#words foy you

[blabbershere]

I don't want all your hours from the tardy day,

I just want five minutes of your time, that's where we stay.

Even when you're in Tokyo and I'm in Versailles.

We are still together, in depths of today.

— Ruth Winters // Five Minutes Together

[nessvn]

I CANNOT STOP THINKING ABT RAYMONDE

[fanaticsnail]

You're Angry at the Tall Men

Masterlist Here

I have two very dear mutual creators on here that are struggling with the flu. Hopefully yelling at the tall men of one-piece will help you both out: @feral-artistry & @sordidmusings

Word Count: 200-400 per gentleman: Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Corazon, Doflamingo

Warnings: anger, violence, suggestive spice for a few, angst, afab!implied but not overly mentioned, height difference.

First time writing for Cora, Croc and Doffy - mainly going off small clips and overall vibes. Apologies if I didn't do your blorbo justice.

(Apprehensive tag list: @gingernut1314, @writingmysanity)

He knows what he did to earn your wrath; your fury ignited in your eyes and the flames physically tangible and searing the room with your scorn. Your brow was furrowed, your lips curling into a snarl to bare your pearled teeth at him.

Buggy: 6’3

“Sit your tall ass down!” you roared at him. The clown shrieked back, immediately reaching his stuttering hands towards the back of a chair to unceremoniously fall back onto the wooden base. Unfortunately, as his ass barely grazes the base; his weight proceeds to fall from its intended target, plopping down onto the cement ground instead of finding comfort on the chair.

“Ah, fuck!” he cried out alongside his wince, his red nose creased as he felt the pain shoot up his coxic bone and tingle up his spine. This moment of failure breaking a small crack in your iron fury, a giggle attempting to break through your anger. He winces his beautiful teal eyes up at you, cringing through the pain and gritting his teeth in an attempt of a smile.

“You are so pathetic,” you growled at him, extending your hand out and collecting his chin within your thumb and index finger. You were held captive by his sparkling eyes beneath his lengthy blue eyelashes as he looked up at you in awe.

“It’s why you love me, right?” he whimpered at you, his crooked smile drawing you in closer to him. You stooped, pressing a small kiss against his rotund, red nose.

“Yes,” you again growled at him, pouting with your brow falling low in the center of your forehead, “but I’m still angry at you.”

“I know,” he grumbled in response, his eyes upturning and almost pleading, “but I can fix that, right?”

Shanks: 6’6

“Woah, woah, love!” he cried out, backing away from your approach with his wide smile plastered to his cheeks. He was still smiling, even when you backed him against the wall with your forearm horizontally pressing him back into the wooden banister behind him.

“You absolute stupid, ridiculous, drunken-,” one look into his loving eyes rendered you immediately defenseless to his aura. He looked at you with such love, his brown eyes holding only softness and adoration within them. He brings up his arm, choosing to caress your cheek and lace a loose strand of your hair to hook over your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into you, leaning his head down and moving his lips against your forehead to murmur into your skin, “forgive me, I didn’t mean it.” Inhaling a deep breath, you feel the rage falling away from you as he continued murmuring sweet nothings into your ear.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re angry,” he breathed his raspy voice into your ear.

“And you’re so handsome when you’re not the one making me angry,” you growled back at him.

Mihawk 6’6

“Mihawk!” your rumbled growl echoed in the high ceilings lifting the light in the large dining room. He was stooping, fingertips halting their descent to grasp the back of his dining chair. He huffed out a sigh, rotating his neck and removing his hat from his head. He placed the hat on his dining setting, and prepared himself to receive your wrath.

As soon as you saw him preparing himself to receive the scorn you were about to bear down on him, you decided to switch it up. Something about how smug he was did not satiate your fire from erupting further. You had every intention of taking him by his wrist and leading him to the impressive steps of the foyer and taking a few steps up to bring you to the appropriate height to maintain eye contact as you reprimanded him.

But his ear was right there, no longer shielded by his broad hat to halt your action. Immediately, you pressed your index and middle finger against the overly sensitive shell of his ear and began dragging him towards the archway leading to the foyer.

“Not quite so hard, dear,” he winced as his steps stuttered behind you. You allowed a sinister smirk to rise on your lips, gaining a sickening amount of joy from knowing you were paining him a little to satisfy your wrath. As your feet found the steps, you relinquished your hold on his ear and turned to face him, your eyes first glancing at the raven curls atop his head that you rarely are accustomed to seeing these days. His head was bowed, his hand drawn up to cradle his ear and sooth over the throbbing shell. At this, your anger ceased and you immediately sought out his eyes by cupping his cheeks and elevating his face.

“I’m sorry, my love. Did I hurt you, are you okay?” you hastily spoke, eyes checking over his face for any semblance of hurt or pain.

“Only my pride, dear,” he replied in a soft grumble, continuing to keep his eyes from joining with your own. You sighed in relief before shaking your head to remind yourself why you brought him here in the first place. You furrowed your brow and slunk your hands from his cheeks to fall them against his chest.

“I’m-,” you began, your angry words halted by Mihawk taking a step forward and pressing his forehead against your own.

“-I’m sorry. Forgive me,” he whispered into your face, his eyes half lidded and sorrow falling over his face, “I never meant to hurt you, and I’m willing to spend all the time it takes to make it up to you.”

Sir Crocodile 8’3

Clutching his cigar in his index and middle fingers, he flicked the ash into the glass and gold tray on his desk. He could hear the fall of your feet outside the door, his jaw falling slack in bored frustration. 

“You devious bastard,” you growled as the door to his office flung open. He inhaled deeply, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out another cigar to clench his teeth onto. As your eyes met, his brow arched while his eyelids hung half-lidded. He sat back against his armchair and uncrossed his legs from their join of the knees. Remaining wordless, he fished around in his pants for his lighter, to find nothing but his golden pocket watch and a few rolls of berry within his leatherbound wallet.

“Be a dear and find me a light,” he dismissed your anger with the wave of his hand as his eyes searched his desk for his capped lighter. This seemed to engage your fury further, making you immediately lunge at him and crawl onto his lap. You drew your claw-shaped grip up to his jaw, snarling into his face as you did so.

“You think I care about your lighter right now, you arrogant lizard,” you spat at him. His eyes widened in surprise, initially being taken off guard by your presence atop his thigh. Immediately after processing the shock, his eyes darkened as he used his large, golden hook to circle around your thigh; trapping it within the metal and drawing it closer into him. Your kneeling position atop his lap was now made ever more dangerous than it had been, not knowing how he would truly respond to your anger. Both of your tempers began to flare as he snarled at you.

“Lighter first,” he growled at you, looking up into your enraged eyes as your hair cascaded down over his face, draped almost intimately over his forehead. You scoffed, flicking the hair over your shoulder and grimaced at him in response. 

“And why should I do that after what you did?” you gnashed your teeth, baring your rage in your now untested situation. The tense air now growing thick and dense as your bodies pressed closer together. He gripped your hips with his hand, his golden hook scraping over your thigh and placing your knee over his waist as he drew you closer. 

“Lighter first,” he began to snarl at you, “or I will channel your rage in another way.”

“Try me, Reptile,” you snarled at him, clenching your teeth as you stooped lower into his face. He immediately stood, his tall body hoisting you up against his hips and slamming your back atop his desk. He hovered over your body, leaning his face down and snarling into you,

“You should’ve just done what you were told,” He growled into your neck.

“You shouldn't have pissed me off,” you gnashed your teeth once more, your eyes widening as you felt his teeth bite down hard on your clavicle, soothing over the new injury with his tongue. 

Corazon 9’7

“Donquixote Rosinante!” you shouted, walking around the halls and tracking the stupor of his step. You immediately heard a thud, followed by several crashing booms reverberating within the hallway. None of these sounds halted your descent, your rage and fury propelling your steps further towards him.

When your eyes fell over his body, he was hoisting himself up from his entanglement with several cleaning products; a mop over his head and a bucket circling over his left foot. He looked ridiculous, his coat hanging limply from his shoulders over his open heart-stitched shirt.

As he rose to his feet, you were taken aback at how truly tall he was; his body towering over your own. You lost your nerve slightly at his stature, but still the edges of your body remained singed with the fires of rage within your soul.

“Cora-!” your words were halted by the man drawing such anger from you wordlessly holding up his palm to silence you. Your brows fell further down your face, your frown deepening as you watched him silently search his surroundings. His eyes widened first, before softening as he stooped down to collect the bucket that was once wrapped around his foot. He blew over the base of the bucket with a small puff of breath, placing the brim on the ground and dusting the base with the back of his hand.

He turned his painted face up to you, a tight smile pulling at his mouth as he extended his hand to you. You sucked in a breath through your nostrils, pouting as you took his hand. Stepping up onto the bucket, you still remained short to his great height. Still holding onto your hand, his smile softened as he bent at the knees to crouch in front of you, looking up into your face with eyes baring great sorrow at how angry you were with him.

Relinquishing the hold against your hand, he gestured for you to bare your soul out to him with a simple swipe of his hands. He was so willing to have you share your emotions with him, it almost made you want to cry with frustration at how truly loving he was to you. 

“You’re just going to sit back and take it? Say something, Cora. Anything!” You screamed, the sting of tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. He continued to watch on, never once rising from his crouch, nor bringing his eyes away from searching your face. It was only when a hot, frustrated tear fell from your eye down your cheek that he rose up to his full size once more. 

He wordlessly drew his palm up to claim your cheek, his thumb brushing the tear away from its descent down towards your mouth. 

“Please,” you whimpered while searching his eyes, “please say something.”

He leant forward, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, circling the other arm around your shoulders and holding your chest flush with his own. His lips found the crown of your head, pressing a soft and careful kiss against the top of your hair.

“Calm,” he uttered, the room circled around him by the spark of his devil-fruit power. You looked at him confused, your nostrils flaring at him while still expressing your anger. 

“Why use the devil-fruit powers now?” you asked him, shaking your head at him as all else in the hallway was silenced. No taps of feet, no drips of taps, nor the sounds of breeze through the trees outside the room could be heard within the silent barrier. 

“Because I want everyone to know how angry you are with me,” he uttered, his nose lovingly brushing against your own, “And I want to be able to scream how much I love you with no consequence.” He pressed his lips against your forehead, smearing his red face paint against your skin as he trailed a flurry of gentle kisses against your nose, cheek bones and the corner of your lips in an attempt to smother the flames of your anger. 

“This doesn’t make up for what you did,” you spat at him, your narrowed eyes looking at him through your eyelashes remaining dark with fury.

“I know,” he admitted, unwrapping his arm from circling your shoulders. He grazed his arm down and collected your hand once more within his, lacing your fingers together as he uttered, “I’m so sorry, my darling. I’ll never do it again.”

Doflamingo 10’

He was immediately expressing joy at how riled up he had managed to make you, his lips curling back into a sinister smile. He darted his tongue out over his mouth to dampen his chapped lip before he allowed a rumbly chuckle to exit from his chest.

“Doflamingo!” You screamed, rage and fury overcasting your usual stoic state with their venom. He rose to his feet and was almost bursting at the seams with how happy getting a rise from you was making him.

“How dare you?! How dare you do that to me?!” You roared, not halting your approach in any way. He towered over you, his lanky build condescendingly casting his feathered silhouette over your body.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he shrugged, speaking quickly with a broad grin continuing to polish his cheeks. His eyes remained hidden by his glasses, your own eyes beginning to prick at the corners with a frustrated rage.

“Wipe that horrible grin off your face before I rip it off,” you spat, your hands demonstrating how truly violent your thoughts were.

“Only if you do it with your teeth, Princess,” he bore his teeth down at you. His smile widened further up his cheeks, your urge to claw out his eyes not satisfied in the slightest. You impulsively swung your hand at his face, your wrist caught within his circled grip. His laughter erupted over his chest at this small demonstration of violence, so easily stifled by his hands.

“Ohh, you’ve got some fire in you today,” he chucked his taunt at you, leaning down further into you; his nose almost brushing against your own with how close he drew himself down to you, “What I’d give to see that demonstrated with your body wrapped around my- AHH.” You halted his words within his mouth by clamping your teeth down against his nose hard enough to draw blood. After tasting the metallic flavor roll over your tongue, you withdrew your teeth from his flesh and bore your red-tinted lips at him.

He reached up to clutch the scruff of your neck, pulling you closer into him and purring a roar of his own into you:

“Mmm, Harder.”

[leclerc-hs]

wait for your love - cl16

pairing: arranged marriage!charles x fem!reader summary: in which you're in a fake marriage OR you and your fake husband might be in love with one another warnings: none?? no smut in this part (SORRY), badly translated french (pls correct me), NOT PROOFREAD!, angst, pining???, jealousy, complicated feelings word count: 3.6k author's note: I'm still unsure how i feeeeel about this one but I tried my best!! I think writing about an arranged marriage is a little hard because i didnt want it to be mafia related so this was my take on it. there will be a second part!! i also want to mention that all these separate parts are just events that are little peaks into their marriage. it is not in the span of a week or anything, it takes place over time. they do not go from nothing to being in love in the span of one week. just wanted to make sure you guys were aware of that LOL. ok love u all. sorry if this sucks.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE MARRIAGE WAS merely a façade, designed solely to serve the interests of both of your media images. You weren’t in love—far from it…right?

“Charles! How are you and the beautiful Mrs. doing?” A reporter placed a microphone in his face, an eager grin pulled on his lips as he awaited an answer.

“Elle est tellement merveilleuse, n’est-ce pas?” She’s so wonderful, isn’t she? His gaze strayed from the reporter to where you stood a few feet down the carpet, posing for the dozens of cameras. “Tellement belle.”So beautiful.

His eyes remained transfixed on you, the rest of the world fading into insignificance as he watched you approach. The chatter of the reporter beside him became distant background noise, overshadowed by the sight of your radiant smile. With each step you took closer, a surge of warmth flooded through him, causing his heart to swell with an overwhelming sense of anticipation. Charles turned back to the reporter just as he said “Looks like she is making her way over here!”

“Salut beau gosse!” Hi handsome! You gently press your lips to his cheek, the warmth of your smile radiating as Charles’ face lights up upon feeling your kiss. His hand finds its place on the small of your back, a comforting and possessive touch that speaks volumes of his affection and protectiveness towards you. A united front.

“You guys are seriously too cute!” 

The both of you smile largely at the reporter, thanking him, before heading down the carpet to enter the movie premiere.

It wasn’t until you crossed through the main doors of the building that you drop the smile, and his hand drops from the small of your back.

“Tellement crédule.” So gullible. He utters the words briefly, prompting a nod from you before you take a small, deliberate step back, putting some distance between the two of you. 

-

You learned early into the arrangement that Charles wasn’t capable of love. His heart seemed barricaded behind the walls of his ambition, his sole focus on climbing up the ladder of success in his career. It seemed easy at first though, it’s not like the either of you had any feelings for each other.

“Assez!” Charles roared from behind his imposing oak desk, his voice echoing through the room. “That’s enough!” His words cut through the tense atmosphere like a thunderclap, commanding your attention and halting any further discourse with an authority that brooked no argument.

With a subtle roll of your eyes, the delicate sundress draped over your form swayed gracefully with each purposeful step towards his desk. His gaze, cold and piercing, met yours as you reached out, your fingertips lightly grazing the polished wood surface. Leaning in just slightly, you locked eyes with him.

