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1800jjbarnes · 5 months

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◇ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟑𝟏: 𝐃𝐢𝐥𝐟 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡 - 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 ◇

Lesson One, Be A Good Girl

【Synopsis】 : Your professors just want to help you learn and gain knowledge. Your first lesson happened to be very educational...

『W.C』 : 2.3k

-> Genre: College Au. Smut.

Pairing: Professor!Stucky x Student!Reader

[Warnings] : Age gape (reader is in her 20s while Bucky and Steve are in their late 30s). Swearing. Dry humping. Oral. Deep throating. Pet names. Semi-public sex. Fingering. Dirty talk. Slight power play. Heavy cum play, saliva and fluids cause I lost control. IM SORRY. Filming, mention of taking photos. Reader is curvy and beautiful. Unprotected sex. Piv. Steve and Bucky are huge!! Beefy men! Hehe. Some mxm and hints of prior seggy times with one another. Also, these two like to use terms that could consider the reader to be a “toy” of sorts. Which she is not and the boys do like her more than that I just got carried away like I normally do when I write things at 2 in the fucking morning. Oops.

Read part one first

Masterlist | Kinktober List

You gasped loudly, Bucky’s large hands slamming you onto the desk. Steve had lifted you up off your chair, ripping your panties down while pulling up your skirt. It all happened so fast. Legs spread, Bucky's hot clothed crotch humping against your aching core. Your hands gripped the edge of the table, vaguely hearing both men whisper and chuckle. You felt so exposed under their gaze even though you were mostly clothed. Steve’s deep chuckle caught your attention, making you shiver. “Look at that. She’s leaking down her thighs.” Steve squatted down beside you, snaking his hand along your plump flesh. Picking up some of your juices that had spilled down towards your ankle. You had practically come just from them throwing you around like a rag doll. Bucky’s hips snapped against you, letting you feel his growing erection. He let out a groan, feeling your slick seep onto him.

“Fuck I might just nut humping this desperate cunt.” Bucky gulped, his hands digging deep into the skin on your hips, creating crescent shapes from his nails. Your ears were ringing, as you felt so overwhelmed and they hadn't even touched you where you needed them yet.

“Stevie...Jamie..” You gasped, suddenly hearing a loud clank of a belt buckle. A hand gripped your chin, letting your wide eyes see Steve’s cock leaking pre-cum on his exposed tummy while he held the hem of his shirt up.

“Be a good baby and open up.” he let go of your chin, moving to pump his dick, tapping his red tip against your sealed lips. You opened up obeying every word both men gave. Flattening your tongue, you let Steve's large girth slide into your wet, warm mouth. “Fuck that’s it, baby. Take every. Fucking. Inch.”

Your jaw went slack, stinging slightly as you tried not to gag. Steve’s moans quickly filled the room, and he knew if they continued, they would only get louder. So he bit down on the fabric of his shirt he had been tightly gripped in his hand. You could feel him in your throat as he kept his thrusts slow and steady.

“Fuck look. She's getting excited just from sucking your cock Stevie.” Bucky had knelt down, coming face to face with your cunt. His mouth watered, studying the way you clenched around nothing every time Steve thrusted into you. “Okay Tiny, for your first official lesson, let's see how quickly you squirt on my face.”

You whimpered around Steve’s cock feeling Bucky’s tongue lap a long, slow strip of your cum, sucking on your lower lips before pulling away with a pop. His mouth was hot and abusive, his fingers slipping in next to his tongue. They were pumping at a pace that was making your lower tummy burn. Your jaw was slack, tempting to lock or close tightly around Steve. He seemed to notice picking up his pace in order to release deep down your throat. “Fuck Sugar I think I’m gonna bust down this pretty throat of yours. Is that okay? I want to empty myself in your mouth.”

You whimper around Steve’s cock from his filthy words. Your fingers squeezing his thighs, a silent way for you to say ‘yes, please, do as you please’. and so he obeyed, snapping his hips against you, spilling ropes of cum down your throat. You tried to swallow it all but it was like his seed was endless, and when he finally stopped and slid out of you, his fingers gazed over your chin seeing you trying your best to gulp down the rest of the white cream. “Awe, was it too much sugar?”

Your eyes were watering as you were now contemplating just spitting it out. But you were in a classroom, and you wanted to not make too much of a mess. Steve sensed your panic, kneeling down besides the desk you were still leaning against. He brought your face to his, clicking his tongue. “well come here, Sugar. Let me help.” His dark smirk made your head spin. “Sharing is caring.”

His lips latched onto yours, letting his tongue slip into your half-full mouth. His seed spilled into his mouth, letting himself taste the saltiness of his come. He swallows quickly, making you cry out against his hot, wet muscle. Meanwhile, Bucky hadn't stopped his assault on your aching pussy pumping to fingers deep inside you tipping you over the edge. Your climax was unlike anything you’ve felt before in your life. Your eyes were rolled back and your whole body tensed. You were on fire. “Fuck Fuck Fuck.”

“Hmm.” Bucky chuckles against your cunt. “You got a potty mouth baby.” you had the temptation to bite back at him suddenly, knowing all they had been doing for the past twenty minutes was swear and spill out filth. But the gushing liquid flowing down your legs distracted you, moaning instead, feeling your knees buckle.

“Look at that.” Steve had stepped back to stand behind you, taking in the view of your slumped against. Laying on top of the deck, your legs almost practically dangling limp and white cream mixing with clear liquid pouring down onto the floor below you. Bucky had stood up also, standing with his hands on his hips, looking smug of himself. “Maybe we should take a picture. Document the first time we got our girl off, huh?”

Steve and Bucky were mumbling to one another as if you were just lying on a school table fucked out of your mind in front of them. Suddenly you hear a click of a camera and your mind, as if a miracle, unfogs. Using your shaking arms you prop yourself on your elbows, wiggling your ass slightly while trying to look over your shoulder. “Fuck stay still princess.”

You tried to obey, noticing Bucky’s flash on his phone. You’ve never been in such a dirty position, let alone filmed. You wanted to come just at the sheer thought these two very beefy men were so obsessed with what you looked like they needed to take photos for safekeeping. It made you have a sense of powerlessness. Strangely. “Steve, Bucky. Someone please…touch me.”

You couldn’t explain where this newfound confidence came from, but your words made both males instantly by you. Bucky helped you up, leaning your chest against his while Steve stood behind you, giving feathering kisses along your neck and covered shoulder blade. “We are here tiny. You want us to touch you. Fuck you right here in this classroom.”

“Yes please,” you answered so sweetly, Bucky swore he could have melted then and there. Steve already had his slacks down, quickly following with his boxers. He grasps your hips, lifting your shirt up slightly so he can get a good view of your ass. His large hand almost covered your entire plump cheek, loving the way your body curves roll and fold beautifully. Like fresh bread dough, ready for Steve to squeeze.

“Fuck, you gonna have to take us raw.” Steve motioned, realizing he didn’t have condoms with him and He knew Bucky was definitely not carrying. “You okay with that Sugar?”

“Yes, please, sir.” The plea fell from your tongue before you could register what you had said. The pet name sent Steve’s cock twitching. His fingers dug more into your hips, threatening to draw blood from the sheer tightness of his grip. His tip slid along your folds, picking up some of your slick, Bucky’s eyes were glued to where his best friend was almost connected to you. It was a sight he never wanted to forget.

“Fuck Baby, what did I say about calling us sir or Mr…” Bucky’s voice was deep, deeper than normal. With a grumble hidden beneath. You whimper out a simple ‘sorry’ feeling a weird form of guilt, feeling bad for making your boys upset… your boys. That’s it. That’s what your mind thought of them as. But that’s if they’ll have you more than just today. Your eyes opened, looking straight at Yun. Your brow was scrunched as you reached for him. He stepped closer, his left hand gripping the back of your neck so you were at eye level with him. “If you keep calling us sir. I can’t promise what I might do to you.”

“S...Sir. Please.” You gasp, suddenly feeling Steve sink deep inside your cunt. Bucky growls, pulling his cock out of his slacks, pushing you down so you were bent on an angle, your ass flushed against Steve's pelvis and Bucky’s angry tip pressed firmly to your mouth. Pre-cum smeared on your tongue as you lapped along his shaft before he pushed inside your warm mouth.

"Fuck you feel amazing doll." Bucky threw his head back in a groan. His fingers laced in your messy hair, tightly guiding you along his cock. Steve, on the other hand, had his nails dug into your plump flesh, thrusting at a speed that left no room for oxygen. He didn't let you get used to his size, but the burn made your tummy rumble. He stretched you out perfectly, making your eyes roll back and saliva pool in your mouth, which Inevitably spilled out down Bucky's cock, coating his balls.

"Shit, Sugar. Why didn't we do this sooner? Your pussy is so fucking tight. And warm. Feels like heaven." Steve's rambles cause you to clench around him, making his hips stutter a bit. Bucky’s cock still deep down your throat you mumble around him, making the vibrations cause Bucky to still himself, fearing he might come then and there.

“Come one, baby, why don’t you come for Steve, hey? So we empty out loads in you.” You knew deep down Bucky’s desperate words were cause he was close, and given his thrusts were shallow and no longer timed. You were aware he didn’t have along. So you just moaned in response, wiggling your hips against Steve in a way to tell him to hurry up. Steve’s dark chuckle went straight to your core, making your high draw closer. You no longer felt the shyness from before but a newfound feeling brewing in your gut. One that made you well away that these two very large men were wrapped around your little finger. You let one hand go from Bucky’s thigh, bringing it down so you could rub your clit harshly, quickly finding a rhythm towards your release.

“Fuck I’m coming.” Steve crossed his hands, placing them on opposite hip dips, slamming his cock just right into your soaked cunt, emptying his seed deep inside you. This made you cum, clenching tightly around him, milking him of his cum. Bucky on the other hand, with his eyes watching intensely at how his cock disappeared then reappeared from your mouth, he grabbed your hair into a messy ponytail, stilling his thrusts to come inside your slacked mouth. You tried you best to swallow but like Steve, it was like his white creamy liquid was endless. So when he pulled out of you, he was quick to pull you up by your hair, smashing his lips against your own. His tongue slipped inside, taking his cum into his own mouth and swallowing. You have never known a man to taste himself let alone swallow his own load. God, it made you hornier than those female students fawning over these two super solider like men in front of you now.

“Come on, Punk. Come take a spin.” You could hear Steve’s deep voice chuckling behind you. You pulled away from Bucky seeing Steve swiftly move to stand beside the larger man. He grabbed Yun’s cock, tugging it a bit with a smirk plastered on his face. “You still have one more, why don’t you empty it into our sweet girl here.”

Steve’s lips grazed Bucky's sweaty neck, licking along the other male's jugular before giving it a little bite. These two have definitely played this game before with one another. But whether or not it has been with another person involved is a different story. But you shook off any negative thoughts when you reminded yourself about what Steve had called you. Our girl. God, these men will be the death of you. Bucky didn’t have time to say anything as you quickly stood up, grabbing his shoulders tightly, much to your poor imbalance. His hands, without hesitation, gripped your hips, holding you close against his broad chest. You leaned in and kissed him quickly, desperately, but there was a hint of something more. A stillness, caringness behind his kiss, something that was screaming, more, more, more.

Bucky’s left hand fell from your hip, snaking to grab a handful of your ass cheek, giving it a rough squeeze. His action made you moan lowly into his mouth, his sharp inhale through his nose.

His action made you moan lowly into his mouth, followed by a sharp inhale through his nose. Without breaking the kiss, he walked with you tightly in his grasp before the back of your legs hit the desk softly. You understood instantly what he wanted, removing your hands from his shoulders and then placing them down onto the oak table. You push yourself up with the little strength you have left, letting him shimmy between your spread thighs. he finally pulled away from your lips, so he could look down to where his cock was resting on your soaked tummy, “such a pretty baby. So ready for whatever we want. Are you are good girl darling? Going to be my good girl?”

“Yes, Jamie. I want to be your good girl. For both of you.” You felt tears welt against the crease of your eyelids. Your nails dig into the wood beneath you. He chuckled, feeling a sense of pride from just how easily you submit to him and Steve. How willing you are. He wonders what else they could get up to if they were in more of a private setting…

“That’s it, baby. Now, take a deep breath.” Bucky knew he was much bigger than Steve and even though he had prepped you and Steve as fucked you senseless only a moment prior. He was still going to be a lot to take in. Girth and length. So you obeyed perfectly, taking in a deep, slow breath as you felt him slip inside you, inch by inch. Your mouth opened in an ‘o’ shape, following with a silent scream and brows scrunched. He was definitely the biggest you’ve ever felt before. You tilted your head back, letting Bucky dive straight for your jugular, sucking a harsh purple mark on your neck, that would be very visible later. You were going to have to hide that tomorrow, but for now, you basked in the feeling of his teeth, tongue, or lips, as he thrusted at a slow but intense pace. Your body felt like it was on fire like you were a fuse box crackling electricity through water.

Everything was so sensitive.

And you needed more. Reaching up you grabbed Bucky's collar of his messy shirt, bringing his body close. His face nuzzled into your neck, snapping his hips at a pounding pace that quickly made you see stars. You were so close, just needed a little push, and then your eyes wander to a very desperate-looking Steve with his fully hard cock again once again, pumping it like his life depended on it. His eyes were focused on the way Bucky's hips jackhammered into you, following the same rhythm with his fist. And that sight alone helps you climax, clenching tightly around Bucky’s cock, milking the older man for everything he had.

“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.” He mumbled against your neck, biting down hard onto your shoulder as he emptied his seed deep inside your womb. Everything suddenly went still, quiet. Even Steve had stopped, coming all over his hand from the entertainment had was gifting before him. Bucky's breath was pooling against your shoulder, while your nose nuzzled into his neck feeling his rapid pulse. There was nothing awkward about what had happened. But comfortable. Like you three were always meant to do this. Like all these games of cat and mouse were supposed to end up with you in their arms.

“So uh, another round back at ours?” Steve’s question just caused you and Bucky both to laugh.

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buckyalpine · 1 year

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Needy Dark!Bucky

Feel like I should issue a warning for this - PLS scroll all the way past this if this isn’t your thing. Maybe this should have stayed in the drafts or be deleted. But I can’t help the absolute headlock, deception, corruption, dub con, mommy and innocence kink has on me rn.

This is fucked and dirty.

Heed the warnings.

Please.

Imagine dark!Bucky taking advantage of your sweetness. You’re so soft and kind with him, helping him adjust to the new world, hardly realizing he’s damn well adjusted already and doesn’t need anyone to baby him.

But he loves when you do.

Maybe it’s because of all the shit he’s been through, touch starved, deprived of care and softness, that’s how he justifies the need to be utterly babied and taken care of by you. Fuck you’re so soft when you do it, cooing and walking him through everything, as if he doesn’t know a thing, he’s poor little fried brain.

It started with him pouting at dinner, happy to have you feed him instead. Sometimes you help him wash his hair so the shampoo doesn’t sting his eyes, sitting on the edge of the tub with a bowl of water, not minding one bit your clothes would get wet in the process. You even hold him in his sleep like a little boy because his nightmares are so scary.

He’d taken to calling you mommy when no one else was around.

But then he wanted more.

So much more.

“Mommy, it’s hard” he frowns with puppy eyes, standing at the doorway in just his boxer briefs', hair still dripping from the shower. His cock is straining against the fabric from the way you had massaged his scalp and gently rinsed with conditioner; the entire time you helped him, he wanted to pull your hand off his head and have you shove them down his shorts.

“Aww, Jamie” You don’t want him to feel embarrassed over something natural, getting up and taking his hand, sitting him down on the bed, “it’s normal baby, are you feeling little right now?”

Daddy is feeling a lot of things, mommy

You’d noticed he’d slip into a different headspace when it was just you and him though you didn’t mind. He deserved a safe place to heal and relearn everything in a way that helped him.

How he loved it.

“A little” he shrugs, “Why is it hard?” He asks innocently, palming himself, whimpering at the feeling, spreading his legs more. He lets out a surprised moan when his hand brushes over his clothed cockhead, feigning innocence, touching himself there more at the foreign sensation.

“Help me mommy” he takes your hand, placing it on his raging cock, “Please? Hurts, how do I make it normal”

“Um-” You bit your lip, unsure of how to answer his questions while he continued to confusedly touch himself, rubbing his erection. “You-

“It’s getting harder, why is my thinggy so hard”

Go on mama, tell me why my cock is so fucking hard

“It happens sometimes baby, it’s normal though” You cup his cheek trying to comfort and reassure him. That isn’t enough for him though.

“What-what do I call it?” He pouts, smirking on the inside, proud of his fat fucking cock that hes imagined in your hand, your mouth, your tight little pussy-

“How about we just call it your special spot for now, hm?” You rub the side of his thigh to see if helps ease him but his cock twitches instead, thigh muscles tensed under your finger tips.

Wonder what you’d actually call it, come play with my special spot, mommy

“Mommy, its getting wet” He looked like he’s going to cry and you can’t help but want to help him in some way, hushing him gently.

“Okay, let me see baby” You sit across from him between his wide spread legs. He slips his thumbs into the waistband of his brief's, just enough to free his cock, his thick curved length slapping against his tummy. He pouts again, looking down at the leaky pink tip, his balls full and heavy, every part of him wishing he could just stuff himself into your cunt but he has to do this carefully.

He’d get that eventually.

After all, you’d never deny your baby boy.

“Mommy is going to help you, okay?” You carefully wrap your hand around his shaft, stroking his cock up and down, focused on taking care of him, not once noticing the dark gaze he has on you while you work at his length. “You okay, Jamie?”

“It’s all tingly, it feels good mommy” His cheeks are flushed, hips every so slightly rocking up into your hand, meeting your strokes. He only lets out soft little whimpers and babbles but his mind is screaming everything else.

That’s it mama, stroke my fucking cock.

Jerk my dick, get all my cum out, balls are so heavy right now

Would paint that pretty face if I could, you’d look gorgeous covered in my cum

What daddy wouldn’t give to have you slobber and suck his “special spot”

Bet your cunt is tight as fuck, wish you were a slut sometimes mommy, I’ll make you a whore soon

“I- I feel something” he pants out, pearls of precum beading at the tip, dribbling down over your fingers. You avoid stroking him too fast or hard, not wanting to overstimulate him, avoiding the tip of his cock. “It’s getting so wet, I’m making a mess” He looks down at the head of his cock with glassy eyes, another dribble of silky liquid coating your fingers.

“You’re gonna be sensitive there baby, it’s okay, that’s just how your special spot is support to be, okay?”

“Touch- can you touch the pink part?” He whispers shyly, letting out a high pitched white when you twist your wrist around his glistening cockhead, “Don’t stop, keep touching me there” He pleads and you shift closer to him, cooing while he squirms. He takes advantage of how close you are to him, pulling you to his side and hiding his face against your neck.

“Mommy, it feels good, I feel something-I-it feels heavy down there-” He lets his hand go down to his balls, tugging at them, sighing happily when you pull his hand away and gently cup them instead, softy massaging them with just the right pressure.

“You can let it all out, let go Jamie, it’s okay, let it all out” You start to stroke him faster, more focused on the tip just like he asked, kissing his temple while he continues to shy away from you.

“Let it out?” He pulls away and gives you a confused expression, seemingly not understanding, his body still thrusting into your hand while you grip him a little harder.

“There’s gonna be lots of stuff that comes out, okay? It’ll help you feel better, I’ll clean you right up after baby, just let it all out”

Damn right m’gonna cum hard for you, babydoll, not gonna hold back a single drop

He moans against your neck, body covered in sweat, rutting into your hand while you twist around the tip, his cock growing harder.

“AH-MOMMY!” He practically wails, cum shooting out in hot white streams, his whole body shuddering and trembling, and endless stream of his cream getting the dark curls at the base of his cock all wet and messy. “OH MOMMMY-it’s -it’s so much” You whisper sweet nothings to him, telling him he was so good, carefully removing your hand, letting his throbbing length slap against his belly.

He knows he already got what he wanted but he can’t help himself, wanting just a bit more, putting his sweet pout back on, looking at you with teary eyes.

“Kiss it better?” He’s tugging you close again, bucking his hips up a little to where he wants attention, “Please” He pleads, his softening cock still dripping with cum.

C’mon mommy, lick me up, just suck it a little

You know how needy he can get, and your heart hurts thinking about how different his body must be feeling, overwhelmed and overstimulated. You hush him again with a kiss to his forehead before moving down to give him affection where he needed it. His eyes grow wide, biting back a smirk, gripping the sheets to make sure he didn’t shove your head down.

“Oh kiss it better mommy” He moans, back arching off the bed when your soft lips brush on top of his tip, pecking the sweetest comforting kiss on his frenulum, making his body jolt.

Just put it in your mouth

“Can-can you do it again?” He asks innocently, chewing his bottom lip raw.

“Just one more, then I have to clean you up” You place a firm kiss onto his now spent cock, before getting up and wiping him down, letting him spend the night cuddled to your chest. At some point, he asks to nurse and you can’t tell him no. He doesn’t waste a second taking your top off and latching onto your nipple, hitching his leg over you while his lips suckle.

Sometimes you have a feeling in the back of your mind, wondering if he truly has no clue what’s happening. Then he looks at you with such innocence, there’s no way, not with those baby blue eyes and sweet pouty pink lips.

How could you ever doubt him.

On the other hand, imagine one day he catches you in an intimate moment with your hands between your legs, not realizing he was still home. He goes feral on the inside but on the outside, he’s just a lost puppy who wants to know what your doing. You struggle to explain to him what was happening, not catching the flash of hunger that he’s struggling to hide while you’re now wrapped up in your sheet to cover yourself.

All he knows is mommy was feeling like he was that day and had to take care of her private special spot too. With that cute button he’d love to suck.

Should’ve asked me mommy, if only you knew how good my fingers are

“It looks like my thinggy” He points out to your toy, which you snatch away and feel your body heating up further. “Mommy, can I put my special spot inside yours?” He doesn’t give you a lot of room to protest, pleading with you, showing you how hard he is again.

He starts off with begging, rutting himself against you, humping you like an animal while you try to soothe him but it doesn’t work. He’s thrown his clothes off lying top of you with his bare cock against your folds, desperately rubbing himself, wanting to push it in.

“Just the pink part, please, I need it, wanna empty everything, it’s leaking mommy”

You don’t know how or when but at some point he presses his tip into you and shoves his entire length all at once, moaning loudly and thrusting without a care in the world. You’re body and might screams that something isn’t right, unable to stop the moans that slip out of you when he hits your cunt just right, pleasure trying to drown you from reality.

