#y'know after everything is out on the table

[bklily]

They started talking a lot more often 💜

[sysig]

Does this hurt? (Patreon)

Bonus:

I love surfacetable.txt <3

[dior-luxury]

You Being Super Oblivious Of Them Flirting With You

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff/light romance - no prns .

- [𝐜𝐡.] 3rd years

- [𝐩:𝐬] slow burn . one-sided pinning (resolved) . light comedy . mild suggestiveness . teasing/banter . slight jealousy

Note: I sat down to write cute flirty headcanons and instead accidentally wrote all of these guys having a romantic breakdown in about their crush being so oblivious about the flirting. 💀 Then I thought they where good and just decided to go with that as the prompt!

Trey Clover

It had been going on for weeks.

Subtle, harmless gestures at first—sharing his homemade treats, seeking you out in the hallways between classes, and always making sure there was a spare seat beside him at Heartslabyul’s long, rose-lined table. You always took it. Smiling up at him, laughing at his jokes, even leaning against his shoulder sometimes when the evenings stretched long and drowsy under the golden canopy of dusk.

And yet.

You were completely, utterly oblivious.

“You’re really good at baking, Trey,” you complimented one day as he handed you a small, ribbon-tied box of matcha-flavored sweets, his personal recipe he never shared. You bit into one, eyes lighting up in delight. “I don’t know how someone like you is still single.”

Trey blinked.

“...Someone like me?”

“Yeah! Tall, dependable, cute smile—you’re like...dad boyfriend material.”

If he had been drinking tea, he might’ve choked.

Dad boyfriend material?!

Despite the polite, affable smile he wore, a faint twitch of disbelief rippled across his temple. Trey had dropped so many hints—letting you taste frosting off his finger in the kitchen, gently brushing your hair out of your eyes when you leaned too close to the oven, even calling you “sweetheart” under his breath when you dozed off during a study session.

And yet, here you were. Thinking he was some domestic teddy bear.

The final straw came during a Heartslabyul tea party, when you reached over to wipe a crumb from the corner of his mouth with your thumb, completely unaware of how red his ears turned.

“You’re always such a mess after eating cake,” you scolded gently.

“You do realize,” he said slowly, looking into your eyes with a rare, unreadable intensity, “that I only ever bring you the first slice.”

“Huh? I just thought I was lucky!” you grinned.

That did it.

He leaned in, lowering his voice as he caged you between the chair and the hedge behind. His gloved hand gently tipped your chin up. “I’ve been flirting with you for months,” he murmured. “How much more obvious do I have to be, shortcake?”

Your mouth dropped open. “Wha—wait, what?!”

Trey laughed softly, finally letting his forehead rest against yours, the tension melting into something warm, golden, and soft. “I swear, you’re sweeter than my tarts and twice as dense.”

Cater Diamond

“Okay, I give up,” Cater announced dramatically, collapsing face-down on the common room couch. “I’ve tried everything, and they still don’t get it.”

From behind his phone screen, he peeked at you sitting nearby, nose buried in a magazine, completely unaware of his suffering.

It had started as a game at first—light teasing, exaggerated winks, the occasional compliment laced with glittering charm.

“Looking good today, babe~” he’d say, snapping a selfie of the two of you while slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“Thanks, Cater! You look amazing too, as always!”

But you always said it like a friend. With zero hesitation, zero fluster, zero realization. You treated his affection like background noise—a quirk of his personality.

Even when he’d rested his head in your lap after a long day and looked up at you with dreamy, sleepy eyes and whispered, “You’d make a perfect boyfriend, y'know... if you’d let me,” you just chuckled and patted his hair.

“Aw, Cater, that’s sweet. You’d be a great boyfriend for someone, definitely.”

Someone.

SOMEONE.

He practically screamed into his pillow when he got back to his dorm that night.

Every day since then had been a desperate escalation. He started bringing you your favorite snacks, styling your hair for fun, sending you good morning texts with pet names like “sunshine” or “my star.” You responded with gifs. Gifs.

Finally, in a move of last-ditch desperation, he planned the boldest romantic gesture he could think of.

Cater rented out the photo booth in town, the one with the glitter backgrounds and soft lighting. He dragged you inside under the pretense of wanting “a bestie shoot,” and waited for the moment the countdown began.

Three…

Two…

One—

He turned, cupped your face, and kissed your cheek.

Click. Flash.

You blinked at him.

“Cater?? What was that for?”

He stared.

“No, seriously. Are you okay? Did you think I was sad or something? You can talk to me, y’know.”

Cater threw his hands up and groaned.

“You’re the one I like!! You! Not as a friend, not as a selfie buddy, not as a human pillow—I like you, you dense little cinnamon bun!”

Your eyes widened. “Wait. Are you flirting with me?”

He looked like he aged five years in five seconds.

“Yes. YES, BABE. That’s what the last four months were. Flirting. Full-throttle, heart-eyes, rom-com level flirting!”

“…Oh.”

A pause. Then, sheepishly:

“So… wanna take another photo? This time, maybe I kiss you on the lips?”

Cater blinked at your soft smile and the way your hand found his.

And just like that, every ounce of frustration melted into sparkly euphoria. “Oh my Seven,” he whispered with a grin. “Finally.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona was not a man known for patience. In fact, most of the time, he prided himself on getting what he wanted with the least amount of effort. He was sharp, cunning, and confident enough to know that most people would bend over backward just to get a sliver of his attention. So when he set his sights on you—you, with your soft laugh, bright eyes, and completely clueless smile—he assumed it would be easy.

It wasn’t.

It started small. He’d lounge in the botanical gardens where he knew you always came to study. He made sure to growl off anyone else who might sit nearby, leaving the two of you in your own little secluded corner. He'd toss you the occasional compliment, his voice lazy and low.

“Tch. That look suits you, herbivore. Finally got some style.”

You’d blink at him with that warm, clueless grin. “Oh? Thanks, Leona. My friend helped me pick this outfit.”

He resisted the urge to growl. Again.

Then he escalated. He’d sit closer—closer than anyone would consider “just friends.” He'd drop hints laced with suggestion, his amber eyes narrowing when you remained oblivious. He once even played with your hair, idly running his fingers through it while you yawned and continued taking notes on magical herbology.

It got to the point where Ruggie cornered you in the hallway, shaking his head in disbelief. “You seriously don’t get it? He’s basically marking his territory every time you’re near!”

“Huh? Leona? Nah, he’s just... touchy sometimes.”

Leona nearly tore his textbooks in half when he heard that.

The final straw came one warm afternoon when you plopped down beside him under the shade of a sprawling tree. You smiled and passed him a snack you'd made, and Leona, in a bold move of desperation and hunger for your attention, leaned down and bit into it directly from your hand, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

You just blinked and said, “You must’ve been really hungry!”

Leona threw himself backward into the grass with a groan, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Seven hells, you’re dense,” he muttered.

“Huh?”

He sat up again, eyes narrowed, voice husky. “Do I need to spell it out for you, herbivore? I’m not just hanging around you ‘cause I’m bored. I’m trying to get you to notice me.”

You tilted your head, confused. “But I do notice you…”

“No,” he growled, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly, tugging you closer. “Notice me. As in, I want you. You. Me. Together. You seriously didn’t get that?”

You froze. And then it hit you like a freight train. The closeness, the compliments, the touches, the possessiveness—

“Oh... OH.”

Leona smirked, fangs glinting in the sun. “Took you long enough.”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil was always graceful, always poised, always in control. He calculated every step, every glance, every smile. So naturally, when he decided to pursue you, he did it with the same precision he applied to a stage performance or a red-carpet event. Subtle glances, gentle compliments, a brush of his fingers across your shoulder. It was a slow-burning courtship that he expected would sweep you off your feet.

But instead?

Nothing.

Nothing but your charming smile and occasional, completely unbothered “Thank you, Vil!” or “You’re so sweet!” before skipping off to your next class.

He chalked it up to modesty at first. Maybe you were shy. Maybe you wanted to play hard to get. But by week three, when he sent you a handpicked bouquet of enchanted roses and you gave them to Professor Trein’s cat because “it matched her fur,” Vil nearly fainted on the spot.

So, he got bolder.

One afternoon, he strode into your dorm’s common room while you were curled up on a couch with a book. Wordlessly, he slipped beside you and sat right in your lap, settling as gracefully as ever, legs crossed, arm lazily draped around your shoulders.

You blinked. “Are you tired? You can sit here as long as you need.”

Vil’s eye twitched.

“Tired? No, darling, I wanted to sit somewhere comfortable and charming. Surely you understand the appeal.” He leaned in, his breath tickling your ear. “Or is my lap too forward for your delicate sensibilities?”

You laughed lightly. “Nope! You’re light. I didn’t even notice the weight. Kinda like a cat. A really fashionable one.”

Fashionable cat?!

Vil nearly stood up right then and there, scandalized. But no—he took a deep breath. Composure. Poise.

Until you reached up and started patting his head.

“You’re so pretty, Vil. I hope I can be as pretty as you one day.”

“…I’m not trying to be ‘pretty like you,’ I’m trying to be yours,” he hissed in exasperation, face dangerously close to yours.

You blinked again. “Wait… what?”

Vil’s patience finally snapped like a taut ribbon.

“For the love of all that is radiant—I have been flirting with you for months. I’ve complimented you, made time for you, bought you gifts, and now I am literally sitting on your lap! What more must I do? Wear a sign that says ‘I want to be yours’?”

You gaped at him.

“…I thought you were just naturally dramatic.”

Vil groaned, burying his face in your neck. “You’ll be the death of me.”

You awkwardly wrapped your arms around him, finally catching on. “Wait, so… you like me?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, expression softening ever so slightly. “I more than like you. But you, sweet potato, are so hopelessly dense.”

You laughed nervously, cheeks burning. “I’m really sorry… but, um… I like you too. I just didn’t think you’d like someone like me.”

Vil huffed, but a genuine smile curled on his lips. “Well, you’re mine now. And you’ll never be oblivious again, because I won’t give you the chance to miss it.”

Rook Hunt

To Rook, this was a challenge—a delicious, exquisite one.

He was well aware of how utterly unaware you were. The first time he realized, it was during archery club. He complimented the way your arms flexed as you pulled the bowstring, his tone sultry, his gaze locked on you like you were his prey.

You grinned and said, “Haha, thanks! I’ve been working out my shoulders. Good for posture!”

He tilted his head, lips curled in amusement. “Ah, ma colombe, you are truly a creature of mystery~”

But instead of giving up, Rook only doubled down. He started leaving flowers at your desk with poetic notes—sometimes with metaphors so thick they practically screamed “I am in love with you!”

You just thought it was a Rook thing.

“You’re so sweet! You write such beautiful stuff. Have you thought of joining the poetry club?”

Poetry club…?! Mon dieu, I am baring my soul!

He even tried the "accidental touch" method—fingers brushing yours when passing a book, hands lingering too long during sparring practice. Yet you never reacted with more than a casual smile and a “You okay?”

And Rook? He found it thrilling.

“This unawareness… this resistance… c’est magnifique!” he whispered one day, watching you from the balcony like a Shakespearean ghost. “You are like a doe in the forest, unaware of the eyes that follow you in reverent adoration…”

The final straw was when he kissed the back of your hand under the moonlight after walking you to your dorm. With an air of mystery and drama, he looked into your eyes and murmured, “Bonsoir, ma lumière…”

You giggled. “Wow, you really should join the drama club. That delivery was incredible.”

Rook clutched his chest like he’d been shot, but he was laughing too. Of course. Of course you didn’t get it.

But that just made him want you more.

“I shall make it my mission to pierce through the veil of innocence that blinds you, mon trésor,” he declared to the stars. “You will see me—not as a friend, not as a fellow student—but as the man who has adored you all this time.”

Idia Shroud

It was exhausting trying to flirt with someone who didn’t even realize you were the final boss in their dating sim.

Idia never considered himself bold—not IRL, anyway. Most of his romantic experience came from watching his OTPs go through slow-burn arcs in visual novels or tragic anime love stories. But when it came to you, he was trying. Like, genuinely. In his own glitchy, socially awkward way.

He’d wait outside your classroom “totally coincidentally” with his tablet in hand, acting like he wasn’t tracking your class schedule to the minute. He even upgraded Ortho’s AI recognition software just to find excuses to walk past you more often. He quoted romantic lines from his favorite games to you, hoping you’d get it—but every single time?

You’d just blink. Smile. Nod like he was being cute.

“Oh, that line was so poetic! Is that from a movie or something?”

“B-bro that’s from Stellar Lust IV! The confession scene where the star-crossed lovers reunite under a dying moon! Are you seriously not…? Nvm.”

One afternoon, he got bold. He invited you to his room. That alone should’ve been a confession—no one entered his sacred gaming lair unless they had maximum trust level.

He cleared off a place on the bed, installed RGB mood lighting, even had anime OSTs playing softly in the background. He hyped himself up for weeks for this. He was going to drop a flirt so obvious, even a level 1 NPC could read it.

“So, u-uh, you ever wonder what it’d be like to��� y’know… date a genius tech prince who could hack into the city grid just to turn all the traffic lights green for you?”

You tilted your head. “That sounds dangerous… but also kind of cool? Is this part of your new game concept?”

He.exe stopped working.

The blue flames of his hair turned pink for half a second before sizzling back.

He mumbled something incoherent and turned back to his computer, pulling his hoodie so far over his head he looked like a turtle. “N-no, yeah, that was just… haha… worldbuilding...”

He’d keep trying though. One day, he’d craft a cutscene so perfect, even you couldn’t ignore the affection coded into every line.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus was not used to being ignored. Or overlooked. Or, heaven forbid—misunderstood. He was the Crown Prince of Briar Valley, the most feared and powerful student on campus. And yet, here he was, casting ancient spells to conjure glowing roses and coaxing fireflies into hearts over your tea cup—only for you to respond with:

“Wow, Malleus! You always make things so aesthetic!”

He blinked. "Aesthetic?"

“Yeah! Super vibey. You should be a party planner.”

He nearly short-circuited.