“Je vais me répéter une fois de plus,” I will repeat myself once more. You declared, your tone carrying a hint of assertiveness. Tracing the edge of the desk with a meticulously manicured nail, you maintained your composure, refusing to yield under his scrutinizing stare. “You need to be more careful in public.”

Your cheeks flushed red with frustration, a stark contrast against the determined set of your jaw. Despite the tension, Charles couldn’t help but be captivated by just how stunning you appeared in that moment. He couldn’t tell if he hated you or just wanted to fuck you.

He scoffed before reclining back in his chair, the top buttons of his shirt carelessly undone. His tousled hair appeared as if he had run his hands through it a dozen times—or perhaps someone else had.

He watched as your eyes traced along his disheveled hair and the partially undone buttons of his shirt, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Jealous, mon ange?” He teased; voice laced with amusement. Now it was your turn to scoff.

Mon ange. Him and that stupid nickname.

“Jamais.” Never. You replied firmly, your tone leaving no room for doubt as you turned around. With a subtle sway of your dress, it raised slightly, offering him a glimpse of the lace set beneath it. Without another word, you walked out of the room, leaving him to ponder just how badly he wanted to remove that dress from your body.

He always resented how you seemed impervious to his charms. No matter his efforts, you remained aloof, seemingly untouched by his presence. It bothered him to no end. To him, you were an epitome of perfection, a constant reminder of his own shortcomings.

-

“Es-tu affamé?” Are you hungry?

You didn’t care if he was. You just needed to distract yourself from the fact he never came home last night. From the fact that he came home obviously smelling like another woman.

The marks on his neck had your throat feeling tight. Marks from another woman. Marks on your husband.

You tried your best to ignore the dark purple marks littered on his neck, and the tiredness in his eyes as he plopped down on the chair across from you. The umbrella in the center of the table, protecting you both from the bright sun as you sit beside the pool.

“Non, simplement fatigué.” Just tired.

You nodded slowly, your movements languid as you bit into a strawberry, its juices trickling carelessly past your lips and trailing down your neck in a sensuous cascade.

Charles couldn’t help but allow his gaze to follow the path of the juice, his eyes tracing its journey down your neck, almost reaching the enticing curve of your breasts.

You made no effort to wipe away the trail of juice, the glistening droplets lingering on your skin like a tantalizing invitation. With a knowing smile, you relish in the anticipation, fully aware of the effect it had on Charles. Men, they’re too easy.

“You should cover up those marks.” You bit into the rest of the strawberry, before standing from the table, preparing to dip into the pool. Charles hands reached out as you walked by him, his fingers dipping into the strings of the bikini bottoms at your hips. 

His touch seared through you like a branding iron, leaving a scorching trail of sensation in its wake. 

“Est-ce que ç ate derange?” Does it bother you? He looked up at you, his face serious.

The words felt like lead in your throat, heavy with unspoken truth. It didn’t bother you, did it? But deep down, it gnawed at you like a persistent ache, an undeniable discomfort you refused to acknowledge.

“No.” You attempted to push out of his grip, to no avail. “Lâche-moi.” Let go of me. He didn’t.

Never, is what he wanted to say.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned; his eyebrows scrunched as he looked up at you from his chair.

Your hands slipped around his wrists that rested on your hips. “Rien ne va pas.” Nothing is wrong. He cocked his head to the side, as if to say liar. You finally pull out of his grasp, walking towards the pool and jumping in.

End of discussion.

-

“Did you really need to eye fuck her the whole night?” You half-shouted in the passenger seat of his car, the cool leather seats contrasting with the warmth of your bare thighs clad in the mini skirt.

“Did you really take that guy’s number?” He half-shouted back, his hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel. 

“What’s wrong with taking his number?”

There was nothing wrong with taking his number. You both agreed you can date other people if it was kept under the wraps. But despite the coolness of the leather against your skin, it did little to quell the agitation simmering within Charles.

Perhaps it was the rarity of you into dating others. It wasn’t that you couldn’t attract men; in fact, men often vied for your attention. Rather, it was your own inclination against one-night stands that set you apart. Charles concluded in that moment that this must be the reason for his discomfort. And considering you had finally shown interest in someone, did it imply he was special?

“Tout le monde remarque!” Everyone noticed!  He spat out the words, unable to conjure a coherent response in his frustration. Deep down, he knew there was nothing inherently wrong with simply exchanging numbers.

You laughed, a carefree melody that seemed to dance through the car, causing you to lean forward over your lap. The casualness of your reaction grated against Charles, intensifying his frustration. How could you be so nonchalant about accepting another man’s number? The knot of unease in his stomach tightened, gnawing at him with a persistence he couldn’t comprehend.

“So?” You turned towards him; his eyes were focused solely on the road. “It’s not like I fucked him in front of everybody.”

Charles head snapped briefly towards you; his eyes narrowing with sharp intensity. The mere thought of you being intimate with another man felt like nails scraping against a chalkboard, setting his teeth on edge with raw, visceral discomfort.

Why was he so bothered? It’s not like he doesn’t fuck other girls.

-

“Où vas-tu?” Where are you going? You found yourself stood in the archway of the kitchen; Charles leaned against the kitchen island with a glass of water in his hand. 

His eyes trailed down your figure, a short black dress that hugged your curves. He felt his patience wearing thin as he watched you engrossed in your phone screen, fingers tapping away and a large smile on your face. 

Who were you texting?

“Hm?” You said, still smiling down at your screen. “Où vas-tu?” He egged on, his tone dripping with impatience at your lack of an answer.

“Oh, j’ai un rendez-vous.” I have a date. You tore your gaze away from the screen for the first time since you came downstairs. Lifting your eyes, you met Charles with an infectious smile spreading across your face. The sheer warmth and joy emanating from you caused Charles’s heart to momentarily falter in its rhythm.

A date? He felt sick.

Charles remained silent for a few moments, his grip tightening around the glass in his hand betraying the turmoil within him. The sudden crash of the glass hitting the kitchen floor startled you both, causing a shared flinch as shards slid across the tiled surface.

“What about my event tonight?” He disregarded the broken glass around him, his attention consumed by the word “date” echoing relentlessly in his mind.

“Pretend I’m sick or something,” You tilt your head in confusion. “You’ve gone to events without me before.”

It wasn’t until you went to make a step towards the broken glass that Charles snapped out of it. “Don’t come near, tu pourrais te faire mal.” You could get hurt.

The words made you stop in your tracks and your heart clench slightly.

“Je dois y aller.” I must go.

Your eyes meet Charles one last time, you offer him a small smile before pulling your phone to your ear and answering it with a smile.

Leaving Charles alone in the kitchen, the lingering question of when this feeling would dissipate hung heavily in the air.

“Je ne veux pas que tu partes.” I don’t want you to go. He muttered to nobody but himself in the empty house.

-

You went on a relentless series of dates since then, each time returning home with a grin that seemed to mock Charles. He longed to wipe that smug smile off your face, but deep down, all he truly desired was to see you genuinely happy. Yet, the idea of your happiness being derived from someone else filled him with a sense of dread he couldn’t shake.

One night, Charles felt his sanity slipping as he anxiously waited for your return, each passing minute amplifying his restlessness. Was this what you did when he was away?

His unease peaked when you finally walked through the door well past noon, wearing a smile that seemed out of place and with your hair tousled, a stark departure to your usual pristine appearance. A faint, barely perceptible mark gracing your collarbone served as Charles’ triggering a tumult of emotions within him.

“Did you fuck him?” His voice was gruff as he walked up to you by the front door, essentially cornering you between the front door and his body.

Your eyes widened at his tone and question.

“Cela ne te regarde pas!” That’s none of your business! You shouted, your finger pressing into his chest.

His eyes blazed with fury, the green in them almost appearing black. “C’est tout à fait de mon affaire!” It’s all of my business! 

He was aware of his irrationality, but despite that knowledge, he couldn’t shake the overwhelming emotions stirring within him. All he wanted was for the burning ache in his chest to subside.

“Ce n’est pas juste.” That’s not fair. You countered, your narrowed eyes reflecting your simmering anger, your chest flushing red with frustration as you breathed heavily.

“Tu es ma femme.” You are my wife. He folded his arms firmly across his chest, the sinewy muscles of his biceps straining against the fabric of his shirt, emphasizing his imposing presence.

You rolled your eyes, “C’est faux.” It’s fake. The words almost hurt to say aloud.

“Is it?” His words were short as he looked down at you, his gaze unfaltering, almost begging you to admit that there is something between you two.

“Oui.”

You pushed past him, rushing up the stairs and slamming your bedroom door shut.

-

You didn’t always fight though. There were good and bad days. Almost like a real marriage, right?

“Mon ange, wear the blue one.” His voice came from a distance as he sat on the edge of your bed, surrounded by the chaos of your closet. You felt a sense of panic wash over you, unable to find solace in any garment you tried on. You couldn’t even decide on a color.

“You always look good in that one, yeah?” He continued; his tone almost absentminded. Despite your turmoil, his words elicited a small smile, causing a faint blush to rise on your cheeks. Grateful that he couldn’t witness your reaction, you silently thanked whatever higher power existed. You vowed never to let him see you blush from his words.

You stepped out from your closet a few moments later, the blue silk dress that left little to the imagination of your breasts, with a small thankful smile on your face. Charles felt his hands itching to touch you as you leaned over the vanity, applying a last coat of lip gloss.

“Prête?” Ready? You turned back towards him, the small pebble of your nipples poking through the thin fabric, a sight that momentarily arrested Charles’s attention. With an effort, he tore his gaze away, clearing his throat discreetly before nodding in response and leading you out the house.

“Pourquoi cela?” What is this for? You quickly ask about the purpose of tonight over the low murmur of the radio as Charles pulls into the valet area of the event.

“It’s for charity,” He swung open his car door, the faint sound of camera clicks filling the air in the moment it remained ajar before he swiftly closed it again. With a sense of urgency, he hurried around the car to open your door, his movements a flurry of activity as he sought to ensure your comfort.

Tonight, he remained steadfastly by your side, his attention solely focused on you, his wife. He didn’t allow his gaze to wander, even as other females vied for his attention with near desperation. It was a departure from his usual behavior, as if he finally decided to listen to your complaints.

“Tu es magnifique.” You look beautiful. He muttered into your ear, his words meant for you alone, shielded from prying cameras. It caught you off guard—a genuine compliment, untainted by presence of the reporters or observers.

-

“Mon ange, regarde tes cheveux!” Look at your hair! Charles laughter filled the kitchen, reverberating off the walls with a hearty resonance. It wasn’t long until you joined in, your laughter mixing with his in symphony. The sight of both of you covered in flour from your baking rendezvous added a touch of whimsy to the moment, the white powder dusting your hair like a playful snowfall.

You stepped closer towards him, a playful pout forming on your lips, while he looked down at you with a twinkle in his vibrant green eyes. The intensity of the green hue in his eyes was so striking that it caused your stomach to flutter with nervous anticipation.

You noticed his eyes briefly flicker to your lips before meeting with yours again. A silent ask.

His flour dusted fingertips rested against your jaw, holding your face in the palm of his hands, while his eyes flickered to your lips again. 

“Laisse-moi t’embrasser, s’il te plait.” Let me kiss you, please. His words were so quiet, as if you both were secluded in your own bubble. You didn’t answer as your eyes trailed all over his face. As if you weren’t sure if you heard him correctly.

“Ne me fais pas supplier.” Don’t make me beg.

He could feel the rapid pace of your heart, almost beating out of your chest as he uttered the words. You nodded in response, but before you could even finish the nod, his lips crashed into yours.

It was anything but gentle. As if, you both had waited years to be able to do this without a camera in your presence.

His tongue slipped into your mouth almost instantly, eliciting a soft moan that escaped your lips and melded with his own. He groaned in response, his arms encircling your waist to draw you closer, pressing you flush against his chest before guiding your back against the messy countertop. One hand found its place against the nape of your neck and jawline, holding your head in place with gentle insistence. Meanwhile, the other hand tenderly played with the ends of your hair before wrapping them around his fist, holding your hair firmly yet tenderly.

“Si doux.” So sweet. He murmured against your lips; his breath warm against your skin as he continued to savor the moment. 

Your hands instinctively wrapped around his biceps, holding him close, though he showed no inclination to pull his body away from yours.

His lips trailed along your jawline as he pulled the ends of your hair, lulling you head back to give him more access to your neck. Another soft moan left your lips, escaping into the kitchen, as he sucked on the spot where that mark once was.

“Drive me crazy, mon ange.” He muttered against your skin, peppering kisses along your neck, along your jawline, until he met your lips again with a soft peck.

Your eyes met his and you could’ve sworn you would’ve dropped to your knees right then and there for him. 

The distant ring of a cell phone was heard in the background, immediately causing you to push him away from you. Your cellphone.

You looked at Charles with a sense of panic. What were you doing?

As if Charles could sense that panic, he brushed off the pain with a small smile. “Tu devrais répondre à ça.” You should answer that.

-

You didn’t see Charles for a few days following the kiss. 

“Que fais-tu ici?” What are you doing here? Charles eyebrows were furrowed as he took in your figure standing before him, an unnamed bag in hand.

You shook the bag in your hand, “Déjeuner.” Lunch. You waved the bag around like it was no big deal. Like you didn’t come all the way to Maranello to bring your fake husband lunch.

You found yourself unsure of the exact reason behind your actions, yet you did it anyways. With Charles away for the past few days, leaving you alone at home, a peculiar sense of longing seemed to linger in the air. Though you refused to admit it outright, all indications hinted at a quiet, yearning for his presence that you got so accustomed to over time.

“Tu n’avais pas besoin de le faire.” You didn’t need to. A smile pulled on his lips as he slung his arm over your shoulder, grateful for the sight of you.

“Je m’ennuyais.” I was bored. You confessed with a shrug, a hint of sheepishness coloring your tone.

He pulled you into an empty room, wordlessly. Instructing you to take a seat as he grabbed two waters from the nearby fridge.

“Comment se passe le travail?” How’s work? You asked, although your inquiry was more out of habit than genuine interest. Since the kiss, you found yourself at a loss for how to engage with him, unsure of how to navigate the shifting dynamics between you two.

He chuckled softly, choosing to settle into a chair beside you rather than sitting across from you, as if he wanted to be close to you. “Tu m’as manqué.” I missed you. He confessed quietly, his tone revealing a vulnerability he rarely displayed with you.

The tips of your ears flushed with a rosy hue in response to his confession, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Your gaze softened as you reached into the bag, delicately arranging the food on the table before him, each movement infused with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

“C’est bon.” It’s okay. He muttered, a silent acknowledgment passing between you two. “I know you missed me too.”  A smirk pulled on his lips as you shoved his shoulder half-heartedly. 

You didn’t deny it.