Imagine the utter filth that spills from his mouth after while your blood runs cold, realizing something doesn’t add up.

“Mommy, your special spot feels so good, so good, so. fucking. good”

“I wanna fuck you all night mommy, your pussy is perfect”

“I touched myself thinking about you and how you stroked my dick baby, wished you would’ve just sucked my cum out instead.

“Oh fuck, you’re tight, choking my cock baby, make me wanna bust in you so bad”

“J-James?” You whisper, eyes growing wide, how the fuck did he know those words, what was happening. Bucky loses himself in how good you feel, no longer giving a fuck. “What-what are you saying-”

“It’s Jamie” He lets out a dark chuckle, mocking your sweet tone, dropping the act, now that he’s deep in your cunt. “Your Jamie’s cock”

“Cock?”

“Yeah, cock mama, my cock in your little special spot”

Bruh I’m so sorry tf is wrong with me 💀

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theemporium · 1 year

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hello hello hi, was wondering if you could do james potter hearing about a new position and wanting to try it with reader

thank you x

this kinda became more of an innocent!james blurb but🤠thank you for requesting!🖤

It wasn’t unusual for James to come to you with new ideas or things he wanted to try out.

He didn’t have much experience and you knew that, and you had no problem with it. If anything, it warmed your heart to see how excited he got when he found something new he wanted to try, how excited he was to do it with you because if he wanted to learn, it was you he wanted to share the experience with.

You weren’t dating. Not in any way. You were just best friends, and who better than to help you gain a little experience than your best friend.

Right?

“Fuck, Jamie! Shit, just like that!”

His tongue was lapping against your cunt, up and down like he was a starved man eating for the first time. His arms were wrapped around your thighs and his hands splayed across your stomach, keeping you pressed down against the bed as he continued to fuck you with his tongue.

He had been sheepish and blushy when he approached you less than an hour ago, saying he wanted to try something new that you hadn’t tried before. He told you that he wanted to go down on you, he wanted to experiment something that he had read up in one of those dirty magazines Sirius smuggled in from the muggle world.

You agreed with a smile.

Little did you realise you would be lying on your bed, body squirming and shaking because as it turned out, James Potter was fucking relentless when it came to eating you out.

He loved it. He loved the taste of you and the way your fingers pulled and tugged at his curls. He loved the way you screamed his name, your teary eyes meeting his as his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. He loved the way your thighs squeezed against his ears, trapping him between your legs even when you moaned and whined that it was far too much.

“I-I can’t,” you choked out between moans, your whole body feeling like it was on fire as he lazily made out with your soaking cunt. Your thighs and the lower half of his face was glistening with your slick but he didn’t care, not one fucking bit. “It’s too much, I can’t—”

“One more,” he groaned against you, his words muffled as he squeezed your thighs tighter like he was scared you’d run away. “One more, love, please?”

Your eyes shifted down to find him lifting his head a little, his lips all red and swollen and shiny and his cheeks flushed pink. He looked drunk, the happy kind of drunk where the buzz was at its peak and you never wanted the night to end. He looked like he was happy to stay where he was forever.

“Just wanna make you feel good,” he murmured as he pressed lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your thighs. “Got a few more tricks Pads’ magazine said. Can I try them, love? Please?”

He was borderline begging, wide eyes staring up at you through slightly askewed, fogged up glasses and you couldn’t say no to him, not when he asked you so nicely.

“One more, Jamie,” you murmured, your stomach tightening in anticipation as the boy grinned boyishly in response. “One more.”

He made you come three more times before he finally crawled up the bed, wrapping his arms around your torso and falling asleep with his head on your chest and your hands in his hair.

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syrma-sensei · 1 year

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→ Rugrats, Pool, and Grilling Techniques.

pairing: soldier boy x wife!reader.

rating: smut, fluff.

warning: domestic soldier boy, dangerously smitten ben (oocish), established relationship, daddy ben, breeding kink, dirty talk, daddy kink, non-canon complied.

word count: 2k

summary: soldier boy is surprisingly an amazing family man.

tagging: @zepskies

→ masterlist | ao3

“Ready. Go!”

As soon as your husband's whistle blows into the air, a loud splash follows when Jamie and Maggie hopped into the pool. Inheriting their father's super stamina and endurance, the two swim swiftly and with the agility of dolphins, while your husband's voice encourages them both. However, out of your twins, Maggie is the faster swimmer, whereas Jamie is quicker on land.

Bathing in the sun beam, you lay on the sunlounger next to Ben's, watching the trio having fun together in the pool. You plan on joining them in a bit, but you let them play on their supe level before you hop in, because after all, you're just a human. For the time being, you're sufficed with your feet dipped in the water at the rim of the pool.

“Haha, that's my girl!” Ben's face beams with a wide smile when Maggie, as expected, beat her twin to the other side of the pool.

“Cheater!” Jamie yells at his sister whom sticks her tongue out at him.

“No, you're just slow, Jay,” She retorts haughtily, a trait she caught from her dad.

He rolls his eyes, “See you on land, sis, 'coz you'll be dragging your ass behind me there,”

Ben bursts out laughing but he stops when you throw him a berating glare with a chiding tilt of your head. Your husband clears his throat.

“Oh, woah, manners young man,” Ben scolds, “You better watch that mouth, you don't speak to ladies like that.”

“Like she's one!” Jamie grouses, propelling his hands into the water, “She took on three children at school the other day.”

“Because they're bullies, and they had it coming!” Maggie replies heatedly.

Once again, a proud grin stretches Ben's lips from ear to ear. You shake your head hopelessly at him.

Maggie swims towards her father, saying, “Bullies are bad, aren't they, Papa?”

“That's right,” Ben agrees, stroking a strand of Maggie's hair away from her face, “You go kick their asses, kiddo.”

“He said it!” Jamie gasps.

“For the love of God, Ben, watch your language in front of the kids!”

He ignores you, “Our daughter, my daughter here is going to be a badass chick.” A grin is plastered on his mouth before his kisses her cheek.

Maggie giggles at her father, “What does badass mean, Papa? Is my butt bad?”

Ben hurls his head back with a laugh, “No, cupcake, your butt ain't bad. It means you're cool as f—hell.” He glances at you momentarily, then he corrects again, “As heck, cool as heck.”

Jamie swims towards his sister, slyness contorts his face, in that moment, you're in stupor at the way it resembles Ben's visage.

“Cool or not, Dad's not gonna allow you to go out with boys,” Jamie says, “Are you, Dad?”

One would expect Maggie's eyes to widen, to look horrified, and her to look at her father urgently, silently begging him to deny what James just said. But the little one swims to her father and wraps her tiny arms around his neck. “I don't need boys, Jay.” She replies with sass, “I'm daddy's little princess, right, Papa?”

While you swoon at Maggie, you smile amusedly as Ben grows a bit perplexed at the sudden affectionate admission from Margret. So, you decide you rescue your husband by climbing down into pool.

“Of course, sweetheart,” You say, swimming towards the three, “Daddy's always gonna be here for you,”

Maggie tilts her head and kisses her father's temple. Ben's grin falters; you can read the uneasiness written on his face.

“Love you, Papa,” she whispers.

“Love you too, princess,”

Maggie's giggles warble around, and Jamie rolls his eyes again.

The four of you play together in the pool, swimming and tossing the ball, after you've divided into two teams; you and Jamie against Ben and Maggi.

During the game, you pick up on the lethargy of his moves. He's not being himself at the moment, for normally, his competitive spirit would more eager to win, even if it were a mere game. You frown a bit when you hurl the ball to the other side of the pool only for Maggie to catch it with dexterity. She throws it back with her supe strength to your side, but Jamie baulks it with his supe speed.

“Close enough, sis, but you're being sloppy,” He teases.

“You wish!”

Jamie flings the ball to the other side again, and Ben blocks it with one large hand.

“Uh oh.” You hear Jamie whisper when he sees his father's smirk. Ben draws his hand backwards then darts it in Jamie's direction. It dashes through a blurry, white flash before it bashes into the water by you, the bolt makes your hair sway.

“Nicely-done, dad!” Jamie cheers.

“Hey, what side are on, Jay?!” You frown, grousing.

Your son only shrugs, “But it was awesome!”

“Ah, cut the kid some slack, would ya?” Ben makes an amused sound, raising his hands in a gesture, “Not my fault I'm the favourite parent here.”

“We' shall see about that, Mr. Gilman, we shall see.” You squint, lips puckering up in a playful curl.

The game ends with a draw; James and Margret aren't so crazy about the result. And they start to squabble about it when you decide to call it a day in the pool and climb out of it.

After having a quick shower, and wearing fresh clothes, the four of you embark on preparing lunch. You and Maggie are to prepare the table, and Jamie is to help his father with the grilling labour.

While Ben teaches Jamie the grilling technics (which you originally taught Ben, because the man didn't know to cook shit when you first met) you chopped the vegetables that Maggie rinsed for you into the salad bowl. The meat odorous smell tickles your nostrils and makes your mouths water.

When the plates are laid out and the meal is ready, the four of you encircle the table, and enjoy what you made together with the spirit of your extraordinary family.

•••

In the evening, you take another shower, but more thoroughly this time. You don't want the smell of barbecued meat and the reek of coal to stick to your body when you go to bed.

You step out the bathroom with a fluffy towel wrapped around your body after thirty minutes. You find Ben sitting at the foot of the bed, his brown hair is still drenched from his shower. He's wearing a grey shirt, and a matching grey sweatpants, with a towel on his head.

His gaze instantly softens when his green eyes land on your figure, a tender smile visiting his lips. You smile back at him, taking the spot next to him on the bed.

“Today was great,” You say, your hands on his strong arm, massaging his muscle, “Thank you, Ben.” Again, he freezes when you reach out to kiss his temple.

Ben nods, the he draws his head back to gaze at you, his large hand cupping your cheek. “No, thank you, baby, for giving me all of this.”

You tilt your head, chewing your lower lip, “Well, you're most welcome, Daddy.”

You see something wicked swirl in the green of his eyes, and the sly smirk on his lips makes your heart skip.

“I was thinking...” Ben scratches his beard with a drawl, eyes predating your body, “The twins are seven now.” He reaches out a hand to tip your chin up, his lips are dangerously close to yours, “What do you think of a third one? Fuck, third and fourth and fifth too.” He thumbs your lower lip gently, “I want to make children with you as much as possible. I want our place to be full of those rugrats.”

A fierce blush rises up to your neck as his breath fans your face, and the flesh between your legs twang in delight. You like it when he talks like that.

Your answer comes as a crushing kiss, and a moan from your throat. Ben's hands trail down to your sides and he lifts you up to his lap. One of his hands roams down your back and loosens the towel, and you're gorgeously naked for him.

“Atta girl,” He praises, “Ready to take what I want to give her.”

He kneads your breasts just right, pinching and caressing where you like, and his lips leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck. You moan his name, and you feel his cock beneath you coming gradually to life.

You grind your bare cunt on his nourishing cock, and his hand grasps your hair to pull your head. “Behave,” he warns with a chuckle, “Fucking eager, aren't we?”

“Ben, please,” You roll your hips again, your arousal is already glistening on his crotch, “Give it to me, fuck me please, please, please, Daddy, make me carry your babies, please make me your breeding slut.”

You can hear his breath hitch before he sears your lips shut with his, hands resting on your buttocks, his blunt nails digging on the flesh of your crack while you cup his bearded cheek.

Ben hoists you up sharply and flips you, splaying your body wide on the bed beneath him. Quick as the supe he is, he takes off his clothes and graces you with his naked glory. He grabs one of your legs and pulls you down impatiently. You giggle playfully.

“Oh, baby, you have no idea,” He cups your mound with a possessive hand, his thumb flicking your clit “How much I want to fucking breed this slutty cunt full,”

You spread your legs further for more friction, “Please, Daddy, please, I want your cum, I need your seed.”

“Fuck, baby,” He grumbles, “Needy, little whore...” Your toes curl at the word, more arousal oozing out if your cunny.

His hands grip your thighs, while lining up to your pussy. You yelp and laugh sporadically at the vigour of his thrust. His hands reach out to yours on either side of your head. Your fingers entangle as he paces up his moves.

Your back arches, and words spilling incoherently out of your mouth as he fucks your brains dumb. You hear him swear and spit in the most vulgar language you've ever heard, and it makes you squeeze him more.

You like that dirty tongue of his, how it makes you feel a flagrant whore yet an unstoppable queen.

“Ben, Ben, I'm so close!” You cry, closing your eyes shut.

“Come to me, baby,” He says, bringing his thumb to your clit.

You hang your arms on his strong back as you feel it coming. Your nails graze his flesh when your orgasm sweep over your being. Your inner drawers clamps down on his cock in a tight hug.

Ben growls in your ear, animalistic and primitive, as he twitches sharply inside of you, painting your insides white.

You take your time to calm down. Breathing gradually placating to normal before he rolls on his back beside you. You snuggle up to his chest, and he holds you close with his arm. You feel his seed leaking into your thighs, and your cunt still throbbing through the throes of your orgasm.

You close your eyes and relish in the moment in silence.

“You're a good dad, Ben.” You say after several minutes, looking up at him.

He gazes down at you, hand playing with your hair, “I try not to be like my old man.”

You smile, “I know you do, and you're nothing like him. The kids adore you.”

His Adam's apple bobs up and down, sneering, “Well, that's good to hear. Not to be a fucking disappointment in someone's eye.”

You peck his lips, pride flourishing within your chest; it took you ages to convince Ben that opening up and expressing his feelings to someone he trusts doesn't equal being a sniveling pussy.

He might be the greatest supe, the hero of heroes, an asshole to some and a god to others. But to you, Ben is just Ben, a doting husband, and a perfect father. And you'd stand against the world for him.

Kissing his forehead you say, “You never were one to me, Ben.”

#soldier boy imagine #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x fem reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x oc #soldier boy smut #soldier boy fluff #the boys soldier boy #the boys #the boys season three #the boys season 3 #the boys s3 #the boys smut #the boys imagine

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morallyinept · 7 months

Text

Trick Or Treat? - A Dark!Frankie Morales x Dark!Joel Miller x Dark!Dave York Halloween One Shot 🎃

Summary: It's Halloween and you're settling in for a creepy night alone with a scary movie, when three masked intruders break in. And they have more tricks than treats in mind for you. 🎃

Pairing: Dark!Frankie Morales x Dark!Joel Miller x Dark!Dave York x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It's you, bub.)

Word Count: 10.5k ish - 'Issa long one. Better grab some spooky snacks. 👻

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶🌶🌶 "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Explicit: DARK/DDDNE/implied noncon/implied dubcon/CNC/free use/anything goes/implied forced/established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/squirting/anal play/restraint/dirty talk/derogatory/some mild degradation/some mild assault in the form of slaps, scratching, biting/jump scares/mentions of clowns & a clown mask image below the cut - eh, some people hate 'em. Dave York comes with his own warning. 🥴

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don't come at me; you've been plenty warned.

Author's Note: Happy Halloween!! 🎃 I'm fully aware that this might not be for everyone, and that's totally fine. You can just move on quietly if it's not for you. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Couldn't think of any better trio of Pedro Boys to mess with you on Halloween, other than Frankie, Joel & Dave.

Enjoy! 🖤🎃

MASTERLIST

The lounge is dimly lit.

Shadows curated from the trenches of nightmares claw across the walls as you perch on the edge of your worn-out couch, crowded with the mass invasion of mis-matched cushions.

The eerie glow from the flat screen casts an otherworldly pallor upon your face, accentuating the nervous flicker around your eyeballs that are wide with bulging scleras; watery white orbs in the dark.

The room is drenched in an unsettling silence, broken only by the haunting soundtrack of the horror movie slashing its way across your screen, from which you can’t tear away your fixed gaze.

Every creak of the house, every groan in the walls, sends fleeting shivers down your spine as you clutch one of the cushions tightly, pulled further into the chilling world of the movie.

It's Halloween night and the bowl, brimming full of sugared candy treats for the Witching Hour to begin, is resting languidly on the coffee table ready for the barrage of trick-or-treaters bound to harangue you all night long. Until you stop answering the door and devour them all for yourself. It always happens.

But, as you watch the movie, engrossed in the suspenseful carnage that is about to erupt, slowly bringing mouthfuls of warm, buttery homemade popcorn up to your mouth, you start to regret it.

You always do this to yourself; cue the manic paranoia afterwards, lying in bed and getting freaked out by strange noises rattling around in the house. Turning the light off and running up the stairs really, really fast so a crazed, masked killer - that is purely a figment of your over active imagination, whose just endured copious hours of jump scares - doesn't get you.

As the movie’s tension mounts, so too does your own. Your heart races in sync with the frantic, heavy beats of the ominous bass that vibrates in through your toes. Fear creeps up your spine with icy tendrils, constricting your chest with each suspenseful twist.

A young Jamie Lee Curtis is running for her life across the screen; a giant man in a boiler suit and waxy mask wielding a kitchen knife is chasing her, and you're yelling at her to run.

Run bitch!

You're invested wholly in the terror of the movie. Your fingernails leave crescent imprints on the fabric of the cushion you clutch, as if they could anchor you to reality amidst the growing dread that consumes you.

The room’s shadows deepen, feel heavier somehow in the darkest corners and seem to slink and shift in the periphery of your vision. Your mind plays tricks on you, conjuring grotesque shapes from the inky void to float towards you, but any sense of your own mild panic is marred by the screaming on the screen that pulls your attention away.

The rest of the house is unusually quiet around you, its existence ebbing away. Oblivious to the malevolent, unseen eyes that seem to pierce through the darkness, you continue to fill your mouth with the salty, puffed kernels.

"Run, why are you standing there, just fucking run!" You crunch to Jamie Lee; your eyes wide and the music hammering around you loudly as the killer is in the house with her, and she hasn't realised it yet.

Oh, the irony.

A figure continues to emerge from the swirly shadows, edging towards you in the dark where the light of the TV hasn't reached. It moves with a haunting grace as if it's part of the very darkness it inhabits. You feel hairs prickle up on the back of your neck as you watch the tension on the screen play out.

You know how this shit goes down; you've seen this movie millions of times, but it still gets you. Still makes you jump out of your skin at the right parts and-

"BOO!"

A maniacal laugh pierces your eardrum from behind and you screech in absolute terror.

The bowl of popcorn ends up all over the floor as you launch yourself up from the couch like you’ve been tasered, turning and screaming as you hear that sinister laugh morph into one you begin to recognise.

Big, splayed hands reach for you from within the dark and you squeal louder, backing up as the sinister marauder advances on you.

"Hey it's me, muñeca. It's me!" But he's still laughing and it's not fucking funny.

Your heart is trying to make a dash out of your throat and you swear to God some pee might’ve trickled down your leg.

"What the Hell are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?!"

You slap his hands away angrily as he reaches for your shaky ones, and the light from the TV assures you it's Frankie, still chuckling to himself from behind a cheap, neon-coloured clown mask.

"Jesus Christ," you sigh, catching your breath.

You're still trying to choke your thrashing heart back down into your chest. It's not going down without a rowdy fight apparently as you cough and splutter. "Why would you scare me like that?! What are you wearing?" You query with a shudder as he pulls off the grotesque mask.

It's a sinister, somewhat ugly clown, complete with rainbow coiffed curls, white cracked rubber for a face and peeling red nose. All your explicit, childish nightmares come true to form and are made graphically real - too real. You shiver again as you see it, now crumpled up in his hand.

"You should've seen your face!" He's laughing again and it's hard not to punch him right now. Or drop kick him in the balls.

"I fucking hate clowns." You growl, shoving him in the broad shoulder, as he tries to pull you towards him, but you resist in protest.

"Hey, it's just me." Frankie reassures, pulling you into the stack of his chest and trying to kiss your cheek in attempted fuzzy apologies, but you still repel him.

"I know," you say, rubbing your arm uneasily and pouting at him. “It’s not funny.”

"Aww, hermosa. Come here, I'm sorry. Voy a parar, lo siento. Lo siento." He pulls you closer into his strong arms wrapping you up tight for a moment, and closing your eyes you're immediately in your safe place; safe in Frankie’s arms where nothing horrific can get you.

You feel your heartbeat regain its usual steady tempo and your body melts into a heated pool of slush as he soothes you, rubbing his large hands up and down your back.

It's hard to stay mad at him when he holds you like this.

"Aren't you going to be late?" You murmur a few enraptured seconds later into his warm neck skin; your nose nuzzling into the soft, sparse scruff that roots there. You taste it as the oaky scents of his heady cologne makes your mouth water.

He groans deliciously, stirring a flurry again in your rib cage, as you run your tongue up towards his ear and suck gently on the lobe.

"Mmm," he smiles blissfully, crushing your bones into his. You feel his hands now sliding down further, past the small of your back, and pawing at the pliable meat of your ass.

You tug hard on his ear with your teeth and he hisses as you clamp down.

"Ow!" He whines. You snicker up at him.

"Revenge." You titter.

“Eso duele,” he gripes, pouting.

"Look at this mess." Your bare feet are crunching into the popcorn that’s all over the floor as if an Arctic blast has just hit.

"I'll help you clean up." Frankie offers, tossing the clown mask onto the couch. You make a mental note to throw the ghastly thing in the trash once he’s gone.

"No, you go. The guys are waiting for you."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." You nod with a soft smile, and watch as Frankie retrieves his favourite blue cap from his back pocket, unfolds and fixes it back into its rightful place on his tufty curls.

"I'll just be a few hours. Beers and some cards..." He smiles with cocoa eyes.

"Take as long as you want. I'll probably be asleep when you get back anyway." You say grimacing down at the mess.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Just gonna finish up the movie then climb into bed early."

"Hardcore." He teases, pulling you towards him again.

You kiss him on the lips gently. He wraps his hands around the small of your back and you can feel him. Feel that mounting swell of him against your belly as he stiffens in his stonewash Levi’s.

The kiss between you intensifies, his tongue slipping slowly into the hungry void of your mouth. A polluting convergence of wanton desire and longing as he murmurs into your wet gums. It sizzles in your bloodstream, warming you from the inside out.

"Might have to wake you up…" Frankie purrs as you pull away, breathless; your heart thudding, as well as your clit that feels like it’s growing in size and weighing you down.

You grin, clenching internally at the thought of how Frankie specialises in waking you up.

You pull on the lapels of his jacket, twisting the artichoke corduroy, working through the mental images of tossing him on the couch, straddling his face and sending him to the guys with your slick drying in his facial scruff.