This had been happening for weeks. He’d memorized your schedule, just so he could “coincidentally” be where you were. He’d offer to walk you home under the stars, hoping for soft-spoken confessions—but you only asked him if he thought raccoons had hierarchies in their little trash kingdoms.

...You were enchanting. But you were driving him mad.

One day, after finding yet another love poem he’d slipped into your book returned with grammar corrections (you thought he was practicing his prose), he decided on something bold. Direct. Unmistakable.

“Child of man,” Malleus said one twilight evening as you both sat beneath a tree, “if I were to tell you that my heart beats differently in your presence, that the night air tastes sweeter when you laugh—what would you say?”

You tilted your head, thinking. “I’d say you have a really poetic way of saying you like hanging out.”

“I do not merely like hanging out,” he said slowly, brow twitching. “I wish to court you.”

You stared. “Like… on trial?”

“…Romantically.”

“Ohhhh.”

Silence.

“Wait, me?!”

Malleus closed his eyes and inhaled. Patience. He could wait a thousand years more. But hopefully not.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia Vanrouge had seen centuries of war, peace, love, loss—and yet nothing, nothing, had prepared him for the sheer unshakable obliviousness that was you.

It started innocently enough.

He’d toss a wink your way whenever he passed by in the hallway. He brought you little trinkets from the village during his off-campus ventures—flowers woven into chains, sweets with hearts drawn on the wrappers, one time even a hairpin shaped like a bat. You had smiled and thanked him with the kind of radiant purity that could blind a mortal man. And then you tucked the bat hairpin in your pencil case.

Your pencil case. Like he was a math worksheet and not a 700+ year old fae trying to court you.

Still, he found it endearing. You were cute in a way that made his ageless heart ache, and he loved a challenge. So he tried harder.

“You know,” he drawled one afternoon, leaning over your shoulder with a voice like velvet, “in my youth, a suitor might serenade their beloved beneath the moonlight.”

“That’s sweet,” you said, eyes on your textbook. “Did they ever get noise complaints?”

He blinked. “...Noise complaints?”

“Well, if it was late and they were singing outside someone’s window… I bet a lot of people weren’t exactly swooning.”

For a moment, Lilia just stared at you. And then he burst out laughing, so hard he had to wipe a tear from his eye.

“You are either brilliantly teasing me,” he chuckled, “or heartbreakingly naive.”

You smiled at him, not understanding in the slightest.

The final straw came when he invited you for a midnight flight—romantic, intimate, just the two of you soaring above the moon-drenched trees. You screamed with laughter and clung to him the entire way, yelling about how cool it was and how friends like him were the best.

“Friends,” Lilia repeated afterward, voice soft and low as you happily ate the little picnic he’d prepared.

You looked up. “Yeah. I’m lucky to have you.”

He sighed with a small, defeated smile, but his eyes were warm. “The luck,” he murmured, “is all mine, dear.”

[tender-rosiey]

yoo rose I started following you a little while ago and I really liked you. I saw that your requests are open and I would like to ask for a scenario where Nanami arrives drunk and his wife takes care of him while he talks about how he loves her I liked all your stories with my businessman <3

unsteady love — nanami kento x f!reader

a/n: so glad that you do, love! <33 hope you like this one too 🫶🫶

kento stumbles slightly into your house, catching himself against the wall before you steady him, “kento… you’re drunk.”

he blinks down at you, the usually serious expression on his face replaced by something softer, more relaxed. there’s a faint flush coloring his cheeks, and he lets out a low, rumbling chuckle.

“I am not drunk,” he declares, his voice slurred just enough to betray him. “I’m... just—” he waves his hand vaguely in the air, searching for the right word. “...enlightened.”

you suppress a smile and guide him to the couch, sitting him down gently. “sure, ‘enlightened.’” you shake your head, amused. “stay put, I’ll get you some water.”

as you move to the kitchen, you hear him muttering to himself. “can’t believe I’m drunk,” he grumbles, almost like he’s scolding himself, “what kind of a husband does that?”

when you return, cup in hand, he’s sitting with his head leaned back against the couch, his eyes half-closed. but when you approach, he perks up immediately, watching you with a soft, slightly dazed look.

“you’re so beautiful,” he says. his voice is quieter, more sincere, and it catches you off guard for a second. nanami isn’t exactly shy about how he feels, but this is a side of him you don’t see often.

“drink,” you instruct, handing him the water to avoid the sudden rush of emotions his words bring. he takes the glass without complaint, but even as he drinks, his eyes never leave you.

after a few sips, he sets the glass down on the table and leans back again, sighing contentedly. “you take such good care of me,” he says softly, almost to himself, “I don’t deserve you.”

you chuckle at the sudden sentimental turn. “kento, you’re acting like I’ve just saved your life. you had a few drinks. you will be okay.”

he shakes his head, looking at you with those hazy, half-lidded eyes. “it is serious. you’re always here for me. always... my constant. my…” he trails off, struggling for the right words in his drunken haze, “you make everything better. I love you.”

his words are raw, unfiltered by the usual restraint he keeps on his emotions. there’s a vulnerability in the way he says it that makes your heart tighten.

“I love you too,” you reply, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

but before you can pull away, he grabs your wrist gently, pulling you closer. “no, you don’t get it.” he’s more insistent now, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that’s surprising given his state. “I really love you. I think about it all the time, all—the time.”

you laugh softly, though his words tug at something deep inside you. “you can tell me all about it when you’re sober.”

he doesn’t let go, though, his grip still gentle but firm. “I mean it. you make the worst days worth it. you... you’re everything.”

a soft laugh escapes you, touched by his sincerity but also aware of how much the alcohol is loosening his tongue. “I know, kento. you’ve told me before.”

nanami pouts—a rare expression that looks so out of place on his usually stoic face. “but I don’t say it enough. you deserve to hear it.”

he blinks sloppily as he stares at you before murmuring, "I need to marry you."

you let out a soft laugh and kiss his cheek, "we are married, you silly man."

in a once in a lifetime incident, your husband stares at you, eyes wide, face reddening by the second. he looks down at his feet for a few moments, then you see him hum, "that's nice."

his seriousness is almost comical given the state he’s in, and you can’t help but tease him a little. “y'know, you’re awfully chatty for someone who insisted they weren’t drunk.”

he lets out a sigh, leaning his head back again and releasing your wrist, “fine, fine. maybe I’m a little drunk. but it doesn’t change the fact that I—”

before he can finish, he shifts too quickly and almost topples off the couch. you rush to catch him, but you fall with him, and he blinks, disoriented, before breaking into a lopsided smile. “maybe a lot drunk.”

“yeah, maybe,” you say with a laugh, helping him sit back up. “come on, let’s get you to bed.”

as you help him to his feet, he leans heavily against you, his arm draped over your shoulder. you guide him down the hallway, his weight familiar but the situation still amusingly foreign.

normally, he’s the one doing the taking care of—you can’t help but relish this rare moment where the roles are reversed.

once you’ve managed to get him into bed, he pulls you down next to him, refusing to let go of your hand. his eyes, though heavy with sleep, remain fixed on you with that same soft, adoring look.

“you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he mumbles, his voice thick with exhaustion and sincerity, “we have to go to malaysia together.”

“sure,” you smile, brushing your fingers through his hair as his eyes finally flutter shut. “goodnight, kento.”

just as you’re about to pull away, his hand tightens around yours once more, and he whispers, half-asleep, “I love you.”

his words are softer now, less dramatic than before but still brimming with emotion.

you watch him for a moment, his features relaxed in the dim light, and feel a warmth spread through your chest. this side of him—unguarded, affectionate, and a little silly—is one you cherish just as much as his usual seriousness.

as he drifts off, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead, letting his words linger in the air, “I love you too.”

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[mallowsweetmiri]

Potter!Reader x Remus

Summary: after weeks of having a painful crush on your brothers best friend, you make a plan to seduce him.

Warnings: smutty and slutty

Word count: 6k

—————————————————————————

You groaned into your pillow, wiping the sweat from your forehead into the cotton fabric. This was the second time this week you'd woken up sweating from a dream about Remus Lupin, and it troubled you deeply that the scenarios you imagined would never happen. For one, your brother would instantly shut you down if you even suggested going out with any boy, let alone his best mate. The more unfortunate part was that you were almost certain Remus saw you as nothing more than James' little sister, a title you were tired of carrying. You huffed again as you rose to start getting ready. How much longer could this crush go on? It had started on the train in September. You remember thinking to yourself that Remus had become quite good looking over the summer and left it at that. But soon, he started to catch your eyes in the hallways, then in the common room, until finally he had managed his way into your head. You were constantly thinking about him. Thinking about the glimpses of his chest you'd caught one time when his shirt was unbuttoned, thinking about the way his adam's apple moved in his throat, thinking about his hands...

You shook your head and stepped into the shower. If only you could know what he felt like, then maybe this incessant urge to be with him would go away. You felt the water fall down your back as you washed yourself up. You were a pretty girl, you knew this. If you were someone else, had a different last name, maybe you'd have a chance. Although, you'd never really tried before. You kept these thoughts to yourself, having nobody to talk to them about. Normally you would tell James everything, and he would usually play parent when it came to your school girl crushes. But you couldn't exactly go up to James and say, "Hey, do you think you could set me up with Remus? Y'know, your best mate? I really want to see what he looks like with his clothes off." No, you couldn't do that. But perhaps you wouldn't have to...

You stepped out of the shower feeling confident in your plan. You had spent all this time pining in silence over Remus, it was time for action. While you got ready, you made subtle changes. You hiked your skirt up just a little and slipped into the button down that was just a touch too small. When you did your makeup, you were sure to make your lips look extra lush and rosy. You put on your favorite perfume, the one you saved for special occasions. This seemed as good a day as any.

"There she is," James smiled and stood as you came down the stairs to the common room.

"Good morning, Jamie," you chimed, "were you waiting on me?" James laughed as he grabbed his bag off the floor, the two of you heading through to the portrait hole.

"I'm always waiting for you," James nudged you with his shoulder. "You look nice today." You raised your brow at him, his statement more of a question as if to ask "Is there a reason you're making an effort?"

"Thanks," was all you replied as you made your way to breakfast.

PHASE 1: Hook

When you got there, the other marauders were already sat down. Sirius was talking animatedly with Peter as Remus sat quietly reviewing notes.

"We've finally arrived," James said to no one in particular, taking a seat and immediately filling his plate. Remus look up from his book and mumbled something before delving back into his work. You sat next to James and made a bowl of porridge, listening to Sirius boast about the Quidditch match tomorrow.

"Ravenclaw is going to destroy Slytherin," he bellowed, thumping his fist on the table. "And then I am going to destroy a bottle of Firewhiskey in their common room." He smirked, earning and high five from James.

"That's the spirit, Pads," James cheered, taking a drink from his cup. You rolled your eyes and stirred your oats.

"I don't know how the two of you haven't died from overconsumption yet," you quipped, spooning sugar into your bowl.

"Genuinely," Remus added, looking up from his book, "you two are menaces." You hummed in agreement, bringing the spoon to your mouth to lick the extra sugar off. You caught Remus watching from your peripherals and made a show of it, bringing your glossed lips together at the tip of the spoon. When you glanced up thoughtfully through your lashes, he was still watching. It made you chuckle as his eyes quickly averted back to his book. Baited.

"Are you coming tomorrow, Y/N?" Peter asked, shoving toast into his mouth. You swallowed your porridge and swore that Remus' ears seemed to shift at the question.

"Y/N never comes to quidditch parties," James pouted, turning to look at you. You rolled your eyes.

"Correction, I never come to your quidditch parties," you teased, poking a finger into his shoulder. "I'll probably go tomorrow to see Pandora. If Ravenclaw wins," you reminded them. Sirius grumbled something but you couldn't tell what he was saying through his mouthful of sausage. James' face lit up with excitement.

"Ooh! Sibling bonding time," he gushed cheesily, squeezing your cheeks. Oh, for fucks sake. Could he stop? You were doing everything in your power not to be seen as his bloody little sister and he was ruining all your efforts.

"Okay, that's enough. I'm going to class," you grumbled, trying to hide your annoyance in front of Remus. The boys chuckled as you gathered your things and got up from your seat. If James was going to be a tosser, you'd have to up your game.

"Oops," you said innocently as you dropped your book on the ground, loud enough to make a clatter. You bent over to pick it up, praying that James was currently not watching.

"Merlin, Y/N. Pull your bloody skirt down," James scolded, making a foul face. You rolled your eyes at him again and stuck your tongue out as you continued to exit the hall. Well, if Remus hadn't been looking before, he surely was now.

PHASE 2: Line

You were more than excited for the Quidditch game, especially after spending yesterday evening stuck in the dungeons fixing your laughing potion. You were also excited because you had another chance to see Remus. You had only seen him briefly yesterday, and he was always buried in his work. Hopefully you'd be able to gain his attention today at the game.

With this intention, you slipped on a white babydoll top and watched yourself in the mirror as you buttoned it up. You looked good. You left the top button purposely unlatched, knowing it could catch someone’s attention. After slipping on your favorite pair of jeans, you felt confident- sexy, even. Just the idea of Remus thinking you were sexy made you bite your lip.

You didn't wait for your roommates to finish getting ready. You did a last check of your things, grabbed your coat, and started down to the common room. As per usual, the marauders were sitting around the couches, talking loudly and taking up space. This time, Remus was clearly in on whatever bet was being placed over the quidditch game. His crooked smile made you curse under your breath and fix your hair. You decided to play it safe and sit by Marlene in an attempt to hide your fluster.

“Hi Marls,” you chimed, plopping down next to her.

“Princess Potter! You look absolutely dashing today,” she gloated, giving you a quick hug into her shoulder. You blushed from her compliment and peered upwards from the hug. Remus was smiling at something Peter had said, but was looking at you. You sent him a small wave from under Marlene’s arm to which he nodded up in response before turning his attention back to the boys. Why was that so hot?