[lxclerc]

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 — 𝐜𝐥𝟏𝟔

summary... wherein old photos of you and charles resurface and goes viral, forcing you and the man whose heart you broke to cross paths once again request… no faceclaim... christina nadin pairing… charles leclerc x reader warning… none so far

note... this is going to be part of a series that includes both one shots and smau but can be read as a stand alone

series masterlist main masterlist

current part (part one) → part two

charleslec

liked by username and others

charleslec fans found an old instagram account allegedly belonging to charles from (what we believe to be) ages 12 - 20. the account is filled of personal pictures consisting of his supposed ex girlfriend, y/n y/l/n with sweet captions. y/n is a well known motorsport podcaster from monaco.

view all comments…

username EXCUSE ME?

username this was not in my 2023 bingo card 😭

username you mean to tell me my girl yn dated shARL

username the way that this is probably why she’s had practically the entire grid as guests in her podcast apart from charles

username this is such an invasion of their privacy though like clearly they both didnt want this to be dug up

⤷ username i mean if they didn’t want anyone to see, they should have deleted the account or at the very least put it on private

username okay but these pictures are so 🥹

username i always thought it was weird the way charles and yn never interacted despite both being from monaco and involved the racing world

charles_lec7

liked by lorenzotl and others

charles_lec7 Joyeux anniversaire, mon amour. il y a 16 ans, tu es venu au monde et c'est la meilleure chose qui me soit arrivée. je suis toujours là pour t'écouter parler de n'importe quoi pendant des heures en attendant le coucher du soleil, malgré la plainte d'enzo qui ne veut pas nous conduire 🤣🤣

(happy birthday, my love. 16 years ago, you came into this world and it was the best thing that ever happened to me. i’m always here to listen to you talk about whatever for hours while waiting for sunset despite enzo’s complaint against driving us.)

view all messages… July 7, 2013

yourusername Merci beaucoup, mon ange. Je suis tellement reconnaissante d'avoir passé un autre anniversaire avec toi. Je t'aime plus que les mots ❤️❤️ (thank you so much, my angel. i am so grateful to have spent another birthday with you. i love you more than words.)

⤷ charles_lec7 J'ai hâte de vous souhaiter un joyeux anniversaire 70 fois de plus. (looking forward to greeting you happy birthday 70 more times.)

⤷ username he was going to greet her 70 more happy birthdays because he thought they’d spend the rest of their life together 😭😭

⤷ username i only learned about them today but i am a child of divorce and they are my parents

jules_bianchi Joyeux anniversaire, yn!! Je suis toujours là pour veiller sur toi et Charles quand vous avez besoin de moi. (happy birthday, yn!! i’m always here looking out for you and charles whenever you need me.)

⤷ yourusername merci, jules ❤️ nous t'encourageons toujours (thank you, jules. we’re always rooting for you.)

⤷ username oh my god 🥲🥲🥲

username i ran as fast as i could as soon as i saw the posts and oh my god it’s true 😭

username they’ve 😭😭 been 😭 together 😭😭 since 😭😭 they 😭😭 were 16 😭😭

⤷ username if you scroll even further down, he first greeted her on her 13th birthday where he called her the prettiest girl 🥲

⤷ username i’m about to stab myself

username y’all ever thought that the reason why he probably wanted number 7 is because her birthday is july 7 which is 7/7

⤷ username STOP IT RN

⤷ username his username has 7 in it bc it’s her birthday 🥲

⤷ username someone fucking sedate me

charles_lec7

liked by arthur_leclerc and others

charles_lec7 entrer en 2016 avec la même fille qu'en 2010. mon amour, je te tiendrai la main pour toujours ❤️❤️ (entering 2017 with the same girl from 2010. my love, i’ll hold your hand forever.)

view all comments… January 1, 2016

arthur_leclerc vous êtes tous les deux si ennuyeux 🙄🙄 (you’re both so annoying)

⤷ yourusername arrêtez d'être jaloux (stop being jealous)

lorenzotl Bonne année à vous deux! (happy new year to the both of you!)

⤷ yourusername je t'aime, enzo

yourusername Tu ne m'as pas demandé de sortir avec toi avant 2012 🤔🤔 (you didn’t ask me on a date till 2012 though)

⤷ charles_lec7 Je t'aime depuis bien plus longtemps que tu ne le penses (i love you far longer than you’ve known)

⤷ joris_trouche Malheureusement, je peux le confirmer en tant que personne qui a dû tout écouter. (unfortunately i can confirm this as someone who had to listen to everything)

⤷ yourusername ❤️❤️

yourusername and to many more years to come. Je t'aimerai pour le reste de ma vie (i’ll love you for the rest of my life)

⤷ charles_lec7 as long as i’m with you

username no because they legitimately seem so in love????? like from their words and not just the pictures

⤷ username there’s no way you’re going to tell me that a man who said “i’ve loved you far longer than you’ve known” and a girl who said “i’ll love you for the rest of my life” are no longer in love

username scrolling through this account is like watching their relationship unfold and mature before my eyes

username there’s no way you can tell me that two people so in love, looking forward to the future they plan to have together can just fall out of love and be complete strangers a few years later

⤷ username right!!!! because what do you mean love like this can exist and somehow just fade? what’s the point of love then??????

username the rest of us really be having an existential crisis because of a relationship that ended 6 years ago 😭

charles_lec7

liked by yourusername and others

charles_lec7 10 years from now, i hope it’s still you by my side

view all comments… November 5, 2017

yourusername félicitations, f2 world champion 🎉🥳 (congratulations)

⤷ charles_lec7 Merci, mon amour, je t'aime tellement. (thank you, my love. i love you so much.)

⤷ yourusername 💕

⤷ username i think this is the end guys 😔

⤷ username her energy is so different here. she literally sounds more like a friend greeting a friend rather than a girlfriend of 6 years by this point

username how did we go from “looking forward to greet you 70 more times) bc they were so sure they’d grow old together to “10 years from now, i hope it’s still you by my side” where he sounds so uncertain if they’re in each other’s futures???????

⤷ username no fuck that because how the fuck did we go from “i love you more than words” and “i’ll love you for the rest of my life” to a “💕” without even an i love you too???????????

username this is his last post of her 🥲🥲🥲

⤷ username she doesn’t even follow this account anymore

⤷ username he abandoned this account after they broke up 😭😭

username no bc he’s f2 champion here and they were still together but he entered formula 1 single??? what the hell happened

yourusername

liked by lissiemackintosh and others

yourusername in another life

view all comments…

lissiemackintosh gorgeous gorgeous girl

⤷ yourusername no you

madisonbeer 🔥🔥🔥

yourbestfriend un voyage dans le passé ? (a trip down memory lane?)

⤷ yourusername 😵😬

username no bc your love story had me tearing up and now i refresh my feed and see this?

username she wanted to remind charles what he lost 😭

username in another life!!! i would have been your girlllllll

username literally the one that got away

username i simply can’t accept that this is the end of their story like this can’t be it, right?

taglist: @ncentic @coffeehurricanes @academia-girl00 @nhlfs @livinglifethroughfanfic @sage-butterflyy @chimchimjiminie16 @thatgirlmj @hiraethrhapsody 

[gatinhogari]

Headcanons - Twisted Wonderland

Sᴋᴜʟʟʏ J. Gʀᴀᴠᴇs - Cʀᴜsʜɪɴɢ

Translated✓

Word Count: +1233

Português (Brasil)

Se você em alguma momento pensou que ele nunca poderia ficar socialmente mais estranho do que já era é porque ainda não tivemos o prazer de ver esse meu bebê lindo de 2 metros tendo sua primeira paixão 😩❤️

Ele não tem ideia de como lidar com esse novo sentimento e por um tempo indeterminado, confundiria como sendo apenas mais um hiperfoco em que dedicaria quase todo o seu tempo a saber absolutamente tudo sobre você, suas coisas favoritas, o que mais detesta, hábitos e rotinas... é ele é meio que um stalker nessa fase...

Mas essa nova curiosidade não o impediria de te tratar da mesma forma cortez, cavalhereisca e amável de sempre, só que seria um pouco mais estranho...

Aquelas simples ações que para ele são nada mais que a educação adequada para qualquer um acabariam por significar muito mais se elas fossem praticadas com você. Ele toma seu tempo para beijar carinhosamente as costas de sua mão, sempre que possível abre as portas quando você for entrar ou sair de algum lugar, ajeita o paletó em seus ombros quando a temperatura esfria. Mas enquanto isso, o seu coração aquece com algo novo, alegre, animado, ainda que assustado com estas emoções

Infelizmente, ele é um garoto solitário, que adora falar de seus interesses, em especial, o Halloween, com tanto amor e fervor que as pessoas que ele já conheceu não buscaram compreendê-lo da maneira que ele merecia. E por isso, sempre tenta se esforçar ao máximo em ser gentil para as pessoas, porque apesar de tudo ele quer muito se conectar com elas e, te conhecer e te ter ao lado dele foi uma das maiores sortes que ele já teve

Sair tarde da noite para qualquer lugar sombrio ou mesmo se perder em alguns dos vários quartos esquecidos de Ramshackle Dorm, contando piadas de Halloween, tagarelando sem parar sobre seus novos hiperfocos, limpando o dormitório ou tentando cozinhar algo. Todos esses momentos simples são tão significativos pra ele que raramente são às vezes em que ele consegue te tirar da cabeça

Provavelmente quando ele se dá conta de seus próprios sentimentos já é muito tarde para tentar fingir que eles não existem. Ele está tão apaixonado mas ao mesmo tempo apavorado com a rejeição ou mesmo com o término da amizade incrível que vocês dois compartilham

Como você é sua primeira paixão ele ainda não tentaria te cortejar, é tudo tão novo pra ele e é necessário que a mente e o coração dele reflitam um pouquinho mais sobre

E por isso, ele tentaria ao máximo, na sua forma mais embaraçosa esconder seus sentimentos... não que você ou qualquer outra pessoa não saiba...

Mas é muito importante pro Skully ter a chance de confessar seus sentimentos por você, faz parte de sua evolução como personagem e além do fato de que ele ficaria muito frustrado ainda que lisonjeado se você confessasse primeiro. Ele é um perfeito cavalheiro e foi ensinado como tal, então ele vai tentar o seu melhor✨️

Eu não vejo que um relacionamento não engataria porque ele das duas uma: ou vai tentar fazer a confissão e o pedido de namoro mais complicado do século, ou então da forma mais aleatória e espontânea possível, agora é só esperar pra ver 😉

English

If you ever thought that he could never get more socially awkward than he already was, it's because we haven't yet had the pleasure of seeing my beautiful 2 meter baby having his first crush 😩❤️

He has no idea how to deal with this new feeling and for an indeterminate amount of time, he would mistake it as just another hyperfocus in which he would devote almost all of his time to knowing absolutely everything about you, your favorite things, what you hate most, habits and routines... he's a bit of a stalker at this stage...

But this new curiosity wouldn't stop him from treating you in the same courteous, gentlemanly and kind way as always, only it would be a little stranger...

Those simple actions that for him are nothing more than proper manners for anyone would end up meaning much more if they were practiced with you. He takes the time to kiss the back of your hand affectionately, whenever possible he opens doors when you're going in or out of somewhere, he smoothes his jacket over your shoulders when the temperature gets cold. But in the meantime, his heart warms with something new, joyful, lively, even if he frightened by these emotions

Unfortunately, he's a lonely boy who loves to talk about his interests, especially Halloween, with such love and fervor that the people he's met haven't tried to understand him in the way he deserves. And that's why he always tries his best to be kind to people, because despite everything he really wants to connect with them and meeting you and having you by his side was one of the luckiest things he's ever had

Going out late at night to any dark place or even getting lost in some of the many forgotten rooms of Ramshackle Dorm, telling Halloween jokes, chattering endlessly about his new hyperfocus, cleaning the dorm or trying to cook something. All these simple moments are so meaningful to him that he rarely manages to get them out of his head

Probably by the time he realizes his own feelings it's too late to try to pretend they don't exist. He's so in love but at the same time terrified of rejection or even of ending the incredible friendship you two share

Since you're his first crush, he wouldn't try to woo you yet, it's all so new to him and it's necessary for his mind and heart to think a little more about

And so he would try his best, in his most embarrassing way, to hide his feelings... not that you or anyone else wouldn't know...

But it's very important for Skully to have the chance to confess his feelings for you, it's part of his evolution as a character and apart from the fact that he would be very frustrated even if flattered if you confessed first. He's a perfect gentleman and has been taught to be one, so he will try his best ✨️

I don't see why a relationship wouldn't work because he's either going to try to make the most complicated confession of the century, or he's going to do it in the most random, spontaneous way possible, now it's better to wait and see 😉

[literaryvein-reblogs]

I'm looking for unique expressions of love from past and present, any culture.

Thank you

Unique Expressions of Love

Ai ni fureru to, dare mo ga shijin ni naru - [Japanese] At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet

Aimer, ce n'est pas se regarder l'un l'autre, c'est regarder ensemble dans la même direction - [French] To love is not to look at each other, it’s to look in the same direction together

Aisuru to wa jōtai dewa naku tsukuru kōi desu - [Japanese] To love is not a state but an act of creation

Amor vecchio non fa ruggine - [Italian] Old love does not rust

Céng jīng cāng hǎi nán wéi shuǐ - [Pinyin/Chinese] One who has seen the ocean thinks nothing of mere rivers; Used to describe that once you’ve seen the best, nothing else will compare

Chén yú luò yàn bì yuè xiū huā - [Pinyin/Chinese] To be beautiful enough to make fish sink and geese settle, the moon hides and flowers feel shy; This saying refers to China’s four historical great beauties, each of whom can make something supernatural happen with their beauty

Concupiscible - [Archaic] An adjective that dates back to Middle French in the late 1400s and stems from the Latin word concupiscibilis, which means “desirable.” So, you might tell your flame that that they’re looking particularly concupiscible.

Entre deux cœurs qui s’aiment, nul besoin de paroles - [French] There is no need for words between two hearts that love each other

Espero soñar contigo esta noche - [Spanish] I hope you’re in my dreams tonight

Gegen Liebe ist kein Kraut gewachsen - [German] No herb can cure love

Je t’aime cent fois par jour - [French] I love you a hundred times a day

Ma raison de vivre - [French] My reason for living

Me haces feliz como una lombriz - [Spanish] You make me happy as a worm

Neue Liebe beginnt da, wo die alte aufhört, wehzutun - [German] New love begins where old love stops hurting

Quédate con quien te bese el alma. La piel te la puede besar cualquiera - [Spanish] Stay with whoever kisses your soul, because anyone could kiss your skin

Shān wú léng, tiān dì hé, nǎi gǎn yǔ jūn jué - [Pinyin/Chinese] Only when the edges of the mountains have been rubbed down, the sky and the ground are in one, I dare to say "Farewell" to you; Used to express that you are willing to love someone until the end of days

Si tu pouvais lire dans mon cœur, tu verrais la place où je t’ai mise - [French] If you could look inside my heart, you’d see the place where I’ve put you

Te amo más que a mi propia piel - [Spanish] I love you more than my own skin

Te quiero como la trucha al trucho [Spanish] - I love you like the female trout loves the male trout

Vivre d’amour et d’eau fraîche - [French] To live off of love and cold water

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ Also have these previous posts:

Terms of Endearment

Ways to Say, "I love you"

"I Love You" in Shakespearean English

Archaic Words Related to Love

Hope this helps with your writing!