"Go on, get going, you jackass." You warn, bending down to pick up the popcorn bowl. You feel a gentle swat on your butt.

"Enjoy the movie, baby." He says.

You smile standing upright. "Say hi to Joel and Dave for me."

Frankie turns back to you, his eyes appearing like black shiny marbles in the dark shadows, and smiles sinisterly at you.

An hour or so later - the clown mask successfully dumped in the trash ceasing to haunt you - and you’ve already given up answering the door to demanding, greedy little witches, hobgoblins and mummies wrapped up in cheap ply toilet paper.

The bowl of candy is now nestled snugly in your lap; the floor clear of the discarded popcorn. Your eyes are glued back to the flat screen as you finish the remainder of the movie, sinking down further into the couch so that you’re almost horizontal, as you chew and suck the candy corn clacking around your teeth.

A knock on the door a little while later makes you jump, but you ignore it, deciding the kids in your neighbourhood have had their fill. You reach for your phone - the light illuminating your face in the dark with Frankie’s beaming grin whilst he noogies you set as your wallpaper - to see it’s a little past nine PM.

You toss it on the couch beside you, absorbing in the movie, reaching into the candy bowl for more as Michael Myers terrorises Jamie Lee to no end.

The door knocks again, this time a thudding hammering.

What the hell?

You pause the movie and get up with the candy bowl, padding over to the hall and towards the front door. The knocks grow louder, more insistent, making you flinch.

“Alright, Jesus!” You call out as you open the door, expecting to see a cluster of snarky little demons holding out their treat bags gluttonously.

But as you wrench the door open, you’re met with only the stark emptiness of the dense night. Frowning, you poke your head out further and see there's only vacant spaces hidden in the shadows of the porch.

You shut the door, convincing yourself it’s a harmless prank from bored teenagers that you’ve become a victim to.

You run your hand around a niggling crick in your neck from slumping on the couch for so long and head back towards the lounge.

Before you reach the end of the hall, another barrage of hammering rattles through your body. Turning, you march towards the front door and pull it open again.

“This isn’t funny, you little dipshits!” You holler out determined to catch them in the act.

Again, there’s nobody there; the street is empty, devoid of any life or wily children making the rounds for poison candied apples. You hesitate, torn between curiosity and a faint bleed of fear haemorrhaging somewhere within your muscles.

“The fuck…?” You query as a cold breeze nips at the tops of your shoulders as you step out onto the porch.

“Hello?” You call out, nerves already frayed as they're going to get this evening; your patience is running thin.

The eerie silence of the night that greets you back seems deafening as it plugs up all your senses. The breeze restlessly pulls the goose bumps out of your pores and you instantly feel foolish, if but a little rattled.

Sighing, you retreat back inside. You wait for a few moments, listening, waiting again for the sound of the phantom knocker. You shake your head listlessly and with a stupefied mirth to yourself, even though the lingering sense of unease remains, trying to claw at your ankles.

You bolt the chain across the door before you finally walk away, convincing yourself that it’s nothing more than your paranoid mind left to its jangled devices.

Of all the nights to play fucking pranks.

Once the movie is over, you climb the stairs up to bed; washing up in the bathroom, now dressed in your matching shorts and shirt pyjama set, and brushing out the candy now cemented in your molars.

Once you're sunk into the softness of your mattress, you roll over onto Frankie’s side, missing his shape wrapped around your body and the feel of his breath warming the back of your neck as he snores lightly.

The musky scents of him linger in the sheets and you inhale deeply, reminding yourself that you live in reality and not some torrid nightmare with crazed, masked killers.

As you drift off, you smile at the thought of him losing at poker to Joel and Dave, and how much shit you’ll know they’ll both give him for it too.

It wakes you, bleeding into your chromatic unconsciousness and interrupting your stunted, dreamless sleep.

A sense of unease washes over you, amplified by the eerie stillness that still hangs in the air as you glance the time on the alarm clock. It sears its menacing red vitriol into your sleepy retinas brightly.

It's just past midnight and Frankie’s side of the bed is still empty.

You lay still and clammy in the sheets, straining your ears to hear what had interrupted your sleep, trying to discern whether it’s real or if your mind had yelled at you from somewhere in the void, pulling you out with a jolt instead.

You close your eyes and roll over again, your arm tingling numb from sleeping on it, when you hear it again.

At first you dismiss it as a product of your overactive imagination, still haunted by the spooky shenanigans of the night, or the creaks in the house coming out to taunt you further for shits and giggles. But it’s there, unmistakably. A faint sound ruminating from downstairs.

“Frankie? That you?” You call softly, sitting up.

You listen out, the waves of your heartbeat rolling and crashing into the tide of your eardrums, disturbed only by a siren passing in the night.

You slip out of the sheets and pad over to the bedroom door that’s ajar. You're certain you'd shut it when you came up.

“Frankie?” You call over the landing and wait.

There’s a loud clanging noise that startles you and you step backwards.

Nope!

Dashing into the bedroom, you reach into the closet for Frankie’s old college baseball bat that’s beaten up and splintered to hell, but it’ll serve as some protection.

You grab your phone with the intent to call Frankie to come and kick some ass. You swipe across the screen and dial Frankie’s number. It rings off as your battery dies.

“What?” You murmur as you fiddle around with the wire, certain you had plugged it in to charge, trailing it down to the socket and find it’s unplugged and left loose on the floor. Shit!

The noise from downstairs stirs your attention, making you jump, and you’re more than convinced there is someone in the house.

“Frankie, if you’re fucking with me again, I swear to God, I’m gonna kill you!” You mumble to yourself, standing up and tiptoeing towards the door.

It falls quiet and you step closer to the top of the stairs.

“Frankie!” You hiss out, assuming he’s probably drunk and rattling around down in the kitchen and making a mess, but you also don’t want to take the chance in case it’s not.

You descend down the stairs slowly, quietly as you can muster; the bat firmly in your hand and poised ready to swing. You convince yourself that you’ll be able to take them. Frankie’s shown you a thing or two about how to carry yourself.

Yeah. Come on, you fucker.

With your pulse rising in your ears, you step into the hall, glancing at the front door. It's still chained up and the dread fully overtakes you.

You raise the bat and round the corner into the lounge. You reach for the light switch and flick it up, but the lights don’t come on at all. You flick it up and down a few times, but you remain in the swamping dark.

Fuck!

You hear the sound again, and it’s indeed coming from the kitchen. Loud and rustling.

“Frankie?” You call out gently. The sound stops and you’re certain you hear footsteps. Perhaps, realising that you'd locked him out, he's come home through the back door.

"Frankie, answer me."

You head towards the kitchen, the orange light pooling in from the lamp post outside illuminates the trash can that's now overturned on the floor. You look down and kick it warily with your foot. You think you can see a shadow moving to your left.

The air shifts heavily against the back of your neck, and you yelp, swinging the bat with conviction.

“Uh-ho, we gotta live one!” A thick voice booms as a giant hand catches the bat mid swing.

The voice comes from underneath a creepy vampire mask, complete with fangs and a bloodstained cleft. He wrenches the bat from you, in easily the biggest hands you’ve ever seen, and you hear it clatter away across the tiled floor.

You scramble backwards. A leather gloved hand clamps over your mouth, as your arms are crushed behind your back, muffling out your panicked screams.

You struggle and recoil against the body that holds you in a vice-like grip, despite your legs thrashing like you’re fighting against the tide.

You glance up behind you and see another mask, this time a ghoul with pieces of skin missing, greets you. It's too dark to see the eyes through the slits. But you can hear his laugh; a cold mist of breathy chuckles as you struggle and fight against him.

His gloved hand presses harder over your mouth drowning out your squeaks into frantic inhalations as you struggle to breathe around it. All you can think of is Frankie. Doing some desperate Jedi Mind Trick shit to conjure him here to beat the crap out of these intruding assholes.

The Vampire steps towards you, cocking his head and his hulking frame immediately intimidates you, terrifies you even.

But a flood of adrenaline makes you kick out and your foot collides with his kneecap.

He growls as he jolts. “Hey now! There’ll be none of that, darlin’,” he warns sinisterly.

In a nanosecond, that voice registers somewhere familiar in the back of your skull, but before you have time to churn and process it into coherent thought, your arm is twisted further up your spine making you cry out around the gloved hand pressing against your teeth; the pressure making them ache.

“Grab her legs.” The Ghoul instructs as The Vampire reaches for them and clamps tightly around your ankles as you try to repl against him.

They manoeuvre you into the lounge where another figure emerges from the shadows, now illuminated by a couple of gloaming candles flickering on the coffee table.

Your eyes widen as you recognise the gnarly clown mask from the trash, shaking the lit match in his fingers until it's extinguished.

You’re tossed face down into the couch and you scramble, gasping and yelling out as they pin you quickly.

"Get off of meeee!"

The Ghoul on your right, The Vampire on your left. Their auspicious, maniacal laughter ringing in your ears; their tight grip cementing you in place, pinching painfully against your skin.

The Clown steps closer peering down at you through the mask; his chest rising and falling, steadily puffed out in his menacing stance.

Your eyes widen as he advances closer, his hands moving towards his belt; thick, long fingers slowly unbuckling it.

You yell out, struggling, but it’s futile. “No, NO!” You kick and scream, the dread poisoning your bloodstream, and they all laugh.

"Help! Hel-pffh!"

The gloved hand of The Ghoul wraps around your throat murdering your yells into dying croaks that choke out of you like sloppy hiccups.

"Ain't no-one gonna hear ya, darlin'." The Vampire mocks. "S'just you n’ us, pretty girl. All night."

The Clown kicks at your ankles separating them as The Vampire yanks your left leg towards him. The Ghoul follows with your right leg and it feels like he pulls it out of the joint.

You're completely opened up, your shorts riding tight up against your centre, and locked into place unable to move. You focus on The Clown and the sinister way in which he moves, head slightly cocked and revelling in your plight; a sadistic voyeur in this cruel fate.

Your breathing is frantic, sucking in too much oxygen making you a little light headed.

The Clown edges closer, his horrifically masked face craning closer towards yours and you can see those dark eyes staring back at you, unblinking and unflinching.

“Trick or treat?” He simply taunts.

You’re frozen, paralysed.

The fear has gripped you tight in a vice so binding that you’re unable to process basic motor functions. Both your fight or flight senses have left you, fled screaming into the night.

You can hear them. All around you. Their rabid voices hitching through the masks; verbal plotting laced with undulating horrors of menace. All the ways they want to feast on you rattles tinny in between your ears.

Their hands paw at you, tear at your supple flesh like a pack of ravenous wolves; groping, scratching, pinching. Tugging lewdly at the light cotton of your pyjama shorts and shirt.

The monsters harangue your every sense, flood your synapses with their ill intent. Their white noise deafens you.

Then, like you've been dunked head first under ice cold water, the sudden awareness of your predicament shakes you with alarm. It's enough to pump fast adrenaline through you like Popeye's spinach as you twist, screech and fight back with all you’ve got.

You’re not sure how you manage it - it's one for your brain to calculate the physics later - but you’re up on your feet, shoving The Clown backwards as he unzips his flies, leaving The Vampire growling.

But The Ghoul is up just as fast and chasing you down as you make a daring dash towards the front door.

Your fingers rattle clumsily around the chain, cursing yourself that you attached it earlier, unable to get a steady grip on it, when you feel The Ghoul slam into you from behind.

Your face is crushed hard into the wood as he pestles against you, stars flooding your eyes. You hear him snarling fistules of lava in your ear. He grabs your arms and drags you back. “No you don’t, bitch!” He seethes.

Now begins the physical struggle that you’re bound to lose. You might have torn at him with your nails, but it barely marks him. Your desperate imploring of him to stop, that he's hurting you, has no effect either. His need is too desperate now for him to even hear you.

You feel his urgency, and realising there’s nothing further you can do or say, your body submits to him as he drags you along with ease - he’s simply too strong for you to fight off - they all are.

He slams you down, bent forward, over the dining table; your temple and cheek slapping against it, dazing you for a second.

You feel hands on your body, one hand slipping easily around your throat, the other slipping around the front of your belly pulling you back tight against him.

You feel him, feel the excitement of your helplessness goading him on. Feel that hardness of his twisted desire. Your wrists are restrained at your back, held in place as he easily and quickly manoeuvres them despite your struggles.

“Please!” You cry out louder.

His voice is rough sounding in your ear. "Don't you dare scream, or I'll snap your pretty little neck!" Foul menace is hissed into you insidiously from The Ghoul. And you know he's not messing around.

Through the commotion, you hear a chair being pulled out, creaky scrapes, and The Clown takes a seat at the opposite end of the table. He tosses a couple of black cable ties across the polished wood to The Ghoul.

The Ghoul secures your wrists together, sharp and snapping, and you whine with tears pooling in your eyes for them to let you go. To not do this. To please just stop.

The Clown, drawing one denim clad knee up, sitting back in the chair, watches darkly.

You jut your leg out backwards in a last ditch attempt to not go down without a fight, clocking it into The Ghoul’s thigh and he growls and slams his fist on the table mere inches from your face.

He’s had enough now.

He tears off his mask and presses his body over yours, suffocating you with his crushing strength. He grips round your chin and turns your head. The face that is presented back to you, smirking with dark brown eyes burning into you like hot embers, renders you useless as he twists your face to meet yours. You can hear your neck crack.

Oh fuck.

“D-Dave?” You query confused. He grits his teeth, mouth pursed out as he stares you into a weak submission. He's pissed, livid.

You see movement over his shoulder as The Vampire emerges.

“Cat’s outta the bag, hmm?” The Vampire says to Dave, a hefty hand resting on his shoulder.

You watch in shock, and with something else starting to flare over your body, as The Vampire removes his own mask, crushing it in his large palm to reveal soft, greying curls slick with sweat in the chocolaty roots.

“Joel?" You gasp.

“In the flesh, darlin’.” He sneers through a smile that’s more unnerving than Dave’s fury somehow, completing this picture of terrifying machismo.

“What is this, w-what’s going on?" You pant, your wrists burning as they struggle around the plastic snare keeping them together and tingling your fingers with numbness.

Dave’s gloved hand squeezes around your jaw popping your lips open.

“Ssshh.” His leathered index finger pushes tightly to your mouth. Black butterflies dance over Dave’s features. You're tempted to bite down, but sensing this, he pushes another finger in and you heave as it tickles the back of your throat.

Joel chuckles softly at your plight as he watches you choke around Dave's invading leather digits.

"So this is what you look like sucking on Frankie's cock, hmm?" Dave taunts.

"Real fuckin' nice." Joel agrees, licking his lips. You catch him palming himself over his jeans and you feel a heavy flutter start to rustle from the grave in your core.

You try to swallow but your mouth is stuffed so full of the padded leather that your saliva pools out the corner of your mouth and runs down your chin.

Dave grips the side of your face with his other hand, his hips pushing you against the table. Joel lurches behind him like a stacked shadow, sealing off any gap for a potential escape.

You want to be furious, you want to push him off you as he pushes his fingers into the furthest reaches of your throat and becomes mesmerised by it as you gag and retch.

Instead, and in some fucked up depravity stirring from the pits, you melt under his force; enjoying the feel of it and nuzzling into his hand with your eyes closed, until he yanks your hair backwards and holds you still and taut.

You gasp out as he sniffs all over your neck and face like a dog. "Oh, you want this don't you, slut?"

Dave's sudden change in demeanour again does something to you; something wonderfully perverted and untamed. Something unexpected and he picks up on it immediately like a Bloodhound.

He pulls his hand out of the glove, but leaves it in your mouth, pressing it in further until you gag more and your cheeks fill with it.

"I can smell your cunt," Dave says in a voice you don't recognise. It's sinister and deep, yet with a jaunty bounce of a little chuckle on the end of it.

His macabre smile does nothing to appease the angst simmering away inside your stomach. Instead, it seems to intensify it to boiling point and it begins to ache in your gut like a heavy pull.

But then, a surge of devious pleasure swills in your bloodstream, seemingly from out of nowhere; you're aroused by becoming aroused at such a thing. A blooming in between your legs, the slickness of your pussy waking up to join this fucked up tea party. And the feel of your body becoming heated for him makes you sweat.

“Ain’t she pretty, hmm?” Joel taunts.

Dave runs his mouth over your cheeks; he becomes possessed, animalistic almost as he glides it back and forth, back and forth. You feel his lips drag against yours but he doesn't kiss you, even though you're suddenly desperate to latch onto his lips - to feast on them like you're starved, despite the glove stuffed so unceremoniously into your mouth.

It sends shivers down your body and tingles inside your hair follicles that he’s pulling on tightly. The smoothness of his marble-like jaw, the plumpness of his bottom lip; a kaleidoscopic wonder of him that you've never really paid attention to before.

Somewhere, deep inside of you, you realise you’d always thought Dave was attractive, handsome. And now whilst he’s terrifying and rough, that attraction rears its ugly head and dives haphazardly into wanton lust.

The electric sparks zap down your spine and surges through your nipples that are tightening inside your pyjama shirt. You’re unconsciously squeezing your thighs together as your clit throbs.

He's right. You do want this.

"You know, I've always wanted to fuck you." Dave's hand reaches for his belt.

You see Joel kneel down to your level as your eyes widen. You feel Dave yank down your pyjama shorts as he practically tears them from your legs.

You sound your resistance out around the glove, but all that comes out is incomprehensible moans.

He swipes between your legs, and his fingers slip over your puffy cunt lips, and it's a dead giveaway at how drenched you are.

You feel Joel pat your shoulder. “S’okay, darlin’,” he soothes with maddening eyes. “We’re gonna take real care of ya.”

"Yeah. Feel that tight cunt that Frankie says you've got squeeze round me." Dave snorts. "Fuck, you're so wet…"

You hear yourself audibly whimper as his fingers find you soaking and wanting. He runs them up and down your fleshy seam and pushes two of them into your folds with a loud, undignified squelch.

He slides further up and knocks against your clit that aches and your thighs judder uncontrollably as he circles it.

Joel reaches between your legs and takes a swipe for himself. You watch as he sucks your slick from his fingers and smirks.

“Someone’s ready to be fucked, aren’t ya, darlin’?” Joel says to you.

You shake your head and it clatters against the tabletop.

Dave moans into your ear, "what a little slut. Wet for me already. What would your boyfriend think?"

You whine as he increases the pressure on your clit, your legs already buckling underneath you.

"Why don't we ask him, hmm? Hey Frank. What do you think about that?"

Your eyes dart to The Clown, watching you silently with tented fingers.

"Frank!" Dave grunts again through gritted teeth. "Take that thing off and watch me fuck your girl.”

A hand goes to The Clown's face and you recognise Frankie's features as they're revealed to you from under it. Your heart surges, feeling heavier in your chest. But Frankie doesn't look how you expect him to.

He doesn't look aghast or in disgust, or furious with Dave and Joel. No. He looks positively delighted and smirks darkly at you as Dave lines himself up against your oozing slit.

Frankie tosses the mask across the table. "Fuck her until she screams, Dave." He says casually cold.

You watch helplessly as Frankie's lips twist up into a chilling smirk that ices right through your blood.

You whimper helplessly. Your body is shattered with an agonising realisation as Frankie teases and encourages your plight rather than halting it.

You can feel your heartbeat hammering wildly in your chest cavity - pumping courage into your veins, preparing you for what is about to happen.

He’s not helping you, he’s not stopping this. You realise that he’s heinously a part of it. Tears well in your eyes, threatening to blind you and it feels like every bone in your body has snapped.

Dave shunts his cock into you so hard, that the table screeches and jostles forward against the floor. Frankie slaps his palms down so that he isn't crushed in the gut by it.

"Shit! Never knew ya had it in ya, Yorkie-boy." Joel remarks with an impressed grin.

"Fuck you, Joel." Dave pants from behind you.

He’s not gentle as he drills in, pushing himself into the deepest parts of you he can reach as he fucks you. Your pussy welcomes him in, sucking around him, despite your body clenching initially.

Slowly, you’re unfurling, you’re taking it, taking him, whether you want to or not. Your mind is still trying to figure that part out.

He’s packing you out and filling you to the brim as he surges into a vile, hypnotic rhythm. You’re gasping around the glove; groaning and moaning as your body performs the ultimate betrayal against you, and starts to unwillingly peak.

“Mmph, nufffph…” You lament helplessly around the suffocating glove.

"Look at this slut, coming already. Barely fucked you, sweetheart and you're coming all over me!" Dave cajoles as though he's unimpressed.

"His cock feel too good in ya, honey?" Joel asks, stroking at your sweat laden face.

You whine, unable to speak with the glove still stuffed in your orifice.

"Oh, I know, darlin'. Let's get that out, shall we?" Joel reaches for the leather and slowly pulls it out of your stretched, dry mouth. "That better?"

You nod, licking around your taut gums. "Uh-huuuah…" You groan as your back tenses and your body arches.

Dave pistons in deep, grabbing a hold of the meat of your hips with sharp, tight fingers. You can already feel the bruises forming as he squeezes around your malleable flesh.

Joel smiles, grabbing at your jaw, squeezing it tightly in a binding crush of his fingers and stubby thumb. "Tell me how good it feels with Dave’s cock in ya cunt."

"G-goo-ood." You whimper, snottily. You say it to appease him; it’s what he wants to hear, but Dave’s hitting those spots inside you that creep up your shoulders and whisper in your ear that it does, in fact, feel good.

Your muscles are tense all over your body making you feel like lead, but that building heat is melting it all away until you’re a boiling, metallic liquid running off the table to melt Joel’s boots.

"Just good?” Joel frowns. “Ya can do better than that. He’s giving it to ya hard, honey n’ you’re telling me it’s just good?” He shakes his head disapprovingly.

"S-so goo-ood…" you stutter, your words being forced out of your larynx with every brutal thrust Dave gives you as he riles and growls behind you.

"Tell him it's the best fucking cock ya've ever had." Joel prompts with a controlled voice.

"It's t-the best cock… I've ever ha-haad." You hiccup through your wails.

Dave continues to pummell you. You can't take it anymore, it begins to hurt as he nudges against your cervix like a battering ram. It begins to charge and stew. It begins to turn you out, kicking and screaming by the ankles as your fingertips fizz and your eyes roll back into your skull as though possessed by the emergence of another haunting orgasm, only this time stronger than the last.

It's burning, licking all over your skin and melting you. He's taking from you, owning you.

And it feels oh so fucking good.

"Oh God, oh fuck!" You cry. “Please! Fuck, yes!” You’re babbling; possessed by the inucubus-like demons that twist and trick and convince you that you want this as they lick at your ear. That somewhere, in the back of your mind, this has always been a dark fantasy that you’ve been reluctant to walk the path of.