Within twenty minutes, the group of Gryffindors was ready to leave, so the lot of you began the journey down to the pitch. It was nice out today, one of those afternoons where the sun seemed to warm the grounds and the breeze. This meant that the entire school would be at the game. You weren’t usually a fan of crowded spaces, but you silently thanked the gods for putting you behind Remus as you filed into the stands. It was so packed, you could smell the cologne lingering off his clothes as you sat down on the bench. You bit your lip, trying to hide your smile of satisfaction. It felt like the universe was helping your scheme.

“Y/N!” James called over the crowd, leaning forward to see you. You raised your brows and leaned forward to see him, giving him a forced smile.

“Yes, brother dearest?” You called back in a sickly sweet voice. At least now you had an excuse to lean over Remus, who was currently leaning back as far as he could to get out of the way. Perfect position to climb onto his lap, your brain thought intrusively.

“Your boyfriend’s up on the pitch,” he wiggled his eyebrows teasingly, pointing to Theodore Pompous, a 7th year Ravenclaw. You leaned over Remus and Peter to smack your brother.

“Bugger off,” you grumbled. “I admit to having a crush one time in third year, and you still haven’t shut up about it!” You felt your cheeks blush as James and Sirius continued to tease you in the most immature manner. All you could do was roll your eyes and take it, those prats.

“Still have a crush on that posh boy?” Remus leaned in with a teasing smile. You internally groaned at him for joining in on the joke, but you wouldn’t pass up the chance to tease him back.

“Why, are you jealous?” You challenged with a devious head tilt. Remus scoffed and trained his eyes back on Theodore.

“Nah,” Remus replied coolly. “Besides, James would never let you go out with that git.”

“Oh, yea?” You asked, leaning in slightly. “And who would my brother let me go out with?” He turned to face you, his eyes meeting your provocative stare. His eyes flashed with something before Marlene tugged on your arm.

“Can you tell the boys to scoot down? Lily just got here.”

You stifled the urge to roll your eyes as you and Remus called out for the boys to move further down the bench. There wasn’t much room to spare, and you ended up wedged between Marlene and Remus. You were painfully aware of his leg against your own, though Marlene's thigh didn't seem to cross your mind. Remus leaned away from you, his hand behind Peter on the bench to support his weight. It was only a minute of this compromising position before they announced the start of the game. Then, everyone leapt to their feet, eager to watch.

It was a riveting match, and Slytherin almost took the win. Luckily, Theodore managed to catch the snitch at the perfect score ratio, ending the game and sealing the win for Ravenclaw. As the excitement and cheers began to die down, everyone started slowly filing out of the stands. You shuffled behind Marlene, the noise of chatter and brushing of shoulders making you feel slightly overwhelmed. The party was going to be packed tonight. You were almost to the stairs when your foot got caught on a raised step, tripping you into the walkway. You gasped as your heart lurched forward. You prepared for impact against the steps, but it never came. Suddenly, you felt that Remus’ hands had wrapped around your waist. Your cheeks flushed red as you twisted around to face him, his right hand still lingering on your body.

“Thanks,” you muttered sheepishly, your body still shaken from the almost fall. He hesitated for a moment with his hand on you, and was about to say something before James appeared next to him. Remus dropped his hand and shoved it in his pocket. You turned back around and kept following Marlene, carefully watching where you stepped.

“Y/N, fix your shirt!” James called from behind. You clenched your jaw as you kept trudging on, shuffling along with the rest of the Gryffindors. Marlene fell beside you and scoffed.

“He is such a prat about you,” Marlene complained, throwing a dirty look back at James.

“Tell me about it. I almost eat shit and all he cares about is my shirt buttons,” you grumbled, begrudgingly buttoning your top. Marlene cackled and threw her arm around you.

“Please tell me you’re coming to the party tonight,” Marlene pleaded, shaking you slightly.

“Oh, I’m coming to the party tonight,” you grinned delightfully, nudging her in response. “And James is going to freak out when he sees what I’m wearing.”

PHASE 3: and Sinker

"Okay, actually what the fuck are you wearing, Y/N. This is my last straw," James warned, pushing himself up from the arm chair. His outburst made the other three boys heads snap up. You couldn't help but smirk as you felt Remus’ eyes on your body.

"What? This is what people wear at Ravenclaw parties these days," you shrugged, waving past them towards the exit. "Not that you lot would know. You don't get invited." Sirius barked out a laugh, while James sputtered in disbelief behind you.

"She's right!" Mary called from the stairs, bouncing into the common room with the rest of the Gryffindor girls, all looking flawless. You couldn't blame James for his reaction- If anything, you should be thanking him. He's doing a great job of getting everyone to stare.

"While I respect your opinion James, I think I look great. And I can wear whatever the hell I want," you snapped, spinning around to face him with a stubborn glare. The girls cheered, shouting some excited "Hell yeahs!" as James gave up with a resigned eye roll. He knew better than to cross you on something you wanted, and you clearly wanted something. He just didn't need to know exactly what it was. The girls followed you excitedly as you started out the portrait hole. This was going to be a fun night.

As predicted, the Ravenclaw common room was packed. By the time you arrived, the moonlight was already pouring through the glass ceiling dome, casting everything in a dreamy glow. It wasn't hard for Pandora to spot you, pulling you onto the dance floor with an airy giggle. The music was pulsing through your veins as you finished your first drink, then your second. Pandora pulled you into her body, the two of you laughing as you swayed and twirled. For a moment, your eyes focused on the group of Gryffindors hanging out in the lounge area, laughing at something Sirius had said. Remus sat back in a chair, his casual demeanor seeming out of place in a room like this.

Remus.

Your swaying slowed as you trained your eyes on him sitting nonchalantly. He was watching you, his jaw tightening as his eyes dropped to where Pandoras hands rested on your hips. It was too bad that Pandora twirled you around and you lost your train of thought.

"Panda, let's go smoke. I'm getting dizzy," you called over the music, Pandora nodding in response. The two of you resigned to a quiet corner, where you pulled out a tin of cigarettes and lit one with a flick of your wand. You inhaled deeply, enjoying the relief of cool air away from the crowd. You leaned your back up against the wall as Pandora took the fag from your hands.

“Lingering eyes are on you,” Pandora sang, her spacey eyes falling behind you as she took a drag. You turned your head to see where she was looking and was met with Remus' stare.

“Perfect. Those are just the eyes I want lingering,” you replied, bringing your drink to your lips as you watched him. You half expected him to look away, but his eyes were burning through you. You watched as he scanned up your body, his eyes meeting yours before he downed the rest of his drink. He then quickly averted to James who was trying to get Remus' attention.

"I need another drink,” you mumbled as you pushed yourself off the wall, Pandora's giggles echoing behind you. You crossed the room over to where the drinks were. You couldn’t tell if the room was charmed to be slightly purple or if it was the night sky above you. Either way, the ambiance certainly added to your intoxication as you neared the edge of the room. You almost didn’t realize someone slipping up behind you.

"Are you teasing me, Y/N?" Remus asked, cornering you by the drinks table as you spun around. He moved quickly, and you peered behind him to check for any lingering marauders.

"I'm always teasing you idiots," you sassed, turning to grab a bottle off the table. Remus seemed to step even closer to you. If one of the boys saw you like this, they'd certainly take notice. He was being bold. Luckily, you were hidden by an abnormally large globe and the mist that seemed to float about the room.

"I see you everyday," Remus challenged, huffing out a laugh, "and I've never noticed you looking at me with those eyes, Y/N." You hummed as you filled two shot glasses.

“What eyes?” You asked innocently, looking up at him through your lashes as you held out a shot for him. He scoffed out another laugh and took the shot from you.

“Cheers, love,” he winked, clanking his glass with yours before downing the shot. You followed suit, happy to consume some liquid courage. He leaned in closer to you and lowered his voice, “You know, you should really be careful wearing something like that.”

“Why’s that?” You swallowed, the burn from the shot making your cheeks hot.

“You might catch someone’s attention who you don’t want,” Remus said darkly, making you bite your lip. You’d never seen him like this before.

“And what if I catch the attention of someone I do want?” You asked coyly, looking up at him again through a tantalizing gaze. Remus scoffed again for the third time, as if he couldn’t believe your audacity.

“And who is it that you want, Y/N? Hmm?” He asked, more of a challenge. At this point, you were certain that he wanted you. That, or you were about to be in serious trouble. Either way, the risk seemed worth the reward.

“You.”

Something broke in Remus as he stepped forward again, impossibly closer as his hands met your hips.

"You mean to tell me you wore this dress, just to get my attention?" He laughed, his voice low and teasing. You bit your lip and blushed, trying to hide your blatant satisfaction. Remus was smarter than he looked.

"Mmhm," you nodded, your poorly hidden smile spreading to his face.

"Fuck, Y/N," he broke and turned to scan the room, his hands still grasping your hips. You stared up at him, watching his jaw tense as he tried to locate the marauders. His hands were burning through your dress as you stood completely still. You felt relieved when he muttered, "Follow Me," and ushered you towards the exit. You weren't sure where your brother was, but you trusted Remus to get you into the hallway. Once you had exited the doors, he wasted no time as he pressed you into the wall, the force causing you to gasp. He held you in place as he pressed his forehead into yours.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispered and you almost scoffed. You tugged him by the collar and collided his mouth with yours, groaning when he deepened the kiss immediately. His hands were greedy, grabbing at your body as he pushed himself against you. This was even better than your dreams. All sense left your body as he continued kissing down your neck. He pressed his knee roughly in between your legs. A moan left you lips as he bit down, nipping and sucking at your skin.

"Fuck, Remus," you panted, your hips rolling up towards his body. He grunted and pushed you back against the wall. Who knew Remus Lupin would be so intense?

"Can I take you back?" he breathed heavily, as if he was barely holding onto his control.

"Do you even have to ask?" you teased, his body flush against your own. He huffed out a laugh as he kissed your neck again.

"You know I have to ask, Y/N," Remus muttered darkly, as though the act of asking in itself was a violation. And maybe it was, but you couldn't care less about the line he was crossing.

"Does this answer your question?" You whispered, pulling his hand down to touch you. He cursed under his breath as he felt you, his hand seeming to move on its own as he ran his fingers up your soaking panties. It took him a minute to regain focus.

"Okay, let's go," he commanded, guiding you down the hallway with haste. You giggled as he held your waist, moving you quickly towards the Gryffindor tower. You couldn't believe this was actually happening. It surprised and satisfied you that your plan had worked, that you'd managed to tip Remus over so far that he was bringing you back to his dorm.

"You're moving so fast," you fussed as he dragged you up the stairs. His legs were significantly longer than yours.

"M' sorry," he muttered, his eyes focused ahead. "I don't want to waste any time." His urgency was contagious, and you felt yourself pick up the pace. He released you as you stepped through the portrait hole, his grip loosening with surprising restraint. He was careful, and as much as it didn't concern you in the moment, you were glad at least one of you was being responsible. There weren't many people in the common room, everyone either asleep or at the party. Remus' hand found your back once again as he silently steered you towards the boys dorms. You went up the staircase until you reached their door, looking back at Remus for permission before opening it. The windows let in slivers of moonlight and a cooling breeze. Remus shut the door behind you and turned you around. Somehow his faced seemed more real as he stood there, his eyes searching your face.

"Remus," you breathed, feeling the weight of his gaze. He huffed out a breath through his nose, stepping close to you.

"Just tell me Y/N," he said, his hands finding your neck, "Just tell me if you want me to stop."

"I want you," you whined, standing on your tip toes and pulling him down by the neck. He gratefully returned the motion, groaning as his mouth found yours. Remus was everything you'd expected and more. He knew what he was doing, and his blatant want for you made your legs buckle under his touch. He walked you backwards, lifting you by the thighs and lowering you carefully onto his bed. His hand smoothed its way over your leg, pushing up the hem of your dress. His thumb swiped against your front, causing your back to lift slightly under his touch. He hummed into your mouth as he ground his hips down into yours. You could feel him through his pants, and you groaned at his size. Fucking hell. You ran your finger nails down the back of his shirt. Remus pulled his wand out of his pocket and closed his curtains, sitting up on his knees and unbuttoning his shirt. You watched, mesmerized by the show in front of you. The scars that ran down his chest, lower to his abdomen, and lower...

"My eyes are up here, darling," Remus teased, smirking down at you as he tugged off his shirt. You swallowed, looking up at his eyes which were no less intimidating than his body. He scoffed out a laugh as he climbed over you, running his fingertips down your body.

"If your intention was to get my attention all night, you did a good job," he breathed, pressing his finger into your clit. "Such a good job."

He stifled your moan with his mouth, his kiss wet and needy. His fingers moved carefully over your panties, provoking a response from your body that you'd never experienced before. You were trying your best to keep up with his kiss, but the overwhelming sensation of Remus had you melting into the bed.

"Oh, fuck," you moaned, throwing your head back into the pillow as his fingers moved underneath the fabric. He hummed as he began to kiss roughly down your neck. His fingers swiped over your slickness, teasing your entrance. You grasped onto him tighter, your nails digging into his shoulder as he plunged a finger inside you. He pushed himself up to watch you as he pumped another finger into you, you hips moving rhythmically with his hands. By this point, you looked a complete mess with your dress bunched around your middle and your mouth in a permanent gasp. You groaned as you felt yourself beginning to pulse on the brink of an orgasm.

"Fuck, Y/N. Are you going to cum?" Remus mocked you, he fingers stealdiy curly up inside of you.

"Y-yea. M' gonna cum," You whimpered, screwing your eyes shut. Remus muttered a curse under his breath before ducking his head and finding his way in between your thighs. Without warning, he buried himself in you, lapping at your clit while pinning you down by the waist. You grasped at his hair, attempting to pull him off of you but it was no use. He was humming into you as you moved in circle around his face, teetering on the verge of your orgasm. He let out a particularly throaty grunt that sent you over the edge. You let out a muffled cry as you spilled your juices onto his tongue repeatedly. He finished you up, humming as he began to kiss up your body until he hovered over you again. You pulled him down into a rough kiss, your hips snapping up to feel his hard on. "You're so perfect, Y/N," Remus praised, pulling your dress down over your bum. Your tits were now fully exposed, Remus' hands and eyes exploring over your body like he was trying to memorize you. "So perfect... I want you so badly..." He groaned, kissing over you chest and rubbing your tit in his hand. You groaned with pleasure.