[thisismeracing]

Mó paz | LH44

SOCIAL MEDIA AU

― Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x brazilian!reader (she/her) ― Warnings: curse words, mentions of food, typos (not proofread). ― Summary: It's time for the Interlagos GP and fans are excited to see how Lewis' Portuguese sounds after becoming a citizen AND dating Yn. ― A/n: Shout out to @queenshikongo3 for suggesting this piece. 🤍 ― A/n:² none of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps. everything else is made up by me, and I do not allow it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

✷ my masterlist | my taglist here | patreon masterlist ✷ Support my writing by reblogging, and leaving me a message 🤍 ✷ Consider buying me a coffee if you liked it or subscribing to my patreon for exclusive content!

yn

liked by patriciaramos, danielricciardo, and others

yn México te amo, pero yo extrañé mi hogar! 💚 (Mexico, I love you, but I missed my home)

view all comments

carlossainzssy Charles is their kid, and in this essay I will- ☝🏻

ferrarifinesse Thank you for sharing the Charles pic, YN!!!!!

lewishamilton te quiero! 😘 (I love you!)

 ⤷ popyn the way he always say's he lovers her using the language of the week's Gran Prix, I- I wanna be loved like this!!!!!!!!!!!

mercgoldenyears not George following lewis like a lost puppy/lost kid, I actually love them sm omg 😂

 ⤷ yn but he is our grid kid! <3

 ⤷  charles_leclerc what about me???

 ⤷ oscarpiastri and me?

 ⤷ landonorris I don't exist???

 ⤷ yukitsunoda0511 I'm feeling betrayed

 ⤷ mickschumacher So am I!

 ⤷  yn lewishamilton please help me here, the kids are fighting

 ⤷ lewishamilton sebastianvettel help, seb!!!

 ⤷ redferrari16 this is so funny LMAO

mirrorballeclerc the matching yellow aesthetic pic, they're truly soulmates 😭💙

lewishamilton

liked by seujorge, charles_leclerc, and others

lewishamilton Mais uma volta para casa 🇧🇷 (Another homecoming 🇧🇷)

view all comments

brunamarquezine 💚💛 bem vindo de volta!!! (Welcome back!)

44brcitizen I am the happiest person, I actually never had a sad day in my life, I can't remember ever struggling, or whatever, life is beautiful! 🌷🌸🌻💐

monacoocon The Brazilian flag is actually so pretty, I'm always mesmerized

yn 😍😍

⤷ 1dformulaone yeah, babes, that's your man (I wish it was mine, with all due respect KJDSGKJDSG)

mercedesamgf1 💜💚💛🤍

georgerussell63 vamos! 🇧🇷 (let’s go!)

⤷ sassyrussell Carmen wrote this, I just know she did 😂🤍

*the first story says "She's writing new songs".

lewishamilton

liked by brunamarquezine, lilnasx, and others

lewishamilton mó paz! 💚

view all comments

badgalriri 😍😍😍❤️

linikeroficial amo amo amo! (I love love love)

missionfortyfourr mó paz means to be in peace, chilling, serene

⤷ mercmickie and the fact that the song talks about being at peace after he came into her life, that he's there to stay, that her life's different now?!!?!?!?!? I AM SOBBING

lewandyn she's so pretty, so smart, so talented, so perfect ughhh 🩷😭

⤷ lewishamilton yes, she is ❤️

⤷ norrizzlando your honor, he's in love!

interlagostrack LINDOS, PERFEITOS, DONOS DE MIM!

yn Te amo muito, vidinha 💗 (I love you sm, my life!)

⤷ lewishamilton te amo, meu amor

⤷ russellrain "meu amor" alguém por favor, me ajuda, eu desidratei de tanto chorar (“my love” someone pls help me, I just dehydrated from crying)

⤷ totolobo TE AMO, MEU AMOR DSKGJDSKJSKDHJ

roscoelovescoco I’s love’s you!

princessyn Stream Mó paz on spotify!!!!!!!!!!!!!

carmenmmundt 🩵🩵🩵

franciscac.gomes lindos! 🥰🤍

yn

liked by exudoblues, georgerussell63, and others

yn Que dia incrível cantando com os amigos em casa, e que noite perfeita celebrando com eles! Amo vocês 💘

view all comments

sunnysainz we all know who she was looking at in the first pic hehe

tsunodaangel Omg, I love them so so much 🥲

lewishamilton 🤩😍😍

lewishamilton caraca, foi incrível!!!

⤷ charleslehoe he's officially Brazilian now!!!!! LOL

patriciaramos a mulher mais linda do Brasil!!! (The most beautiful woman in Brazil!!!)

⤷ yn te amo, paty! (I love you, paty!)

swiftieyn why haven't we got a collab w xnda yet?

⤷ yn you sure you haven't? 👀

⤷ schumachersbike OMG OMGDKJSDKJG

seujorge 💛💛💛

ricciardosmile 🎶 bom que cê chegou pra ficar pra sempre, com você mó paz 🎶

carsgoingvroom the "existe amor em sp" reference *cries* (it means "there's love in SP, it's a reference to a song that says that there's no love in Sao Paulo)

⤷ braziliangp how about the quote??!?!!? I melted (if the sun doesn't shine tomorrow I'll use your smile to light my day")

⤷ mickcedes omg you guys thank you sm!! I was struggling with my A1 and translator LOL 😅

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you guys like this piece! Don’t forget to leave me a message/ask and follow me if you did *mwah*

Consider supporting me by buying me a coffee if you liked it or subscribing to my patreon for exclusive content!💘

©thisismeracing do not copy, steal, or translate my work. do not repost on a different media platform.

Taglist: @sachaa-ff @mickslover @mishaandthebrits @iloveyou3000morgan @crimeshowjunkie @fdl305 @saintslewis @scorpiobleue @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @shhhchriss @f1kota @lunnnix @karmabyfernando @crashingwavesofeuphoria @schumacheer @callsign-scully @v1naco @dearxcherry @crystals-faith @peachiicherries @elliegrey2803 @he6rtshaker @therealcap @mehrmonga @the-depressed-fellow @soph1644 @cixrosie @darleneslane @itsmaytimetosaygoodbye @buckybarnessweetheart @nichmeddar @fastcarsandshit @goldenalbon @skepvids @balekanemohafe @jamie2305 @nzygftoji (quick reminder to enable visibility so I can tag all of you guys properly ❤️)

― reblogs, comments, and asks are extremely appreciated, make sure to leave yours *mwah*

[naturesapphic]

Yk « l’amour de ma vie » by billie can u write a fanfic abt French yn flirting with Billie in French and that’s why the tittle of her song is l’amour de ma vie (bc yn always call billie that and her heart melts every time cuz she finds that really cute) and one of un interviewing billie in French (like the Lena situation interview but in French)

French Interview

Billie eilish x French!fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, cussing

Word count: 2,181 😭

A/n: I’m sorry if the translation got some of the words wrong I apologize I tried-

“Hey guys! Today vogue invited me over to interview a very special someone. Billie eilish aka my girlfriend!” I exclaimed as I did jazz hands over to my girlfriend Billie, who sat beside me. She looked over at me and giggled at my goofy jazz hands and face I was doing. “Hiiii everybody. I’m so glad to be back here.” Billie said softly as she waves to everyone and to the cameras.

You smiled big and explained to everyone that you will now be talking in French for most of the interview. “Alors Billie Eilish se blesse parfois ? Que diable?” (So Billie eilish does get hurt sometimes. What the hell?). Billie giggles and gives you a smile as she answers. “Right? It’s interesting to be a person who isn’t an outwardly sensitive complainer. A lot of moments on this album are about situations where I was like, ““I’d rather be tortured inside but have somebody think that I’m cool, than have somebody think that I’m hysterical and actually express my feelings.”” So many songs on this album reflect that realization of, like, “Maybe I’m obsessed with the idea of nonchalance.”” She says and you nod.

“oh ouais, c'est toi, c'est sûr bébé.” (Oh yeah, that’s you for sure baby.). You reply and Billie keeps going on with her answer. “I would rather suffer in silence than tell you something’s bothering me and have you think I’m sensitive.” She says and you roll your eyes playfully. “tu me rappelles un de mes ex-partenaire.” You said while eyeing her down. As soon as the translator translate what you said to her, she gives you a gentle shove that makes you laugh. “Quand nous nous sommes rencontrés pour la première fois, tu avais l'air d'avoir tout compris et tu étais plutôt fermé.” (when we first met, you seemed like you had it all together and kinda closed off).

Billie laughs and grabs one of your hands in hers as she answers. “I come off as a person that doesn’t care. I care about people and I have love and passion, but in relationships, I found myself never ever expressing any of my needs. It was interesting to notice I was doing that, and that’s what these lyrics are about. It’s almost like I resent myself for not advocating for myself, because maybe if I had, things would’ve changed. But I’ve always had an issue with weakness.” She said opening up more and more. “Well I’m glad you are getting better with expressing your needs towards me because you mean a lot to me bils.” You say as you look deep into her eyes. She smiles and waits for your next question.

“En pensant à “Skinny” qui entre dans “Lunch”, cela résume parfaitement l’ambiance du titre, car c’est un peu comme les refroidir puis les réchauffer.” (Thinking about “Skinny” going into “Lunch,” that sums up the vibe of the title perfectly, because it’s kind of like, cool them down and then heat them up.) “That was very purposeful. It’s hard and soft and hard and soft. There’s motifs and melodies that repeat and lyrics that call back to other songs. The songs morph into each other. It was purposeful to have “Skinny” do what it does, and then at the end you hear the drums for “Lunch.” And then “Lunch” comes in and slaps you in the face.” Billie replies and you nod along to her words.

“Vous vous demandez ce que les gens vont dire de la chanson “Lunch”?” (Are you wondering what people are going to say about the song “Lunch”?). “I’m pretty aware of what people will say. It’s so weird to grow up and change in front of the world. The craziest part is discovering things about myself and then suddenly, everyone else knows, and I don’t even have a second to think about how it makes me feel.” She confessed and you felt your heart break for her. “I can’t imagine what that must have felt like.” You say as you start rubbing her knuckles. “It was very frustrating but I wouldn’t have done it without you y/n so thank you love.” Billie said giving you a small but loving smile.

“Je me demandais, quand une de vos relations amoureuses se termine, pensez-vous la laisser avec mille questions ? Ou vous laissent-ils avec mille questions ? Ou est-ce partagé 50-50 ? Est-il plus dangereux de tomber amoureux de vous ? Ou est-il plus dangereux pour vous de tomber amoureux?” (I was wondering, when one of your romantic relationships ends, do you think you leave them with a thousand questions? Or do they leave you with a thousand questions? Or is it split 50-50? Is it more dangerous to fall in love with you? Or is it more dangerous for you to fall in love?) “I don’t even know. I think 50-50 is probably accurate. I literally hate who I am so much when I’m in love.” Billie replied and you let out a loud laugh that made her giggle at you.

“That’s one of the most masculine things you’ve said. Jeez Billie.” You giggle out and she smiles. “But don’t worry baby I love how I am when I’m in love with you.” She confessed and you felt your whole face heat up. “je t'aime, l'amour de ma vie.” (I love you, the love of my life). Billies face heat up and she leans over to give you a little kiss on your cheek. “I love you more angel.” She said. She didn’t even need the translator to tell her what you said because you always say I love you and that pet name to her in French. That’s why she named the song after that petname because she loves when you call her that a lot and it means a lot to her. Billie goes back on track and continues to answer your last question.

“I have a power issue and a control issue, and I also don’t like being vulnerable in a romantic way. It makes me feel uncomfortable, and I don’t know how many times I’ve really been in love. I think there’s different versions of love, and I think that you can be in love and it might not be deep. I’m not going to get too in detail, because I’m going to be rude, but I’ve never been dumped, and also, I’ve never been broken up with. I’ve only done the breaking up.” She confessed and you nod. “Yeah I’ve only done that a few times but I’ve mostly gotten broken up with.” You say and Billie nods. I think when people hear that, they’re like, “Oh, all you do is break hearts.” Sure, but that doesn’t mean that people are totally innocent. It means that I was like, “Oh, let me get the fuck out of here.” Or it means things just weren’t right.” Billie continued on.

“Now some of y’all about to be real mad at me, but I do believe that breaking up with someone versus being broken up with, obviously being broken up with hurts like hell, especially when you don’t see it coming and you wanted a future and it’s taken out of your hands. But honestly, the pain of knowing that you have to end something with somebody that you genuinely love is so horrible.” She confessed and you cocked your head to the side. “Really? I’m not sure if I completely agree but I will agree with how it does stay with you longer if you break up with somebody.” You say and Billie adds on. “I think so, too. And you don’t get to even have the, like, “I got dumped, so fuck you guys. I get to go crazy and have a reaction and be mad at you. And I get to make you into an enemy, because you broke up with me.” You can’t do that. You can’t become a victim.” She points out and you give a surprised look on your face.

“That’s actually very true. You don’t get to feel mad and shit. Wow I never thought of it like that.” You explained and Billie smiles. “Pour changer un peu de sujet, ce que vous dites me fait revenir sur vos premières musiques. Votre approche d’écriture n’est pas comme si elle se prêtait à l’hésitation. Il ne s’agit même pas de peindre quelque chose de sombre sur le plan sonore, mais c’est un peu bleu. En fait, tu utilises beaucoup le mot « bleu » dans cet album”. (To change the topic a bit, what you are saying is giving me flashbacks to your early music. Your writing approach is, it’s not like it lends itself to hesitancy. It’s not even painting something dark sonically, but it’s a little bit blue. You actually use the word “blue” a lot in this album).

“I love that you just pointed that out, and it’s making me think about how I don’t love to point fingers. Sometimes you want to, because you’re mad and you want people to feel for you and you want to feel seen. But I’m not going, “You did this to me.” It’s more, like, “We’re all allowed to feel however we feel based on whatever happened.” Also, it’s not about pointing my finger and blaming people: “And everybody, attack this person, because they hurt me.” It’s like, “I hurt me. And I have hurt me multiple times, and I allow other people to get to that point.” And that’s where I’m trying to draw the boundaries and protect my shadow.” Billie added on and you watched her in awe as she explains how she feels. “Comme il se doit. Et c’est parce que vous n’avez pas pointé du doigt que les gens vont se poser mille questions. Pour revenir au fait d'être toujours amoureux, les seules choses qui sont réelles sont les sentiments.” (As you should. And it’s because you didn’t point fingers that people will have a thousand questions. To go back to ever being in love, the only things that are real are feelings).

“I just had an experience the other day. I had some people over, and there was something happening that involved a lot of sensation and feeling and being in your body. And the person who is guiding me through this thing, I won’t even get into it, because it’s irrelevant to what I’m saying, there was this moment where they were talking about communication and saying, “Just remember to be aware of how you feel.” And I remember saying, “Oh, well, this is making me think of this, and I am feeling this.” I kept describing things. And he said to me, “I appreciate your psychoanalysis of what you’re feeling, but I don’t need you to analyze it. I just need you to feel it.” And that got to me. It made me think. It made me feel.” She explained and you felt your eyes tear up at her words. “I love that. It’s really the scariest thing of all. But for overthinkers, it can be a good practice to just feel and then move by those emotions. So yeah, we don’t need to end with a question, because I think the gift of being with you, whether you’re present or nonchalant or considering whether you’re being nonchalant in this moment, is that your instant impact on a room, even if you don’t say anything, makes people feel a lot. Even my band told me that. When you walked out, they were like, “Damn, she’s good. She makes you feel a lot.” And I was like, “Try sitting next to her when she’s looking into your eyes. It’s crazy.”” You say and Billie looks deep in your eyes as you talk.