You can feel the drool from your mouth pool on the table under you, sticking to your cheek like syrup.

Joel slaps your face and it stings you back to reality for a second. "Louder darlin'!"

"It's the… aaah-ha! Oh God! The-best-fucking-cock-I've-ever-fucking-had! Aaahh! Fuuuuuck!" You wail as Dave snaps his hips into you and you fold completely in half.

You're shaking and can't seem to stop, Dave's dastardly grunts filling your ears as you squeeze and flood him. "That's it baby, soak my cock. Just like that you little slut."

"Ohh. Frankie. Man. That's gotta hurt." Joel snorts as he lets your face go and it falls back against the table with a heavy thunk. You've no energy to keep it up right now as you succumb to Dave’s cock tearing you open whilst your bones dissolve.

Frankie purses his lips as Joel stands up with a smirk tossed at him. The two men watching you as Dave brutally gives you a pounding that feels like it’ll never let up.

And you kinda don’t want it to.

“Enjoying the show, boys?” Dave pants around a wheezed laugh.

He reaches forward and pulls at your hair again, snapping your neck up, your spine bending backwards on itself like a screwed up question mark, as he holds you there in a warped contortion and your body can only take it.

It shouldn’t feel like this, it shouldn’t feel good and devouring. You should be repulsed, you should be frightened with how he's invaded you. You should be doing everything you can to fight him off.

But you don’t want to.

You want him to snap your spine in half and eat your insides. You want Dave to annihilate you and pulverise your body into ashy dust. You want him to make you come again.

“Watch me break your girl in half, Frank.” Dave croons evilly, as if able to read your thoughts.

“Oh god... fuck... please!" Even your mouth betrays you now, begging him for more. "Dave! Pleasepleaseplease…"

But somehow your cries and begging him only make your orgasm that much more intense. And while he laughs, while they all laugh at you being railed on the dining table, deep derisive chuckles at your utter humiliation by Dave’s hands, you come again right on top of the other; your entire body shaking and trembling as you’re being exorcised of any reluctant demons left inside you.

You want this. You want them all to have their fill and to fill you up. You want to be tossed around and shared by them all. Left muddied and stained.

"Daaaaaave!" You wail.

“That’s it, scream for me! I fucking love it when little sluts scream. Little sluts who scream like they don't want this cock buried in their cunt." Dave grunts into your scalp and he’s all teeth.

You’re completely out of breath. Your body is caving into him as he ruts and fucks you harder, deeper and without any intention of stopping soon.

You’re starting to believe it when he said he’d always wanted to do this, always wanted to fuck you. And now that he his, it's more terrifying and wonderful than what you could have imagined.

You can feel him speed up, really giving you his all, as his breathing starts to wane. His thighs are constant thuds against your ass cheeks, so much so that you imagine the skin between you is now one.

“Fuck!” He yells out.

When Dave comes, it’s like he’s howling at the moon; turning himself around his bones and sinew as he pants and wheezes like an animal with bloodied carcass strings hanging around his teeth.

You feel him pump into you, his thighs buckling and his hands releasing your hair from around his grip; you feel like you’ve been scalped.

He lets go of you completely, tossing your used body onto the tabletop like garbage, as his cock slips out and you can feel his come pooling at your entrance. You inadvertently squeeze to stop it sluicing down your thighs as your panting subsides.

You’re dizzy, you’re seeing spots in your vision as you try to remember how to breathe.

You’re given no remission; Joel’s there immediately as Dave steps back, catching you before you slide off the table into a heap as your legs finally give way.

“I got ya, darlin’.” He scoops you up into his strong arms with ease, and carries you through to the lounge.

Joel makes his way with you in his arms; his heavy boots crunching in some of the popcorn spilt on the floor in your earlier fright from Frankie that you'd missed clearing up.

He sits on the sofa, cradling you in his wide lap and stroking through your hair gently. Your arms are aching, feeling like they're on fire as your wrists are still lashed together tightly behind your back.

You look up, in a heady stupor, to see Frankie still watching from the dining table with a blank, unreadable face and dark eyes, and Dave pouring a glass of water and gulping it back, clearing his throat, naked from the waist down and puffing out his cheeks that are pink with the exertion. His face shines with sweat.

“Let’s get these off ya, darlin’,” Joel says.

He pulls a switchblade from his back pocket and you flinch as the blade flicks open. He waves it under your eyelashes and you tense.

“M’gonna cut ya free. Ya try anythin’ and I’ll slide this into your belly, y’hear me?” He pinches the fat of your stomach under the flaps of your pyjama shirt to emphasise the point.

You nod frantically as he cuts the cable ties from your wrists.

Tucking the knife away, he brings your hands around to your front and massages the feeling slowly back into them. They have purple rings around them that itch and weep from raw blisters.

He brings your wrists to his lips and presses gentle kisses over the broken skin whilst holding eye contact with you.

An urge surges through your fingertips; you feel compelled to stroke through his curls, feel him nuzzle into you at his gentle nature. Run your nose over his facial scruff and see if it smells different from Frankie’s.

But you don’t, he keeps your twitching hands firmly in his own as he kisses delicately, runs his soothing tongue around the welts.

“Better?” Joel asks you after a few minutes.

You nod as he pushes your knotted hair behind your ears.

“Alright, darlin’. Lay back. M’gonna fuck ya now.”

"Please-" you start in a weak protest. Your body isn;t ready for another pounding yet.

"Shut up. Ya gonna take what I give ya like a good girl." He menaces in the same gentle tone, which is unnerving as it is heated. “In fact, let’s get you down here. Can splay ya out. S’better.”

Joel picks you up like you weigh nothing and lays you on the wooden floor, pushing the coffee table out of the way with his other hand effortlessly. It creaks across the wooden floor.

His foreboding, giant hands grip either side of your pyjama shirt lapels and wrenches it open with a quick yank; the buttons tearing and popping off, some never to be found again.

"Fuck," Joel groans as your breasts spill out at him. He leans forward over you, taking a nipple between his lips and sucking on it, pulling on it with his teeth and making you hiss.

"Such a nice pair, darlin'. Jesus." He gruffs tonguing around your nipple as it hardens in his mouth. He runs his mouth across the valley and peaks of your breasts, his tongue lavishing attention around those stiff nipples that he teases.

You feel him bite down on the meat of the left one and you hiss as he sucks the skin in around his teeth ferociously. He rises up when he’s left a purple mark. “Something for ya to remember me by,” he says.

Your eyes water, yet you groan in response to his biting, and shut them as he leaves another mark on your sternum. You feel a sharp sting across your cheeks; you open them again in shock.

"Eyes on me." Joel warns. "Want you to watch me turn ya out."

“Please, Joel…” You whine, trying to resist him and the way he can simply knead and spread you about with ease like you’re a pliable plasticine doll. But your body is too strung out from Dave’s gruelling punishment. It has no fight left in it.

You try to close your legs, but Joel’s too strong. He wrenches them apart with a simple shove of his hands making your thigh bones crack: his stocky body filling the gap and stopping you from shutting them again as he slots in between like a giant cinder block.

"Don't act like ya don't want me inside ya. I know you've been thinkin' 'bout me doing this to ya. You're a fuckin' tease."

Joel's always been big. With his broad shoulders and biceps that often strain under his plaid shirts, he's the quieter one of the three of them, the softer one.

A gentle giant that would always come to your aid if you needed him. And he knows how to grill a mean steak when he invites you and Frankie over for barbecues and he makes for the perfect, gracious host.

But tonight, he's showing you a side of him you never thought could exist. A side of him that's turning you on explicitly, despite the creeping exhaustion and pursed reluctance.

Joel's a Texan gentleman through and through. But tonight, he's a wild fucking animal.

“Y'gonna hold ya girl steady for me, Frankie? Squirmy lil' thing ain’t she?" Joel grunts as he unbuckles his belt.

Momentarily, you feel Frankie lifting your head into his lap and securing your arms above your head as you wriggle and headbutt against his thighs. “Don’t fight it, hermosa.” He warns.

"Gon' make a mess of ya, darlin'," Joel smirks as he shuffles his jeans off and you spy his ominous cock; massively hard and dripping. It's huge, almost comically so, and you gulp.

Fuck!

"Ya ever had a cock this big before? Gon' break ya open." Joel spits into his palm and smears it all around his fat head as he pumps himself.

You gasp; a deep guttural howl transmorphing into a silent scream as Joel pushes the head of his engorged cock against your hole and begins stretching you out.

"Oh God… so fuckin’ tight. Ya didn't tell me how good this would be, Frankie." Joel groans through a slack jaw. "Ya can't be keeping this pussy to yourself. That ain't fair."

You hear Dave snicker in agreement above you as he repositions himself on the couch to get a better view of your plight.

“Oh fuck…” You cry out as Joel continues to push in further.

Frankie's cock was big, he often left a delicious ache deep inside you for days after. Even Dave's cock you'd feel bruising around your insides in the morning. But Joel? Fuck, Joel wasn't joking when he said he'd break you open.

It burns and sears and you feel so full despite him not being all the way in yet.

"Fuck Joel, you're… it's too much. I can't-" You protest, shaking your head and screwing up your eyes.

"Suck it up." He grunts as he pushes his hips further into yours.

"Take it," Frankie grizzles, as you try to thrash against his hands, pinning your arms down. Your whole body feels full of Joel as he finally stills; his full, fat length buried inside you and you can feel yourself rib and pulse around him, already on the cusp of falling apart. You're whimpering and shaking already.

"Well look at that, seems ya can take me after all, sweetheart." Joel smirks, the crest of his hips now pressed flush against yours. The weight of him crushing you somewhat. He looms over you, his gigantic palms flat on the floor by your head.

"Please move," you whimper around grinding your teeth. “Oh God, Joel, you’re too fucking big-”

"What's that, darlin'? Ya begging me to fuck ya now?" Joel chuckles. "Ya girl's really greedy for cock, Frankie."

“Fuck her,” Dave encourages.

Joel pulls backwards and slams forward into you with a hard shunt. "There we go."

"FUCK!" You wail, water blinding your eyes as they mist over. You feel him; one quick, hard shunt of his cock inside of you and you gasp at the full invading breach as he bottoms out.

Although it feels like he’s ripped right through your back.

He does it again and your breath is pumped out of your lungs into the air above you as you flounder, trying to suck it all back in.

Joel's large paws grab at your hips as he kneels up and steadies himself into a brutal pace, rattling your bones with each powerful thrust.

Your hands squeeze into fists and you glance up at Frankie; a poised smirk over his upside down features, a few renegade curls falling into his face, watching Joel's thick cock hammer into you.

Joel's grunts fill your senses, mesmerised by the way he looks down to see himself pull back and admire how wet his cock is with you before he raises his eyebrow up and smirks accomplished. “Greasin’ me up good, darlin’.”

“Joel!” You wail as he slams on in again. You’re just a body for him to fuck, a toy for him to twist out of shape and break apart. “Oh fuck, please, nuuaaaahhh!"

Your gasps and cries are soon silenced by Dave straddling your face and planting his heavy balls into your mouth. "Shut up and suck." He commands.

He strokes his now hard cock again, and groans as you’re forced to suck whilst Joel continues to annihilate your cunt.

Dave smirks at Frankie who’s still pinning your wrists in place.

You look up at them both, staring into one another as Dave jerks his cock and Frankie holds his eye contact with flared nostrils.

Dave grips onto Frankie's shoulder with a heavy clap. He growls whilst you suck on his balls that have completely filled your mouth, squeaking around them as Joel forcefully pulls another orgasm from you.

Frankie rests his forehead against Dave's as he groans, fucking into his own fist.

You see Frankie's lips twitch, whispering to him, but you can't hear anything over your own muffled squeaks and Joel's rabid panting.

You think you lipread Frankie telling Dave to come. To come for him, and that thought alone makes you surge and cry out as you release all over Joel's cock uncontrollably.

Meanwhile, Joel is destroying your cunt as he thrusts deep and with intent on making you feel it; feel him with every shunt that leaves you gasping for oxygen as it's pushed out of you by his dick. There's simply no room in your body for both.

Your squeaking around Dave's balls reaches a fever pitch and the humming against them only makes him grunt and growl heavier.

His grip on Frankie's shoulder tightens, screwing up his t-shirt as he pumps his cock faster. He tenses and you feel his balls lurch in your mouth as he spurts ropes of thick ejaculate all over Frankie's denim clad thighs.

He hoists himself off of you, panting and sitting back on the couch. "Clean him up," Dave instructs you with a click of his fingers.

Joel pulls out of you and flips you over onto all fours and ploughs back in as you shakily get to licking Dave's come off of Frankie's jeans.

"Good slut," Dave praises as he sits back on the couch, his arm slung over his face and breathes deeply.

You feel Joel pry apart your ass cheeks. You feel a wet globule of his spit on your ass and you flinch at it, feeling it cool and sloppy as he rubs his thick fingers around it, teasing your puckered hole.

You then feel Joel's thumb stretch through your rim. You instinctively clench and he growls.

"Clench and it's gon' hurt. I'll make sure of it." He smacks your ass as you yelp from the sting.

"Relax, hermosa," Frankie instructs, grabbing hold of your face and focusing your attention on him.

You shake your head frantically; the thought of Joel’s cock ploughing in your ass fills you with utter dread and horror. “No,” you implore Frankie with wide eyes.

“I said, relax.” Frankie says squeezing your cheek bones tightly. You can feel Joel twisting his thumb deeply in your hole.

A dewdrop of Dave’s come is smeared on your cheek and Frankie scoops it onto his finger and holds it out to you. He hisses, biting his lip as you suck it off, eyeing him the whole time.

"You're such a good fucking whore for us, aren't you, baby? Quieres esto tan mala, ¿verdad?" Frankie nods encouragingly as you fall under his dark spell. You feel his own thumbs stroke at the sides of your face now as you pant and whine.

"Yeah…" you nod too, straining not to clench as Joel's thick thumb hooks fully into your ass.

"There we go, snug as a bug, darlin'." He emits a chuckle that seems to grab at you and shake you with its eerie, sadistic violence.

“Does ya girl squirt Frankie?” Joel asks as you inadvertently start pushing back against him as he fucks you more laboured now.

Frankie chuckles and nods. “Just gotta know the right place to stroke.” He looks back at your face in his hands, sweaty and panting. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

Joel nods in agreement. “I reckon you can squirt for me, darlin’.”

“She can. Let me get some of that pussy.” Frankie says, highly enthused at the prospect.

Joel pulls out and rolls you on your back as you collapse into the floor. You can see Dave sitting forward, elbows on his knees and watching you intently with those dark eyes. You reach around his ankle and tug gently and whine and he responds to your wanting.

He slips down and slides behind you, propping you up, groping and massaging your breasts.

You catch the glimmer of his wedding band as his hands work your tits and you can only wonder at what Carol is assuming he’s doing this evening.

Those thoughts are cut short as Joel kneels up, slipping his thick cock back inside you, and Frankie lays down beside him on his stomach and starts sucking on your clit.

You whine, watching intently as Joel’s hand comes down on the back of Frankie’s head, sifting through his curls and groans. His mouth is practically on Joel's cock too, and it does something to you as your body fizzes in response to the delicious sight of it.

“Fuck!” You cry out, biting down on your lip.

The pressure on your clit and the way Joel hits that spot deep inside you just right starts to build in your body. It all centres, gathering deep in the pit of your core as the warmth starts to choke you up.

You feel it tightening, bunching. Your toes start to curl, your fingers crack. Your back lifts and arches of its own volition and your thighs shake and stiffen.

You feel a pull, a heavy sensation as you bear down. The pressure mounting, pushing… You see those phosphenes glimmer at you as you close your eyes.

You can hear Dave’s snarls close to your ear, feel his fingers tugging on your nipples. Feel Frankie’s skilled tongue drawing those fast, dizzying circles on your clit. Feel Joel hitting that spot again and again that’s going to annihilate you imminently.

They're everywhere, they're all over you.

Your climax is almost violent; you buck and shudder as you release the pressure, always feeling for a split second like you'll pee, but don't.

You're gushing loudly, and uncontrollably, over Joel’s cock and Frankie’s lips. It bears down again, that weight inside of you erupting as you release. Frankie laps it up like a starving animal as it soaks his scruff. It feels like you’ll never stop.

“Holy shit!” Dave remarks with a smirk watching you squirt. He squeezes your tits together as you place your hands over his and giggle deliriously. He squeezes your fingers around his.

The combination of having Joel’s thick cock in your pussy, while receiving a tongue fucking from Frankie makes for a most lewd and unabashed scene whilst your head thrashes against’s Dave chest as he chuckles just as bewildered by it as you are.

You can’t believe it, your cunt is absolutely gushing as the three of them work in tandem to completely destroy you. And you’re loving it.

Frankie licks his lips that are dripping as he rises up, the collar of his t-shirt is soaked, and Joel grabs a hold of you and fucks harder, quicker. More determined as he nears his own release.

“Joel!” You wail as you squeeze against Dave’s fingers, feeling like you could crush them.

Finally, Joel comes roaring like an animal, and pumps himself liberally inside of you.

"Fill her up now, Frankie.” Joel nods with a puff as he pulls out.

The mess that is over the wooden floor between your legs is obscene.

Frankie pulls off his Levi’s, runs a hand through his messy hair, and crawls over you.

"Who's pussy is this?" He asks slipping a finger side of you and feeling the spend of both his friends in there, warm and silken.

"Yours," you whimper.

"Really? I think you need reminding, hermosa. Seeing as you've been such a fucking slut tonight, hmm?"

"Frankie..." you whine as he pulls you forward towards him. He lines himself up with your pussy, pushing in.

"Aah!" You groan.

“Fuck, Joel stretched you nice and good, baby. Shit. You feel loosened up.” He growls thrusting hard and fast. You can only clutch onto him, only whine and groan as Frankie gives you his all.

"My pussy. My fucking pussy." Frankie seethes at you, hips snapping furiously into you. He pants, growls. Garbled Spanish and English flows from his lips as he pummels you.

He finishes inside of you quickly, too riled up from this whole scene to not bust a nut quickly.

“Got all three of us in that slutty pussy now, don't you?" Dave taunts.

“Which one of our kids ya gon’ have?” Joel smirks as he pats your tummy gently. “Cunt’s filled to the brim.”

The three of them dazzle you, utterly fucking you up. Working together like a team; a gang of insidious spectres dominating and taking their turns with you.

And you fucking love every single second of it.

After Frankie fills you, Joel pulls apart your legs to watch the cream pie spilling out of you.

He runs his fingers through it, pushing it back inside you. He then brings them to your face, Dave holding onto your jaw and bringing it forward towards Joel's drenched digits. He rubs them over your lips. "Lick ‘em clean. Taste all of us."

They all watch with praise and smirks as your tongue moves out tentatively, licking the salty cream from Joel’s fingers until he finally pushes them in your mouth.

Your lips wrap around them tightly as you suck them like you would Frankie's cock.

“Mmm,” you whine, giggling. "You all taste good."

Dave chuckles behind you and Frankie laughs, his chin leaning on Joel’s broad shoulder.

“Good slut,” Dave praises in your ear.

You lay there in a crumpled heap, gradually gathering your thoughts; striving to understand and come to terms with what has happened this spooky evening.

But initially you’re still too confused, still swimming in a blissed out fracture of reality bobbing along the surface of a choppy existence.

Baffling questions bloom and wilt quickly as you have no answers to appease the turmoil of embarrassment, shame… of pure unadulterated pleasure.

You can hear the shrill echoes of the guys in the hall, dressed and murmuring with Frankie. You can't hear much, the ringing in your ears from your body being mauled and torn at still hums, but you think you can make out Joel saying something.

She’s a good sport… Hope she liked it.

Take care of her tonight. Dave adds.

Ya still coming over Sunday, for the game? Joel checks.

You feel like you zone out for a while, only coming to when Frankie stands above you, towering and looming; his presence breaking the barriers of your heavy consciousness.

The look on his face is unreadable, impenetrable.

You peep up at him from behind the scraggy mess of your knotted hair, your scalp still aching from how hard Dave had tugged on it.

"I can't believe you did it." You grin, the concealed violence of this night escaping through your teeth into blissed satisfaction.

Frankie’s cool look instantly melts into a warm sunbeam. "Was it what you wanted, querida?" He asks, crouching down, knuckles running against your leg affectionately.

You nod. "It was better than I could have imagined. Creepy. But so fucking good." You smirk dreamily. "I really got into it."

He smiles accomplished, a faint blush of pink creeping under his eyes and in the crinkles there as he grins. "Good. How are you feeling, you a little sore?"

"My whole body feels like I've been tackled. I think Joel broke me." You start laughing as your pussy flinches in horror at the recall of him stretching you wider than you've ever been.

"He's a big guy." Frankie chortles.

"You're telling me. Jesus." You reach down and cup your battered pussy.

"Come on. I'll run you a bath." Frankie scoops you up in his arms and carries you up to the bathroom.

You plant a delicate smooch on the side of his golden neck. “Thank you for this,” you murmur.

“Cualquier cosa por ti, mi amor.” He runs his soft scruff against your cheek as he navigates the stairs. You can smell your cunt in it and you smile.

He gets in the bath with you, pulling you back against his soft belly and soaping your body down with a hot washcloth. Your wrists are still purple; he smiles insidiously, feeling a rush through his cock at the decay of them.

"Did you enjoy it?" You query as his soapy fingers interlock with yours and you feel his breath cool against the shell of your ear.

"I loved every second of it," he assures.

"No jealousy?"

"None at all. I trust them. We discussed it in length. I told them anything goes, but no kissing you on the mouth and they respected that. It's all good."

You nod and mull it over, enjoying the hot water soothing the embryonic bruises you know will gestate overnight on your skin. You glance down at the purple bites Joel left on you. You press on one enjoying the masochistic flare for a few moments.

You think back to so many things, but then you remember Dave and Frankie and that intimate moment you witnessed where Frankie was whispering to him.

"Have you guys… ever done stuff together?"

"No. No, never." He says. “First time. For all of us actually.”

You nod, admittedly feeling a little swell of disappointment. But it’s washed away by the thought that perhaps they’ll be up for it again, one day.

"Well, this is going to make poker nights interesting now, hmm?"

You feel his chest vibrate against your back as he laughs. "Yeah."

"Dave is just… an animal!" You exclaim chuckling.

"Poor Carol." Frankie says, and you both start laughing and find you can't stop for a little while.