"Then have me." You didn't hesitate to pull off the rest of your clothes, helping Remus unbutton his pants and pull them over his ankles. He did the same with his boxers, his length springing free. You bit your lip at the sight, a little nervous for how big he was. This didn't deter you though as you sat on your knees and leaned forward, beckoning him to use you.

"You're so fucking-” Remus let out a groan as he pushed himself inside your mouth, grabbing the back of your head with his hand. You wet his shaft with your tongue, moaning as he began to move down your throat. "So fucking good." His praises made you clamp your knees together, groaning again as you took him as far as you could handle. He gripped your hair roughly and throat fucked you for a few seconds before pulling you off, as if he couldn't control himself. "Turn around."

You did as you were told and spun around onto you hands. He pushed you chest down into the bed lined himself up with your entrance. You tried to sit back onto him, but his other hand held your hips firmly in place.

"Please, Remus," you choked out, your face buried into the mattress. He groaned as he pushed into you slowly, stretching you out with every inch he pressed inside of you.

"Oh, fuck," Remus breathed, moving slowly to let you adjust to his size. This consideration didn't last long before he was pounding you into his mattress, calling you filthy names and tugging on your hair. All the restraint he seemed to have went out the window as he fucked you mercilessly from behind.

"R-Remus. Fuck- me-" you cried, whimpering with every thrust. His hand gripped your hip with a squeeze as he leaned over your body.

"You're taking me so well," He breathed, running his hand under you body. He snaked his hand over your tit and pulled you up against him, making you gasp with pleasure from the new angle. "You're doing so good, angel."

He had you melting from his touch as your body gave out underneath his hands. He bit your neck gently, sucking and kissing on the sweet spot he had found earlier. You groaned as your head lulled back on his shoulder. This was not what you were expecting. You had no complaints though as he reached down between your legs and started pressing on your clit, pushing himself deep inside of you.

“R-Remus,” you warned, struggling to hold yourself up. You could feel a knot forming in your stomach for the second time as his thick cock moved inside of you, putting more pressure on your nerves.

“Just like that, Y/N,” he murmured, his strong hands holding you in place. “Just let go, sweetheart.”

You didn’t have to be told twice as you let yourself release around him, guttural sounds coming out of your mouth. You had no time to feel embarrassed over your moans as he pushed you back on the bed and started fucking you senseless.

“So good, fuck me,” Remus mutter incoherently as he rammed himself inside of you, grabbing at your hips. You looked back at him to watch, and were not disappointed at the sight. When his eyes locked onto yours, he broke. He snapped his hips haphazardly as he released himself inside of you. You moaned again at the feeling of Remus Lupin filling you up with his cum. He thrust into you one last time before falling over you, moving your hair to one side to kiss your neck.

“So fucking good, Y/N,” he praised again, cleaning the both of you up with an impressive flick of his wand. You hummed and turned yourself around in a fucked out daze. He watched you pout as you pulled weakly on his neck. He chuckled under his breath and came down to kiss you. The two of you stayed like that for a while, lazily kissing as his hands rubbed gently down your body, a stark contrast from his rough actions just moments ago.

“I should probably go,” you frowned as he came up for air. He mirrored your response and sighed.

“You’re probably right,” he said, pushing himself off of you. “Here, let me grab you a shirt.” He pulled on his own pants before you heard him shuffle to his trunk. Just as you were about to move to get up, you heard someone bounding up the stairs.

“Shit,” you whispered, frozen in place. You saw Remus’ hands toss a shirt through the curtain before retreating, and you gratefully put it on. Luckily, your dress was still under you. You heard Remus kick your shoes under his bed.

“Moony? Why’d you leave so early?” You heard Sirius ask with a slight slur, stumbling into the room.

“Started boking,” Remus replied casually. “I feel like shit, I’m just gonna go to bed.” Sirius hummed and fell on his bed. You heard him kick off his shoes and manuveur himself under the sheets.

“You and me both, Moons,” Sirius groaned, seemingly too drunk to care about any lie Remus was spewing. Remus moved towards his bed.

“Alright, well. G’night,” Remus murmured, climbing into bed quickly.

“G’night,” Sirius muttered, rummaging through something. You looked to Remus with concern, who only put his finger to his lips as he came to lay down next to you. His haphazard smile seemed to relax you a bit as he pulled you into your chest, humming with content.

“Just go to sleep, love,” he whispered quietly and kissed your head. “I’ll get you back safe and sound.” Perhaps it was against your better judgement, but you seemed to trust Remus wholly to take care of you. That and your body was completely exhausted from him. You murmured a goodnight as you buried yourself into his neck, falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. At some point, you heard your brother come in with Peter. Remus momentarily tensed causing you to shift. His grasp tightened on you before he heard Sirius grumble something along the lines of “sick” to James and the room fell silent again.

The second time you stirred, you felt Remus pulling away from you. You mumbled lightly, confused as to why he was getting out of bed. He turned to shush you quietly before stepping out. You heard him shuffle across the room.

“James,” he whispered, “James, wake up.” You sat up quietly in his bed. What the fuck was he doing?

“Mm,” James groaned, turning in his bed. “Moony?”

“Yea it’s me,” Remus said quickly. “Can I borrow your cloak? I think a Slytherin charmed my drink last night and I need to go on a quick mission.” You rolled your eyes at this. Remus was smart, and his lies would perfectly convince James. He would never turn down a prank.

“Oh, shit,” James said, slightly more awake. “Do you want me to come?”

“No,” Remus answered quickly. “Uh, no. I’ll be super quick. I just can’t sleep until I know I got back at them.” This seemed to appease James as you heard him fall back into bed.

“Sure, Moony,” James yawned. “It’s in my trunk.” You heard Remus shuffle through his trunk before coming back around to the other side of your bed. You heard him slip on some shoes before holding the curtain open, once again holding his finger to his lips. You rolled your eyes at this and quietly stepped out of the bed, thankfully blocked by the rest of the room. Remus threw the cloak over the both of you and guiding you to the door, trying to be as quiet as possible. Both of you felt relief as you stepped into the stairway, making your way down to the common room. Nobody was here at this hour. Remus threw the cloak off of you.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, spinning you around to face him. “I should’ve been more careful.” You shook your head.

“It’s fine, I didn’t mind using you as my pillow for a bit,” you chuckled lightly. “Besides, I could’ve used a bit more caution myself.” You blushed shyly at him. You hadn’t been the most discreet throughout the whole ordeal. Remus laughed at this and ran his thumbs across your hips, causing you to shiver. You wore only his oversized shirt and your panties.

“Nah,” Remus said with his lopsided grin. “I think I quite like your obvious pining for me.” You slapped his chest lightly as he chuckled. “I’ll just have to work extra hard to keep you to myself.” He leaned in to kiss you, and you felt your heart leap. So much for getting over your crush.

“Hmm, I’ll guess I’ll have to keep trying to get you attention then,” you whispered, pulling back from his lips. He hummed and kissed you again, as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Go get some sleep, love. I’m sure you need it,” he teased, flashing another grin at you. You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t keep your smile down.

“Goodnight, Remus.” You started towards the girls dormitories.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Remus found himself staying in the common room with James’ cloak, not wanting to return too early. He tried to convince himself this was a bad idea, but he couldn’t justify it. There really wasn’t anything that could stop him from fucking you again. His mind flashed with images of your perfect eyes looking back at him as he rammed himself inside of your perfect pussy. His head fell back onto the couch with a thud. He was a goner.

[buckyalpine]

I love Bucky loving his body. I love Bucky loved by the team. I love Bucky having his happy ending with a family. Imagine Bucky lounging around the sofa with his little baby girl tucked in his arm, her sweet face covered in frosting after smothering half of her cupcake onto her cheeks. The icing is bright red just like Tony's suit and it's his birthday party afterall, so everything is in full swing. Most of the cupcake is squished between her fingers, very little actually making it into her mouth but Bucky doesn't mind. He chuckles, watching her with heart eyes as she happily smears it onto his crisp white shirt, babbling and cooing, now sucking her thumb.

He is absolutely unbothered by this, all he sees is his happy little baby with her cheeky smile licking up all the frosting just like her mama. While Bucky couldn't care less about his shirt, a few others certainly did.

"Better get dunk that shirt into a bucket of tide pens Barnes" Clint snorted.

"Actually the quicker you get it off, the less likely it is to stain. Take it off now" Tony's voice went from fatherly advice to a seductive growl making Bucky's face twist in amusement, pink starting to color his cheeks.

"Yeah, give the little munchkin to y/n and take it off. Cause of the stain" Nat agreed, cocking an eyebrow. You giggled watching the scene unfold before you, your husband growing bashfully shy.

"Can't hurt punk" Steve shrugged and Bucky's eyes nearly popped out of his head until he realized his best friend had been nursing a rather large glass of Asgardian mead. Tipsy Steve was always a little bit of a pervert...

"I-

"For the stain"

"I think you just want me to take my shirt off" Bucky huffed while you grinned, giving his cheek a peck before taking your little princess in your arms.

"Can't blame them handsome, c'mon, show em' how lucky I am" you whisper and that sells it. Couldn't hurt and since they were all asking...

"Just take it off!" Nat howled with a wink, a bunch of whistles when Bucky sighed, indulging the team a little. He unbuttons his shirt and hands it off to a genuinely concerned Sam who would normally make sure the shirt got sent to the cleaners but this is too good so he throws it into a bucket of cold water and is back within seconds.

"Good God"

"Jesus"

"You look fuckin' good terminator"

"Alright, alright" Bucky holds his hands up, unable to stop the way his ears are bright red, shaking his head when you blow him a kiss making him blush more.

"Body shots!"

"What?"

"Yes"

Tony's eyes glimmer with excitement, and Bucky snorts, loving the way you egg him on, his daughter also squealing with excitement.

"Go on Sarge, y'know you look good"

He lies down on the bar table, surrounded by just the team, abs beautifully flexed as Nat pours a generous amount of some type of alcohol right on his belly button.

"When else will we get this lucky" She says with a playful smirk while Steve cracks his knuckles.

"Why are you cracking your knuckles, what the hell do you plan on-

"ME FIRST" He doesn't give anyone a chance, face planting himself into Bucky's tummy, his lips sealed, drinking every bit of the burning liquor with a satisfied hum.

"How much has he had to drink"

"Who cares, me next"

"I think you've licked enough of my husband"

"You get him all the time, don't be greedy"

"That cute little chubby ball of frosting and giggles is enough evidence you get him every which way, besides isn't there another one cooking, y'can't have any now git"

"Blink twice if you need help"

"Bro looks like an angel"

"Why aren't you blinking"

"Crafted by the heavens"

"You like this, don't you"

Bucky can't help but chuckle, surrounded by idiots. Drunk idiots. His wife. His baby girl. Another little one on the way. All who love him. Would protect him. Life was good.

[cntloup]

simon x wife!reader

you've been avoiding your husband for some time...

"it really fuckin' pisses me off, y'know?" simon blurts out suddenly into the deep silence that had been settling between you, a serious edge present in his tone.

"hm?" you turn your head to face your husband with wide eyes from your position across from him on the couch while swirling a glass of wine.

he moves slightly forward and places his glass of bourbon on the table, making a 'tsk' sound and shaking his head, "y'ave no idea, do ya?"

"about what?" you ask with furrowed eyebrows. "now tha' ", he points a finger to you, "pisses me off even more!"

"simon, i have no idea what you're talking about." you chuckle dryly. "bloody woman..." he grumbles under his breath and runs a hand across his face.

he pats the spot beside him, signaling for you to take a seat there and you oblige immediately. he wastes no time to take you in his arms and place a kiss on your forehead as you snuggle closer into him.

"now tha' wasn't so hard, was it?" he smirks as he pulls away, witnessing your confused expression, "need more explanation, si." you say, a small smile tugging at your lips as your cheeks heat up due to your closeness together. even after all these years of living together, he still has that effect on you.

"you've been avoiding me." he finally says what's been eating him all this time, all the emotions he bottled up, all the pain he tried his hardest to hide seeping through his words. you can almost hear the slight break in his voice. you can see it all in his expression.

"i- i..." you trail off, found speechless as it dawns on you. you’ve been working overtime, taking more shifts than usual, working on projects even at home. and you've noticed your mental health declining. he's noticed it too. of course he has. he notices every single tiny detail about you. and now you realize that in the process, you've subconsciously pushed him away, your partner, your best friend, the love of your life, your husband, the one person whom you should confide in about everything, especially during times like this.

"i'm..." you start, "so, so sorry." you don't even notice the tears leaving your eyes until his thumb gently wipes them off your dampened cheek.

and in no time, you pull him in for a long awaited passionate kiss until you're both left breathless.

you apologize profusely in between kisses, pecking his lips repeatedly.

"please forgive me, my love. i never meant to hurt you." you say earnestly. "i know, lovie. jus' missed ya so much." he responds in a deep voice, dark and desperate. he leans in and connects your lips again, hooking his arms around your waist and pulling you against him with such fire as if he's desperately trying to merge your bodies together.

"i'll take some time off, baby. we'll go somewhere nice and quiet. just the two of us." you suggest with your signature sweet smile which he returns.

"i'll make it up to you. promise." you murmur against his lips as you go on kissing, not getting enough of each other's taste any time soon.

"good. you've got a lot to make up for, dove." he smirks, making you giggle at his teasing tone.

[maybanksprincess]

im your baby

WARNINGS: a little angsty, fluff towards the end, cussing, mentions of sophia, insecurity, reassurance, alcohol consumption, suggestive-ish, mentions of marriage.

lias note — requested by my lovely mootie @rafenroostersgirl, this ask was so amazing and I loved writing about it! im not the best at angst so please excuse any mistakes :( thank you so much for the request. go read her ask here!

pairings: crybaby!reader x rafe cameron

Rafe came to the bar to get a little tipsy and forget about his problems for a while. Ward had been up his ass for what felt like the longest, he had plenty of contracts at home waiting for him to sign, lots of business deals to seal, and on top of everything, he had to deal with your clinginess.