“Eh bien, je n’ai plus de questions aujourd’hui mais l’amour de ma vie, j’adore ton album et toutes les chansons qu’il contient. Je suis incroyablement fier de toi et merci de m'avoir permis de t'aimer. Au revoir tout le monde ! Le flux m'a frappé fort et doucement!” (Well I don’t have any more questions today but the love of my life, I absolutely love your album and all of the songs on it. I’m so incredibly proud of you and thank you for letting me love you. Goodbye everyone! Stream hit me hard and soft). You waved bye to everyone and Billie was blowing kisses to the camera and the interview was done. Billie and you went back to y’all’s house and spent the rest of the day there in each others arms.

A/n: holy shit that was a lot. Over two thousand words omg. PLEASE REBLOG, COMMENT, LIKE, SHARE, ANYTHING PLEASE LMAO thank you anon for the request, I hope you love it and I hope the rest of y’all do too. Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! I love y’all :)

[qin-qin16]

Soube que vc é br, então espero que não se importe de uma ask em português (eu tenho um inglês péssimo, apesar de conseguir ler bem).

Já faz um tempo que não vejo conteúdo de nightmare × leitor, que tal alguns headcanons de como ele seria em um relacionamento? (Eu amo muito esse merdinha quero mastigar ele). Se puder, y/n pode ter pronomes neutros ou masculinos? Pfv

Nightmare relationship headcanons

cw.: Headcanons, gn!reader, Nightmare x Reader, kinda ooc Nightmare, but he is still mean, fluff, obvious teasing from him… 

note: Omg mais um brasileiro! Pode deixar comigo! Embaixo dessa versão em inglês tem uma em português se você quiser ler :D

You know that person who only shows affection through sarcastic remarks and mean-spirited laughs? Yeah, that’s exactly him;

He seems to take delight in your little daily blunders.  One moment you'll never forget was when you burned both of your dinners, and Nightmare, being the considerate partner he is, merely scoffed and said that it would make a perfect treat for Killer;

Then there was the time you tripped over your own feet (more than once, actually), and Nightmare joked that he’d get you one of those child harness backpacks so you wouldn’t keep falling flat on your face — all while grinning at you and sipping his bitter coffee.

Sometimes he doesn’t even comment at all when something happens — like when you wear a shirt inside out or mismatched socks — but you can feel his gaze following you, just waiting for you to notice something off or unusual about yourself;

And when you finally do, he can’t help but let out a sly chuckle;

Pet names? Forget about them. The only one you can recall being genuinely caring (and that was only when you pretended to be asleep while he whispered it to you) was “dear.” The rest were just condescending nicknames that sounded more like what he’d call his friends (minions, in his words): brat, idiot, and once, he even called you a dumb puppy just because you didn’t notice your mouth was covered in food!

Despite how deeply he could irritate you, there was also that hidden tender side that, although rarely seen, always left your lips quivering and your eyes on the verge of tears;

That time you burned dinner? Despite all his nasty comments, he was the one who cleaned up the mess and prepared something simple for you to eat later (all while comforting you in his own peculiar way, of course);

And those moments when you trip and almost fall flat on your face? Sure, he’ll never miss an opportunity to tease you, but recently, he’s started staying closer, with one of his tentacles hovering nearby, ready to catch you if you falter;

And you can’t forget the times he watches you while you ramble about your interests. Besides the occasional remark, he usually just observes you in silence, a glimmer of admiration in that beautiful orb of his;

But what moves you the most is how he’s always around;

Nightmare doesn’t need to eat — he himself says that something as mundane as food isn’t necessary for his survival — but he always insists on sitting with you during meals;

Nightmare doesn’t need to sleep; he lost that need many years ago. Yet, he still lies down next to you every night. Over time, you’ve grown accustomed to the soft light of the lamp by his bed, as he prefers to read while you sleep since he doesn’t need rest;

For someone who claims to be so magnificent, he certainly seems to cherish this more ordinary life with you.

Versão em português!

Você sabe aquela pessoa que só sabe demonstrar afeição através de comentários sarcásticos e risadas maldosas? É, é exatamente ele. 

Ele parece divertir-se com seus pequenos infortúnios cotidianos - um momento que você nunca vai esquecer foi quando você conseguiu queimar o jantar de vocês dois e Nightmare, sendo um bom amante, apenas bufou e disse que aquilo seria um ótimo petisco para Killer;

Teve também a vez em que você tropeçou nos próprios pés (mais de uma vez, na verdade), e Nightmare comentou que iria comprar aquelas mochilas guias de criança para você, assim ele conseguiria evitar com que você caisse de cara no chão tantas vezes assim - tudo isso enquanto sorria com escárnio na sua direção, tomando aquele maldito café amargo dele;

As vezes ele nem comenta nada quando algo acontece - como quando você veste alguma blusa do avesso, ou usa meias de cores diferentes -, mas você sente aquele olho perseguir sua figura por onde você passa, só esperando você notar algo de estranho ou diferente em você;

E quando você finalmente nota, ele ainda solta uma risadinha maliciosa;

E os apelidos carinhosos? Pode esquecer. O único que você se lembra de ser amoroso (e ainda foi quando você fingiu estar dormindo enquanto ele sussurrou ele para você) foi “querida”, de resto foram apenas apelidos condescendente e claramente algo que ele chamaria os amigos/minions dele: pirralha, idiota, uma vez ele te chamou de dumb puppy só porque você não viu que sua boca estava suja de comida!

Contudo, por mais que ele te irritasse profundamente, tinha também aquele lado carinhoso escondido, que por mais raramente que aparecesse, ainda sim sempre deixava seus lábios tremidos e seus olhos com vontade de chorar;

Aquela vez que você queimou o jantar? Por mais que ele tenha feito vários comentários maldosos, foi ele o responsável por limpar toda a bagunça e ainda fazer algo simples para vocês comerem depois (tudo isso enquanto ainda confortava você, do jeito estranho dele, claro);

E às vezes em que você tropeça e quase cai de cara? Óbvio, ele não vai deixar de tirar sarro da sua cara, mas ultimamente ele começou a andar mais coladinho a você, com um dos tentáculos dele rondando seu entorno, pronto para qualquer passo em falso seu;

E claro, não tem como esquecer os momentos em que ele olha para você quando você começa a tagarelar de seus interesses - tirando um comentário aqui e ali, ele normalmente apenas encarava você em silêncio, um certo brilho de admiração naquela bolinha azul dentro da órbita ocular dele;

Porém, aquilo que mais comove você é o fato dele sempre estar por perto;

Nightmare não precisa comer - como ele mesmo diz, ele não necessita de algo tão entediante como comer para sobreviver -, mas ele sempre faz questão de sentar com você durante as refeições;

Nightmare não precisa dormir, ele perdeu essa necessidade a muitos anos atrás, mas mesmo assim ele sempre deita ao seu lado - com o tempo, você se acostumou com a fraca luz do abajur ao lado da cama dele, já que, por não dormir, ele prefere ler enquanto você dorme;

Para alguém que se diz ser tão grandioso, ele definitivamente parece gostar dessa vida mais mundana ao seu lado. 

[hannieehaee]

Sua escrita é realmente fabulosa e estou realmente perdida nisso desde que algo como namorada latina foi mencionado em sua masterlist.

Posso perguntar algo como se a leitora fosse uma garota de ascendência latina (ou totalmente latina, depende de você) e bem, a reação dos integrantes ao se conhecerem pela primeira vez com ela e descobrirem que são realmente sensacionais na cama?

Sorry if my English is bad, it's not my first language (I'm a Brazilian girl

their latina s/o being amazing in bed

content: smut, mentions of first time having sex together, afab reader, mentions of penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 787

a/n: thank uu!! and thank u for requesting<3 i hope u like what i wrote<33

masterlist

seungcheol -

not too surprised. the moment he saw you, he just knew you were gonna rock his world. to be fair, he did hope he'd be able to make you feel just as good as you did him, but he cant imagine any possible way in which you could feel as good as he did last night. he's still replaying it in his head, aware that this will be a recurring memory any time he's alone at night and away from you.

jeonghan -

for once in his life, he has no idea how to react. he has no quick-witted response for you nor does he know how to regain that suave personality he usually has. he's just a mess of heavy breaths and stutters as you take care of him. he finds it impossible to regain his standing when its so easy for you to turn him into a mess.

joshua -

somehow cocky about how good you make him feel. convinced that you're just so into him that you cant help make him lose all his composure in bed. does his best to match your energy and have you seeing stars just like you do him.

jun -

you'll literally have him in tears by the end of the night. would whine at you as to why you didn't warn him you were a monster in bed. did you want him to make a fool of himself? well, it worked! bc he's now putty in your hands, body reacting to every single one of your expert touches.

soonyoung -

thanks you constantly (and pathetically) for choosing him as the guy whose world you'd be altering with that magical pussy (his words). will become immediately obsessed with you and the way you make him feel, unable to have any sense of dignity when it comes to begging you for another night.

wonwoo -

used to being the one who takes care of their partner during sex, and although he can still do that with you, he is unsure of how to handle himself when you're making him feel this good. never would he have imagined you'd be able to read him so easily and have him eating from the palm of your hand.

jihoon -

red in the face and letting out hiccuped gasps at every touch. itd take him five minutes to realize he was in over his head sleeping with someone so good an experienced at pleasure. dies and goes to heaven and is reborn again multiple times throughout the night, now with an image of you stuck to his head.

seokmin -

falls victim to your seductive aura immediately, becoming a shell of himself as he gives in to the pleasure you offer him. will literally get on his knees and beg for pussy after just one time in bed with you.

mingyu -

you're gorgeous, so for some reason that led him to believe you'd be amazing in bed. however, he was unprepared for how drastically you'd alter his brain chemistry through the way you made him feel. everything about you had his eyes crossing and his brows furrowing in pleasure. he was sure he'd never feel as good as this moment.

minghao -

one of the only times in his life that his composure broke so badly. he had been entirely unprepared to find out you were somehow a siren that could get him weak at the knees with just one touch. becomes absolutely entranced by you throughout the process.

seungkwan -

blushy, sweaty, hands clammy. he's just a complete mess. he will literally not survive a night with you, too entranced by how easily you take his pleasure and play with it. how is it possible for you to be so good at this? why did you not give him any warning?

vernon -

mind completely blank the moment you begin working him. whether you used your hands, mouth, lips, cunt, tits, etc. he'd was putty in your hands. can't even manage to let out any sounds of pleasure bc of how caught off guard he is by how insanely good you make him feel. not one to beg much, but will absolutely beg you for another taste of that pussy once you're done.

chan -

he was already weak and needy for you before even getting to sleep with you, but ends up becoming even more of a pathetic mess the moment you touch him. no matter what it is you do in bed, he's shocked at how easily you're able to get him begging for more. needs you to never stop touching him, becoming obsessed with you after just one night together.

[keravnous]

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

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

word count: 12,1k

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

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

"Move."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't want to."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How'd that be?"

"Excuse me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gun.

You swallow. Visibly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What d'ya fuckin' say then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[dinsbeskar]

Subjugate the Devil (Sauron/F!Reader)

Sauron has a nightmare. You are only too happy to oblige in making him forget; or:

Sub!Sauron makes a lengthy appearance. Plot, what plot?

Set in my In The Dark series, but works as a standalone (alludes to trauma mentioned in other chapters, but it is literally just smut) // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Disease by Lady Gaga, Don't Let Me Go by Raign, Like a Prayer by Madonna, Oh You Are Not Well by Chloe Foy

Playlist!

Warnings: 18+! Dom/sub - gentle dom, needy sub; just pure smut; literally Plot What Plot (though there is a bit if you squint); P in V sex; oral sex (male and female receiving); copious amounts of bodily fluids (sorry, like for real); cockwarming; dry humping; handjob; begging/denial/teasing; praise kink; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; unresolved trauma; tiny bit of violence but it is just an illusion; very soft!Sauron, so tender. We make him cry and that's all I wanted to do.

A/N: I've been working on this for a few days, it is ummm filthier than anything I've ever written, like I really don't know where it came from. The warnings are just what's on the menu at this point idk.

I pictured Annatar for this one, but you guys can imagine whomever you like (@troublesomesnitch he's got that chest hair though!!) Sub!Halbrand would be a treat ngl.

Excuse the gif guys, I just want to see him cry :)

Word Count: 4.2k (!!)

Sauron does not sleep. Ordinarily.

However, you make it look so peaceful, he has to try it occasionally. Of course he usually finds you in your dreams, takes all the attention you can spare and more, leaving you wanting until waking when he can ravage you again.

Sometimes however his dreams come unbidden. Instead of slipping into your mind, he falls deeper into his own, unearthing old memories he'd rather stay buried, burned beyond recognition.

You always know when this happens; your usually calm and collected lover wakes in a cold sweat, clutching at your skin, his face in your neck, desperate to forget what his mind has shown him. He has never told you the details, but you can only assume it has something to do with his master, with his cruel and unusual forms of punishment.

Tonight is one of those nights, worse perhaps as he moans and writhes in his sleep, rousing you immediately. You can't seem to wake him from his torment, every gentle touch, every kiss to his temple only seems to fan the flames. You end up atop him, each of your thighs either side of his abdomen, trying to shake him awake.

Visions of Morgoth in his wrath; illusions of you partaking in his torture at his master's hand; pain and terror in his heart, as the nightmare refuses to cease, even as you try to soothe him.

What makes you think a servant as worthless as you deserves a love like hers?

Morgoth's words hold him in a vice grip; he can't break free, the unshed tears behind his closed eyelids threaten to leak onto his cheeks, stricken with fear and pain.

"I've got you, you're okay, you're here with me." You stroke his face, your hair brushing his chest, unsure of what to do except hold him.

When his eyes finally fly open, he grasps your arms, and with a leg hooked behind you, flips you onto your back, a dagger at your throat.

You're fairly sure his weapon isn't real, but he is a master of illusion, and pain is merely a construct of the mind; he could hurt you if he wanted to.

In this state, you're reminded of just how dangerous your husband is, even between dreaming and waking. His eyes are black, unseeing, with a terrifying expression you're sure would have annihilated any enemy he could have been dreaming of.

Your hands shaking, you reach up slowly and try to take the knife; surely enough, when you clutch at it, it disappears like smoke between your fingers, so you take his hand instead, still clenched unfeeling around his shattered illusion.

You pull his hand to your chest, letting him feel your racing heart flutter against his fingers.

Slowly but surely, you bring him back to you, his daze broken but his psyche bruised and bleeding.

Your shallow breathing evens out as the light returns to his eyes, and for a moment he looks at you confused as if his position above you is of your own making.

His eyes dart from his hand on your chest, to your fiercely fixed expression, attempting to soothe his nerves but unable to hide how shaken you are.

"Is this real?" He's still breathing hard, for someone who doesn't really need to breathe. "Are you really here? Is it you?"

He's so tender, tracing your cheekbones, your cupid's bow, gently raking your hair with his fingertips.

"Of course, beloved, I'm right here, I'm always right here." You try to hide your confusion, assuming he's still walking the line between dreaming and waking.

He slowly pulls himself away to nestle at your side, reluctant to break eye contact with you as he does so, still clutching at you to ground himself.

"What did I do? Tell me I didn't hurt you, love." He's so quiet, it's unnerving, but you take him in your arms anyway, crading his head to your chest.