You both stay in the water until it starts to cool and the bubbles have all gone, just enjoying Frankie noodling and fussing over you, and relishing how lucky you are as he wraps his wet arms around you, and you could happily drown in the bath water.

It's late; the dawn is on the cusp of rising on the first day in November and you watch as Frankie climbs into the sheets, naked as the day God created him with golden tan skin, pulling you back against his body that moulds itself around yours like warm putty.

His thumb draws gentle circles on your navel as he buries his face into the nape of your neck. You reach for your phone, previously plugging the charger back into the wall.

“Did you do something to the power?” You query.

He chuckles. “Yeah. I switched off the breaker. Joel must’ve reset it when they left.” He yawns.

“You guys thought of everything.” You smile.

"We were in the house for a while. You were asleep." You hear him smirk into you skin.

You smile. You see a message that had come through whilst your phone was off, from Frankie, and click it open.

It's a selfie of Frankie, Joel and Dave outside on the porch with the Halloween masks on, possibly taken moments before they stormed the house.

Underneath is a message typed out:

You smirk as Frankie stirs behind you, rubbing your back, and you put your phone back on the table and rollover into his arms.

The light from your phone stays illuminated on your previous message thread with Frankie:

“I love you,” you murmur into his skin as you settle, closing your eyes. You plant a couple of small kisses on his chest.

"Yo tambien te amo, hermosa." Frankie whispers, his fingers dancing slowly in your hair as you finally drift off into an exhausted sleep inside of the Devil’s arms.

I really hope you got a spooky kick out this story. I'd love to know your thoughts and I hope you enjoyed reading it on this Halloween Fright Night. 🖤🎃

🎃 Re-blogs & comments fuel me! TY!💀

MASTERLIST

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wordsbyrian · 2 months

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Bad Days and Zoo Trips - HarderssonKid!R x Niamh and Jessie

Summary: sometimes all it takes to make a bad day a little bit better is going to see your favorite animals at the zoo. (the request was more hardersson x kid!r)

A/N: who wants to guess how many different ideas this started as before it landed on this?

You are having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

It all started this morning when Morsa told you that you had to go to nursery because your babysitter got sick and they couldn’t take you to practice because they had grown up things to do afterwards. Then when you were getting dressed Momma wouldn’t let you wear your Barcelona jersey with Moster Frido’s name on the back (because it's dirty) so you have to settle for wearing one of Tante Simone’s Hammarby shirt’s.

The terrible horrible no goodness continues at breakfast when you have to eat pancakes instead of waffles because there are none. And Morsa doesn’t even put any fruit in it like normally does when you have waffles.

You cry the whole way to nursery, where things do not get any better.

When you get there, a little boy that you don’t recognize is sitting in your normal spot on the rug and Miss makes you sit somewhere else when you ask him to move.

That little boy, Zac, continues to make your day worse at every possible turn.

After the rug incident, he takes the last seat at the lego table even though your friend Jamie had been saving it for you. When your class goes outside, he refuses to let you play football and then when the teachers make him, he keeps shoving you over. But, of course, Miss only notices when you shove him back and so you get put in timeout.

When you get back inside, after naptime, Miss tells the class a story about Vikings from Sweden, and the day improves for all of about 2 minutes when she lets you tell everyone about the Viking museum you went to the last time you visited Stockholm. But it goes sour again when Zac keeps cutting you off and even says that girls weren’t allowed to be vikings, which is just completely untrue.

That unfortunately, is your breaking point and before you even realize it, you’re across the room shoving the boy over. And just as quickly, Miss has grabbed you around the waist and is hauling you over to the timeout stool.

After 5 minutes, she comes back and brings you over to say sorry to Zac, except you don’t. Instead you start a rant in Swedish about Vikings, and well both your refusal to apologize and the Swedish (something you’ve been warned about in the past) land you back in the timeout where you stay for the rest of the day.

You’re not sure how long it really is but it feels like forever before the sound of two familiar voices have you turning around to face the rest of the classroom.

You only need to catch a glimpse of them before you're off the stool and barrelling towards them at fool speed barely dodging the other kids who are still waiting to get picked up.

“Jessie, Niamh,” you all but shout, slamming directly into the Englishwoman's legs, “Why are you here? Where’s my Momma and Morsa?”

Before either of the athletes have a chance to answer, Miss speaks instead.

“Y/N, I know you’re very excited to see your friends but that’s no excuse for running or shouting indoors.”

“Sorry, Miss.” Even to your own ears you don’t sound very sorry. “I’m going to get my things.”

You dart back off across the classroom, only slowing down slightly when Miss calls out after you.

It takes you less than a minute to grab your things and come back, immediately shoving your jumper and backpack into Niamh’s hands.

“No way, kid, we’re under strict instructions to make sure that you wear this,” the defender says.

“No thank you, bye Miss,” you say, taking Jessie’s hand and leading her out of the classroom and the building.

You can hear Niamh laughing as she follows behind, still holding your jumper, and complaining about it, until Jessie eventually stops you halfway down the block.

“Y/N/N, I know you don’t want to but you really need to wear your sweater,” the Canadian says.

“No thank you.”

That earns you a hard stare from the older girl, “I wasn’t really asking you.”

“No.”

“Yes, Y/N.”

With the two of you locked in a very intense stare down, Niamh takes the opportunity to take you by surprise, forcing the jumper over your head. She manages to get it down past your shoulders, making it so you can do nothing but whine as you struggle to get your arms free and through the appropriate holes.

“Not fair,” you say with a stomp of your foot and the slightest pout, once you manage to free yourself.

“Isn’t it crazy how life is rarely fair,” Niamh asks sarcastically. “But since it isn’t fair, I guess that means that you don’t want to come to the zoo with Jessie and I?”

Wide-eyed you look over at the Canadian, who just nods at you very seriously before speaking, “Niamh and I would just have to go by ourselves and it won’t be as much fun without our favorite little girl there to tell us about all the reptiles and amphibians.”

You pretend to take a moment to think about it but anyone watching from the outside, specifically Jessie and Niamh, can see the way you’re practically shaking with excitement.

“Well, I suppose that we can still go,” you say as calmly as a kid your age can, “the two of you need someone to help you see the differences in all the salamanders and newts.”

The two footballers exchange a knowing smirk over the top of your head as you allow Niamh to take you by the hand.

The trip to the zoo takes too long in your humble opinion but you do your best to not bounce up and down in your seat. Once you reach the zoo, all sense of pretense is lost and you just barely agree to see some of the other animals before you attach your face to the glass in the reptile exhibit.

You allow yourself to be dragged to the different primates (where you do your best not to make faces back at them), then to the big cats (where you happily explain that lions aren’t kings of the jungle because they live in the savannah) and finally to the giraffes (where you crack jokes about them being even taller than Millie).

Eventually though, you do make it to the reptile exhibit just in time to see one of the handlers taking a baby alligator out of its habitat.

Immediately, you rush forward with the other kids, getting as close as possible to the zookeeper.

“Hello, I’m zookeeper Jack and this here is my friend Billy, he’s visiting us from America.”

From the second the zookeeper starts talking, you’re hooked, staring in silent wonder as the animal is held on display. The only movement you make is to raise your hand in an attempt to answer almost every question.

Near the end, Jack asks if anyone would like to hold Billy and your hand is the only one that goes up.

“We’ve got a brave one. What’s your name,” he asks, while showing you where to put your hands.

“Y/N.”

“And who brought you to the zoo today?”

“Niamh and Jessie,” you say, slowly point Billy’s head towards them. “They promised to let me show them the newts and salamanders.”

“Niamh and Jessie are your sisters?”

“Yea.”

You’ve completely returned your attention to Billy the gator, so you’re not even aware of the shock that your words have given the two athletes.

“One more question for you, Y/N, and then we’ll let you and your sisters take a photo with our friends here,” Jack says. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“A herpetologist,” you say. Then after a moment, “Or maybe a viking, I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, if you’re as gentle with all animals as you were with Billy, I think you have a pretty good chance at it,” he says, choosing to ignore the bit about becoming a viking, not wanting to break your little kid heart.

Jack the zookeeper then quickly ushers both of the footballers to the front to take a photo. He tries to make them stand next to you only for both of them to stand behind you and as far away from Billy’s teeth as they could.

When he takes the alligator back, you thank him before dragging Niamh and Jessie over to one of the vivariums you noticed on your way in. The large glass habitat is set up to resemble the ecosystem of the rivers and creeks in the pacific northwest and there, peeking out from underneath a rock, is the very animal you’ve been wanting to show them, the rough skin newt.

“Look,” you say, pointing the black and orange creature out, “That little guy is one of the most toxic animals in all of America. Just one of them contains enough toxin to kill 12 adults.”

“That’s scary, why do you know that,” Niamh asks.

“It’s not scary, it's cute,” you tell her. “And cool! There’s only one animal that can safely eat them and most of the time that snake decides it isn’t worth the hassle.”

The smile on your face only grows as you continue to gush about the tiny amphibians and its cousins. It doesn’t go away until well after you return home.

When you do get back home, now armed with a stuffed Smooth Newt and your face still sticky with the ice cream you had leaving the zoo, you excitedly tell your mothers about Billy, completely missing the look Momma sends the two younger players.

What you don’t miss is the way Morsa quickly ushers you out of the room under the guise of helping you find a spot for your new friend, affectionately dubbed Bäcken (She goes right next to Älg in your bed obviously.) And you definitely don’t miss the way Niamh tries to hide behind Jessie to avoid Momma’s wrath as you walk away.

But in the end, you decide not to pay it too much attention because you’re far too busy telling your Morsa the names of all the different reptiles and amphibians you saw at the zoo as she helps you get cleaned up before dinner.

She's not very impressed with the amount of dirt you're covered in, so she makes you change while asking you about it. And she's even less impressed when you tell her about your day at nursery but you immediately change the subject back to the zoo, so she let's it go.

When your clothes are changed and the dirt and ice cream are wiped from your skin, the two of you head out to the dining room joining the others.

Where you realize that you have to start your story telling all over again because Momma didn't hear the part about the snakes and everyone else realizes that this is all you'll be talking about for weeks.

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #hardersson x reader #hardersson imagine #pernille harder x reader #magdalena eriksson x reader #jessie fleming x reader #niamh charles x reader

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cosmal · 2 years

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤 — 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧

summary — you and remus lupin have become really good at stealing each other away from parties.

or but if you're too drunk to drive and the music is right, she might let you stay but just for the night....she might want a kiss before the end of this song.

warnings/tags — fem!afab!reader, she/her pronouns, modern!au, friends to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mutual pining, oblivious!reader, oblivious!remus, drunk!reader, drunk!remus, alcohol consumption

note — this is inspired by lovers rock by tv girl!!! i think this is the longest thing i've ever written. I do very much like it as of right now. that'll probably change in a week.

word count — 12.4k

“Thank Godric, you’re here,” Mary groans from her position on the front porch, Marlene leaning into her side. Both are clearly enjoying a cigarette away from the din of the party. You can tell what type of night it’s going to be already. Not that you’ve arrived two hours late anyway.

“I’ve never seen you so happy to see me, Mary,” you giggle, crossing the threshold of Sirius’s front lawn, careful not to trip on his collection of stolen garden gnomes.

“I’m always happy to see you, lovely.” She extends her hand, the cigarette between her lovely red nails on offer.

“You know who’s going to be even happier?” Marlene coughs, as you take the smoke thankfully, taking a few calming puffs.

You pretend like you have any idea who she’s referring to, “Jamie? Haven’t seen him in a while. Miss that boy,” you laugh, voice strained through the thick smoke you exhale.

“No, you idiot.” Mary pipes up and you hand the smoke back, “Remus. He hasn’t shut up about you all night.”

“That’s if he’s sober enough to even notice you’re here,” Marlene laughs and so does Mary. You smile, small enough to not show how happy you actually are that you get to see him. It’s been too long.

“He’s drinking?”

“Absolutely hammered. We were hoping you’d get here earlier so he wouldn’t drink too much. Please go look after him.” Mary throws her arm around Marlene and she snuggles in closer. They both look content enough to fall asleep right there in the cool summer breeze.

“I’m sure he’s doing okay.”

“I’m sure he will be when you get inside.”

You move to toe your shoes off at the front mat, kicking them away so they’re not a tripping hazard.

“When has Sirius ever done that at your house, Y/N?” Mary laughs, looking down at your socked feet

“Oh, no. This is for me. Don’t want to get my shoes dirty.” You laugh when you grab the handle of the flyscreen, swinging the door open.

The girls’ laughter becomes a distant murmur when you enter the kitchen, met with mostly everyone sitting around the dining table. A deal of cards in everyone’s hands, and piles of coins and sweets sat in the middle.

James and Lily laughing and glowing under the downcast of the orange lighting, appearing to seemingly be winning. Sirius and Frank having their own side bets, throwing coins around before both calling tails. Then, there's Remus. You try to ignore the hitch in your breath when your eyes land on the sandy-haired boy.

He really does look drunk, eyes droopy but still bright when he hiccups a laugh at something James says. A quiet, airy chuckle that has his mouth creasing and eyelashes kissing his cheeks. A smile so pretty, you have to fight your own.

His head is propped up on the table by an elbow that looks like it’s about to slip off the edge, so you sneak up behind him and place your hand against his arm to stop him from falling face-first into the wood.

He looks up at you, a little startled for a second, and you can see the moment it clicks in his head when he realises who he’s looking at. He smiles, all surprised but content and you melt. The last time you had seen him was only for the third time ever at another one of Sirius’s parties. You hate to admit that the only thing you look forward to now is when you receive an invite from your workmate and you have another excuse to see his lanky best friend.

“Y/N! When did you get here?” Sirius chants, flicking his last remaining coin at Frank. He shoots him a well-deserved glare.

“About thirty seconds ago,” you smile.

Sirius looks down at your socked feet and frowns, “You took your shoes off again. How many times do I have to tell you, you don’t have to do that.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re gross, Sirius.”

Remus looks down too, the top of his head pressing into your side, a crush of his curls tickling the bare skin of your arm and you almost shiver. “Cool socks.” Is the first thing he says to you. You giggle.

They’re a dark cornflower shade, moons scattered across the material at random. They crease when you wriggle your toes, “Thanks. Got them from mum for my birthday.”

“She has good taste.” He moves off of you, slouching down in his chair until his knees are pressing Lily’s legs.

His head lolls backwards, neck bared under the warm light. You think you feel dizzier than he does. Even when he squeezes his eyes shut.

“What have you done to him?” you laugh, hand flat against his forehead to brush away his loose hair. He keens, sighing deeply under a hiccup.

“He’s very awful at poker,” James laughs, flicking a pastille across the table. You look at his high pile, and then Sirius and Franks’ which are almost of equal height. Then you look in front of Remus, the table almost bare. You laugh.

“We like to play a little differently,” Franks states over the rim of his bottle.

“Basically, you take a shot every time you lose,” James says, sober as ever. You think maybe he hasn’t lost yet.

“And Remus has lost every hand,” Sirius adds to the chime of details.

“Have not!” Remus finally pipes up, finger pointed at James instead of Sirius, too distracted staring at the ceiling. “Frank lost the first.”

“Anyways, Moons. You just lost and I think you owe us another.”

Remus groans, but sits up to reach for the bottle of Sambuca sitting in the middle of the table. You gently swat his hand and push him back into his chair.

“I think you’ve had enough,” you say, turning to place the bottle on the kitchen bench, along with the empty bottles.

“C’mon, one more,” Remus giggles, making hands for the bottle in the air. A child, you think.

“Yeah, Y/N! One more!” Sirius agrees, smiling boyishly.

“You’ll make yourself sick,” you chide with a small frown. Remus slumps against you, much defeated. He might fall asleep on you if you stand there any longer. You poke his cheek where it’s pressed into your clothes.

“He already is sick.” Sirius is smug when he speaks and you fret about what else he’s about to say, “Sick in love.”

You laugh. Could’ve been worse. But it still has your heart skipping in your chest. You really do hope Remus shares the feelings you hold for him. But then again, Remus is drunk and Sirius, is well, he’s Sirius. Despite the name, he hardly ever is.

“Boo. Awful.” You frown in faux offence, ignoring him when he winks at you. Sickening, really.

You lean down so your mouth is in line with Remus’s ear, “You wanna go lay down?” You realise you’re in quite a predicament. Coming over to parties to see Sirius’s best friend. Looking after him when he’s drunk. You’d hoped he would do the same.

“Please, no sex in my house,” Sirius states, standing to grab another drink. James guffaws.

You roll your eyes, “He’s drunk.”

“So, you do want to have sex with him?” he adds.

You almost choke on your tongue, “No, it’s just. He- Stop it.” You have to stop yourself from saying something wrong. It wasn’t a lie, you did want to. But you wanted much more than that.

“Leave her alone,” Remus chides, leaning back off your stomach. “You’ll scare her off and I’ll never see her again,”

He was right, his friends did intimidate you. But you’d hoped it would take more than not yet warming up to them to get you to never see Remus again.

Remus stands and you’re surprised he doesn’t stumble when he takes your hand to lead you away from the table and out into the lounge room. You poke your tongue out over your shoulder when you hear James make some sort of crude comment to Frank. Lily smiles warmly at you as an apology.

He sits down with all the gracefulness of a baby elephant and you have to bite back a laugh. He looks up at you, pretty eyes all droopy and a lopsided smile, and you feel like you’ll never come back from these feelings ever.

Before you can overly admire him for too long, he’s patting the space next to him with a floppy hand. “C’mon.”

You oblige probably too willingly, flopping yourself down next to him with a small oomph, your thigh pressing into his. He shuffles down the lounge to rest his head atop your shoulder, neck craned a little to reach it. You can’t find it in yourself to mind. His face is warm and it presses into your collarbone that’s peeking from out the top of your shirt. His light stubble tickles your skin and it’s weirdly soothing. God, you know you’re in deep.

“You smell good.”

You breathe in subconsciously, “You do, too.”

Under the strong scent of stale beer and sambuca, you can think you can discern a hint of his cologne. Woody and something like cinnamon. Mixed in with the light scent of his laundry detergent, like fresh linen and lavender. He's dizzying.

“I smell like beer,” he groans, hand finding its way between both of your thighs, your skirt tangled in his fingers.

“You smell nice,” you laugh.

You watch the doorway where James gets up to turn the dial on the vinyl player. The current song now loud enough to be heard where you’re sitting.

Humming along, you say, “I love this song.”

Remus gawps, “Me too. S’my favourite, actually.”

Remus having the exact same favourite song as you makes your head spin. “No way.”

“Yes way.” he smiles. If he were soberer, you’d gush to him over this. It’d have to wait.

He shifts his head from your shoulder and startles for a moment, eyebrows raised, “I didn’t even ask if you wanted a drink.” You get whiplash from the change of subject.

You sigh, very amused at his intent to be nice to you, despite being half-cut, “I’m okay. I wasn’t really planning on drinking tonight.”

He frowns, wrinkles his nose and you want to kiss it. God. “Why did you come, then?” The fact he thinks you came to get drunk and not just to see him makes you want to laugh.

The smile you’re still trying to fight every time he speaks makes your cheeks ache, “To see Sirius.”

He frowns even more and you think he wants to shift away from you. He roughly scratches at his face and you almost regret messing with him.

“Sirius?” He hiccups.

“I’m kidding.” You poke his bicep, “I came to see you.”

There’s a silence and then Remus is breaking out into one of the biggest grins you’d ever seen. You’d have the decency in you to blame it on being drunk. Nothing else.

“Me?” He hiccups, again. You place your hand atop his thigh and trace the thick seam of his pants.

“Yes, you.”

His smile dials back but doesn’t fade and his face relaxes. He leans down to place his head back against your shoulder, cheek all smooshed.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Thank you.” he hums, hooking his elbow behind yours, completely squished against you. He thinks you must be cold in a skirt and a small T-shirt. “I like it when you’re here. You make it bearable.”

You want to accept his compliment, but when he hiccups for the third time, you remember he’s drunk. “That’s a bit mean, Remus. Will I tell your friends you can’t bear them?”

Remus stiffens and you stop rubbing his leg. Drunk Remus is very gullible. Sweet, but gullible all the same.

“Stop it. You know what I mean.” He pushes further into your shoulder and you feel yourself dip down against him, head almost falling against his. You wouldn’t mind if it did, but it wouldn’t be very comfortable, you assume.

“I don’t think I do,” you tease and Remus pinches your side, which results in a stifled yelp.

“Don’t be cruel.” He strains.

“I would never.”

When you shiver in your spot, Remus wonders what your answer would be if he offered you his jacket. He thinks he should test his theory.

“Are you cold?” he asks but doesn’t move his head from your shoulder.

“A little,” you yawn. Which then causes Remus to yawn. You laugh animatedly.

“Do you,” Remus blinks slowly, eyelashes kissing his cheeks as he attempts to keep his eyes open. “do you want my jacket?”

You’re glad Remus’ head is still propped on your shoulder lest he sees the blush creeping across your cheeks. Drunk Remus is gullible. But drunk Remus is still just as kind as he is when he’s sober.

“Then you’ll be cold,” you reply, giving his thigh a squeeze. You crane your neck to look at him. He looks tired.

“Better me than you.” He moves to take it off and before he can even get one arm out, you sit forward and place your hands on his chest. Fingers twisted in his cotton shirt, your turned knee pressing into his.

“Remus, I’m okay.” You give him your most reassuring smile. Being cold is no one’s fault but your own. You don’t want to be an annoyance.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Remus sits back, albeit begrudgingly, hands wrapped around the zipper of his jacket. The further he pushes back into the lounge, the more he looks like he’s about to fall asleep.

“Remus?” you murmur. Voice quiet under the din of the party. Sirius is a loud drunk, his laughter roaring at something stupid James is doing.

His head begins to dip into the edge of the cushion, headed for the arm of the chair. If he kept this up, he’d have a crick in his neck in no time.

He hums and you pat his cheek to encourage him to sit up. It’s bemusing how quickly he can drift off. You’re very envious. Maybe it’s just the alcohol.

“What’s up?” he murmurs in return, peeking from one eye, the other scrunched up. He’s adorable and you’re in too deep.

“You seem tired.” You poke his face this time and he beams, all warm and dozey under the mellow light of Sirius’s living room. A line of curls falling into his eyes and the apples of his cheeks a tinge of peach.

He hums again, much thicker than last. “M’not.”

You hold out your hand, all five fingers spread. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

He struggles, but pulls his hand from his lap and holds it up to yours, tangling your fingers. Palm flush against yours and much warmer in comparison. “Feels like five.” He pulls your entwined hands back down and you laugh.