It was very often that you'd get clingy and always want to be around him, but he was a busy man, he'd never dealt with anyone wanting to cling to him, so it was difficult to adjust to. He was used to always being alone, or too busy to think about anything else but what he was working on.

This whole relationship thing was new to him, so naturally he isn't a very touchy-feely guy, and wants his own space, but you were the exact opposite. You always wanted hugs or attention, constantly pulling on his arm or clinging to his side.

he was honestly used to hooking up with girls and leaving the second after, until he met you. Something about you struck his interest, something he couldn't ignore. But geez, no one told him how exhausting it was to have a girlfriend.

On top of everything, he would get strange glances, and cruel words spread over the island about him all because he's dating a Pogue. no kook dates a Pogue. Out of everyone on the island, you'd sort of figure Rafe would be the one to be telling someone else that. But no, he was actually the one in love with a Pogue. Someone who came from the cut. How embarrassing for him....

as he's lost in his thoughts, he's suddenly interrupted by a sweet voice coming from behind the counter. He puts his drink down on the table, his movements slightly sluggish from the bit of alcohol he'd already consumed. he tilts his head up to look at her, taking in her toothy smile, and bartender uniform that she has on.

his thoughts are interrupted once more when she looks down at him, speaking softly "are you okay?" she asks, with a gentle and concerned look, while whipping up a drink for another customer sat at the bar.

he nods his head vigorously, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. he peels his eyes back open and look up at her behind the counter, "yeah 'm fine. jus' a real shitty night." he says, lifting the cup back to his lips.

she tilts her head, gently trying to press the issue, seeing that he was stressed and upset. "Do you want to talk about it?" she says, picking up the cleaning supplies for the counter. his eyes study her, watching as she cleans off the counter, his pupils dilated.

he ponders on the question in his drunken mind for a moment before replying, his words slightly slurred. "yeah, yeah. can i get another one of these though?" he says, raising his glass.

she nods, grabbing the glass out of his shaky hand, pouring the alcohol into it, waiting for him to speak when he's ready. after a few moments, the buzzed blonde lifts his head again, looking up at her.

"My girlfriend, she's just so annoying..." he starts, "I mean she always wants to be next to me, huggin' me and shit." he says, waving his hand and rolling his eyes. he snatches the half empty glass, bringing it to his lips once more, taking a long sip, his words slurred, and voice unsteady.

he swallows the liquid with a loud gulp, turning to narrow his eyes at the brunette once more. "im not used t' that, y'know? its all new to me..." he says, a hint of vulnerability behind his words.

---

Rafe had been ignoring you for a few days now, figuring out ways to end the conversation faster, trying to avoid your affectionate gestures, staying out later, being too busy with work to hangout, it was starting to make you feel like he was seeing someone else.

you looked at his shared location, driving to the location it showed to you. taking a deep breath, you step out of the car, entering the crowded bar. you fiddle with your hands shyly as you walk around to find the buzzed man.

When you finally spotted him, you almost felt relieved, until you saw him talking to the pretty brunette behind the counter, her smile making your insides churn. You came to a halt, hesitating for a moment, before continuing to walk over to him.

you reach out with shaky hands, tapping his shoulder softly, the familiar feeling of the tears starting to form in your eyes, threatening to spill at any moment.

He sees the tears forming in your eyes and he immediately feels a sense of protectiveness and guilt, pulling you to his broad chest, giving you a hug the best he can in his drunken state. he knows better than to say anything, so he waits for you to speak.

"Are you seeing someone else?" you hiccup through the tears, not daring to bring your head away from his chest, soaking his shirt with your salty tears. he shushes you softly, cradling your head like you were the most precious baby in the world.

"no, no, no, hey, 'm not cheating." he slurs, the strong scent of alcohol on his breath making your nose turn up in disgust, but he doesnt seem to realize.

the tears continue to spill looking from him to the lady pouring drinks for people, silently sizing her up, figuring out how she was better than you. Rafe grabs your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head so he can look you straight in the eye.

even if he was drunk, he really loved you and he wouldn't cheat. no matter how sensitive, clingy, impatient, and poor you were, he knew who his girlfriend was. And for you he was willing to try and change his ways.

he grabs your hand in his bigger one, intertwining his fingers with yours, leading you out of the bar and to his car that costed more than your life.

he cups your cheek in his large hand, the coolness of his ring hitting your damp skin as he looks down at you with soft, vulnerable eyes that are reserved for only you. "Baby you gotta believe me when I say I only want you." he pleads, using the pads of both his thumbs to wipe your tears away.

you sniffle and nod, soaking up his reassurances, and leaning into his soft touches. you knew despite rafe's rough exterior, he was trying to change. and you wanted to be there for him.

"I know..." you mumble softly, pulling him into a tight hug, making up for all the lost time. "Just promise you won't try to hide your feelings anymore. when things get bad at home, you can talk to me."

"i know," he says on the verge of his own tears. "Which is why I wanna marry you... I wanna be with you the rest of my life." a few tears fall from his blue eyes as he speaks.

he pulls away from the hug to slip his gold signet ring off his finger, staring at it for a moment before grabbing your left hand, slipping it onto your ring finger.

"I don't have a wedding ring on me right now," he chuckles in between his happy, drunken tears, "but for now, I want you to have this." he says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the ring on your finger, his lips lingering for a few moments.

you open your mouth to say something, but you didn't know what to say. you pull him into another tight embrace, sighing softly in relief of being in his arms again, admiring the ring on your finger that was once on his.

"I love you so much, Rafe." You say, even though you could barely speak through the intense emotions that were flooding through your veins.

"I love you too, sweetheart. and I'm gonna be the man you need, the man that you deserve. you hear?" he says, wrapping his strong arms around your waist, picking you up with ease, pressing kisses to your neck.

a mischievous grin spreads across his face, nibbling on your neck. "gotta bring y' home and make it up to you. huh baby?" he grins.

[syoddeye]

on my knees begging for more werewolf soap

i have ideas, but they're more omegaverse-y than werewolf-y. but there is this one thought.

imagine johnny taking a page from price's book and choosing patience. deciding to not jump you where you stand and fuck you on the kitchen floor.

he switches gears. lays on the charm. he apologizes for barging in. it's hard, y'know, denying instinct. you of all people know how that is, right?

and it takes everything in him to hold a conversation. especially when your eyes keep dropping to his bare chest.

naturally, he asks how you're adjusting to your new life. tells you he's sympathetic. knows how hard it can be on your own. but when you tell him what you do every month, his demeanor shifts. brows pulling together, eyes darkening with disbelief. genuinely offended.

"you what?"

he can't believe it. can't believe you're spending good money, running up your card, on a storage unit across the city. that you lock yourself inside, slap on a muzzle, and chain yourself to the damn walls every full moon. denying yourself like that. ignoring the natural pull to hunt. heartbreaking, really.

"that's no way tae live."

his disapproval stings. he's the only other wolf you know.

then he extends an invitation. "come hunting with me."

that’s how you end up in the countryside, crammed into what's barely more than a glorified cowshed. some outbuilding on a relative's land. it smells like him—earth and sweat. reeks. it makes you second guess why you're really here, but he's a gentleman. makes you take the futon pushed into the corner, while he stretches out on a sleeping bag by the door.

but with only one night until the full moon, your mood shifts like the wind. restless. pacing like a caged animal, prone to snap. you think you'd sink your teeth into him if he tried anything untoward.

but he doesn't. he just smiles.

smiles when you tear into the raw meat he's packed for the trip. sits across the small table, watching with an almost dreamy look, his eyes practically sparkling when you lick your fingers. tells you that if you like that, you'll love sinking your teeth into the throat of a stag.

it should be humiliating. would be, if that part of you wasn't being smothered by the wolf tearing to the surface. your good senses held underwater to drown.

he's so kind. so understanding. so…patient. it's odd.

the next day, as the hour creeps closer to moonrise, that patience starts to feel like something else. something sharper. your control is splintering. like cracks forming along thin ice in spring, ready to shatter and burst. the wolf claws at your ribs. she's hungry. angry. you swear you feel your ears pinning forward, body coiling, alert.

you're jumpy around johnny all day, something primal thrumming beneath your skin. a whisper in the back of your mind: don’t turn your back on him.

by the time the evening chill sweeps through the hills, you're barely holding on. twitchy. usually, by now, you'd be drooling into a muzzle, yanking at the cuffs secured around your ankles. too far gone to even think about the combination lock keeping the keys out of reach.

after a final meal, something to take the edge off, johnny pushes back from the table and then through the door. cool as anything, he strips right there in the grass. sheds his clothes in a heap.

for all that staring, it's like you're seeing him for the first time. certainly the whole of him.

he beckons, voice rougher now. thicker. "c'mon, then. let me see her."

you’re shivering when you follow his lead. any embarrassment or shyness you might've felt—being bare beside a man, beside johnny, for the first time—just isn't there. it doesn't register. this feels natural. the most natural thing in the world, even as the wind bites at your skin.

and when you finally shift—it's brutal. visceral. a tearing and twisting that leaves you breathless, bones grinding and reshaping, muscle stretching taut. it always leaves you vulnerable for those first few moments. heart hammering. senses on overdrive as the world explodes in vivid color and scent.

so when you feel a warm breath on the scruff of your neck, feel it trail down your knobby spine to where your new tail twitches, you go still. the shiver that wracks through you clarifies what your wolf was trying to warn you about all day.

only one of you wants to hunt the wildlife.

[bunni-v1]

Hiiiiiii, I wanted to, first if all, say thank you for writing so perfectly for Shadow Milk like fr i never saw anyone describing him so well I'm gonna cry. And I wanted to ask ,if you are ok with it, would you be able to expand a little more on the nsfw part of the headcanons you wrote about him? If not it's totally okay ahaha and in any case have a good day :D

Yeah, I for sure can! I left it kinda vague on purpose, purely because there's a lot to him and it was already so long. I'll try and write some more based on the original ones, but they won't be all that long lol. Still I hope you enjoy what I make up for you...

Tw: NSFW; Mentions of choking, biting, bloodplay, roleplay, etc..; grammar errors

Info: Shadow Milk x Reader; Nsfw headcannons

-To start I want to reiterate that he's very much in it for seeing you squirm. There is something so sweet about seeing your body jump and jolt beneath his touch. It makes him feel better about the effect you have on him.

-It's almost like revenge in a way, getting back at you for making him so weak and soft for you. If he can make you melt and mold for him in the bedroom, it's almost like he can call it even.

-For Shadow Milk Cookie, sex is fun. It's less about an expression of love and more about chasing your highs. Letting loose together and seeing how you can get each other to react to different things.

-With that being said he's super willing to experiment with just about anything and everything. If there's a kink you want to try, he'll go for it. Why not? He's just as curious as you are, y'know!

-Seriously, nothing (except sharing) is off the table at all. Hardcore BDSM, roleplay, watersports, pain play, blood play, and anything else you can think of really.

-He's, unsurprisingly, fond of things involving pain such as choking, spanking, biting, etc.. Not because he likes seeing you in pain, (well... he does, but only in the bedroom and ONLY inflicted by him.) but because you make the cutest little noises for him! Oh! Your squeaks and squeals are simply divine!~

-Biting is the most common thing he'll pull out, usually, each session ends with a nice new bloodied mark. It's his mark of claim on you, of course. A warning to anyone out there that you're not to be touched and that he does bite.

-He loves seeing them in private more though, especially after the deed is done. Cleaning the jam from your dough and soothing the marks over with kisses is his favorite pastime.

-Not to mention the absolute trust you have in him. Knowing that he would never let anything really terrible happen, so you sit and bear the pain for him. You like the scars they leave behind too, and trust me, they do scar.

-Speaking of trust, though, choking is up there because of the amount of trust you must have in him. When his hands wrap around your delicate little throat, he's reminded so intimately that he could kill you at any second. You are so small and weak next to him, and you know that, but you chose to love him anyway.

-So as he squeezes the air out of your lungs and hears the wheezy moans leave with each thrust of his hips, he's reminded of just how lucky he is. Sick and twisted in a way, but he can't help but fall in love with you all over again when you grab at his wrists like you can actually do anything.

-He actually prefers you unrestrained, because he likes you better when you can fight him off. He thinks it's cute when you struggle so hard against him, only to lose and get your brains fucked out like always.

-Oh and he loves to fuck you dumb. Seeing you babble and whine for more is such an ego booster. His little doll all limp and useless under him, pretty little empty head filled with nothing but him. (And he can see those stupid endless thoughts too! How sweet you are!~)

-Now when he's bottoming it's a different story. He does not like being vulnerable at all, so being on the bottom and letting you have that control over him is a struggle.

-When he's topping he doesn't say no to much, but bottoming is a different story. Like, very different.

-He fights you when you want him to bottom, like really fights with you about it. He'll make it very hard for you to make him submit, poking and prodding at you with mean words and as much physical force as he can muster (without causing long-lasting damage to you.)

-He is impressed if you get him to behave, though. He knows he's stubborn, so your patience has got to be insanely high to get him to this point.

-Once he has finally given up his control, you have to be very sensitive and in tune with his needs. He's needy, and he's not really ashamed of that fact either.

-I can't imagine him liking being degraded or belittled, it makes his insecurities rage in his dough. Parts of him believe that the insults are truthful, that you really think that about him, and that thought makes him want to cry.

-He doesn't mind being smacked around, especially if he's misbehaving and fighting you, but he isn't a fan of being hit by you. A little smack here and there, sure, but don't hit him like you mean it. It'll fuck with his head a little too much, and I feel he'd have a hard time separating the action from your actual feelings.

-No, he's quite a princess, actually. He likes being pampered and treated like a king. Gentle touches, loving words, and soft sentiments are what he needs from you. He wants to feel loved and adored by you, because he worries that you might not feel the same at times.

-When he bottoms is when sex is more about love than fun. It's the only chance you get to care for him, and the only time you see him willingly showing his softer and weaker side. You have to be gentle with him, or else he won't let you see that side of him again.

-Now I didn't really go into anatomy much when I was making my initial post, but this guy is wild. He can change his physical appearance at will, which means he can have a lot of fun so to say.