"All is well, my love, it wasn't real, you're here with me, no one can touch you here." Some nights, holding him close and murmuring sweet reassurances in his ear is enough to soothe him; tonight he needs a little more from you.

All you want to do is tell him you love him, that he deserves you, that you're his, that he deserves everything you want to give him, that you ache for him when he's not by your side.

But he's hard against your hip, a fact you're trying to ignore; taking advantage of him is the last thing on your mind, not that he would protest, even when he returns to his right mind.

He listens to your heartbeat for a while, focusing on the strong rhythm to forget his waking nightmare, marvelling at how your heart beats in tandem to his, running his trembling fingers across your exposed skin, up your arm, across your collarbone to your throat, watching the artery jump in time with your heart. He knows you so well, so intimately, that when you notice his erection, your heart skips a beat, and he can guess exactly what you're thinking, not needing to peer into your mind for himself.

You feel him grind against you and you release a breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding.

"Love..." You murmur into his hair, absentmindedly running your fingers over the sensitive pointed tips of his ears. "Come now, you need to rest, darling."

He can't show you what he saw, what he went through, the horror and the agony of his master's worst torments. The image of you performing the worst of it is tattooed on his eyelids, a reminder of Morgoth's favourite form of punishment. He can't show you, can't tell you, but he can ask you to make him forget.

"I need you," he whispers in your ear, strangled groans peppering his sentiments, making you gasp, "need you to feel good, need you to know how much I adore you-"

Your eyes widen as blood rushes to your cheeks, the heat of his words enflaming your core.

"I want you too, love, but right now? Are you sure?" You ask him through ragged breath as he turns his attentions to your neck, licking and sucking and blowing cool air over your wet skin, before warming it with his tongue once more.

You're so close to giving in, wanting to give him all he craves and more, and he knows it.

"Use me," his breathy moan breaks on your skin like a wave on the shore, tingles washing down your spine, filling your core with empty warmth as he bucks his hips into yours, which respond in kind as you turn your head to meet his hungry kiss.

"I'm yours. Make me yours."

His words thrill you, but his tone makes you feel incredible; needy, wanton, desperate to please you.

You glide your hands over his torso, relishing in his hot velvet skin and the soft hair that covers him; taking your time as he tries to kiss you senseless, his heated skin glowing with sweat that you can't resist tasting for yourself, salt and smoke on your tongue.

"Use me... take me... love me..." he begs you, with less and less breath left in his lungs with each command, as you gently lay him on his back, straddling his thighs, grinding your core into the hard muscle.

You slide your hands between the layers of fabric separating your skin, stripping him slowly and laying him bare for your viewing pleasure alone.

He arches his back for you, baring his neck and thrusting his hips into the ghost of your touch, chanting your name and praying for you to take his aching cock in hand.

You trace the contours of his thighs, his firm abdominal muscles, the stiff peaks of his nipples, earning you a shudder and a moan that shoots straight to your core, hot wet arousal dripping onto his thigh.

His fingers move to gather your nectar instinctively, wanting to savour every taste of his wife, but you grip his wrist and raise it above his head, and he gasps. You've never denied him before, not in the eons you've adored him, but it turns him on beyond belief.

Sauron watches you hazily, through heavily lidded eyes, in disbelief that the goddess above him is his and his alone to enjoy and to ruin. You are a sight to behold, as your hair cascades down your back, lips parted and breath ragged; your breasts bounce as you ride his thigh, hypnotising him, drawing him deeper into your thrall.

He tries to lean up to kiss you, lave every inch of your skin with his desperate tongue, but you push him back to the bed.

"Not yet, soon but not yet." You want his mouth on you, the aching between your thighs only amplified by the distinct lack of your husband’s throbbing length inside you, but tonight is for him; he needs to surrender to you first.

"I don't think you've let go quite enough yet." Your warm breath breaks on his sensitive neck, washes down his spine, straight to his cock, throbbing in his need for you.

You haven't touched him yet, hands firmly in place on his chest; his eyes plead with you to be lenient, and as his loving wife, you're only too happy to oblige him as he continues to beg for all the care and attention you can give.

"Please, love, please, need you to-" he gasps as you run your fingers over the head of his cock, gathering the copious amounts of precum pooling on his stomach to ease the glide over his flesh.

"Is that better, love?" You can't help but smirk at his pained gasps, as you languidly stroke his shaft, circling the sensitive head with your thumb, your eyes locked on his.

His cock twitches in your hand as he moans your name, begs for release, begs for your cunt, begs to be remade.

"That's it, love, let yourself go. All you need to do is feel good for me, my love," you lean down, whispering in his ear, "please me, show me how much you deserve your release."

His breath hitches and you hear him swallow hard; his expression is a masterpiece, eyes wide, jaw slack, as he begs you to show him mercy, groaning and whimpering as you pump his length.

"Please..." It's only one syllable, but it feels like a lifetime as he chokes out his plea, tries to touch you to no avail as you hold his hands above his head, placing them in a death grip on the headboard.

"Please, what? You might need to be more specific, my darling." You edge down the bed, holding him in place as he tries to follow you, until your head rests on his thighs.

"Need you to... fuck!" He growls and curses and grips the headboard as his hips jerk and writhe to meet you.

"Need me to...? What, my sweet, tell me?" You are enjoying teasing him, perhaps a little too much, and you will pay for it later, but right now he's so deeply needy for your love and attention that he'll take whatever you bestow upon him.

"Touch me..." he groans, as his cock visibly throbs with need, "your fingers, your mouth, I don't care, I need you, you're the only one, only one who can make me feel like this..."

His pleas and whimpers cut off with a sharp gasp, as you take his cock in your mouth as deeply as you can manage. He feels the opening of your throat on his tip and loses his mind, his oversensitive flesh shooting stars up and down his spine, heat pooling in his abdomen that almost immediately spreads like wildfire throughout his body, as your fingers and tongue and lips work together like an orchestra, drawing an irresistible melody from the depths of his pitch black soul, and all the seed his cock can muster.

You pull away and let him spill himself over your thighs, your abdomen, your hands; he looks mortified but he can't stop now he's started, pearly white splattering your skin, making you his.

"I belong to you," he keens and stutters but you hear him through his orgasm, his whimpers becoming moans that reverberate through you.

You can only watch him adoringly as he finishes quaking and moaning beneath you, unable to quite believe that he is yours, even after all this time.

You sit up, licking him from your fingers, and your smile is so radiant, he forgets where he is, who he is, all the evil he has ever done. For one shining moment, it is just you and him, all he'd ever need.

"Proud of you, love, so good for me." You murmur as you lean down to kiss him softly, giving him that tiny confirmation of your affections he needs right now.

"...thank you, needed you. Ahh- Need you." He is grateful, oh so grateful, but his still-hard cock betrays him, and you can't help but grin.

"Oh love, did I not do a good enough job? Have I left you wanting?" Your faux sincerity pains him and he immediately starts apologising.

"No, no, not that, never that, always so good to me, my beautiful wife, love you so much, my sweet..." His cunt-drunk ramblings are adorable but you put a finger to his lips.

"It's okay, I know, I've got you," you smile at him; he returns it so radiantly, you have to kiss him, to be the one to destroy it.

His pretty moans flutter to your cunt, arousal dripping from you like honey from the hive, and he looks up at you, gloriously wide eyed, begging to be allowed to taste your nectar, to sate his thirst for you.

You can't help but feel absurdly powerful, a Maia fallen apart at your fingertips, never mind this Maia, this beautiful demon who vowed to never relinquish his control again. It's an honour and a privilege to see him submit to you like this, submit to himself like this, let himself just feel without exercising his need to dominate, to just let go with the one person in the world he knows he is truly free with.

"Please, my love... remake me, make me yours," His breathless plea is like no music the Valar have ever sung, his moans a spell all their own, enrapturing you even as you hold the key to his release, as you take command of the Maia who values his control of others above all else.

"I do believe, dearest, that you made quite the mess, actually, perhaps you'd be so kind?" You gesture to the cum that still drips down your thighs, sticky and uncomfortable and definitely ready to be washed from your skin.

He is only too happy to oblige.

You lie back and beckon him to you; he works his way up your body, methodically but no less desperately, licking up every drop to please you, content to savour every inch of you. When he tries to make a detour to your mound, you gently yank his hair, reminding him of his task, revelling in the absolute control he's given you.

"Oh love, you did make a mess," you moan as you stroke his hair, "so good for me, cleaning me up, such a good husband, always so good to me."

Receiving such praise is almost cruel and unusual for Sauron, who is frankly more used to giving it to you, and receiving wrath from all others. A tiny voice in his mind tells him he should be embarrassed; but what is worship if not praise? Your devotion, your care, your undivided attention; all for him, giving him that for which he yearns above all else.

He can't resist stealing a kiss, crashing his lips to yours as he cradles your face. You taste his seed on his lips, something that feels strangely forbidden, thrilling in its taboo. The aching in your core has only intensified with his efforts, and you feel it is about time he served you with his silver tongue in the way you both crave. You push his head to your cunt, with which he gladly complies, settling between your thighs, gripping your legs firmly apart to allow him to feast on you.

Before his tongue can delve into your folds, he holds back, locking his gaze on yours.

"Please? Let me taste you, let me show you how much I love you."

"Fuck, yes, love, yes," you chant his name as he finally puts his tongue to excellent use, seeking out your swollen clit, lapping at your entrance, sucking at the velvety skin of your inner thighs.

He keeps his hands in view; you haven't told him he can touch himself, and he won't break this spell now.

Like a starving man at a banquet, he indulges in you, exquisitely. Every tiny moan that escapes him vibrates over your folds, making you whimper in return; he flicks his tongue over your entrance before sliding two fingers deep inside you, hooking them and stroking that delicious sweet spot inside you that makes your toes curl. He watches you the whole time, basking in the chorus of your pleasure.

You feel the heat coil in your abdomen, and you pull him away sharply; his disappointment is evident but you want him inside you when you finally claim your orgasm.

"Lay back, love, hands on the headboard." It is intoxicating, having your husband obey your every command, and as he settles into the mattress, looking up at you expectantly, you vow this won't be the last time the two of you play this game.

Sitting astride him, you feel as if he's never been so deep inside your cunt before now. You hiss a little at the intrusion but he's so familiar, every time he enters you, it feels like coming home. You grind your hips into him, capturing with your lips every whimper that forces its way past his clenched teeth. Tracing his firm chest, running your fingers through the smattering of soft hair, feeling every curve and contour slowly, languidly, while he writhes beneath your thighs, caging him inside your wet heat.

His strangled moans and gasps echo throughout your chamber; every time he reaches for you, you press a kiss to his palm and hold it above his head, until he learns to behave.

"No one could love me like you, care for me like you, knows how to take their pleasure from me like you, beautiful wife, only yours." He feels like he's losing his mind, slipping further into some deep quiet space where it's just the two of you, where nothing matters but you on his cock.

"Only you can put me back together, can sing the song my soul yearns for-" you interrupt his pretty words with your fingers in his mouth.

"Hush, my love, focus on me, only me, you don't have to speak, you don't have to beg for me unless you want to, just let it happen." You trace the shell of his ear with your tongue, savouring the tiny sighs that escape him, before nipping the pointed tip and relishing his sharp moan.

"Bound together, you and I, for all eternity... and I wouldn't have it any other way, sweet husband." You groan out between thrusts, every movement within you the sweetest form of torture.

No other thrill in the world will ever compare to this; your divine husband laid out beneath you, looking up at you with blissful wonder, eyes black with lust, golden hair mussed and tangled by your fingers, your name tumbling from his swollen lips like a prayer and a curse. Right now, you'd take either.

"Darling, please," his broken gasp spans an octave, jumping to a breathy moan as you descend on his cock once more.

"I know what you need, love," you moan as you ride him, the drag of his cock inside you fucking delicious, but the look on his face is a feast in comparison.

His eyes widen as he clutches the bedsheets, refusing to look away but requiring every iota of self-restraint to stay present with you, not to lose himself to the unearthly sensations you've introduced him to tonight.

"I've got you, just let it go, give yourself to me, beloved, let your mind empty-" you kiss him deeply and swallow the groan building in his chest.

"So proud of you, so good for me, doing so well," you let out a throaty moan as you clench your walls around him, feeling his cock throb within you.

"I know what you need..." You murmur as you lean over him, slowing the rhythm of your hips, "nothing in that head, cock wet and wanting, heart full and happy."

His ragged breath hitches as the last shred of self-control slips through his fingers. He thrusts up deep inside you, throbbing, aching to fill you, as you grab his hands and pull them to touch you finally, a precious relief to you both.

As he runs his hands up your bare skin, he kneads your soft flesh, worshipping every inch as if he's never beheld anything so perfect in his long life. His large hands encircle your abdomen, grasp your hips, pull your ass impossibly closer until you can't tell where you end and he begins; not that the distinction is important anymore.

He rests his hands on your back, fingers splayed as if to encompass you within his flesh, as if being wrapped around you, caged inside you, isn't enough contact, like the two of you enjoined in body and soul isn't enough, will never be enough to sate his hunger for you.

Finally, you let him lean up to join you, his torso flush with yours, gliding against you, slick with the sweat you've provoked in your teasing. He kisses you hard, tongue tangling with yours, teeth hungry, lips swollen, your breath mingling just as your souls are entwined, a maelstrom of pleasure in which you'd be happy to be imprisoned forever.

You brush back his soft hair, grip the roots, and pull his head back, bearing his throat to your greedy lips. You grind on his cock as you press harsh kisses, soft bites, to his tender flesh, laving his skin and savouring his moans under your tongue. He fucking whimpers under you, and you pull away to take him in, in all his ruined glory.

There are tears in his eyes, his lips wet and parted for your kiss; his expression is nothing like you've ever seen, so completely has he given himself to you and your pleasure.

You softly trace his throat before grasping him firmly, feeling every breath, every sob, every whimper, reverberating through you, inflaming every nerve in your body.

His Adam's apple bobs under your fingers, firm in your grip but tender in your passion. Tears spring unbidden to his eyes, falling down his glorious face and filling your heart with such love, such adoration, such utter and complete devotion, that it scares you for a moment, pushing you over the edge at last.

You clench around him, milking his sensitive cock for every last drop of seed, as you ride this new high, this indescribable feeling of power that his submission has wrought in you. You think if you could just hold onto that feeling-

"I feel it too-" his strangled moan is cut short, all the stars in the sky paling in comparison to the pleasure he feels beneath you right now.

You feel him paint your insides, his cock throbbing and twitching inside you until he is spent. Your foreheads pressed together, your limbs entangled, every breath shared in tandem; you would stay here forever. And he would gladly grant his goddess that wish, and any more that your heart desires.

You roll onto your side, limbs shaking with exertion, pulling him to join you, refusing to allow him exit from your wet heat. He huffs a small, relieved sigh, not wishing to be parted from you either.

His iron embrace never fails to comfort you, and it is especially firm tonight. Your heart swells at the thought that even after surrendering to you so entirely, so perfectly, he still needs to hold and shelter you, can't give up his role as your protector even at his most vulnerable.

"We should do that again, love." You murmur, feeling his smirk against your neck.

"Whatever you desire, my Queen," he peppers your neck with tender kisses, sensing you are close to sleep. "I am yours, you are mine-"

"And always will be." You interrupt with a sleepy smile, provoking a chuckle.