You try not to shy from his actions, pretending like it doesn’t make your heart skip, and then almost stop completely when his thumb rubs circles into the top of your hand. You can feel the warmth seeping from his into your own and your fingertips tingle.

“Do you want to go home?” You twist so you’re completely on the edge of the lounge, hand still wrapped in his. You stop, “Or are you staying here tonight?”

He brings his arm up - with yours still tangled - and rubs his face with the back of his hand. Dragging you up and down. You giggle at his tired actions before pouting.

“I think.'' You can tell he’s trying to stay alert enough to hold a conversation with you.

When he wakes up in the morning he won’t remember being so tired here and will think you both had the best conversation. You’ll be okay with this. “I think Sirius was supposed to take me home, but he’s too drunk now.”

“You’ll sleep on the couch?” You frown and he blinks.

“I think I might have to.” He throws his head back and sighs. Strained and raspy.

You look at the size of Sirius’s two-seater and then Remus’s stupidly long legs. It wouldn’t work, and he’d end up with either a sore back or a worse-off neck than whatever it was he was doing right now. You don’t even really think before you say, “I can walk you home.”

Remus looks a little more alert, “You can’t sleep on this.” You prod the squeaky leather and it bounces back with absolutely no recoil. You’ll be sure to scold Sirius next time for having a horrendous couch, though enough money to buy everyone in the room ten of them. You know he won’t appreciate the exaggeration. But it’s for the sake of his friends’ backs.

“You don’t have to do that.” He sits up properly now and tries to situate himself to look convincingly comfortable. “I’ll make do.”

“It’s no big deal.” You shrug. “I’m walking home anyways.”

Now he’s sitting forward, his knees pushing into your leg and you almost stumble off the seat, grabbing his arm for purchase. “You just got here.” He almost frets and then coughs to hide his worry. He’s not very good at achieving a smooth, cool demeanour when half-cut. Not that he ever achieves it sober, he thinks.

“No, but I think you need to go home and sleep.” You look out into the kitchen that’s now surprisingly quieter. Lily looks like she’s about to fall asleep, leaning on James’s shoulder, who’s trying to play a horrible game of go fish with Sirius and Frank. Absolute party animals.

“I live too far away, anyways,” he says, leaning down to tie his shoelaces. “You’ll have to walk me home and then walk back, you’ll be walking for at least an hour and a half.” Why Remus is so afraid to suggest you can stay the night at his, he doesn’t know.

You squeeze his shoulder as he struggles to loop his lace through his fingers. He decides to go for the simpler, bunny-ear option. “That’s okay. You can stay at mine. I only live ten minutes away.”

When Remus sits back up after tying his laces too tight, his face is pink.

Remus Lupin has never been one for sitting comfortably, ever. With long, lanky limbs, he always has his legs sprawled out and his arms thrown over something. Anything he can take up comfortably, with enough space to spread, he’ll sit willingly.

On one hand, he’s thankful you convinced him not to sleep on Sirius’s couch. He didn’t need a repeat of New Year’s. Though, on the other hand, he could’ve made do.

Nothing was like sitting in your bedroom. He wouldn’t say he was uncomfortable, though deep down he was a little, a pit of anxiety creeping up his chest. He felt like he had little room to move - despite you owning a double bed - because he didn’t want to look stupid. He could take up space and not notice it.

Remus has trouble not taking in every detail he can in your room. Like your little trinket dishes filled with miscellaneous items, signet rings and seashells. The stuffed rhino toy in the middle of your pillows that you had told him - shyly at that - was named Clarence. Not before giggling at the poster of Twilight that you swore had been there since you were young. Your current read splayed open on the end of your bed, along with the stack of records in a blue milk crate in the corner, were things he promised himself he would ask you about when he wasn’t half tipsy and could hold a proper conversation.

In his admiration, one that was making his anxiety spread into warmth that seemed to be seeping from his bones. He’s too busy pretending like he isn’t taking in every small detail one shouldn’t when they’ve only known someone for only a month, and doesn’t notice that you’ve changed.

He looks over at you, in a pair of shorts littered with tiny daisies and a shirt that almost eats said shorts. Your hair pulled back and your face still sort of wet from where you obviously washed off the day's grime, causing the hairs around your face to curl. He doesn’t know if it’s the fading alcohol that’s causing him to hiccup even more, or if it’s seeing you all fresh and content from being at home that has his breath catching.

Remus Lupin is still a little drunk but he is also quite clearly growing to like you even more. That doesn’t change. He thinks he's done everything backwards. Meeting you, then seeing you now but too inebriated to say something redeeming, and then seeing you in the comfort of your own home before he even gets to ask you on a date. He also thinks he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Remus?” Your voice is as calm as you look when you speak and he melts.

“Hm?” He blinks, shaking his head.

“You okay?” Warm light washes over you and paints you amber as you patter across the room, the moon socks that are still on your feet pressing into the white fabric of your rug. “You’re not feeling sick?” He thinks he should blame his daze on a fake sickness, but he doesn’t want you to worry even more, so he decides against it.

When you press the back of your hand to his cheek, that’s only warm because he’s a little overwhelmed, not because he’s feeling poorly, he can’t find it in himself to hold your gaze. “I’m okay.”

“I was saying I don’t think I have any clothes for you to change into.” You remind him after it felt like you were talking to a brick wall a minute earlier.

Remus pushes his hands into the rough material of his black jeans. He doesn’t see himself sleeping in anything else. “That’s okay.”

“You’re not going to sleep in those are you?”

What else would he sleep in if you have no other clothes? “Uh.”

“You wear boxers?” you grin.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He wishes he was still a little drunker so he could blame his bumbling words on the effects of downing half a bottle of sambuca. Now he’s realising that’s just how he sounds when he’s overwhelmed by you.

“Sleep in those. I don’t mind.”

Your confidence, and your confidence only, is how he ends up pantless and under the covers of your bed. He doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. You have a lovely way of making him feel at ease. He thinks that’s why he likes you so much.

You smell different than earlier in the night when your shirt tickles his arm. Like fresh face wash and night creams, and maybe even roses. He’d hate to think of what he smelt like in comparison to you. Probably still like beer, and maybe like sweat. He should’ve asked if he could’ve showered. That might’ve been too much, he’s definitely overthinking.

“You’re very quiet,” you say into the dimness of your room. He’s lucky your bedside lamp is so muted, lest you see the goosebumps raised over his skin and how his cheeks haven’t returned to their normal colour since he crossed the threshold of your room.

“M’thinking,” he returns, just as quiet. It feels wrong to disturb the calmness blanketing the room.

“I can tell.” He can hear you grin, “What about?”

He swallows and he wouldn’t be surprised if you heard it, “You.”

You huff a small laugh and push down into the pillow behind you, “Me?” Your voice is a little strained, and not louder than before. Maybe even quieter.

“Yeah. Thinking about the next time I’ll get to see you.”

“You haven’t even left yet and you’re thinking ahead to the next time we’ll see each other,” you tease, getting comfortable underneath your plush quilt and sheets. Probably too much for a summer night but there’s still a chill in the air, flowing through your open window.

“I’m just hoping I won’t be so drunk,” he admits, hating how he still actually does sound drunk.

“Hopefully,” you smile, “But that’s okay, we can blame it on James.”

“If only I wasn’t so shit at poker,” he laughs in a strained and animated voice, trying to hold back a yawn.

He finally gets comfortable, hands fisting the sheets around his body and head balancing restfully against the plush of your ivory pillows.

You can see his eyes flutter in an attempt to stay awake. You think it’s endearing but you also think he needs to sleep. “Remus,” you say, firm but caring at once.

“Hmm?” he mumbles, eyebrows pinched.

“You should sleep.” You push itchy locks away from his forehead and he sighs at the caring touch of your fingers.

“Don’t wanna.” He scrunches his nose, “I think I’m finally sobering up. Wanna talk t’you.”

You smile at his absolute urgency and think he’s adorable. Truly. “Please, sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“You’ll be here?” This, you actually laugh at.

“Of course, Remus. You’re in my room.”

He closes his eyes, eyelashes kissing the freckles of his cheeks and his tired, darkened skin, “M’kay.”

When you wake up in the morning, almost midday, Remus plagued by the effects of alcohol, you too content to wake whilst being next to him, you both have separate texts from Sirius.

Your own chat log reads, aren’t U glad you came out? You don’t reply, not wanting to encourage him in any way.

Remus’s phone, on the other hand, reads,

uncle pads has a ring to it don’t you think? xxxx

He does in fact reply, too used to Sirius being a twat.

Nothing happened. Ur disgusting and I hate you.

what do U mean nothing happened?

I was drunk. She helped me basically stumble home.

U both stumbled. in her sheets.

Fuck off. Idiot.

Neither of you mention any of Sirius’s messages to each other the entire morning. Too busy enjoying each other's company.

The week spent after Remus had drunkenly stayed the night, you could pleasantly, though maybe even with a smidge of embarrassment, admit that he was all you thought about since.

It was a new feeling. You’d never felt it before. The endearment, but also the nerves, of realising you actually like someone. Some days it made your cheeks ache from smiling, and filled your chest with warmth. On other days, the warmth cracked your chest open, an aching chasm pleading to be filled and a head clouded with apprehension.

You were eager and scared all at once. But you were happy either way because Remus made you feel things. Good things.

You had spent the morning, forcing him to eat something, telling him it would make his hangover feel much better. He’d argued for no longer than two minutes before agreeing. Saying, who am I to argue with a girl like you?

“Like me?” you’d replied, mouth full of half-eaten pancake, pushing his own plate across the marble of your kitchen bar.

“Smart,” he smiled, picking at a blueberry, “Pretty.”

And after it was your turn to babble like a fool, he’d eased you open. Asked you about the record collection in your room (he was proud of himself for remembering). You’d rambled off your favourite artists, a lot similar, and he knew he’d be an idiot if he didn’t give you his number before he left.

And he did. Wrote his number on your hand as you stood at your doorway and he thanked you for breakfast. And for walking him home, drunk. You kissed his cheek and watched him press his fingers into his skin until he rounded the corner.

You wrote the number down on a piece of paper, magnetising it to your fridge as soon as you shut the door. Though your hands were sweaty - obviously because you were around Remus - and the last number had smudged. Was it a 3? Or an 8? Or a weird looking 5? You couldn’t tell and told yourself that was a problem you could deal with later.

It was later. A whole week later and you still hadn’t called him. If it was due to your nerves or the fact you had a missing number, that was your business only. You left the last space blank, the empty spot a blinding reminder of your stupidity. You’d just have to try every number until you found Remus. It would take no more than ten attempts.

Numbers zero through four were all wrong numbers. You were only met with a piercing tone before the line went dead. When you got to five, you were met with, what sounded like, a grumpy old lady. You tried to hang up straight away, well aware it wasn’t him, but she screeched and persisted that if she had a prank call one more time, she would phone the police!

Turns out, it was a 6 after all. The lovely tone of Remus’s voice rings down the line and you sigh in relief.

“It’s you.” Your voice is airy and Remus isn't sure he knows who it is.

There are only a handful of people who have his number. His friends, most of them called and checked in regularly, except Mary, who's always one to stop by instead. His parents and his neighbour had it too. But he seriously doubted the latter, unless his flat had been ransacked.

And then he remembers he'd given it to you and he laughs. All these thoughts happen within the span of two seconds. He hopes it's you, he's been anticipating a call all week. He was beginning to maybe think you didn’t actually want to hear from him. That he'd embarrassed himself in his drunken stupor. But then he remembered how nice you were to him.

You’ll make yourself sick.

“It is?” he laughs, still hoping it is in fact you. The image of his flat turned upside down, the spot on his mantle where his small TV is, now empty, flashes across his mind.

“Remus. It’s me!” you chirp and he pushes his phone closer to his ear as if it’ll make him hear your pretty voice even clearer.

”Me? I don’t think I know any me’s” he teases, fighting back an eager smile. Teasing you could be fun. Could become a constant. He’s imagining the warmth of your cheeks, and hopefully a small smile.

“Y/N,” you correct and he can almost hear the roll of your eyes.

“Oh. I know an Y/N,” he smiles, leaning against the lip of his kitchen bench. “She’s very pretty,” he pauses, wanting to drag it out, “and she’s super-”

“Remus,” you plead. Half wanting him to continue, half wanting him to stop to save your phone splitting in half where you’re holding it too hard. “Stop.”

Hearing your smile isn’t enough for him, “Super cool. Actually probably way too cool for me and…”

Remus sighs, very happy with himself.

“You done?” you ask.

“Maybe.”

“You’re a nuisance.”

Remus decides to not argue, you’re half right anyways. “I’m sorry. What’s up?”

You pause, thinking. You’ve forgotten why you called him for a moment. Too happy with just listening to him talk. You think you could do it all day if he let you. “I was wondering if you were coming out tonight? Drinks?” You feel silly asking now. It was drinks for James, he’d gotten a promotion, but of course, Remus is coming, they're best friends.

“Are you?”

You grin, “Yes. Yeah, I am.”

“Great. Me too.”

The excitement you feel when you know you’ll be seeing him again is palpable. Giddiness mixed with a number of nerves is always there whenever you think of him. He makes you feel like a schoolgirl again and you know he’ll be the cause of your undoing.

“Great.”

A face-splitting smile erupts across Remus’s features. If only you could see each other.

The amount of time you spend getting ready in the afternoon for James’s get-together is silly. After what's an almost stupid amount of time rustling through your closet to find something, the final thing you settle on you hope isn’t stupid. A red skirt that ends mid-thigh, a white tee and a leather jacket. Boots that you hope actually do your legs justice, not just how they look in the mirror.

You know exactly why you're making such a fuss with your appearance. Spending an extra amount of time making sure loose hairs are sprayed down and a fresh coat of nail polish that's applied probably a little too late before you make your way out your front door.

You think that maybe if you didn’t know if Remus was attending or not it'd be a lot easier on you. Or maybe worse. God, you're a mess. You just really want to make him like you.

Arriving at the pub a little early is probably a bad idea in the long run. You greet James and Lily with equal delight. You hadn’t seen them since his shindig at least two weeks ago. Sirius, pint in hand, greets you loud enough to let the entire pub know of your arrival. Frank and Alice are absent. In-laws. You feel as though you had finally found the perfect group of friends.

James had told you that Remus was probably going to be late.

Which gives you too much time to down an inappropriate number of vodka-cranberries, much to Sirius’s delight. Pressed into a corner booth, settled next to James and Sirius who have now also transitioned to fruity drinks.

When Remus finally arrives, the sun now set, you're at least five cocktails deep. The pub is a little loud now, though you’d never struggle to hear any of your rambunctious friends. They're probably half the noise. You're a giggling mess, warm from the effects of alcohol. You feel ridiculously happy like you expected to, but you haven’t even seen Remus yet.

When you sip back the last dregs of your drink, the rim pressed into your nose, determined not to waste a single drop, your eyes finally settle on Remus who's selfishly been admiring you from afar. Your eyes light up like a delighted puppy and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from smiling like an idiot.

He walks to the edge of the table, wet and sticky wood pressing into his jeans and he grimaces. “Finally he arrives,” James cheers, mojito raised in the air.

“Moony! Looking as ravishing as ever, my boy!” Sirius cheers with equal flare.

Remus ignores both of them with a tiny smile, too used to their words it’s like second nature to ignore them. “Sweetheart,” he smiles at you and you light up even more.

“Remus! You’re here.”

Sirius gets up and slides along the wall to make room for Remus next to you, “He looks ravishing, wouldn’t you say, Y/N? Good enough to eat,” he repeats

“I am hungry,” you admit with a giggle as Remus settles down next to you, only enough room for a sheet of paper to fit between your thighs.

“Having a good time, lovely?” Remus gestures to the empty glasses taking up the table in front of you. Your lips are stained red and he has to lick his own.

“Amazing!” You lean into his side and your hair tickles his neck. Your warmth seeps through Remus’s skin and he doesn’t have a single problem with how close the two of you are sitting. He’d be kidding himself if he said he did.

“I’m glad,” he says, hands settling atop the table.

“Are you?” You blink, eyes bright and welcoming. He has to avert his attention to your nose instead. Feeling as if you’d swallow him whole.

“I am now,” he grins.

Distracted, the half-empty glass in your hands spills when you twist its stem a little too quickly. A puddle of cosmo seeps into the half-polished tabletop and you cringe.

“Oops.” Quick to act, despite how sapped you feel from the cocktails, you grab a too-big handful of napkins from the dispenser in front of you.

With little to no flare, you push the entire pile of paper into the split drink and probably make it worse. The napkins almost turn to pink sludge and you only spread the drink further. A cold, sticky mess.

Remus laughs and grabs your wrists, pulling them up from the mess, “What have you done, hmm?” He puts your hands in your lap and you slouch, defeated.

“Accident,” you huff. You watch Remus’s hands swipe across the table, much better at cleaning up your mess. Like it wasn’t even there in the first place.

Upset that your drink is now empty, when Sirius isn’t looking, too distracted talking quidditch with James, you reach forward and snatch his mojito. Cheering internally, too happy with yourself, you sip slowly.

“He won’t be too happy with that,” Remus laughs, pushing the serviettes to the side.

You shrug, pushing further into the leather of the booth seat, “Accident.” you repeat.

Remus chuckles. You scull back the last of Sirius’s drink and Remus braces his hand on the skin between your shoulder blades, with a gentle “Take it easy,”

You turn to him and wipe the line of drink from your chin with the back of your hand. Smiling before gently slamming the now-empty glass back to the table, a ring of condensation splashes across your palm.

You wipe it across Remus’s leg unthinkingly and he wrinkles his nose. A dark stripe up his thigh. He takes your hand by the wrist again and grabs another napkin. Dabbing your palm gently and you act unaffected by his attentions when you trace the water on the table with your free hand.

“Am I the one who’s going to be doing the babysitting, tonight?” Remus counts the glasses that hadn’t been collected yet. Five. Six, now counting the one you stole.

You nod, gleefully.

“Saves me, then.” Lily takes another swig from her Pimm's, very happy. James presses into her side and throws his head back.

“Merlin, I’m tired.” he huffs.

“Boo. No fun,” you pout, eyeing only his third drink that he hadn’t touched in way too long, “You drink too slowly, that’s your problem.”

He snorts, “I don’t have the drinking problems, lovely.”

You gasp, hand to your chest, sticky fingers pressing into your skin, “Just because I’m having fun!”

You notice the beginnings of a frown across Sirius’s face, clocking the glass in front of you, green to your past pink drinks, “You little sneak.”

You pout, “Okay, I’m sorry, let me get the next round.” You move to stand and when you’re upright, the room spins. You grab Remus’s shoulder for purchase and he grabs your forearm. His grip is grounding, flesh between his slender fingers.

“Okay, let me get the drinks,” he says, standing. The love-hate relationship you have with his height hurts sometimes.

“No, let me.” You rummage through the purse over your shoulder, through sickles and spare tampons, and pull out a measly fiver. You hold it up to him with a frown, paper crumpled in your hand.

Remus chuckles and places his hands on your shoulders, “Sit.”

You do what he says and ignore the warmth in the pit of your belly.

As Remus stands at the bar to wait for the drinks, he turns to watch you with a content smile on his face and a warmth spreading up his chest until it begs to swatch his cheeks. He watches as you cover your face with your hands, giggling madly at something James is telling you.

He thinks his heart is messing with him when it skips in his chest. When you throw your head back, neck bared and your eyes squinted, your shoulders raise like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard (it could be but he doubts it), he thinks his heart has an actual fault. Almost halting completely when your eyes meet his and he thinks he’s been caught, but you smile contently and he has to look away before it jumps out his throat.

He knows he’s truly done for.

He returns with a tray of drinks, mojito’s for his friends and a pint for himself, a packet of crisps pinched between his teeth. If he doesn’t choose to drink cocktails with everyone else because he wants to be sober to keep his eye on you, that’s completely his business.

He places the drinks down, a hum of thank yous and cheers follow, he opens his mouth to let the crisps fall into your lap. You startle and look up at him, bemused.

“You said you were hungry.” He smiles.

You beam, hiccuping what he thinks is thanks.

“Where’s my fuckin food?” Sirius calls, voice very clear above the din of the pub. He throws a cube of ice at Remus and misses.

“Up your ass.”

Sirius goes to reach for a crisp and you clutch the foil bag close to your chest. He doesn’t try again, thinking you might bite him. “Fuck, I need a cig.”

He stands and stops Remus from sitting as he climbs over you. Squeezing past with almost zero care. You laugh, he seems hangry.

When he almost steps on your toe, “Look out, you prat.” Remus scolds.

“C’mon. Outside.” Sirius drags him away before he can even protest.

“You gonna ask her out, or what?” Sirus leans against the wall of the smoking area and flicks his ash.

Remus groans, “Don’t say it like it's easy or some shit.”

“Is it not?” Sirius laughs like it’s obvious. Remus envies his natural charm some days. He wished it came easy to him.

“No. She doesn’t like me like that.” Remus toes the gravel beneath his boot with a crunch. Watches as it skips across the ground and to the firepit. A distraction from the scolding that he’s expecting he’s about to get from Sirius.

Sirius coughs on a thick exhale of smoke, pushes himself off the wall. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

“What? No.” In some delusional, fucked up way, no, Remus is fucking with Sirius. Not since 7th year, anyways.

“She's mad about you,” Sirius laughs around the filter of his cigarette, “It’s sickening really. I mean she’s gotta be half dumb or something.” After another exhale he flicks more ash to the ground.

“Fuck up.”

“Whatever.”

There’s a beat before Remus says, “She doesn’t feel that way about me.” His head rests against the red brick behind him and wishes it would swallow him up. He wishes this was easier.

“What, you think she wears her best red skirt for people she doesn’t love?”

He lifts his head and glares at Sirius, “You really are a fucking twat, you know?” He steals the cigarette from between Sirius’s fingers and ignores his grunt as he inhales deeply. As deep as he can until Sirius swats his hand.

“I’m fucking kidding.” He takes it back, grimacing at the butt of what’s left.

“Still a twat,” Remus grunts.

Sirius flicks the orange filter to the ground and squashes it under his leather boot. “Seriously, Moons. Make a move already, it’s starting to get sad.”

He sighs, and Sirius almost wants to slap some sense into him. He doesn’t, remembering how he’d reacted last time he did. “I can’t. I’m not ruining anything.”

He decides to pat his shoulder instead, a gentler approach, “You’re a miserable sap.” He squeezes his sad friend, “She likes you, a lot, and she’s really good for you, y’know?”