-I don't think he has much down there unless he wants to, and when he does want to let me tell you. It's not a penis. I mean, it is, but it doesn't look like one. It's a tentacle, a blue and white striped tentacle that gets thicker the closer you get to the base.

-He controls how it moves (most of the time), and can jerk you off with it or reach deep inside you to places you didn't know would feel so good. He rubs at your most sensitive spots with ease, torturing you with ease.

-He can also use his hair as tentacles as well, and often uses it to restrain you and play with you while his dick is inside. He prefers using his hair as a restraint than anything else because he can really feel you struggle that way.

-His cum is very thick, almost jelly-like, and a pretty light blue. It tastes like overly sweet blueberries. It's hard to swallow, but if you make the effort he'll be so very happy with you.

-He likes to cum just about anywhere, though. Your tummy seems to be his favorite, only because he likes it when you play with it after the fact. Finds it so cute when you can't help but worsen the mess.

-Oh and the last thing, which I feel is very important, he is big. And I don't mean like his dick is big, no. Shadow Milk Cookie is large, like literally ten times your size.

-Normally he takes a more... approachable form around you when he can help it, but... if you want to he would be happy to have his way with you at his full stature.

-You'd be sososososooooo easy to play with when he's so big, he'd love seeing his little dolly melt in the palms of his hands.

[pineapple-downside-up-cake]

Let's Not Make A Big Deal Valentine's Special!

PRICE when you are A Strong Independent Human Who Don't Need No Man.

You just, y'know...want one.

Price has Been Through It.

If there's one thing he learned from his first wife, it's that the big three are Important: birthday, anniversary, and valentine's. Doesn't matter if he's deployed, unconscious, or dead: priorities, right?

He has one day a year where he pre-orders gifts, chocolates, and flowers. It keeps him out of trouble. Or at least, it's supposed to - she's still an ex-wife, afterall.

You're confusing the fuck out of him because you changed the Rules. You haven't been dating long enough for the other two, but valentine's is a week away and for some unfathomable reason you're giving him a free pass.

"Don't you have to work late that day?" Yes, yes he does. "And don't you hate crowded places?" Also yes, but he didn't realize you'd been taking notes. "That's dumb. If you want to do something, just come over and we can fall asleep watching a movie. I've got lasagna in the freezer."

He doesn't know what to make of it. Is it a trap? He can still bring chocolate. Or a bottle of wine...

He shows up late on Friday. Later than he expected. He'd been desparately trying to find someplace open after work since he didn't place his order this year, but everyone is closed. He shows up sweaty palmed and empty handed, ready for his verbal lashing.

You don't even make it to the movie - he's so clearly out of sorts, you end up having to sit this hulking military captain down at your tiny dining table and have a heart-to-heart about, well. Heart day.

Price is flat out flummoxed when you finally get through to him that you don't give a shit, finally convince him that if you'd had Expectations, you would have said so.

Is this what a healthy relationship is supposed to feel like? There are weird little butterflies dancing in his stomach and he doesn't think it's the food. It feels good, but bizarre at the same time.

After dinner you sit on the couch and split a pint of ice cream and just...talk. About anything, everything, until you doze off on the couch in his arms, snoring like a little helicopter.

Price stays awake for a long time, reflecting on a long and fraught dating history, comparing it to what he feels now, what he experienced tonight.

No sex, or candy, or flowers...

Just reheated leftovers and freezerburnt icecream.

And yet somehow, it's the most romantic holiday he's ever had.

[strangersteddierthings]

Eddie blinks. Once. Twice. And a third time for good measure. The scene before him doesn't change. Steve Harrington stands off to the side of the lunch table, behind Jeff and Frankie who have both gone still as statues like they think if they don't move, King Steve won't see them.

"Uh, what?" Eddie finds himself saying, against his own will. He heard Harrington the first time, doesn't need or want him to repeat himself, but his disbelief seems to have won out against his grudge for all jocks and his indifference to Steve Harrington in particular.

Harrington's face pinches, like he's three seconds away from rolling his eyes. He doesn't do that, though, which Eddie will give him one brownie point for. "I asked if you had a minute to talk." Eddie's taking away his brownie point because Steve 'asks' in a way that sounds more like a demand.

Hearing the question and or demand a second time doesn't lower Eddie's hackles, but it does pique his curiosity. He drums his fingers atop his lunchbox, thinking it over. He wishes he could say he's pretending to think about it before he tells Harrington to fuck off, but the truth is he actually is thinking about it.

What could Harrington possibly have to say to him? They very much do not run in the same circles. Eddie only talks business at the picnic table past the edge of the woods out back and everyone who buys from him knows that. They share several classes, since they're both seniors, but everyone knows Eddie's on a track to not graduate (again) so he can't possibly be coming to discuss Mrs. Click's homework assignment.

"Sure. Should we go elsewhere or...?" Eddie trails off, lifting a hand to wave in a circle in Steve's direction, questioning.

Steve looks over his shoulder, back towards the side of the cafeteria taken up by the 'popular' crowd. When Steve turns his face back, he looks- well, kind of sad for a moment before it's smoothed over with indifference.

Interesting.

"No. It's probably good that the rest of your friends hear it anyway," Steve answers.

Jeff's eyebrows rise to his hairline, and Frankie frowns as his eyebrows raise at the same time, showing an expression of interest. Eddie's got no idea what Gareth's face is doing because Eddie can't see him unless he wants to turn his face away, but he's certain it's probably a glare of some sort.

Eddie leans back in his chair, wiggling like he's getting extra comfortable before he says, "Well, alright Harrington. Shoot."

"I'm graduating this year, so I just wanted to give you a heads up for next year. I tried to curb the bullying, but I know it still happened. So, since I'm not going to be here to watch out for that, you're gonna wanna up your," Steve gestures to all of Eddie, "everything."

He knew Steve curbed the bullying a bit, heard the confirmation of that last year from Jason Carver and Tommy Hagan, when he'd stepped in to save Gareth. Or rather, Gareth had come flying in to save him and then Eddie had to save Gareth- well, the details don't matter really.

"My everything?" Eddie asks, more confused than angry. He thinks he should be angry. Harrington has all but outright said he doesn't think Eddie's going to graduate with him, after all. But no. The main emotion now is confusion.

"Yeah. Your, y'know, freakinesss or whatever. Be more of it."

"Be more of a freak?" It's fascinating, that Harrington just keeps talking like he thinks anyone at this table care for his opinion.

"Yeah!" Harrington says, cheery like he thinks that Eddie's agreed with him somehow, complete with a stupid snap of his fingers that turns into a finger gun pointed at Eddie. "You've already got this like unapproachable mad dog kind of look about you, most of the JV team is already scared of you. Just like, up that a bit more and they'll probably steer clear of you and your friends." Then Harrington frowns deep, looking around the table of nerds and dorks before looking down at the top of Gareth's head to add, "well. Except probably curly here. No offense, but you seem an easy target."

"Fuck off," Gareth growls, because of everyone at the table, Gareth does have the most bite. (Most bark goes to Eddie himself). Eddie's more prone to run from a problem than engage in it, unlike Gareth, who he's had to pull off of a few people this year.

"Or not," Harrington retracts his previous statement and Eddie will grant the man another brownie point, which brings the total up to one.

"Good to know my reputation precedes me," Eddie grins, wild and a bit manic.

Harrington is unphased. "Yeah! Do that more. I think it really freaks Jason out and he's most likely to take the captain slot next year, so if you get him afraid of you, the rest of the team'll fall in line and leave you alone too. I think he's super religious, so like, lean into the satanic panic thing people are up in arms about and next year will be a breeze. And-"

Eddie lifts a hand, a motion for Harrington to stop talking. It surprised him a little that Harrington does. Even more interesting. "Stop me if I'm wrong here, Harrington, but are you suggesting that I become the bully?"

Harrington's mouth opens and closes a few times before his face pinches again. Instead of looking like he's going to roll his eyes and be bitchy, Harrington looks confused and then like he's deep in thought. An uncomfortable amount of awkward silence falls over there table, but it's just when Eddie's about to break that silence that Harrington finally speaks. "No. I'm saying just like, be you but bigger. Like, you don't even gotta look in the team's direction. If you're just more of a freak than you usually are, they'll steer clear without the bullying."

"You sure know how to compliment a guy," Eddie deadpans. He's not even upset that Steve's called him a freak. He's spent the majority of his high school career cultivating that outlook. He wasn't just a freak, he was The Freak.

Now a look crosses Harrington's face. One Eddie's not sure he's interpreting correctly. If he had to take a guess, he'd say the look was calculating, knowing, in a way that Eddie doesn't think Harrington could actually achieve. Then it's gone, replaced with the bitchy, eye-rolling look Eddie's used to seeing, and Harrington says, "I haven't said anything untrue."

Hmm. The most interesting thing yet. Eddie might not be graduating (again) but he's not dumb. He didn't survive this far in his life, with a father like his, without learning to read people. He wasn't as good as he wanted to be at reading people last year, but he's definitely good enough know to think that, maybe, just maybe, Harrington also knows a thing or two about cultivating a public perception. Making sure people only see a certain side of you.

"Alright," is what Eddie answers, "I'll take what you've said under advisement."

"Uh. Okay," Harrington says before he just walks away. Conversation over.

"Well," Jeff says, "that was strange."

"Very," Eddie agrees as he watches Harrington walk away, tracking him until the cafeteria door slams shut behind him when he exits.

Eddie has always wanted to up the ante, so to speak. Jump on a cafeteria table and rant about capitalism and organized sports. He never has before but next year seems like a great time to try.

[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 fully in 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 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 pressed, "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 youas he 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 his eyes gleam like he has just won a race.

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

[supernova2205]

Breaking In

Ghost x reader

Summary: A bet turns into a full-blown mission can Ghost actually blush? You’re determined to find out, and when he finally does.

It started as a simple challenge a casual bet with Soap over whether Ghost was even capable of blushing. After all, the man seemed impervious to everything: bullets, explosions, biting sarcasm. What were a few teasing words compared to all that?

Soap had scoffed. "No way in hell. If anyone could make him blush, it's you, but I still say it's impossible."

Challenge accepted.

Over the next week, you made it your mission to break the unbreakable. A little comment here, a well-placed compliment there, all wrapped up in that cheeky smirk of yours.

"Y'know, Ghost, for someone who skulks in the shadows all the time, you've got an unfairly nice bone structure. Ever thought about modeling?" You leaned against the armory table, watching as he methodically cleaned his sidearm.

His hand stilled for just a fraction of a second before he resumed as if you hadn't said a word.

"Nah? Shame. Those cheekbones could cut glass."

Soap snorted from across the room, barely containing his laughter. Ghost, on the other hand, merely sighed through his mask. "Get lost."

Undeterred, you kept at it. If Ghost thought you’d give up so easily, he clearly underestimated you.

Day Two

"You ever been in love, Ghost?" You asked innocently during lunch. The rest of 141 perked up immediately Price raised an eyebrow, Soap nearly choked on his drink, and Gaz made a quiet bet with himself that this was the moment you’d be thrown out the window.

Ghost didn't look up from his meal. "What kind of question is that?"

"A valid one. Humor me."

There was a long pause before he muttered, "Not the type to go talkin' about that."

"I think he's dodging the question because it's a yes," Soap whispered loudly to Gaz.

You tapped your chin thoughtfully. "What’s her name, Ghost? Or his? I don’t judge."

Soap let out a wheeze. Gaz stifled a laugh behind his fist. Price shook his head, clearly regretting his life choices that led him to this moment.

Ghost didn’t dignify you with a response.

Day Three

"Alright, you grumpy cryptid, you win." You threw your hands up in mock defeat after dinner. "Maybe you are immune to embarrassment. Shame, really. I had this whole dramatic speech planned for the day I made you blush. It was gonna be legendary."

Ghost stared at you for a beat before muttering, "You're an idiot."

"Yeah, but an idiot with perseverance."

And then, just when you thought you’d hit a wall, it happened.

Day Four

It had been a brutal mission one of those drawn out, exhausting slogs that left everyone battered and half-dead on their feet. The team was back at base, sore and recovering, when you finally found an opening.

Ghost had taken off his mask, as he sometimes did in the barracks when he thought no one was looking. You knew better than to make a big deal out of it. Instead, you casually plopped down next to him, stretching out your sore limbs with a dramatic groan.

"Y'know, Simon," you said, deliberately using his real name just to see if it got a reaction, "I've seen a lot of scary things in my time, but I think the most terrifying thing I've ever witnessed is you not knowing how to take a compliment."

He turned his head slightly, eyeing you with suspicion. "The hell are you on about now?"

"I mean, honestly, you're a menace. Someone tells you you're skilled? You grunt. Someone tells you they appreciate you? You nod. Someone tells you you're devastatingly handsome—"

"That never 'appens."

You leaned in with a grin. "It just did."

Ghost opened his mouth, shut it, then turned away slightly. And that’s when you saw it.

The faintest dusting of red on his ears.

You blinked.

Then you grinned.

Then you *cackled.*

"Oh my God. You *can* blush!"

Soap, who had been walking by, froze before backtracking at full speed. “Wait—what?”

"Look at him! He's actually—oh, this is the best day of my life."

Ghost groaned and rubbed a hand down his face. "You're insufferable."

You, still basking in your victory, elbowed Soap. "I told you I'd win the bet. Pay up."

Soap muttered curses under his breath as he pulled out a crumpled twenty and slapped it into your waiting hand.

"Totally worth it," you said, tucking it into your pocket. "And don’t think I’m letting you live this down, Ghost."

Ghost merely shook his head as he stood, muttering something about finding new teammates.

But you didn’t miss the way he tugged his mask back down just a little too quickly, as if trying to hide the evidence.

Too late.

You'd already won.