Sauron can only watch you enthralled, as you drift off, content, your limbs entwined with his, reluctant to follow you into sleep after tonight's events. Perhaps, yielding control is something he should master, he muses; after all, you did seem to be utterly delighted with the turn of events, and he is nothing if not a loving Lord, a devoted husband enthralled by his wife to distraction.

You slip into dreaming, holding onto him as if for dear life, relishing in the feeling of being so loved, so obeyed.

Your brain is empty, but your cunt is full, and your heart is happy.

[naoristerling]

Hueningkai fic rec

like the moon ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ huening kai | 8.4k @beom-pyu

you love the ocean more than anything else in this big, wide world. you treasure the crisp air and the salty, but comforting scent of the atmosphere, the way the rays of the sun would bounce off of the rushing waves and onto your skin fills your heart with an uncontained warmth, and the sunset reflected on the surface brings you a sense of serenity. you have loved the ocean since you were little—growing up on the coast, the sea was basically your backyard.

[duality.] ─── ⋆ h. kai | 10k @miupow

An unexpected discovery about a friend sends you spiraling-- sure, hueningkai was cute, but he wasn't your type. at least, you thought he wasn't.

to the mountains - huening kai | 5k @beomie3

your friend group decides to take a weekend getaway trip to the mountains, but it isn't until you stay in a cabin in the woods that your crush on one of them begins to make itself known. mutually :)

Berry Sorbet // Huening Kai | 9k @banggyu0308

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two best friends in a room ❀.* | 7k @beomgyuslilracha

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Geralmente não leio histórias tão pequenas mas essa foi tão fofinha <33

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or else what? | 4k @hyukalyptus

hueningkai x fem!reader | enemies to enemies with benefits(?). NSFW/MDNI!

Series

Anyone Else But You, a six-part series @harmonicakai

It's starting to feel like you're the only person in the world that Huening Kai isn't best friends with, and you're determined to figure out why.

[hellfirenacht]

Wing Man Part 8

Fic Summary: Steve 'the Hair' Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you'll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.

(1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9)

Chapter Summary: Eddie explains himself, and you two make plans to hang out on purpose.

5.7k Words

a/n: Sorry I haven't been updating! I swear, I'm almost always thinking about this fic but I've been trying to figure out where to go with it. I'm started to see how I want to shape the story (over 40k words in, go figure). Thank you all so much for your patience!

Also, I've had a lot of people ask me about Paige and have shown interest in what happened between her and Eddie. She is actually from Eddie's prequel novel, Flight of Icarus! I'll still explain bits and pieces during the story, but I highly recommend reading the novel for the full context. I am trying to write this in a way you don't need to read FoI, but it does give extra context to the story.

Anyway, we continue.

Aside from the mixtape playing in the van, it was surprisingly quiet between you and Eddie. Despite his eagerness to show up and take you out, now that you were sitting in his passenger side seat again, he had no idea what to do next. The sound of Iron Maiden was rumbling through the van, crackling through the old speakers. 

It wasn’t often that Eddie was at a loss for words or couldn’t come up with something to say. After embracing his role in the Hawkins High ecosystem as the resident loudmouth freak he could always come up with something to say to break the ice or cause a ruckus. 

But, being loud wasn’t exactly a substitution for actual charisma. He could hold the attention of his Hellfire Club during the game, and keep them safe enough from most bullies even. But intimidation was different than... whatever the hell he was supposed to be doing here. Flirting? That seemed right. He knew he should be trying to flatter you or compliment you or do something to show that he had an interest in you. 

“So,” you were the one to break the silence between the two of you. “What have you been up to for the past two weeks?”

Eddie know what you actually meant was “What the fuck, man?” which was a really fair question. 

“I should have called you sooner.” It was best to go ahead and rip the bandaid off now and get this conversation out of the way. “I’m sorry, I wanted to but I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” you asked, leaning against the passenger side door as you looked at him. Despite your eagerness to get out of Family Video with him, he could see that you weren’t going to just let him not explain why he hadn’t talked to you. Not that he was going to leave you hanging like that anyway. 

“My phone blew up.” Eddie said bluntly. 

“Your phone blew up? Like... actually exploded?” you asked, trying to see if he was fucking with you. 

“Remember that huge storm a few weeks ago? Turns out that old trailers don’t exactly have the best wiring sometimes so when lightning strikes it knocks out power for a few days and fries some important wires.” he explained. “So... yeah, we just got a new phone today and when I tried to call...”

“So, I didn’t answer my phone so you decided to track me down?” There was amusement in your voice which he took as a good sign. “Seems like you could have done that part earlier. I’m not hard to find.” 

“I’m not exactly interested in stalking.” Eddie snorted. “I’m already on enough people's shitlist in town.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” you laughed. “You know where I live, you could have shown up at my doorstep in the rain or used random phones around town to leave weird messages about how you can’t stop thinking about me or sent me letters with cryptic meanings.”

“Where do you come up with these things?” Eddie laughed, feeling the tension between the two of you start to dissipate. 

“I read a lot of bodice-ripper books.” you shrugged. “Trashy romance novels are a guilty pleasure sometimes.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a weirdo?” 

“Steve did about an hour ago when I suggested that Bozo the clown could be the shit out of Pennywise from It.” 

Eddie wasn’t sure what he expected you to say, but it wasn’t that. Every time you had shown up in his life, you had completely thrown him off. He was starting to suspect that no amount of “Munson Magic” was going to work on you. Not that he wanted to work his dad’s charm on you to begin with. 

What he really wanted to do at that moment was ask you about your little bet with Steve. No, wait, not a bet. A deal? Maybe he should have asked Dustin more questions, or at least waited until after Hellfire to talk to the kid- 

”So what’s the plan?” You broke through his thoughts once again. “You show up out of nowhere and have me get into your unmarked van to take me to a second location... is there a second location in mind?”

There wasn’t, Eddie really hadn’t thought that far ahead.He’d panicked after his talk with Wayne and had shown up to Family Video on the chance that you’d been there. He’d run straight out the door with every intention of finding you and let you know that he was stupid for not trying harder to call you before. 

”I figured we could just... drive.” He wished he could ignore the sudden parallel between you and Paige. He wished that he could just forget about what happened in ‘84. Fuck, him and Paige never even had an official date, only hooking up in his van for a few weeks before everything blew up. 

Wait, was this a date? Crap, that had been the plan right? Show up, ask you on a date and then... then he’d be on a date. What the FUCK was he actually doing? He was acting so fucking awkward now- everything had been easier before. Why did Dustin have to open his big mouth about this?

“Just driving sounds great.” you said, and Eddie once again tried to relax. Every girl he had been with had wanted something from him. Nicole Summers and Cass Finnigan just wanted bragging rights that they got with the freak, and Paige had wanted him to be a rock hero. What did you want from him?

“Have you eaten?” It wasn’t exactly late, but it wasn’t really early in the evening either. His uncle always asked him that whenever one of them got home, and it had taken Eddie an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was Wayne’s way of showing that he cared. 

“I could eat.” you replied, which at least gave this... whatever this was, some structure for the night. Eddie didn’t have a lot of cash on him, but he could probably scrape together enough to get you each a burger or something. 

When the Iron Maiden tape clicked off and spat itself out, you took it upon yourself to pull it out and look it over. “Got any other tapes in here? I need to judge your music taste.” 

That made Eddie laugh “You and every other person in this town. I have a few more tapes in here.” He tapped on the center console which you eagerly dug into, flipping through the different cassettes with eagerness. 

“Metal. Metal. Metal. Metal.” You said, going through each cassette one by one. “I’m starting to see a pattern here, Eddie.” 

“What gave it away?” He said deadpan. “Was it that I play guitar or the fact that we’ve only bonded over music so far?”

“And Chris Morrison.”

“And Chris Morrison.”

“It was your hair, actually. You look so much like Eddie Van Halen it’s actually uncanny.” You looked up from the tapes and he could feel your eyes studying his face. He was glad that it was dark out now, as he could feel warmth rising in his cheeks at the comparison. Was that a compliment? Were you into him looking like Van Halen? 

“Van Halen?” Eddie asked. “I figured I was more of a Kirk Hammett type.”

“The hair yes,” you agreed, still staring at his face as he continued to drive. “But your smile is definitely more Van Halen.”

When was the last time someone had ever looked at him with that much consideration before? Something in Eddie’s gut twisted as he glanced over at you for a split second to meet your eyes. Huh, that was weird. Had anyone made him nervous like this before? Yeah he’d been attracted to Paige but this was starting to feel different. 

He really needed a cigarette right about now. 

“I hope that’s a compliment.” Eddie managed to say as he fumbled for the packet of Camels in the cupholder by him. 

“Oh, it is. I promise.” you replied, digging out a lighter and helping him light the smoke in his mouth. The world's tiniest supernova...

Eddie hated that the closest thing he had to compare notes on when it came to a healthy romance was two months with Paige and a handful of movies that he barely watched. 

You went back to his tapes, and seemed to pick one out. You removed the tape that had been spat out, put it back in the appropriate case (which Eddie found himself appreciating), and he was surprised to hear the old riffs of Muddy Waters playing. 

“A palate cleanser.” you said, leaning back into the passenger side seat. 

Eddie felt his mind reeling from your choice of music. Muddy Waters had been how his mom introduced him to rock at a young age. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the well loved tape as he pulled into the drive in of the next fast food joint he’d seen. 

When he pulled up to the window to pay, a fresh ten was shoved in his face before he could even reach for his own wallet. It took a moment for him to realize that you were wanting to pay. 

“You got me out of work early, it’s the least I can do.” you said, not giving him the option to say no as cash was exchanged for a bag of questionable but cheap food. You held the bag in your lap as Eddie started making his way out of town. 

“So is this an ‘eating van’ or a ‘non-eating van’?” you asked, messing with the top of the bag. 

“I think I’d starve if I didn’t eat in here.” Eddie snorted. “Knock yourself out.”

You wasted no time digging into the fries and taking a few for yourself as Eddie went to the only place that he could afford to take you right now that might be date worthy. 

Luckily, Lover’s Lake was quiet and private on weeknights. If Eddie had taken two minutes to plan this better, he would have thought to maybe clear out the back of his van and set out a blanket and have a picnic. When it came to music and D&D he was great at planning out details, with dates? Not so much. 

This isn’t a date. He reminded himself for the hundredth time tonight. She’s just a girl that you ran over to spend time with the second it occurred to you that she might have an interest in you and she really willingly hopped in your van and your friends actually like her-

Shit. This had to be a date right? Neither of you had said the word but that’s what it was... right? 

Eddie was snapped out of his thoughts with the sweet smell of hot potatoes and grease was wafting under his nose. You had shoved a few fries in front of his face and Eddie wasted no time in taking them. You continued to absently feed him fries as he found a spot to park.

The two of you divided up the food on his dashboard, and Eddie rolled down the windows to let the cool autumn air in. 

“So... what are you gonna be for Halloween?” Eddie asked, wincing internally. When was the last time anyone he knew had dressed up for Hallowen? Okay, so Hellfire Club did tend to dress up on Halloween for a special one shot but that was different- no one came to school in costumes anymore.

“It depends on my plans.” you answered. “Halloween is on a Thursday so I’m usually working. If I have a morning shift I’ll probably do zombie makeup for work, if Steve and Robin are working with me that day I think we’re gonna attempt to be Luke, Leia, and Hans.” 

“And are you gonna be Leia?” Eddie asked. 

“Ideally, I wanted to be Chewie but I don’t have the time for that.” you laughed. “Robin and I voted on Steve to Be Leia. Robin will be Luke, and I’ll be Hans Solo with a teddy bear.”

“Please tell me that Harrington isn’t going to be in the bikini.” Eddie laughed. 

“Keith said costumes had to be work appropriate so, sadly, Steve will not be gracing the store with his sweater-vest chest hair under a bra.” You sighed dramatically. “It’s like he hates the idea of us having fun!” 

“What if you have to close?” Eddie prompted, adjusting in his seat to lean against the door to face you as best he could. Next time he was absolutely clearing out the back to give you both more room. 

“Oh, I am not closing.” you said firmly. “And if Keith thinks he can schedule me that day he can suck it because I have plans.” 

You already have Halloween plans. Of course you would. It’s not like you had to worry about school on a weekday like he did. Eddie tried not to deflate in front of you and remained calm. 

“And what plans would that be?” he asked. 

“Have you ever seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips. 

He had, once, with Reefer Rick a few months ago when picking up his usual supply. A quick pick up had turned into a game of pool, which had turned into the two of them high on Rick’s couch watching an old VHS tape while Rick laughed his ass off and yelled at the tv before passing out in the middle of Tim Curry seducing Brad and Janet. 

“Once.” Eddie said, not giving the exact details of circumstance. “With a friend, I didn’t really get it.” 

“Did you see it in theaters or did you just watch it at home?” you asked, finishing off your food. 

“Friend’s house.” 

“Oh, no wonder you didn’t get it. Rocky Horror is an experience, you can’t just pop the tape in and watch it. You have to come see it in a theater.” As you spoke you were absently folding a napkin in your lap turning it into what looked like a heart. When you were done with that one, you started with another shape with a different napkin. 

“Is that an invitation?” Eddie asked, tearing his eyes away from the way your fingers moved for now. He found his heart pounding in his chest, unsure if you were actually wanting him to come to this, and from the knot forming in his stomach as the shapes you were folding reminded him of the times he met you before. 

“It is.” you confirmed, the ninja star you had shaped with the napkin was placed on the center console as you grabbed another napkin. “...It could also be a date.” 

Despite the period at the end of the sentence, Eddie heard the slight waiver in your voice on the word date. It was that same nervous stammer that had been in Paige’s voice when she offered to let him move in with her in California, it was the same hesitant inflection that one of his Hellfire players used when they weren’t sure if Eddie would approve of what crazy plan they had for their character. 

Aside from that first awkward meeting at the Palace Arcade, you had been pretty confident and upfront with him. Now here you are, laying out your intentions and seeing what he would do. 

What would he do? Eddie had shown up at Family Video with no real plan. He only knew he wanted to see you again, and he knew that Dustin and Steve were trying to set you two up. And it’s not like Eddie was completely against the idea of going on a date with you. You were sharp, and you kept him on his toes, and when you smiled at him it felt like his brain might short out. 

But he had also panicked when he had thought that you were going to kiss him before. After Eddie’s disastrous break up with Paige two years ago, it’s not like he’d been completely against any physical relationships. There had been a grand total of two other hook ups that he’d sabotaged. People weren’t interested in getting to know the freak, they just wanted to say that they had been with him. So both times, Eddie had made sure that he’d been a lousy date and a decent enough lay before deciding that he’d rather had a date with his right hand and a Heavy Metal magazine.

Eddie would rather the rumor mill call him a boring date rather than set a standard that he’d go out with anyone who asked. He wondered if he had, would Steve have put his name on the town marquis for the world to see? Would Eddie ‘the Slut’ Munson be treated any differently than Eddie ‘the Freak’?

Shit, you were still waiting for a response. 

“A date.” Eddie finally managed to echo your last words back at you. The napkin you had been messing with in your hands was now taking the shape of a ninja star. 

“I mean, if you’re interested.” you said quickly. “It could just be a friend thing. Or you probably already have plans for Halloween-”

“I don’t.” Eddie interjected. “It could be a date.”

