

She smiled, her eyes all shiny with tears. He hated that he had made her cry. But, that thought soon vanished as she shifted the fingers that were pressed to his mouth. She slid them slowly along to trace the line of his jaw. He swallowed so hard it was almost a gulp.

Then, bloody hell, she was leaning in, her face getting ever closer. His heart quickened to a gallop. He might have even made a strange, whining noise, he wasn't entirely sure. Her lips touched his and every fibre of his being was screaming. She's kissing me!

He stared as her eyes fluttered closed, honestly her cuteness just went up another notch, and her lips were so soft. Not one, or two, but three soft kisses before she stopped to look up at him.

"Wow," he croaked. Nice one, Weasley, that will charm her.

She giggled. And then she booped him on the nose. "You're so cute," she said.

Cute? He didn't want her to think he was cute! He wanted her to be breathless, flushed and swooning in his arms.

He kissed her, his lips sealing firmly over hers, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head. He tilted her slightly, leaning forward to dip her backwards a little. Her hands gripped at the front of his shirt, and a small sound came from the back of her throat. Yes, this was much better.

Gods, she felt so good in his arms. His other hand moved to her waist, the delicious curve of it a delight under his gentle caress. She arched against him, her softness a tantalising tease, and he felt the blood rush immediately to his pants.

He kissed at her bottom lip, his tongue swirling for a taste, and when she parted her lips, he didn't hesitate, months of yearning driving him to kiss her deeper. He moaned into her mouth, his hand moving to pull her hips in closer. His blood thrummed through his veins, a haze of desire, thick and heady, was wrapping around him, driven by her little sounds and gasping breaths.

He felt her hands tugging at his shirt, pulling it out of his waistband, and then she was sliding warm palms over his stomach and back. His cock twitched eagerly, the feel of her touch making him sigh, making him want her all the more fiercely.

He needed to taste more, hungry and desperate to bury himself against her softness, drown in her scent, his lips grazed against her throat, the skin there delicate and sweet. Animalistic need made him bite, his teeth gentle but possessive, his mouth drawing her flesh upwards into a heady suck. Her moan almost made him come undone.

As natural as breathing, their hands explored, he was tugging at her tie, loosening the buttons on her shirt, his mouth devouring the skin over her collar bones. Her fingers were in his hair, tugging sharply, raising goosebumps along his flesh.

It wasn't enough. He would always want more. But, he should stop, before this got too far, before he began to play out the naughty fantasy of taking her over the potions table. His face warmed at the thought.

Reluctantly, he pulled back a little, staring down at her flushed face. It was deeply satisfying to see the damp plumpness of her lips, the darkened look in her dazed eyes. Red blemishes marred her pretty neck, and the rumpled state of her clothing was incredibly sexy. He almost groaned with the effort of restraint.

"Why did you stop?" She panted.

He smiled. "Not exactly the most private of spots to ravish you."

Her smirk was utter sin. "Exciting though, right?"

His eyes flared at her naughtiness. "MC!"

Her giggle was very naughty, her hand smoothing over his stomach before tugging at his waistband. She looked up at him through her lashes. "I want you," she whispered.

Garreth sucked in a breath, the ache for her sharpening into a pain. He pressed his forehead to hers, his hands moulding her hips and around to cup her arse. Fuck, she was so soft and round and he wanted to bury himself in it.

"Do you want me?" The breathless moan in her words had him panting.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned.

She arched, grinding against him, slow, teasing rocks of her hips. Garreth could hardly breathe, staring at the movement she made, transfixed. His cock was straining in his pants, dripping and desperate.

Fuck the fact they were in a classroom, he couldn't quite care when she was writhing up against him like this. His hand had a life of its own, sliding up her skirt to reveal the tops of those high socks she wore, the silky skin of her bare thigh was utter bliss, and then he had a handful of peachy soft arse, his fingers hunting greedily under the fabric of her knickers. "Oh, fuck," he groaned, through gritted teeth.

He moulded the shape of her, his fingers tracing the sexy curve of her cheeks, the tips grazing dangerously close to her heat. She moaned, writhing against him. "Touch me," she begged.

He slid a hand a little lower, squeezing her cheek, before dipping his fingers below. She was hot and wet and he groaned as his fingers slid against the slick. She panted desperately, her finger nails beginning to bite into his skin.

He sucked at her neck, nibbled her ear. "More?" He asked. She nodded, whimpering.

He slid a hand around to tug open her knickers at the front, sliding a tentative finger in that way. He felt her thighs part eagerly, his breaths hot against her ear as he slowly circled the pad of his finger over her slippery folds. Fuck, she felt good.

He went for it, finding the hot throb of her opening and slid his finger inwards, her walls immediately clenching around him. "Fucking hell," he groaned.

"Yes," she panted. Her hips rocked. "Garreth..."

Now, he would happily admit that he was inexperienced, a few cheeky snogs did not prepare you for the full blown raging horniness of this moment. He was fucking loving it, in his element, but he was 100% winging it. He had no idea how experienced she was, but she was bold, he would give her that.

Despite the burning need to explode in his pants, Garreth was gentle as he touched her, his finger probing, sliding in and out in a slow rhythm as she moaned and clutched at him. "Good?" He asked.

"Yes," she whined. Her hand gripped his wrist, her fingers fumbling to hold his. She moved his finger a little, pressing against her and rubbing, an incredibly sexy sound spilled from her mouth. It was fucking filthy, and her hips rolled. "Oh, gods, yes...there, Garreth. Right there."

His eyebrows raised so high in arousal and wonder, he rubbed where she had put him, and watched as she became an absolute mess. He forgot about himself for now, he was transfixed, getting the hang of a rhythm as he swirled and rubbed against her clit. Her face and neck flushed crimson, and the sounds she made, fuck!

She pulled him in for a kiss, and he obliged, their tongues fighting for dominance as she panted and moaned into his mouth. He felt the bite of his own arousal hovering at the edge of his awareness, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to hold it off. He just worked his finger faster, concentrating on that.

And then, she was gasping, her hand slapping down onto the table top, and he felt her clench madly, juices throbbing out over his hand. She sagged and her held her about the waist. "Are you alright?" He asked.

She sighed, nodding, brushing her hair back from her flushed, sweaty face. "Never better," she gasped.

....*....

The bite of early winter chill stung his cheeks, turning them pink. He adjusted his scarf and held MC closer against him, savouring her warmth. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She rested her head against his chest, her arms wrapped about his waist.

He thought he might be the happiest bloke in the world.

The rush and snap of Quidditch players rushed past and they both looked up. The match was in full swing, Gryffindor winning against Hufflepuff currently. Usually, he would be jumping up and down, hollering his head off, but today he was utterly content to stand and hold the girl he loved.

Leander had mocked him for going soft in the head, but he didn't care. One day, he was going to turn the teasing on him. He would take his mate's mocking quite happily, because this was quite possibly the best feeling in the world.

Well, almost. No, the best, was when they were both naked and holding each other close like this. Since that evening in the potions classroom, he had been unable to keep his hands to himself, addicted to making her fall apart like she had.

And when she returned the favour, or they timed it to jointly release their desire for each other, well...that was just fucking perfect in his eyes.