Authors note: I’m back! Apologies for my brief absence. I had a lot on my plate. I’m excited to share this small ghost fic with you all. Isn’t he adorable? I can’t help it when a man blushes anyways.Enjoy! 🫶🏼

[livingdeadgirlflorette]

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS? ₊˚✩⊹ carl grimes x fem!reader

summary : After what happened a few weeks ago, seeing Carl made you anxious. Just looking at him made you ponder what was the thing you had with him. But one visit to a friend of his may just be enough to be the straw that breaks the camel's back.

word count : 4.7k

tags / rundown : average teen angst, fluff, more-than-friends-less-than-lovers trope, glenn and maggie are your substitute parents here, carl has an emotional capacity of a teaspoon, reader and carl are so oblivious oh my word, slight jealous!carl, kissing, sitting on carl's lap, brief mention of teen pregnancy

a / n : hi guys! this is a part 2 for "late night kisses", but it could be read as a stand-alone as well ! i just finished this like 2 hours ago and proofread it, i'm pretty satisfied with how this came out. i really wanted to show how angsty teenager's could be for such trivial things, and i think i showed it pretty well here >_< enjoy reading !

dividers by @cafekitsune 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

PART 1: LATE NIGHT KISSES ⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖

With Rick interrupting your whole secret rendezvous with Carl in his bedroom, and practically telling you he knows about you guys— you wonder how bad it really would be if they did find out about you and Carl.

But there was one question that gets under your skin more than anything. It makes you think if anything between the two of you was more than just what you guys were doing. What were you and Carl?

All this time it has been just Y/N and Carl, inseparable, attached to the hip best friends. Just. Friends. That's an interesting way to state the relationship between the two of you, if just friends sneak around and makeout in their bedroom, and If just friends hold eachother at night, looking into each other's eyes lovingly, never wanting it to end.

It makes you concerned also, what did Carl think about the two of you? You don't what to acknowledge it, but it makes you stomach churn thinking that Carl would think you guys were nothing more than friends that kiss one another every once in a while. Thinking about it just puts a crestfallen, depressed look on your face.

"What's got you down in the dumps for?" A voice snaps you out of your mind question of is-Carl-a-friend-or-something-more crisis, remembering where you are. You're at your dining room table, eating breakfast with Glenn and Maggie. Ever since their group came, you became close with them, subconsciously (whether you wanted to or not) growing a familial bond with them.

They told you multiple times that you were welcome to come and go— so whenever you feel like it, you come to them when you have a problem, or you just don't want to interact with other teenagers in Alexandria. They get too posh-sounding when they talk about trivial things for your liking.

"Oh its uh— y'know it's just nothing." You dismiss the brunette woman's question. Since you and Carl didn't want anybody to know about the two of you, you decided to keep it a secret. And it would be a shame for the both of you if all of that came crashing down just 'cause Maggie had asked why you looked so sad.

"Well nothing doesn't make you of all people look so depressed. Why don't you go to your little boyfriend? He always puts a smile on that face." Glenn suggests, using a teasing sound for the question. You know he's just trying to make you feel better, but the mention of Carl just makes you even more down trodden. But you quickly realize what Glenn titles him as.

With an seemingly unstoppable flush blooming on your face, you quickly try to defend yourself, trying to save face.

"He's not my boyfriend, nor am I his girlfriend. We're nothing really, just friends." You argue. Saying that makes your heart break a little, even if you don't want it to. You play with the food on your plate, seeming uninterested. You just want to curl up into a ball and let time pause for a minute. Everything is just too much right now.

"He may not be your boyfriend per se, but he sure does act like one." Glenn counters, smiling knowingly. Despite every molecule and fiber of your being wanting to defend yourself, he was right. Carl did tend to have tendencies towards you that were too close for comfort on being the role of a lover.

If you ever mentioned a food you'd been missing, or an item so specific that you'd been missing in general, he'd get it for you and act all nonchalant and dismissive when you'd ask how the hell did he get it from (but he'd never tell you how he had almost got surrounded by a herd of walkers trying to get it for you). He would put his hand, hovering ever so slightly on your back when going through a crowded group or when he's behind you.

"We're uhm— I dunno. We're something." You say, moving food around your plate, showing signs of boredom, but no amount of uninterest in your body language could mask the sad look on your face. As much as your answer was adding nothing to the conversation, what you said was sincere. What really were you two? Friends don't sneak into the other's room at night, friends don't straddle each other, and friends definitely don't lock lips with each other. It stumped you, if you were going to be honest.

"Well figure that something out with the boy, okay? It's disheartening watching the two of you walk around like sad little puppies all the time." Glenn finalizes, he finishes his plate of food and walks over to the sink. Unknowingly to him, what he had said made you perplexed. Carl was also blue? As much as it made you feel empathetic for him, it made you wonder why he was also feeling like he had his heart punched out of his chest. You thought what you were feeling was just you, but with him also feeling upset over it, it kind of made you guilty 'cause it felt good knowing that what you were feeling was mutual.

"I actually have an idea, but it's not one of my most proudest. . ." You barely let out, feeling all shy now that you realize you're gonna say it out loud. Glenn was washing his dish, but he turned his head to the side to share a look of curiousity with his wife. They both looked back at you, silently tell you to go on.

"I'm gonna talk to Mikey. He seems to know Carl well enough, and I think maybe he could help me." Without skipping a beat, Maggie had paused the spoon with food that was about to go into her mouth and Glenn paused his movements before they continued doing their actions.

You know it was a silly conclusion, but with all the mood swings you were getting from avoiding Carl, desperate times call for desperate measures. You figured you had no choice anymore, and this was the only thing you thought of. Ever since Carl and his group had been recruited by Aaron, Mikey and the other teens seemed to have grown close with him, and you concluded that maybe he'd know if Carl was acting strange and if he had maybe, possibly told him about you.

But before that ridiculous thought, you pondered if maybe Enid could help you with this debacle, but you know she wouldn't be all that comfortable sharing feelings like that, and she wasn't a person that you could talk to about it. You also knew she'd thank you for saving her from that talk about how Carl made you feel all mushy inside.

Is it a stupid and dumb idea? yes— but as you said yourself, desperate times call for desperate measures. The married couple share a uncertain look with each other, but decide silently they wouldn't press too hard about it.

"And uh, how do you think Carl would feel about that? Y'know, going behind his back and all that?" Maggie suggests, finally finishing her last spoonful before standing up to go to where Glenn is at the sink.

You also thought that while thinking of a solution, but you figured that it would be better off if Carl didn't know. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

"I . . . I uh– actually don't plan on telling him about it, I don't think he needs to know." You're not really sure if does, also it would be a hell of a lot embarrassing knowing Carl knows that you asked one of his friends about what he thought of you.

"Well, if you're gonna do that just make sure you make it right, okay? He seems like he wouldn't be too grumpy about that, but maybe a little." Maggie tries assuring you, standing up and brushing you hair in passing.

What she says gives you a little assurance, but it doesn't outweigh the fact that you're about to lie to Carl; not by saying something but the opposite actually. Lying by omission had never felt so burdening.

"I'll try." You finish you last spoon and head to the sink. Glenn and Maggie seemed to be readying to go outside. Maybe they were going on a walk together? You're not sure.

"Good. Also don't forget to dry that plate okay? You're thinking too much. From what i've read, it's bad for pretty girls." Glenn tries to joke with you, but it doesn't really work. You thank him for that, despite all the teenage angst you're going through, he still wants to put a smile on your face. It makes you heart feel a little lighter.

"I got it, now go away. Let me wallow in my self pity while I wash the dishes." You joke back with them, both parties laughing a little. Even if you're still feeling bad, all that pep talk with them gave you a feeling of determination. You had to get to the bottom of this before it all came crashing down before you.

You look back at the couple, seeing them walk out the door hand in hand with one another, having such a caring gaze for each other. Observing them made you question you and Carl. Did you want that with him? And if you did, did he also feel the same?

Walking to Mikey's house was an interesting experience, to say the least. With a mantra of affirmations in your mind that spans to saying "everything is gonna be okay" , "don't panic, it's not a big deal" and rubbing your hands up and down your arms a dozen times you're sure you could start a fire by doing it, you finally reach Mikey's house.

It helps you realize you don't even have a plan on what to say. Really, what were you gonna say? 'Hey Mikey, I just wanted to know if Carl said anything about me? Not to dump anything on you but i've been sneaking into his room and making out with him these past few months and his father caught us 2 weeks ago and now im panicking.'?

You rethink your choices, starting to backtrack your decision. But sometimes you just have to calm down— grin and bear it for the sake of needing to get to the bottom of this, before you spiral into a fit of hysteria and isolation.

Your knocks on the door are firm but hesitant, and not long after you see your friend's familliar face. Mikey seemed surprised, and you understood why. You guys were never really that close with one another, with you choosing to hang out with Enid (cause she seemed to understand you too) and him hanging out with Carl and the other boys in the walls. It's justified that he'd be looking like a deer in headlights at the sight of you at their front door.

"Oh, you're the last person I expected to see here. Not in a bad way though, heh. Hey Y/N, you need anything?" Even with the shocked feeling he has, he seems to recover it quickly, putting on a more welcoming, friendly expression.

"Yeah actually, uh— can I come in? I need to talk to you about someone, privately." Your voice comes out meek, frazzled because you haven't really thought out how this conversation would go.

"Uh yeah sure! Come in, come in. I'll uh- I'll ask my father if he's fine with it though, he's just out back and I think he'd be fine with having you over. While i'm talking to him, make yourself at home, okay?" Mikey scrambles to get his words out, it's obvious he feels awkward. But it doesn't stop him from trying to just make it seem like two friends (that's pushing it, better word for you and him would be acquaintances) hanging out. You thank him silently for that, trying to make it seem less awkward than it actually is.

With him going out the back door, you're left to your own devices in his living room. You look around, and there doesn't seem to be anything that interesting. It just looks like any other upper-class house you'd see in Alexandria.

You try to make yourself feel home, sitting down on the couch. Moving from multiple positions on the comfortable cushions, you give up and just fiddle with your fingers. For what feels like an eternity, in his living room, Mikey and his father come in and his father greets you in passing before settling in a chair in the kitchen, busy doing something you can't really see. But before you can really think about it, Mikey comes in and sits next to you.

"I have a glimmer of an idea on why you're here, but I won't say anything unless you want me to." Mikey leans back, getting comfortable. You're confused. How would he of all people know what you were gonna tell him about? It made you feel like you should bite the bullet and ask.

"No it's okay, I wanna know." You urge him. If he did know about who you were gonna talk about, how obvious were the two of you?

"I'm guessing it's because of a certain long haired boy? Just a guess though." His words seem to say he's just guessing, but his tone says otherwise. He sounded teasingly, like he knew something you didn't.

"Shit, was it that obvious? It's just— okay let me think about it, I'm just confused. He seems like he cares about me, but he never really wanted to talk about us. Like what we were. We're something, well we were." That's all you could say before your mind went blank. Thinking about all this is making you go stupid at this point.

"Well since you both seem and look like trainwrecks, i'll talk for you." Mikey knew what you needed right now, and that was for someone to tell you just straight up what was happening.

"You and Carl aren't just friends, okay? You and him may think that, but friends don't act like that with each other and act like it's nothing." Your friend's word seem to reach to you, telling you what needed to be done.

"We're friends, right? You and me? We don't do that. That's different. You and him have something different than friends. It's more than that, Y/N. And if you can't get that through your thick head, i'm not sure how you'll end up." Mikey finishes. He thinks his words got to you, and it did. You feel grateful, really. Despite it being blunt and straightforward, you got the message he was trying to send. You know what you have to do now.

"Wow, that's— huh. Thanks for that, Mikey. It means a lot, even if you unintentionally did refer to me as a numbskull." The joke you let out lightens the mood, putting a mood on both of your expressions. You realize you're lucky to have a friend like Mikey, he's not afraid to tell you straight up when you need something said.

"So since that's out of the way, wanna play videogames? I got something you might like." Mikey suggests. Even if you weren't that close to him, he still wanted to be civil with you. Given his inquiry, you didn't think it would hurt to play videogames with him, even if it was just for an hour or two.

You follow him up the stairs, but before you could make it up halfway with him, a firm knock at the door stops the both of your movements. You look at eachother, obviously curious.

"Stay here. It's probably just my father's friend or something asking about him."

He jogs down the steps, hesitant to open it but when he does, his shoulders drop in relief.

"Oh Carl, what are you doing here? You need something?" Mikey asks. With the stairs directly in front of the door, you tilt your head to the side, to see the long-haired brunet you'd been avoiding all this time.

"I was looking for Y/N actually, have you seen her?" Carl was asking. He seemed urgent, with a frantic aura to him, but his face was controlled. Before Mikey could answer Carl had finally found you, catching your gaze. You were on the stairs, looking like a deer in headlights. How did he know you were here? But weird enough, why does he look so rushed?

Carl seemed as confused as you. Why were you with Mikey? Why were you guys alone together? And why does it look like you were just going down from his room? Too many questions and no answers was gonna send Carl into a downward spiral. All these thoughts and no conclusion. He'll have to ask you later, 'cause he's going to die surely if it eats away at him from the fact that he'll keep thinking about it. It makes him feel such an unfamilliar feeling that he hasn't felt in a while; like venom coursing in his veins and his blood piping hot, he knew it in himself that he was jealous.

"Oh she's right here actually," Mikey turns so his body's facing you slightly. "You need her right now?" Mikey's question is starting to sound a lot more like earlier, with and underlying tease and knowing look.

Carl seems to pause at the question. Mikey's simple question feels like a more complicated one to him. To explain how much he needs her, he'd have to dive into an ocean's worth deep of words he's been meaning to say. But he'd rather open that can of feelings another time, preferrably with Y/N. Right now, all he wants to do is to speak with her.

"Yea can I actually talk to her? It's important." No matter what Mikey says, either way he'll get Y/N out of that house. It's killing him inside, he doesn't know why you've been so distant lately. The variable of your presence becoming absent in his routine for the past few weeks has left him dumbfounded. He needed to know what was wrong— or else it'll destroy him.

Before Mikey could even utter a proper response, Carl pushes past him and grabs your arm firmly, but gentle enough that he doesn't hurt you. His action befuddles you. First; he looks like a headless chicken trying to find you, and second; he's dragging you out of Mikey's house hurriedly. What could be so urgent that he needed to up and pull you out?