“She is, isn’t she?” Remus sighs, lovelorn and dizzy, “Fuck, she’s so amazing. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. Have you seen her when she laughs? Fuck sakes.” He has to stop himself before he rants too much.

The both of them start to make their way back into the pub. “Alright, put your fucking cock away.”

Remus opens the door to the bar, “Get inside,” he laughs.

“If you don’t make a move soon, fuck I might.” Remus’s face goes slack and he pushes his dickhead of a friend towards their table with a little too much force. He stumbles with a hearty chuckle.

Left alone in the middle of the bar, a little incensed, he turns to look around and spots what looks like your aforementioned red skirt, standing in front of the claw machine.

Bemused, but more intrigued, he beelines for you with slow strides. When he stands behind you he places his hand to your shoulder. You turn around and smile warmly. You’re standing, more like swaying, with both hands inside your purse.

“What are you doing, dove?” he asks and squeezes your shoulder. You push back into him, probably for the stability you lack. He braces you with his thigh behind yours.

“You smell like a chimney.” You wrinkle your nose and he laughs. It reverberates through your chest and you have to blink away the way it makes you feel. Sleepy.

“Sirius is a horrible influence,” he says with an equally wrinkled nose.

“I’m looking for a coin,” you answer his question, looking back down into your purse. “Want to win you something.” Remus’s heart swells tenfold.

Before he can pull one from his pocket as an offering, you bend over and tip your entire purse to the paisley carpet, contents spilling everywhere. Wizard money, bright pink tampons, chapsticks and gum wrappers sit in a pile and Remus steps back with a disgruntled sigh.

You turn and crouch down to sort through everything, Remus looks down and gawps for a second. Half amused, half displeased. He bends down with you and helps as well.

“Do you think it'll take sickles?” you question, moving bandaids to the side. It’s looking like a lost cause.

Remus shakes his head with a laugh, “I don’t think so, honey.”

You frown.

“Here,” He handles a few items and places them in your purse, “I’ll help you clean this up and I’ll win you something, hm?” Remus thinks you’re a bit like Mary Poppins with how much stuff you have. He’d say this to you because you probably would understand the muggle reference, but you seem too upset over your lack of coins.

“Was gonna win you some chocolate,” you laugh, picking up more stuff.

The last few items fall back in with little organisation and he stands. You take his outstretched hands and let him gently tug you back up with a ruffle of your hair.

He pulls a coin from his pocket and slots it into the machine. You stand around to the side with your hands pressed to the glass like a little kid. The flow of colours washes you fluorescent as you point to a cherry ripe in a perfect spot.

He grips the joystick and moves it to where he thinks it hovers right above it.

“More to the left,” you say with your finger smooshed against the machine.

“You’re drunk,” he says before he pushes the red button on top of the stick, not moving it to where you’d said.

You laugh as it doesn’t even graze the chocolate. Claw coming back up with nothing. “Whatever.” He has two more chances at grabbing it and he’s determined.

The second time he does listen to you but still misses by the width of a hair. You both hold your breath as the claw gets lowered for the final time. You bend over to get a better view and watch as it gets picked up, not cheering until it gets dropped in the chute.

You clap as Remus cheers, taking the chocolate thankfully, opening it immediately with a crinkle of red foil. “Thank you, Remus.”

“Anytime.”

You break the chocolate in half and offer him the bigger portion. You both stand there, chewing on cherry and coconut and chocolate. You look at your sticky fingers and the worst of the after-effects of six cocktails suddenly hits you in a wave of nausea. Not enough to make you want to throw up, but enough for you to groan and grab your stomach.

“I think I should go home,” you whine, placing your half of the chocolate back into the wrapper and into your purse, probably just to melt and make a mess. A later problem, you think.

“Feeling okay?” he asks, turning to check you over. Etebrows pinched in concern already.

“I think I had too many cocktails,” you laugh, weakly at that.

“How are you getting home?” he asks.

You laugh, having flashbacks to your last encounter. “That’s my line.”

“It’s a good one.”

“I don’t know how I’m getting home,” you say.

“I’ll call you a taxi.”

You sigh, “That’d be lovely.”

After saying goodbye to the rest of the group, after they’d moaned about your fifteen-minute disappearance with Remus, Thought you’d gotten stuck in the cubicle! James had laughed. Drunkenly, you’d missed the joke. Remus had smacked him up the back of the head. But now, the both of you were making your way to the front entrance.

Remus has to drag you out the door, holding you upright as you stammer and trip on things that aren't there.

“Be careful,” he tuts, holding you closer under his arm.

“There was a frog!” you explain, very much exasperated.

“No there wasn’t,” he laughs.

“Was so!” you strain, fisting his shirt behind his back, sure to stretch the cotton.

“You just want me to hold you tighter.” He’s smug when he says it and can’t really help it. He has Sirius’s words ringing in the back of his head.

You stop at the gutter and kick a stone with your boot, “Maybe.”

Your knees ache, wanting nothing more than to crouch down to the ground. You think it would probably be a bad idea. Though with sore knees and a spinning head, bad ideas turned to the best.

You pull yourself from Remus' hold and bend your legs to crouch in the gutter. Remus’s eyes blow wide and he looks down at you. Not again, he thinks.

Before he can ask what you’re doing, thinking you've passed out, you look up, “Head rush,” you giggle with a huff of air. He sits down next to you, knees almost pressed into his chin.

Remus tugs your knee so you turn towards him, legs pressed together. He keeps his large palm over your thigh because being crouched in a gutter leaves little to the imagination to the drunks walking past and he’s not going to ask you to get up if you’re dizzy.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You rest your head on his shoulder much like he had the last time you saw him. He hopes he had more care than you do with your cheek cruelly smooshed into his skin. “I’m just a little drunk.”

Lucky for Remus, before he thinks you’re about to fall asleep on his shoulder, your taxi is pulling up. He helps you stand, opens the back door and ushers you in.

Listening to your murmur of thanks Remus before he clicks you in.

“What’s your address, dove? So I can tell the driver.” You give him your address and he passes it off.

Before he can close the door for you, you grab his wrist.

“When can I see you next?” you ask brightly. Hopefully.

“Call me when you’re not hungover,” he laughs, brushing his fingers across your arm. Your grip hardens.

“You’ll answer?” He almost laughs again at how drunk you sound. Of course, he’ll answer.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

You lean across your seat, seatbelt pulling taut as you press a kiss to his cheek. Warm and buttery-soft just like last time, but maybe even worse now that his feelings for you are stronger. It burns.

“Thank you, Remus.”

“That’s okay, lovely.”

You in fact did call Remus, a couple of days after your night out. Expected, you were hungover so you waited a day after to talk.

Remus hadn’t really been expecting you to call him, despite how eager you seemed, he had talked himself out of believing you had any feelings for him. Like he’d imagined it or something.

So, when his phone rings, he’s not expecting it to be you at all. He answers with a sigh, thinking it’s James or Sirius.

“What do you want?” His voice is void of any excitement or joy you’d been selfishly expecting. You were also expecting a more welcoming greeting.

“Remus?” you say, and his hand stills in his cupboard where he’s distractedly putting clean dishes away.

He shuts the cupboard’s door a little too abruptly and cringes, clears his throat so he can speak, “Y/N! Shit, sorry. Hey.” He cringes even more at his stupidity.

“Expecting someone else?” you laugh.

He nods like you can see him, “Yeah, sorry.” He swallows and tries to fix himself, “How are you?”

“I’m good,” you say with a little sigh, “Really, really good.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah, how are you?” you question.

Remus’s voice goes quieter, “Amazing.” Then there’s a small beat like you’re both thinking, “So, what’s up? Everything okay?”

In his mind, his stupid, paranoid mind, there’s a possibility that all you’ve done is pocket-dialled him. Or, accidentally pressed his name in your contacts, maybe mistaken the name Moony for Mum.

Is his name Moony in your phone? Or is it just Sirius’s friend? God, he wants his thoughts to shut up.

“I wanted to ask you something!” When it sounds like you actually want to talk to him, what almost feels like relief washes over him. Paints him bright as he settles on his sofa, beaming like a schoolboy when he says,

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Your excitement is dizzying. “Are you free this weekend?”

He has to swallow before he speaks, eagerness bleeds through his skin. His foot taps and he picks at a loose thread on his battered shirt. “Yeah, I am.”

You chirp a happy noise, “Awesome! Cool. Um, there’s that gig on at The Red Lion if you wanted to come?”

Remus doesn’t see himself as a cool person and it definitely doesn’t show when he says, “Yeah! I’d love to.” in a tone pitched higher than normal.

“Great. I think Sirius is coming too, I told him about it the other day and said he should invite the others. I wasn’t sure if he had asked you yet.”

Oh.

Remus feels like the biggest idiot ever. You weren’t asking him out, why would you?

He leans down between his legs until all the air is forced from his lungs, he covers the receiver with his hand and groans, long and suffering in self-pity.

Is coughing to clear your throat and hide your disappointment a good thing? Because his voice is a little squeaky when he replies. When he sits back up his head spins. “Sounds great.”

He hears some shuffling on the end of your line before you say, “Amazing. I’ll see you then. Sorry, gotta go. Bye Remus!”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

Remus has about thirty seconds of wallowing in self-pity before his phone is ringing again. He wants to shove it in between his sofa cushions and forget about everything. But he sees Sirius' name flash up on the screen so he answers.

“Moony!” Sirius’s voice pierces the phone line and Remus cringes. “Remus, my good friend.”

“Did you just get lucky or something?” Remus gruffs.

“Huh?”

“You’re too happy. Calm it down.”

Sirius groans, “You’re so content with being miserable, Remus. Just because you can’t get your dick wet.”

Remus wished his stupid friend could see the displeasure on his face, “What do you want?”

“You’re free this weekend, aren’t you?” He questions and Remus hums a yes, expecting to hear the exact same question you had just asked him only three minutes ago.

“Well, you, me, the gang, and a few pints at The Red Lion. Sounds like a plan?” Remus detests his friend's happiness. Or envies it. He feels miserable and doesn’t think Sirius is deserving of his lack of enthusiasm just because you didn’t ask him out.

“Yeah, Y/N already asked me,” he replies.

“Well, don’t get too excited.” Sirius huffs a laugh.

“No, sorry. It’s just I thought she- never mind. Sounds good.”

“Awesome. I’ll send you the deets.”

Remus almost laughs, “The deets? Wait until I tell Marls you talk like that.”

“Shut up.”

“Bye, Sirius.”

Sirius hangs up before he can.

Remus spots you before you do, again. Watches where you lean against the bar on your tip-toes, talking to the bartender about something. He’s making you laugh and he feels the stupid need that it should be him instead.

He does what he always does; walks up behind you and presses his shoulder into your back. You chirp and turn around. Then, your eyes do that thing that they always do that makes him bite the inside of his cheek. They squint, confused, and then light up when you realise who you’re looking at. Remus could swear that they sparkle, but that’s just something he imagines in his lovesick head.

“Remus!” You smile, mouth upturning until the apples of your cheeks swell. You wrap your fingers around his bicep and pull him into your side. He lets you, willingly.

“Y/N,” he says probably a little too quietly for the setting. The pub is starting to fill quickly while the band does sound check, the general hubbub of the patrons mixes in with the strumming of guitars and the feedback from the mics.

“You’re all wet,” you giggle, pressing your fingers into the underside of his arm.

“Yeah, it’s starting to rain out there,” he says.

“You walked?” You frown, pulling your hands from his arm. He can still feel where your fingers were wrapped. A burn against his wet skin.

“From the bus stop.”

“You know there’s this thing wizards can do, I’m not sure if you heard of it. It’s called disapparition,” you quirk, mouth upturning into a teasing smile.

Amused, Remus says, “I don’t usually like muggles to watch someone appear out of thin air.”

You reach forward to grab some napkins from the dispenser on the bar, probably too many. “I would’ve picked you up,” you say matter-of-factly.

He doesn’t reply, just stops still when you reach up to brush away the damp hair from his eyes. There’s water bunching in his hair and falling in tiny beads down his face, over his top lip. You laugh when he licks it away before you dab across his forehead and then his cheeks.

“I missed you,” you say, bunching the paper into a ball.

Remus smiles, too hard he thinks. “You saw me last weekend.”

You think he might be teasing you, though you’re not sure. You feel like you’ve overstepped. Demure, your eyes widen at your error. “Sorry,” you laugh, airy and quiet.

Remus pokes you in your side, “I missed you too,” he laughs.

You nod your head and bite your lip. You feel eased. But embarrassed in the first place. Scrunching the ball of damp napkins in your hands until it pinches. Still, you’re overjoyed.

“What are you drinking?” you ask, splaying your hands over the bar, leaning where it comes up to your chest. You try to ignore everything. The way Remus is making you feel, the busy pub that’s teeming with rowdy people.

“Not sure,” he quirks, eyeing the taps at the end of the bar. “What about you?”

“I think I might just stick to squash,” you laugh knowingly.

“You’re on it tonight,” Remus laughs, splaying his fingers around your shoulder.

“I’m not having any repeats of last week.”

“Damn,” he pouts, “Drunk Y/N is cute.”

You warm, “Drunk Y/N is messy.”

He squeezes you, a funny pinch. “I think you can be both.”

You lean into his side while he orders your drinks. His hand doesn’t move and you don’t want it to. It’s warm and grounding and feels too good to be true. How touchy he is and how you love it. You imagine a world where he doesn’t just touch your shoulder. Imagining what he’d do if you were together. How ruining he would be.

Distracted by his grip on your arm, before you can even reach into your purse to grab your money, he’s paid.

“Remus,” you scold, pushing yourself off the bar.

“Dove,” he smiles, placating. He grabs both of your drinks, in one hand, fingers twisting. The other snakes down to grab your hand to guide you through the crowd of people.

“Stop paying for my drinks.” Someone bumps into you and Remus digs his elbow into your side to stop you from tripping. You smile thankfully.

You let him weave you through patrons, your hand flexing around his until you get to your table. Once you've sat down, he says, “Sorry, didn’t think a fiver would cover it.”

Faux scolding, you shove his arm. “I have more money on me this time.”

“Good,” Sirius pipes up, “you can buy me that cocktail you owe me.”

“I’m sorry, Sirius.” You act like it genuinely does upset you. Though the thought of how you acted when you were drunk last week, is worse. “I’m a really annoying drunk.”

“Sirius is being dramatic,” Remus sighs, leaning back against the booth. He throws an arm behind you, pressing it up against the wall. You stay sitting forward, not sure if it’d be too much to lean into him. Despite him making the first move. “You got your cocktail.”

“Yeah, you bought it,” Sirius faux scoffs. It’s hard to believe that he actually cares about a stolen mojito, easier to believe he’s determined to tease you until you die. “Doesn’t count.”

“I’ll buy you a cocktail if you really want me to, Sirius,” you lilt, happy to get him to shut up. It works when Remus shoots him a look you don’t understand. Sirius bites his tongue and sits back in his seat.

By the time James and Lily get back from the bar, the band has started their set and you’ve had enough time to think too much on whether or not you should lean into Remus’s side. His weight behind you feels like a magnet. The more you want to pull away the stronger the urge is to just give up and fall against him.

Much like everything is with Remus. The more you allow yourself to think you really do like him, the harder it is to keep to your regular ways. You’ve never allowed yourself to be so openly affectionate and loving towards someone without second-guessing every single thing you do.

Not that you don’t. Every time you speak to him, touch his arm for too long or allow yourself to wrap your own arm around his back, there’s that voice in the back of your head that’s screaming at you. Telling you that you’ve let your guard down too much for a boy you’re not even sure likes you as much as you do him and you’ve embarrassed yourself.

It’s totally overwhelming and constantly feels like a back-and-forth battle. Because, sure, it's no secret anymore to anyone who isn't Remus, that you like him. You just wished it were easier.

As if he can hear your head reeling, or he’s just noticed how quiet you’ve suddenly become, he nudges your leg where it’s crossed with his own jean-clad one.

“You okay?” he asks. His face is soft. Too soft for your dismissive and relentless thoughts to ebb. It’s suddenly painful to even be looking at him and you’ve only been around him for no less than twenty minutes. He’s always had that ability.

The nod you give him is unconvincing and your smile is even worse. His eyes flicker and you open your mouth to speak before he can, “Yeah, jus’ thinking.”

“I can tell.”

“You can?”

You chance another look back at him and regret it instantly when he’s smiling like he knows something you don’t. “Yeah.” He nods, “You’re making that face you always do when something’s eating at you.”

Hating being read for filth, you turn to take a sip from your drink, filling your mouth with your straw lest you say something stupid. You drink it too quickly, and once it’s down to its last dregs, your head aches. Brain freeze. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to distract yourself when you say, “What face?”

“Your lips part and your eyebrows pinch. Sometimes I have to double-check you’re not crying.” Remus is a lovely, horribly attentive boy. And if he keeps saying things like that, things that let you know he does actually pay attention to you, you’re not going to last. When you said you wondered how ruining he would be, this isn’t what you had in mind.

Remus says something to you again, but you don’t catch it. The band transitions into a much louder song and his words fall on deaf ears. You do, however, catch the look he shares with Sirius again over your shoulder.

Confused, you suddenly think fresh air would be better than to pain yourself through whatever’s happening around you. “I’ll go get that mojito,” you mumble.

You weave yourself over Remus’s lap, careful where your shoes and hands land, careful to also ignore where he stables you with his own hand on the back of your knee. You try to make it discrete as you beeline for the bar, taking a small turn to head for the back doors.

The warm air cast from the setting sun slowly dwindles away and you cross your arms over your body, leaning against the railing to the left of the smoking area. When the door shuts behind you, the music from inside slowly dies down and you’re grateful to be the only one out here.

The fear you have been feeling throughout your entire friendship with Remus does its best to claw its way up your throat. Makes your breathing staggered and your palms itch. You suspect if you spent any more time with him inside you would’ve only embarrassed yourself more than you feel like you already have. Best you do it out here instead.

The muffled music slowly grows louder when you hear the door open and you pay it no mind. Not until there’s a hand on your shoulder. You flinch and turn around, pushing yourself against the railing.

“Shit, sorry. Just me,” Remus smiles, pulling his hand from your shoulder.

“Remus,” you breathe, hand to your chest, “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he frowns.

You pause. Trust him to notice your departure. You hope he doesn’t ask you any questions, you don’t expect yourself to hold anything in anymore if he soothes you over.

“You okay?”

Fuck sakes.

“Um, yeah.” You nod. Remus moves to your side, arm pressed up against the railing and you follow him. Turning so you’re face to face.

“You sure? You just kind of up and left.” he laughs weakly, stopping when he notices you don’t join in.

“Sorry,” you apologise.

“What for?” he asks kindly. You once more detest his kindness and his ability to get you to open up.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, leaning further into the railing and it rattles, “I’m being weird.” You’re not opening up like you’d expected, though the words you want to say to him are at the back of your mind, where they were once pushed away, slowly crawling forward. If he keeps looking at you like that, they might spill.

“You’re not.”

“I am. I’m thinking too much and it,” you heave a calming breath. You want to tell him how you feel, not ramble, “it hurts.”

“Hey,” He traces a line over the hinge of your elbow, “what’s going on in that head of yours, hm? Care to let me in?”

You swallow, “That’s the problem. I can’t find the words.”

“That’s okay.” He squeezes your arm, “Take your time.”

His gaze is soft though it still burns where it’s settled over your face, his grip on your arm is worse. Still, it’s grounding. You blink and take a few calming breaths.

The door opens up again and the band’s music spews back outside. It’s the same song that was playing the night you sat on Sirius's couch and you’d freaked about how it was both your favourite. In some cheesy, cliche way, you take it as a sign.

“I’ve never been one for showing, let alone telling someone how I feel about them,” you begin, “I’m not sure if that’s the most obvious thing ever, or if I’ve gotten really good at hiding it but…”

Remus is smiling widely, more smug than anything. It makes you nervous and you advert your gaze to the ground. Over the ash-strained brick tile under your sneakers, “Stop looking at me like that or I won’t be able to finish what I’m trying to tell you,” you sigh.

“Like what?” he asks like he’s oblivious. Like his mouth isn’t now upturned into the slyest smile.

“That!’’ Your face grows warm and you have to press the backs of your hands into them. You can feel the thrumming of your heart in your fingertips.

“Sorry, you were saying,” he chuckles.

“God, where did you get all this confidence from, Remus?” you ask, a little dazed. Maybe it’s the setting or the fact you’re both finally sober together that brings out a different side of him, though you can’t be sure.

Remus shakes his head, “I’m sorry, you just look so cute when you get flustered.”

Your mouth parts, a shocked, demure gasp slips past them. Gawping, you say, “You’re not drunk, are you?” It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it's the first time it feels different.

“Not this time. For once,” he laughs knowingly.

“Right,” you pause. Taking in a shuddered breath. In what world you would ever expect this to be easy, you’re not sure. You’re also not sure that doing this with Remus makes it easier. Easier, because he makes you feel secure and appropriately worked down to tell him anything; harder because it’s him you have to let your emotions go with. It’s him you have to let know of your heartachingly, sore feelings you have. He can’t just be there on the sidelines guiding you through it.

Remus watches you slip away into your shy, quiet self again. He can almost hear your thoughts reeling, “God, you’re worse than me.”

You giggle nervously, all pitched up and light, “You make me nervous,”

He steps forward and if your eyes weren’t stuck on the ground, you wouldn’t have noticed it. He’s smooth. “Do I now?” He hooks a knuckle under your downwardly pointed chin and gives it a tap.

You look back up, catching his gaze, “I hate you,”

“No you don’t,” he says matter of factly. Like its the most obvious thing ever. You’re sure it is.

“I don’t?” You blink slowly.

He closes the gap between you some more and suddenly you’re overwhelmed by him. The smell of his laundry detergent, something familiar and heady, mixed in with the cologne that you swear follows you home. Where the toe of his boot almost touches your sneaker and where the sleeve of his sweater catches on your bracelet because he’s as close as possible. Though you still think he’s not close enough.

His voice mixes in with the same song that’s playing inside and you can barely hear him when it builds to a crescendo and he says, “You weren’t about to go on some rant about how you love me?”

“Remus…” you murmur, quieter than the thumping of your heart in your chest,

“No?”

You bite your tongue, but it does nothing to stop you from saying, “God, yes. Just- kiss me, please.”

“What?” he asks, more shocked than you’ve been this entire interaction.

“Kiss me, Remus. Before the song ends.” You lean into him, up on the balls of your feet and pull your hands between your bodies.