He watched your shoulders relax and you smiled up at him. “It’s a date then.” You grabbed a napkin and your green marker out of your bag and scribbled something down, handing it over to him. 

“In case your phone blows up again, here is the date and time and location for the Halloween showing of the movie.” your eyes narrowed slightly at him. “And my work schedule has been hectic but I consistently work on Sunday’s and clock out at four.”

Eddie got the message loud and clear, he would know where to find you now. There wouldn’t be any excuses for not reaching out, but two could play at this game. He took the marker from your hand and grabbed his own napkin, scribbling his own phone number down and handing it over to you. 

“I’m at school all week, but I still play at the Hideout on Tuesdays.” He answered back. “Friday is Hellfire.”

With that, the playing field felt a little more level. Both of you now had the power to track the other one down or call when needed.   

“So what are you going to be for Halloween?” you asked, tucking the napkin with his number into your bog. 

“Oh, haven’t you heard? When you’re the town freak every day is Halloween.” Eddie chuckled. 

“So what, you’re gonna put on a polo and khakis instead?” He liked the way you scrunch your nose when you laughed. “Ditch the jewelry and cover your tattoos?” 

“That would probably scare some of the teachers at school.” Eddie had considered doing exactly that, but he really didn’t think he’d want that kind of attention. “No one dresses up at school anymore.”

“Boring.” You sighed. “I tried dressing up for Halloween my senior year but when I got to school my friends convinced me to change clothes.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like the type to let other people tell you what to do.” 

“Now I’m not.” you shrugged. “I’m not in high school anymore, and all those people that I saw everyday? Turns out I was only friends with them because I saw them every day. Once you get away from that forced routine you realize that it’s all bullshit.”

Eddie could relate, probably better than anyone else. He was so sick of the day to day hierarchy of highschool that he’d scream it from on top of a table. Literally. 

“What were you trying to be before your friends killed your fun?” Eddie asked. 

“A pirate. It was last minute but I had a bandana, an eyepatch, a sock puppet with feathers glued to it for my parrot, and a wire hanger I was carrying around as a hook.” you laughed at the memory. “I ended up dropping the eyepatch before my friends made me change because I kept running into people. My wire hanger was confiscated, some asshat stole my parrot, and one of my friends gave me a sweater to change into. I didn’t even make it to first period in that outfit.”

Eddie had made it a point to not pay attention to anyone outside of his small group at school, only ever keeping an eye out for lost sheep that didn’t have anywhere else to go. He wondered, if he had seen you that morning in the brief window before you were pushed back into conformity would he have noticed you? Talked to you? You had already been nice to him before. 

“Wait,” Eddie over at you, taking in the picture you had painted for him. “You made a sock puppet parrot?”

“I needed a parrot, or else no one would get it!” you explained. “But then when I took it off and left it to go use the bathroom it was gone. I finally found the thief in fourth period because they kept playing with it and squawking my own parrot at me. But by that point I had just cut my losses and had given up on Halloween.”

“Are you usually this crafty?” Eddie asked, once again looking at the final napkin you were folding into what looked like an old cootie catcher. 

“I get bored easily.” you said. “If I don’t have something to do with my hands I can’t focus.”

“How’d you start with the whole-” Eddie grabbed one of his slightly used napkins and gave it a wave. “Folding thing?”

“Fourth grade show and tell.” you said. “I did not prepare anything and so I spent a full ten minutes in the school library to find something to show. I found a book on origami, found the easiest thing to make and realized that I actually enjoyed it.”

If that was a mystery, it sure did get solved right there. Eddie wanted to ask about Steve and Dustin. He wanted to ask you why him? He could keep his mouth shut, let this whole thing play out and see what happened. Eddie could sit here, and enjoy the fact that a girl was giving him the time of day and leave everything up in the air just like he had with Paige. 

“So I heard you and Steve had a deal going on.” Eddie said. “Something about getting dates?”

You froze for a second, the completed cootie catcher in your hands. Things were dead silent for a grand total of ten seconds. Ten agonizingly long seconds. Even the cassette player had clicked off and was now whirring as it rewind the Iron Maiden tape. 

Then you started laughing. A lot. 

“Jesus, Eddie!” you said, wiping your eyes with the ninja star as a tear threatened to spill down your cheek. “I tell you I have origami as a hobby, and you follow up with ‘So I heard you and Steve are trying to get dates.’ Seriously?”

Eddie remained silent at your reaction, trying to process your laughter. You didn’t seem scared or nervous that he had called you out, and he had to admit that he hadn’t completely thought through the consequences of asking you that question. 

“Who blabbed?” You asked, after your laughter had calmed down. 

“Henderson.” Eddie admitted and, in an attempt to ease any lingering tension he leaned forward to rest his elbow on the center console and held his chin in his hand as he looked at you. “That shrimp informed me that you found me so irresistible that you begged Steve to set you up with me.”

“Is that right?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh yeah,” Eddie agreed. “Told me all about how ever since Chris Morrison shot you down, you’ve been desperate to get my attention to get back at him.”

“So which is it, am I attracted to you or am I using you to get back at a guy I talked to once in high school years ago?” you asked. Eddie saw a glint in your eyes, the same one he’d seen that first night at the arcade when at the air hockey table. 

“Both are true.” Eddie continued to explain, a shit eating grin on his face. “You see, you were originally going to use me to get back at Chris, but then you saw me play guitar and instantly fell in love.”

“Damn, this sounds like the plot of a terrible movie.” you laughed. “So is this the part where I tell you that ‘It started out like that, but I swear it’s not like that anymore!’? Do I beg on my knees that my feelings for you are genuine, even though we’ve hung out a grand total of two-and-a-half times?”

Five times, but who’s counting? 

“What’s the half-time?” Eddie asked. 

“You ditched me at the arcade after I said I’d be right back.” you stated matter-of-factly. “I’m hoping it’s not a pattern where you start dropping off the face of the earth just when things start getting good.”

“Between you and me,” Eddie leaned in closer. “I thought Dustin was trying to set me up with Steve. Not you.” 

Cue more laughter from you as you threw your head back. “Are you kidding me?! Dustin makes me and Steve show up to an arcade and tries to force a meeting with you- and you thought you were supposed to be dating Steve?!” 

“Not dating!” Eddie clarified quickly. “You see, Steve and I only have one thing in common and that’s Dustin Henderson. Kid practically worships Steve. I thought he was trying to get us to be friends or something.”

“Oh my god, you thought Dustin was trying to hook his two dads up!” Your cootie catcher was now crumpled up in your hands, stained with tears from your laughing. “I’m a homewrecker!” 

Yeah, this really wasn’t going the way Eddie had expected it. 

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry.” you said, your laughter calming down into giggles instead. “Have I been reading this whole thing wrong? I mean, if you have more of an interest in Steve I could probably set that up. He’s only ever shown interest in girls but you have long hair and are pretty enough-”

“No.” Eddie said. “I don’t have an interest in Steve- you think I’m pretty?” How were you able to throw him off so easily? He could tell that if you had been able to join Hellfire you would have been a menace at his table.

“Extremely.” you said, your voice more sincere now. 

The two of you just stared at each other for a while and Eddie felt that same twisty feeling in his gut again. You thought he was pretty. That was good, right? Did you like pretty boys? You were pretty- he liked that a lot. 

“I...” Eddie started and then dug deep inside himself to find the words he wanted to use. “Prettier than Steve?” Those were not the words he wanted to say, but he said them anyway. 

“Steve is conventionally attractive but, as I said before, not my type.” you said. “I like guys with long hair anyway.”

Eddie really couldn’t tell if he was nailing this or blowing it. “So, what is your type?” 

“I’ll tell you mind if you tell me yours.” you countered. 

Had Eddie ever really thought about what his type was? Yeah, he’d had ill-advised crushes and had been attracted to various women in comics and tv but did he have a type? He tried to connect all the girls in his mind that he’d been with, trying to find a pattern. 

Someone who actually pays attention to me. That’s pretty sad, Eddie. He came to the conclusion. Yeah, aside from his disastrous kiss with Ronnie five years ago, every girl he’d been with had been the one to show interest first, and you were no exception. But had he actually had feelings for the others? Not really. Attraction? Yeah. Feelings? Well, with Paige he had been far too busy dealing with Corroded Coffin, his dad, and school to really decide what he felt for Paige. Any other small flings had been dead on arrival.

So why did he keep wanting to spend time with you?

“Don’t go spreading this around,” Eddie started. “But if I had to pick a type, it’d be She-Hulk.” 

“She-Hulk?” you mulled that over in your mind. “So tall, green, and angry?” 

“Strong-willed, and funny as shit.” Eddie corrected. 

“And green.”

“And green.” 

“If I had known that earlier I would have picked Kermit the Frog as my Halloween costume this year.” you teased. “I don’t have a character off the top of my head, but I like people who feel.. Real.”

Real. The word that Paige and him had used over and over in those two months. 

“What’s real to you?” 

“Not high school.” you said. “Someone who’s not afraid to exist and be themselves. I’m most attracted to anyone who can let go of their desperate ego and just have fun. High school was boring because everyone was so wrapped up in their own bs of looking cool that they didn’t do anything that they actually wanted to do. Shit, even I fell into that.”

Eddie didn’t want to ask if he was real to you. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for an answer. There were lots of times he wished that he wasn’t still in school, but this time really hit harder. He was starting to really like you, and yeah part of him was terrified of that. 

The two of you finished off the last of your food and Eddie shoved all the leftover trash into the brown bag and tossed it in the back so you wouldn’t be stepping on it. 

“I don’t know much about real anymore, but I think you’re pretty badass.” Eddie finally said. “I mean, you brought a wire hanger and a fake parrot to school for a costume. That’s pretty brave, even if your friends did talk you out of it.”

“I’m more mad that the parrot was stolen and used to annoy me than the lack of costume.” you said with a small laugh. “They weren’t even funny. They just kept repeating what I said. It was easier to just shut up at that point.” 

“Didn’t think to make them say anything embarrassing?” 

“Oh, I tried. But, jocks don’t know the art of a good ‘Duck Season, Rabbit Season’ gag. Anything embarrassing I said they’d just turn it around. I’d say ‘I pissed myself in gym.’ they’d reply with ‘you pissed yourself in gym’. No love for comedy.” You took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “If you’re going to be a bully, at least give me a good story to tell later, you know?”

“I once got slammed against a locker by a jock who called me ‘a myriad freak.” Eddie said. “To this day, I still don’t know what he was trying to mean by that.”

“See? At least that’s funny.” you said, and then. “Holy shit, we’ve gotten off topic.” 

“There was a topic?” Eddie leaned back on the seat again. 

“Yes, an important one that I was very interested in before we started talking about bullies and high school and She-Hulk.” you nodded. 

Talking to you was so easy that he hadn’t realized how many topics the two of you had blown through in a short amount of time. He looked at his watch real quick and realized it was creeping towards 11 pm now. Had the two of you really been talking that long?

“What topic was it?” 

“You flirting with me.” you said, your lips pulling back in a cheshire grin. “I’m pretty sure you were at least, before I became a homewrecker between you and Steve. Normally I’d hate to break up a happy family, but I might have to make an exception this one time.”

“Was I flirting?” Eddie tilted his head with his own grin. “I’m pretty sure I was just telling you that I thought Dustin was trying to make me be friends with Steve. If I had known that the shrimp was trying to introduce me to a cute girl-” He would have shot it down and canceled Side Quest Day- “I wouldn’t have left the way I did.”

“You think I’m cute?” 

“Extremely.” 

You nodded. “Alright, then it’s a good thing that we’re going on a date. I’m glad to know that I’m not coming between you and Steve.”

It was just past midnight when Eddie dropped you off at your apartment that night. This time when you leaned over the center console towards him, he didn’t freeze up or panic. Eddie let you hug him and he hugged you back, his cheeks growing hot momentarily when he felt your lips press against his cheek and he was able to breathe in your scent. 

“See you later, Eddie. Oh, and for the movie- I highly recommend dressing up.” you looked him up and down. “Actually, just wear what you’d normally wear. I think you’ll fit right in.” 

Eddie made a mental note to ask Rick later on what he was supposed to wear for this. 

“I’ll call you.” he said. “I promise. I mean it this time.”

“Not if I call you first, I have your number now. And worst case scenario, I know where you play.” you responded. “See you Tuesday, Eddie.” 

And with that you were gone again, leaving Eddie alone in the van feeling much better than the last time he had given you a ride. There were still questions he had. He still wanted to know why exactly everyone was wanting the two of them to meet again, and why you always so readily agreed to meet up with him. But those were questions for another day. 

“You had a missed call.” Wayne said as Eddie made his way into the trailer. “Didn’t leave a name or number. Said she’d call you back.”  

Eddie laughed and shook his head, guess you meant it when you said you’d call first. 

“Don’t stay up too late watching tv.” Eddie said before heading towards his bedroom. He once again found himself falling asleep with his copy of The Hobbit, the origami flower tucked safely in the back. 

Next Chapter

Ending note: This fic takes place during October 1985. Stephen King’s It did not come out until September 1986. I would like to ask you all politely to suspend your disbelief for the historical inaccuracy of a piece of dialogue that probably didn’t add much to the plot. If this horrible inaccuracy bothers you, please repeat to yourself “it’s just a fic, I should really just relax” which is what most of us should be doing anyway.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

Tag List: @k8loo @terrormonster55 @sp1dyb0y1008 @crocwork-clockodile @ali-r3n @mxcheese @josephquinnschesthair @gagasbee @peaches-roses-sins @witchwolflea @vintagehellfire @royale1803 @cumslutforaemond @prestinalove @browneyedgirl320 @perpetualmess @thebook-hobbit @mistonk @cultish-corner @grishaversecaptivated @sortagaysortahigh @halialex1119 @bakugouswhOr3 @siriuslysmoking @pookiesnatcher @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @takemetoneverlandbabe @killjoynotes @maelibo

[leclerc-hs]

arranged marriage!Charles sneak peek!

😏

“Je vais me répéter une fois de plus,” I will repeat myself once more. You declared, your tone carrying a hint of assertiveness. Tracing the edge of the desk with a meticulously manicured nail, you maintained your composure, refusing to yield under his scrutinizing stare. “You need to be more careful in public.”

Your cheeks flushed red with frustration, a stark contrast against the determined set of your jaw. Despite the tension, Charles couldn’t help but be captivated by just how stunning you appeared in that moment. He couldn’t tell if he hated you or just wanted to fuck you.

He scoffed before reclining back in his chair, the top buttons of his shirt carelessly undone. His tousled hair appeared as if he had run his hands through it a dozen times—or perhaps someone else had.

He watched as your eyes traced along his disheveled hair and the partially undone buttons of his shirt, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Jealous, mon ange?” He teased; voice laced with amusement. Now it was your turn to scoff.

Mon ange. Him and that stupid nickname.

“Jamais.” Never. You replied firmly, your tone leaving no room for doubt as you turned around. With a subtle sway of your dress, it raised slightly, offering him a glimpse of the lace set beneath it. Without another word, you walked out of the room, leaving him to ponder just how badly he wanted to remove that dress from your body.

He always resented how you seemed impervious to his charms. No matter his efforts, you remained aloof, seemingly untouched by his presence. It bothered him to no end. To him, you were an epitome of perfection, a constant reminder of his own shortcomings.

thoughts? comments? concerns?

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