Your heart was in your mouth, unable to say anything. What would you say even? Carl was pulling you out of Mikey's house, and to the direction of his, were you supposed to ask why? You were frazzled, but all you could think about was how careful he was holding you hand. By the time he dragged you out of the house, his hand intertwined with yours, be it a habit or reassurance to him. That simple action made your heart leap out of you chest.

With the brisk pace he was walking with, you made it to his porch in record time. To add more flush to your cheeks, you see his father, Rick at the porch steps— looking at you both knowingly. It seems like he could tell you were tongue tied, and chose not to say anything else to save you the embarrassment (he'd do it later instead).

Walking quick to his room, he pulls you in and locks the door. He turns to you, standing face to face. You want to say something, so badly. But knowing if you would, you'd open up a pandora's box worth of words you'd been meaning to say. So you start slow.

"I wanna start off with i'm sorry, okay? Listen, it's just i'm really worried about us," Carl softens his gaze and walks closer to you. "—and I don't even know what we are anymore."

He grabs your hand and aligns it with his. "What are we, Carl?" As you ask, you watch him. It's cute, watching him observe your hand difference. It's as if he's trying to stall what storm is about to come. He then close his hand, intertwining it between the gaps of yours.

"We're friends, right?" He assures, he looks so pitiful, eyes pleading with you not to let this dam of unspoken words open into a whirlwind of emotions he desperately wanted not to let out.

"Are we really?" You barely say above a whisper. Are you really just friends? With all that happened with you and him, you guys are just platonic? It makes your heart shatter thinking that.

"Carl what you do— what we do isn't just friends. I'm sorry but I can't deal with it if it's just being friends with you." Your face falters, showing a more betrayed expression.

Carl thinks he's pathetic. He swore to himself that he'd never let anyone or anything make you upset, but he never thought he would be the cause of it. It makes his eyes teary, but he'd rather get eaten alive by walkers than show you how much he's been holding in.

"I. . ." Carl hesitates. ". . . I don't want to be just friends with you." Him confessing that makes you doe-eyed, what did he mean by that?

"It's just— everyone I love always leaves." Before he can even register it, his hot tears spill out of his eyes. He's embarrassed, and looks down to hide it.

"I can't lose anybody else." Despite him looking down and his voice low, it's enough for you to hear. You felt stupid now. All this time he was trying to protect you. He felt as if he was magnet of death and chose to love and cherish you from a distance instead, no matter how much it makes his heart feel unsatisfied.

"I— I can't anymore." Carl barely says between his cries. Carl felt silly. Here he was, crying in front of the person he wanted and needed so badly just because he couldn't possibly have her. If he had to choose one word to name his state right now, it would be desperate.

But what you do next is something he never expected you would do. You use your free hand to lift his chin up and wipe away at his tears, still looking at his teary-eyed gaze. Your other hand that was holding his closes, finally reciprocating the action. And what you say next sends his heart going a hundred miles per minute.

"I'm not leaving anytime soon, okay? I care about you too much to do that."

Carl felt special. The one and only person he genuinely wants to be with feels the same, the feeling was mutual. All of it makes his heart feel like it's gonna jump out of his throat. With hesitant movement, you chastely kiss the stains that had been left from his sobbing. Everything Carl was feeling right now made him so overjoyed, it made him lethargic.

With a hesitant hand, he returns the action by caressing the side of your face, looking into your gaze before nervously asking her what he's been meaning to say all this time.

"I love you, okay? I wanna be—" He sighs before he could finish, and shuts his eyes in focus before opening them to look at you once again. He's hesitant, would him saying this ruin everything? You look to him curiously. What now?

"I wanna be your boyfriend." He concludes. All of a sudden you feel your body feel so much lighter. Him stating that made you feel so happy, wanting to jump for joy 'cause everything was going right.

Carl looked nervous, like he would break any second. It was adorable, really. Normally you would be the one doe-eyed and shy from your interactions, but now the roles reversed. You figured it wouldn't be so bad, him looking like that, eyes glassy and pitiful. You couldn't deny how even in his state, he looks so cute.

". . .Okay." You finally say as you smile. The moment you say that, it's like a switch flips with him. He still looked teary-eyed, but he looks ten times more happy. He holds you face in his free hand and asks the other question he's been dying to ask.

"That's— that's great! I- uhm, can I kiss you?" Nervous and skittish, he manages to let out a jumble of words. Even so, you vehemently nod at him.

Carl goes in slowly, trying to gauge your reaction, eyes going to your lips then to you, before he goes in completely to close the space. It feels like heaven, his lips on yours. Just like clockwork, his hands hesitate on your waist. It makes you relax, knowing no matter how many times you kiss, he'll always end up bashful. It makes you smile into the kiss.

Feeling bold, you gently push him back on the edge of his bed, making him sit while you hover on him to keep you as close to him as you need to. He looks so perfect; him sitting on the edge of his bed, looking up at you, pleading eyes begging for you to come back into his space.

With languid, calculated movements, you place yourself on one of his thighs and go back in to capture his lips with yours again. He blushes at this; with the extended amount of time you'd been apart from one another, he's gonna have to get used to you all over again and your touch.

But just like last time you saw each other, you get interrupted. You both hear a loud, firm knock, before an unnecessary amount of wriggling of the door.

You practically jump off one another, before you both come up to the door, with you slightly behind Carl.

The door unlocks and you expect to see Rick, but unexpectedly, you're met with Michonne at the entrance.

"You kids good in there? You seemed pretty silent." Michonne asks. She seemed to know what was going on, but proceeded to ask anyway.

"Yeah– uh-huh, I was just talking to her uh– Y/N." Carl quickly says. But his defense seems to make it a whole lot worse.

"Oh you're talking. All right, i'll stop buggin' ya. Enjoy your talk." Michonne looks at you, letting your already flushed face get even warmer from the implications she was trying to tell you, and then to Carl, who was trying to regulate his breathing, all while Michonne was growing a smirk on her face. She proceeds to close the door, leaving you and him to bask in the shy atmosphere that had been created.

". . .So you wanna make out some more?" You ask. You know you should be shy about it, but there's no use beating around the bush, especially when you want him to touch you so badly all over again.

"Hell yeah." Carl says before grabbing you by the waist and kissing your lips once again. Kissing you with your hands on his shoulders and his hands rubbing circles on your waist, he knows one thing for sure.

He'll never get tired of this.

BONUS ೀ⋆⑅˚

"Oh they're smooching it on alright." Michonne reports to Rick, seemingly teasing the teen pair that wasn't there to defend themselves.

He had asked her if she could go up and see what they were doing, not that he didn't trust his son and his friend or whatever she was to him, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to make a precaution. They didn't want another baby Judith situation after all.

"Ah. . . good, thanks." Rick looks back at Michonne then to the neighbourhood. He has an unreadable expression on his face. Michonne takes note of this, though.

"Trust me, with how shy Y/N is and how emotionally constipated your son is, you won't have to worry about another baby Jude in a good long while." She pats his back, reassuring him.

He silently thanks her, trying to believe what she's saying. But with how loose discipline is with the state of the world, He doesn't know how much that statement holds up when none of them know what they're like behind closed doors.

You'll never know until you find out.

oh wow, this one was a long fic, huh? I hope the wait was worth it guys, I really liked how this turned out ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و also the end bonus was just a silly little thing, i'm not sure if I would want to expand on it, it was just a throwaway line that sounded ominous and i'm a sucker for that :3 anyways ty for all of the support you've been giving me, I can't believe it honestly— I just want to thank all of you lovelies ! stay tuned and tell me if you want to be tagged next time I post !

what did you think ? don't be a silent reader and let me know ! °ʚ(´꒳`)ɞ°

tags : @carlslvr

[nagaytoe]

Periculum

Solivan Brugmansia X Reader

TW: implied drugging, manipulation

Word count: 1.4k

I can't be the only one wondering how on earth Sol is gonna explain himself on day 3 after the 8-point-required ending, that's why i decided what i think might happen!

BY THE WAY: i take request, so if anyone is interested, feel free to ask me :3

SPOILERS FOR TKATB DAY 1+2 REVAMPED

Periculum

(Noun) [Latin] Danger

Warm rays of sunlight graze your face as you slowly wake up, laying on your side.

What time is it? Why didn't your alarm go off?

You try to reach over to your bedside table but notice arms wrapped around your waist and someone spooning you, their chest pressed to your back snugly enough that you can faintly feel their heartbeat.

What the hell?

You feel panic rising up, an uncomfortable feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. The arms only tighten around you as soon as you try to break free from the grasp you currently find yourself in. Looking over your shoulder, you see none other than Sol, causing the feeling of panic to subside but one of confusion to settle in.

You sure as hell weren't cuddling yesterday evening. Wait, what happened yesterday evening anyways? You can't seem to recall, but you're pretty sure that you didn't go to bed with Sol.

In an attempt to wake him, you call out his name, but to no avail. You shake his arms that are still snaked around you, calling out to him yet again.

Sol's eyes flutter open and he looks at you with an adorning look in his eyes and a smile gracing his handsome face.

“Hey… good morning, [____]”

“Good…morning?” You ponder for a moment, before speaking up again.

“Sol, i really think we should get going, we still have classes today-”

His grip tightens at your inquiry, “Don't worry about it. You're probably still shaken up from what happened back at the arcade, right? Perhaps we should skip, how does that sound?”

He seems to snuggle even closer, signalizing that he would most likely not accept any answer other than accepting his request.

“Sol..” you sigh, aware that it wasn't a good idea. You need your studies, how else are you going to help your father? Even though, Sol might be right about one thing: You really are exhausted, but are yesterday's events at the arcade really the cause for that?

“We already skipped the last period yesterday, we can't skip again, especially not a whole day.”

You pry on his arms again and Sol eventually lets you go, although reluctantly. Sitting up and turning to face him, you decide to ask him one of the first questions that came to your mind after waking up, despite feeling a little uneasy about it.

“Hey… uhm, what happened yesterday evening?”

Sol raises his brow, looking up at you.

“You don't remember?”

His confused, almost disappointed, tone only serves to make you feel even queasier.

"No…? I mean, I remember that we were eating dinner but everything after that is… gone? I just can't seem to recall what we did afterwards…” You grow flustered. What the hell transpired between you two that apparently caused Sol and you to cuddle but you just can't seem to remember?

“You fell asleep.” Sol explains, “In the middle of the conversation at that. I was really worried about you, y'know? It was probably the exhaustion after what happened at the arcade finally settling in, which is understandable but also precisely the reason why I would like for you to rest a little.”

What? Never before have you fallen asleep just like that…but then again, you have never been attacked like that either…

Still, despite his comforting, caring tone you can't seem to shake off the feeling that something is wrong.

Before you could respond Sol continued, “I carried you to bed, I'd say that's a whole lot more comfortable than sleeping on a chair.” He chuckles, trying to ease the tension, since it doesn't slip past him how on edge you seem right about now.

“That… that was really nice but…it doesn't really explain why… um, you're sleeping next to me..” you can't help but mumble that last part, too flustered, almost embarrassed, by the predicament you currently find yourself in. You weren't the type to cuddle with just anyone, especially not with people you have known since a few days. The thought makes you uncomfortable, it's just not like you at all.

Sol chuckles a little, looking at you in awe with a blush of his own.

Oh how much he would like to tell you what happened, what he did, what he would do for you. How he knows that the two of you belong together, that you're his, even though you are yet to realize that.

“You were squirming and mumbling in your sleep the entire time, I thought you had a nightmare and quite frankly, I didn't want to leave you all alone after what transpired earlier on. You understand, don't you? I apologize if this made you uncomfortable, but if the roles were reversed, would you have left me alone, shaking like a leaf?”

No, you wouldn't have left him. Would you have cuddled him? You are not sure. Perhaps he only meant to stay with you for a few moments but accidentally fell asleep. That must be it, right?

You were too quiet for too long for Sol's liking. Did you hate him now? You can't hate him, you could never hate him, could you? The two of you were Soulmates, there is no way one could hate the other, is there?

“...[____]?”

You snap out of your thoughts, your gaze turning back to meet his vermillion eyes.

“Sorry, I just-” you bury your face in your hands, “You only meant well, didn't you? I probably caused you some trouble by having you feel obligated to stay here with me, that wasn't my intention. You need your studies as well and shouldn't miss them just for my sake.”

You really are horrible. How could you think that Sol potentially meant any harm? How could you feel so uneasy? How can you still feel a little queasy, despite him explaining what happened?

Is it because deep down you know that he is not telling you the entire truth?

“[____], you will never be a burden to me, please remember that. I will gladly miss my studies if it means I can be by your side.” Sol smiles gently and takes hold of your wrists, pulling them back and revealing your face to him.

“You really should rest, though. I'll be here, right by your side… If you let me.”

He wraps his bigger hands around yours. They're warm and still bruised from yesterday.

Sol did so much for you. He fought off 4 guys just to make sure they can't harm you and now he offers to miss his classes for your sake. He is sweet, sickly sweet, he doesn't seem to care about others as much as he cares about you. How can a single person grow on you this much in the span of two days?

It's surely because you are made for each other, two halves of a whole who finally found each other.

You nod slowly, leaning towards him to hug him tightly. A hug is the least you can give him after everything he has already done for you. Sol wraps his big strong arms around you, stroking the back of your head in a comforting manner.

Luckily, you can't see the wicked smile on Sol's face. He has you right where he wants you. With time you will grow more and more reliant on him, but worry not, for he will take care of you, he always will.

“Are you still tired?” You nod in response, properly laying down while still hugging him. “Sleep some more then. I'll be here when you wake up.”

It doesn't take long for you to fall asleep in his embrace, not caring about your prior discomfort caused by the very same action. Sol feels happy, truly happy, ecstatic even. You've known him for two days and yet you're almost putty in his hands, believing whatever he says, though, to be fair, why wouldn't you? He has no reason to lie to you, now does he? He only wants what's best for the two of you, after all.

Perhaps you are too trusting, but Sol will make sure to protect you from everyone who may take advantage of that.

…Though perhaps the only one you need to be protected from is Sol himself.