Face to face, lips hovering over yours, he murmurs, “You sure?”

“Completely,”

It’s the last thing you say before Remus kisses you so hard, so deep, that you forget how it was even possible to form words in his presence before now. Snakes his arms around your back and holds you so close your shirt rides up until your skin presses into the soft material of his sweater.

He tastes of stout, a weird mixture against the lemon on your tongue. You can’t find it in you to mind when he hums into your mouth. A desperate, pleading sound that has you squeezing the flesh of his hips. Compared to the reserved and diffident relationship you’ve held with Remus up until now, the kiss you share is nothing alike. It’s passionate and heated. Longing.

The song ends and with a final tug of your bottom lip, he pulls away panting. Eyes skipping over your face, a little glassy and bouncy. “Fuck,” he murmurs.

Tugging on the hem of his sweater, you say, “What?’' with a light chuckle.

“If I…” Remus has to compose himself lest he says something embarrassing. Completely forward. “If I knew kissing you would’ve been like that…I would’ve done it ages ago.”

“I think I’ve wanted you to kiss me for a really long time,” you confess, giddily rocking back and forth on your feet. Canvas sneakers crushing into the ground.

“Yeah?” he hums. Smugness still ever present.

“Yeah.”

“Thoughts on me kissing you again?” he asks, still not letting you go where you’re held against his torso.

You look over his shoulder, “I think if you kiss me again, Sirius’s jaw might fall to the floor.”

Remus turns and spots Sirius and James almost pressed to the glass window. James doesn’t look as pleased, shoving a crumpled note into Sirius's palm. Turning back to face you, he rolls his eyes, “I think they had a bet going.”

“Should we give Sirius his money’s worth?” you giggle.

“I’m going to kiss you. But, not for Sirius.” Remus says, “Only because you look insanely beautiful right now and if I don’t do it again, my brain might go numb.”

“What are you waiting for then?”

“Nothing.”

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ameenvie · 8 months

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I Think He Knows - Jamie Tartt x fem!Reader

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"his hands around a cold glass makes me wanna know that body like it's mine"

Word count: 4.6k Warnings: nsfw, smut, minors DNI! kind of angry sex, unprotected sex (wouldn't recommend irl), oral(male receiving), fingering, p in v sex, praise kink, dirty talk, slightly dom!Jamie(?), hickeys, possessiveness Tags: smut Prompt/Summary: You go out to get your mind off work and Jamie - but to your surprise he shows up at the same bar as you. Things happen. Put me in horny jail. A/N: This is the first smut I've written in a hot minute, and my first ever Jamie fic, so I just hope it doesn't suck! 😭❤ I still have to get the hang of how to write him. Maybe the intro/non-smut part is a bit too long, but idk I kept rewriting this so much. :') I hope you enjoy nevertheless! ❤❤❤

It felt like thousands of hammers were beating down onto your head. You were staring at your computer screen, trying to grasp what you were looking at, but the stress, the flickering office lights, and the constant noises of talking made it impossible.

“I need a break” you exclaimed as you promptly stood up from your desk. The conversation next to you came to a halt as Keeley gave you a worried look.

“Are you alright, babe?”

“Sure, I just need a little fresh air” you answered with a sweet smile. Even though Keeley was your boss, she was also one of your best friends, and you were thankful to the universe that you met her.

You were the social media manager at KJPR responsible for the AFC Richmond brand. And as fun and exciting as it was, there were moments when you just wanted to run away and never look back. Such as today.

The team had a new brand partnership deal, and few of the players had to post to their socials about certain products. It was really nothing extraordinary, but it was a big brand so it was crucial that everything was on schedule. Now you were in the reporting phase, and you haven’t received the necessary info from one of the players yet. As you stood outside the office building, leaning against the wall, you picked your phone out of your pocket and dialed him. It rang once, twice… and he hang up on you. You rolled your eyes and cursed under your breath as you headed back to your desk.

“Need any help?” Keeley asked with the sweetest, most concerned voice you’ve ever heard, but you just shook your head.

“Nothing I can’t handle! I’m headed to the dog track if that’s alright. I need to take care of something.”

“Give ‘em hell!” she replied and left you alone.

You jumped into your car and drove over to Nelson Road, where you knew the boys had their training at the moment. The man at the front desk recognized you and let you in, and you headed to Rebecca’s office first to say hello, then went to the stands and took a seat to wait until the team was finished with practice. When Ted noticed you, he gave you that huge moustachy smile of his and waved at you. You mirrored the gesture before your gaze wandered back to the players.

You sat close enough to the pitch to make out his facial expression when he saw you. First, he seemed annoyed, then he gave you the most dramatic eyeroll you’ve ever seen before he ran away laughing.

You weren’t sure what he expected your reaction to be, but you knew you just looked annoyed.

“Whistle! WHISTLE!” You heard coach Kent scream at the players, and you chuckled. The team gathered around the coaches then made a beeline towards the changing room. You knew this was your cue to follow them as well.

You leaned against the wall as you waited for Jamie, hugging your bag. Of course because he was aware that you were waiting for him, he’d be dead last to leave. You weren’t sure if it was against your person or just the fact that he hated to cooperate. Maybe both. A few of the players started to leave and they waved and smiled at you as hey passed.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally stepped out of the locker room – as you predicted – dead last. He stopped in the doorway with his hands in his pocket.

“I tried to call you.”

“I know” was all he said, and you raised your eyebrows at him. He was so cocky, you kind of wanted to punch him in the face, but that wouldn’t look too good on your resume.

“Alright, I guess you were busy then.”

“Nah, not really” he answered, and you saw a shit-eating grin spread on his face. God, Jamie.

“Look, I hope you don’t think I enjoy this, but I need the results of the campaign, okay? And you can only blame yourself, because you are the one who insisted that nobody can manage your account other than you. It would make all our lives much easier if I could just check the data myself.” You knew you were rambling and maybe talking a little too fast, showing how annoyed you were. You didn’t like giving people the satisfaction of knowing they got under your skin, but Jamie was world class at that.

“A’ight” he mumbled and started searching for his phone, then handed it to you. “If you want to check it so bad, go on, be my guest.”

You swore your eyes shot daggers at him. You grabbed his phone and took a seat on the bench next to you. He followed suit without a word, hands in his pockets.

You unlocked his phone and opened Instagram, but as you were navigating through it you saw a notification pop up from a girl with a text saying: “try me 😘”. Just a tiny glance at her profile picture was enough for you to conclude that she was gorgeous, and you felt your stomach do a flip. Were you… jealous? Of one of Jamie’s flings? C’mon.

You shook your head as if you could shake the thought out of it as you proceeded to check the necessary info. You didn’t realize, but while you were doing this, Jamie’s eyes searched your face like it held the answer to the universe’s biggest question.

You sent yourself a mail from his phone and shoved it back at him. He looked at you with a look you’ve never saw on his face before, and you could swear for a second that it was guilt sitting in his eyes.

“Thanks for nothing” you said as you grabbed your bag and left.

“Nice seeing you too!” he shouted as you slammed the door behind you. Your blood was boiling in your veins as you were walking back to your office. You dropped yourself onto your chair and buried your face in your palms. What a fucking day. He always finds a way to mess with your head. The sounds of Keeley knocking on your door snapped you out of it.

“Come in” you sighed as you looked at her with a defeated expression.

“Jamie again?” she asked sympathetically as she sat down in front of you.

“Always” you scoffed and started fiddling with a pen on your desk. He’s taking the piss out of me, always trying to get under my skin!” Keeley didn’t say anything, she just gave you a knowing look. “Stop looking at me like that, I know what you want to say!”

“I’m not saying anything” she replied and locked her mouth with an imaginary key and threw it away.

“That’s what I thought” you chuckled and took a deep breath. “I’ll be done with this by the end of the day, and then we can open your not-so-secret stash of champagne in your office, what do you say?”

“Sounds perfect, love!” As she left your office you delved into your work and tried not to think of Jamie. It was so silly – you thought. You felt like you were in school, arguing with yourself about your feelings, and having a crush on the guy who pulled on your ponytail. There was no way you were jealous right? Jamie was insufferable in general – cocky, arrogant, full of himself. Hard to work with. Attention seeking. But he had his moments where he was also funny. Caring. Honest. Compassionate. He was an amazing footballer.

You groaned out loud. You were wrapping up your day as you decided you’re going to put an end to this madness. You went home, picked out a nice dress – nothing too fancy, but it still made you feel like a million bucks. You called yourself an uber and asked them to bring you to one of your favourite bars. You were excited to finally grab a few drinks and let your hair down for a night, and maybe even go home with someone handsome to take your mind off your annoying feelings that started to bubble to the surface.

You took a seat at the bar and ordered your favourite drink. The bartender winked at you, and you chuckled. You propped yourself up on your elbow and started to look around. People were mingling, talking, laughing. Some couples were hiding in the more secluded corners of the room, whispering sweet nothings to each other.

You got your order but before you could thank the bartender for it, you heard a voice all too familiar.

“That’s on me. And another one, will ya’?” You turned around to face him as he was smiling down at you. Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes locked with his – you could never exactly pinpoint what colour they were, sometimes they seemed blue, sometimes grey, even green. You felt like you could stare at them forever. This wasn’t happening. You weren’t even sure if you ever saw him out and about like this. Instead of his usual tracksuit or puffy west he was wearing a white button-down shirt, with a few of its buttons unbuttoned, its sleeves rolled up, showing his tattoos. His hair was let loose, and a few strands fell into his eyes. You felt your heart drop into your stomach, and you were so shocked you couldn’t think of a single word to say, like your brain just short-circuited.

“Wow, Jamie, so nice to see you here, what a lovely coincidence! Come, join me for a drink!” he said, grounding you back to earth.

“Very funny. What are you doing here?” The words came out a little more accusatory than you meant, but you couldn’t help yourself. You came here to take your mind off him, and here he was, hotter than ever, standing so close to you that the scent of his cologne made you feel lightheaded. You wished the earth would just open up and swallow you whole.

“Just blowing off some steam. Celebrating my free weekend, I guess.” He shrugged.

“Alone?” Your question seemed to catch him off guard, as he raised his eyebrows. Your answer was just another shrug. “I see, I see, you don’t have to explain yourself to me, I know how this goes.” You waved with your hands in front of you, like you could shoo the image of him with other women out of your brain. You felt like you were going insane. In the meantime, he got his own drink, and he nursed it on the bar top with his left hand, the other in his pocket as he faced you. He looked even more gorgeous than usual, the way the shirt hugged his muscles ignited a flame in your body you never wanted to acknowledge.

“You know you’re being very judgmental now despite the fact, that you are alone as well.”

“I mean, it’s not my DMs that are full of gorgeous woman inviting me to tango” you scoffed, but immediately after you said the words out loud you scolded yourself internally for sounding so pathetic. Fucking hell.

“Are you jealous, love?” He grinned as he took a sip out of his drink. You rolled your eyes and stood up from your seat, but not before you managed to take a peek of how his lips touched the glass as he drank, and how perfect his jawline looked as he tilted his head slightly. FUCK.

“Maybe in your dreams, Tartt.”

“The lady doth protest too much” he laughed. You were quite shocked that Jamie Tartt out of all people would quote Shakespeare to you, but you were too angry to acknowledge that. You shook your head and turned your back on him, trying to get away, anywhere. You walked to the back of the big room and found yourself in a smaller conversation room – it was empty.

You took a deep breath, and you turned on your heels to head for another, more populated spot, but as you opened the door he stood there, one hand leaning against the doorframe, his drink in the other. He seemed like he was thinking.

“Jamie, I swear to God-” You couldn’t finish your sentence because he pushed himself into the room with you. You felt your heartbeat in your throat and heard it drumming loudly in your ears. He was so close. You closed the door behind him, and you only realized what that suggested after you saw his cocky smile. You didn’t immediately leave the room. You stayed there with him. It was painful to admit – even just to yourself -, but you wanted to be there with him.

He stepped closer, practically caging you between the door and his body. You felt your heart racing and your head spin as you looked up at his gorgeous face. Neither of you said anything, you were just searching his face, eyes darting between his gaze and his lips as you weren’t sure what to do. You didn’t realize he was looking at your lips as well, his breath fanning your face. He slowly leaned in; his lips were barely hovering above yours. Your heartbeat went into full overdrive, and you let his lips linger there for a second before you closed the gap and kissed him.

It all seemed to happen so fast you weren’t even sure it was real. You wrapped your arms around his neck and buried one of your hands in his hair as he was locking the door behind you. In any other circumstances he would be fuming about you ruining his hair, but not now. His hands were tracing your body as he pulled you into him – from your back to your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake before they finally settled on your bottom as he pulled you even closer. Your nerves were on fire, and you felt waves of arousal wash over you.

When you broke away to get some air, he wasted no time and started to plant small kisses on your cheek, slowly moving to your throat before settling at the soft spot between your neck and clavicle. You moaned his name which made him smile against your skin. You couldn't help but smile too. Somewhere a tiny voice in the back of your mind scolded you for being so euphoric about this whole situation, but you didn’t care. All you cared about is Jamie’s lips on you and the way his hand sneaked under your dress and drew hot circles on your skin.

“My name never sounded so pretty before” he mused before he pushed the strap of your dress aside to kiss a mark onto your skin just above your breast. Your breath hitched as you tried to make him stop.

“Stop it, people will see” you whined, which just encouraged him even more. You felt the prickling sensation on your skin, you were sure he’s going to leave a mark. When he finished, he adored his masterpiece before planting a soft kiss on the red spot he left behind.

“Maybe I want that, love” he whispered against your ear as he caressed your thighs. “I want everyone to see that you’re my girl.”

The sudden possessiveness caught you off guard and you let out a small whimper. Your common sense was thrown out of the window a while ago and at that moment that was all you wanted as well – everyone to see that you were his girl. He stopped for a second to look into your eyes. He placed his hands on your cheeks and pulled you in for another kiss. You saw stars as he kissed you with the passion of a starved man, his tongue gently caressing your lips before he went all in.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and in a second, he lifted you by your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his hips which caused one of your shoes to fall off as he started to back towards the sofa. While doing so, he bumped into the small table, knocking his drink over. You both chuckled before he finally sat down, with you straddling him.

Your dress was ridden all the way up your thighs, making your black lace panties visible, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Jamie. His gaze seemed hungry, like he was ready to devour you any second, and you felt the heat creeping up to your ears.

“I see someone was planning on getting laid tonight” he said teasingly.

“Oh, fuck off, Jamie!”

“C’mon love I’m just messing with ya” he smiled at you before he put his hand on the back of your head and pulled you in for another kiss. He was smiling into it, the bastard. In this position you couldn’t help but feel his bulge press against you, which made your blood boil in your veins. You wanted him so bad. You let out a shaky breath as you unconsciously started to grind yourself against his clothed length. Jamie moaned under you, and he furrowed his brows like he was trying to focus on the sensation, nothing else.

You slowly unbuttoned his shirt, leaving kisses on his chest as you progressed, and when you finished you slightly pushed it off his shoulders. You were mad for him, and even though you didn’t want to admit, you wanted nothing more than him fucking you right then and there. Little did you know that Jamie was feeling the same.

He looked at you with those gorgeous puppy eyes and you couldn’t help yourself anymore. You planted open mouthed kisses on his sharp jawline, neck, down his chest. You felt bold all of a sudden, and started to suck a mark onto his neck, which he rewarded with a groan. You took a second to examine the red mark you left on his skin before you licked it softly to ease the pain left in its wake. Jamie was a moaning mess under you, bucking his hips into you involuntarily, his hands gripping your thighs for dear life. You felt bold, wanted, sexy. Like a million bucks.

“Jamie, I want you to fuck me” you whispered into his ear, and you thought his soul left his body in that second.

“Fucking hell, angel” he answered and instantly one of his hands was in your hair, pulling you into another kiss, his other hand pushing your dress higher on your body, until your whole ass was exposed. “Such a greedy lil’ thing, aren’t ya?”

He looked at your dampened underwear as he hovered his finger over it, then swiped one big stroke from your entrance to your clit through the damp fabric. You shut your eyes and threw your head back from the sensation. Finally feeling his touch on you was like heaven. The flames of need were eating away at your body, and you weren’t sure how long you can stand the teasing.

“Please, Jamie”

“You’re fucking cute when you beg” he said, a cocky grin on his face, but before you could say anything, he hooked one of his fingers into your panties, and pulled them aside, exposing you completely. You felt flustered, your confidence wavered. He didn’t leave you time to overthink, because he pushed one of his fingers into you without any difficulty. You let out a moan which he mirrored before he spoke. “Shit, all this for me? I don’t deserve you.”

“You’re damn right you don’t” you chuckled as he started to pump his finger into you, before quickly adding another one. He smiled at you as you rested your forehead against his, slowly riding on his fingers. With his free hand he managed to pull down the strap of your dress enough to free your breast and he started to kiss and nib on your sensitive skin, leaving another hickey just above your nipple.

You hissed at the sensation and bucked your hip a bit harder, making him press into you deeper. Jamie’s fingers felt like they were made for you, and he damn well knew how to use them. As you started to ride him a bit harder, he started to curl his fingers inside you to press against your sweet spot and started circling his thumb against your clit with just the right amount of pressure, it made you see stars. You were a moaning, whimpering mess as his fingers fucked you senseless, pushing deeper and deeper with every movement.

“I know, love” he whispered between kisses. You bit down on his lower lip before you tongues started to dance around each other, and he moved his free hand to cradle your breast and caress your hardened nipple. It was all too much – his lips on yours, his hand on your tit and his fingers fucking you like there was no tomorrow.

You felt tension build in your body, your nerves wind up, ready to be released any second. You started riding his fingers harder and faster, chasing that high you felt was so close.

“C’mon angel, come for me, that’s it. That’s my good girl” he whispered against your lips, and just after a few more pumps of his fingers you came crashing hard with Jamie’s name falling from your lips like a prayer, your veins filled with fire as your vision turned white.

He wrapped you in his arms and started to draw circles on your bare back as you came down from your high while he placed small kisses into the crook of your neck and on your temple. After a minute of collecting yourself, you sat up and kissed him again as you started to undo his belt. You definitely weren’t unaware of the huge bulge in his pants, and you wanted to ease his suffering.

He just watched you do it, with one of his arms spread across the back of the sofa. He looked mesmerized by how beautiful you were. After you finished with his belt you undid the buttons of his slacks and pulled them down with his underwear. He just watched you and you could swear he was holding his breath.

You bit your lip as you took the view in, before you started slowly stroking his hard member. He threw his head back and he moved his hand to caress your cheek. You continued to slowly jerk him off, but you couldn’t help yourself. You licked the tip of his dick, and you made it a show. It was slow, sensual, and you looked at him for the whole time. When he caught your eyes he let out a shaky breath and involuntarily bucked his hips towards your face.

You swiped your tongue against his shaft before you took him fully into your mouth and started bobbing your head. His hand moved to tangle in your hair as he guided your rhythm slowly. He moaned under your touch, loving the way your lips felt around him. You started to pick up your pace a little and he rolled his hips against your face. His hand started to push you deeper onto his cock, and the feeling of his length in your throat made your eyes swell up, and you moaned around him.

“C’mon love” he said and guided you away from him, back onto his lap. You straddled him again, his now bare dick pressed against your wet pussy, and you saw stars from the sensation. “Maybe next time we’ll finish that, yeah? But now I want all of you” he said as he aligned himself to your entrance.

Next time was all you heard in your head. You leaned down to kiss him before you slowly lowered yourself onto him. You relished in the sensation of his cock filling and stretching you inch by inch, it was delicious. Jamie’s lips parted slightly as he threw his head back, enjoying the moment just as much as you did. As he bottomed out, you kept still for a second, barely moving before starting to roll your hips, slowly lifting yourself before coming down again.

“Jamie” you whined, and you held onto his shoulders for dear life as you rode him. His fingers dug into your skin at your hips where he held you. You moved so perfectly in sync it was like you were made for each other, the way he rolled his hips into you made you see stars.

“So good for me, love. Taking me so well, my good girl” he whispered against your lips after he sat up, wrapped you into a tight hug and kissed you. He swiped his tongue against your swollen lips, and you bit down on his. You dug your fingers into his hair as you started moving faster and faster, getting overwhelmed by the sensation.

Jamie moved his hand from your hair to your cheek, swiping your lips with his thumb before pushing it into your mouth. You licked it slowly before he pulled it away and moved it to your swollen clit. You gasped at the perfect feeling of his finger being on you again, before he started to circle his thumb around the sensitive bud. You felt your walls tighten around him, which ripped a moan from his lungs. He never stopped his movements, he fucked into you like he never wanted anything else.

“Taking me so well, babe. So tight for me” he whispered against your burning skin. His words poisoned your mind, and they ran through your veins, igniting everything inside you. You buried your head into his shoulder as you felt your climax approaching. He was filling you up so perfectly, his dick hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. He was gripping your thigh so hard you wondered if it’s going to leave a mark. You kind of hoped it would. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten, and his name fell from your lips like a prayer.

“Jamie, I-“ you gasped and you dug your nails into his shoulders.

“That’s it, angel. Come for me” he moaned against your ear and you knew he held himself back. You rolled your hips against him once, twice, all your nerves wind up before they inevitably snapped, and another orgasm washed over you. You moaned into Jamie’s mouth – your vision went white, your muscles clenched around him as you came, which gave him what he needed to reach his own high as well, hugging you tightly onto him. The silence in the room felt deafening all of a sudden. You nuzzled your face into the crook of Jamie’s neck, and he started to slowly caress your hair as he hugged you close.

After your nerves calmed down a bit you started to collect yourself and he helped you to clean up the mess. He took your hand and kissed you, before looking into your eyes.

“So… do you want to get out of here?” His grin was the widest you’ve ever seen and you laughed.

“Yeah, sure” you chuckled as he wrapped his arm around you.

***

The next morning you woke up to your phone ringing. It was Keeley.

“Yeah?” you asked in a sleepy voice, looking over at Jamie who was laying next to you, his arm wrapped around your waist. You were in his bed. He was already awake, looking at you with a sheepish smile.

“So, I know you don’t want to talk about this” Keeley started, her energy through the roof, she spoke so fast you barely had time to acknowledge her words, “but I think you should talk to Jamie. You should tell him you’re into him!” A very telling laugh found its way past your lips before you spoke and you heard an audible gasp on the other side of the line.

“I think he knows” you said to Keeley while looking at Jamie, who was now chuckling next to you as he kissed your free hand.

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