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whatstruthgottodowithit · 2 years

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The Other Evans Girl [Part Sixty]

Fandom: Harry Potter [Marauder’s Era]

Pairing: Sirius Black/Original Female Character, Sirius Black/Daisy Evans, James Potter/Lily Evans

Characters: Sirius Black, Original Female Character, Daisy Evans, Lily Evans, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Alice Fortescue, Frank Longbottom, Marlene McKinnon, Albus Dumbledore, Voldemort, Peter Pettigrew, Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix LeStrange, Walburga Black,

Word Count: 3716

Rating: Mature

Summary: Hogwarts is a safe haven, a home for many. But it’s often a place where heartache, love and complex emotions dwell and none know that better than the Marauders. Lily Evans just wants to make it out as a successful witch though the oncoming war and the ongoing advances of James Potter threaten that. Daisy Evans, her twin, has other goals. Join the Evans sister’s as they make their way through Hogwarts, prepare for war and eventually find love.

Tags/ Warnings: My Writing, The Other Evans Girl, Sirius Black Fic, Sirius Black/You, Sirius Black x OFC, OFC, Marauders Fic, Eventual Sirius Black, Sirius Black x Reader Fic, Sirius Black Fic, James Potter is a bit of a dick but we LOVE it, Hogsmeade, Friends, Hate, Love, Angst, Fluff, Kissing, Implied Sex, Potters, Babies, Weddings, Dating, Friends to Loves, Slow Burn, Eventual Sirius and Daisy, Teenage Angst, Insecurities, Fighting, Arguing, Bullying, War, First Wizarding War, Marauders, Marauder’s Era, 1970’s, 1970s Fashion, Canon Character Deaths, Loss of Virginity, Crying, Voldemort, The Other Evans Girl, Marauders Era to war, Multiple Parts, GORE, injuries, harm, fighting, blood, The Potter’s Mansion // Daisy’s Dress // NYE Lily’s Dress // NYE Daisy’s Dress // Lily’s Ring // Daisy’s Ring

Notes: can i say i dont know how ive churned out sixty parts but oh my i love writing this series

LINK TO AO3 // LINK TO PINTEREST // LINK TO ALL PARTS

TAGS - @maeisafangirl@mysteriouslydelicateface

As January rolled into February excitement started to buzz around the school as Valentine's Day was just around the corner. As everyone scrambled to get a date for the Hogsmede weekend that followed Daisy revelled in the fact that she needn’t worry this year. It wasn’t that she cared much in previous years but she was happy that a day all about love presented an ample opportunity for her and Sirius to make their debut as a couple.

Though it seemed that Daisy hadn’t been the only one doing some thinking. Since Lily had laid her revelation at her sister's feet she’d also been thinking over her decision meticulously. Like everything in the girl’s life she had it planned with military precision which is how she came to speak to her sister the Friday night before Hogsmeade.

They were tidying up the attic after a club meeting. Everyone had left bar the boys and those two, though the boys seemed to have no interest in making the room presentable after they’d spent the night practising how to use and stop the oppungo charm a spell Frank had taught them that made objects come to life and attack leaving quite the disarray in their wake.

As the girls gathered the objects that littered the floor the boys were lounging around on the sofas with Peter boasting about how he was sure to defeat everyone in the gobstones tournament the following morning. Daisy listened to him ramble as she placed the last of the books back on the shelf where they belonged. Once she finished she padded gently over to where Lily was sorting items on a table.

‘I’ve put them all away,’ Daisy said. Lily nodded but didn't say anything, ‘maybe I can do the cushions next?’ Again Lily gave a nod though she didn’t seem to be listening, well, not properly, ‘or I might just put them all at the bottom of the astronomy tower? Fling myself off and see if you’ve actually learnt that slowing charm you were on about?’

‘Yeah, okay,’ Lily mumbled as her fingers arranged the quills in the pot she was holding.

‘Okay so you weren’t listening then,’ Daisy grumbled.

‘What?’ Lily said, looking her sister in the eye, ‘oh sorry.’

‘It’s alright. What’s up?’ Daisy asked. Lily bit her lip and glanced past her sister to where the boys were sitting still wrapped up in whatever Peter was telling them.

‘I’ve decided,’ she whispered.

‘Decided what?’ Daisy said all too loudly causing her sister to hush her. Sirius looked up at them and Lily gave him a small smile before looking back at her sister. Sirius dropped his gaze, whatever they were talking about he was out of earshot and if he got up they’d stop talking altogether. Daisy glanced over her shoulder though she couldn’t see the boys from where she was standing but the way Lily continued made her sure they couldn’t hear.

‘About…well you know,’ Lily said.

‘Oh,’ Daisy said quietly.

‘Yeah, and actually,’ she whispered, ‘I need your help.’

‘What do you want me to draw you a diagram?’ Daisy snorted, earning a swat on her arm from her twin.

‘Of course not!’ Lily said in a hushed tone.

‘Then what?’ Daisy asked genuinely intrigued about what her sister might need from her for this.

‘Well we’re going to need somewhere for…well we need to make sure we won’t be disturbed.’

‘And?’

‘And the easiest place is going to be the dormitory,’ she said, ‘obviously.’

‘Still not seeing how this has anything to do with me,’ Daisy said.

‘Well, Peter’s going to be at his gobstones thing. You can handle Sirius but…’

‘You need Remus out of action,’ Daisy said, catching on.

‘Well…yeah,’ Lily said, flushing deep crimson. Daisy giggled, making her sister’s face darken even more before she whispered, ‘so will you help me?’

Daisy watched her for a moment. This decision had put her in quite the tailspin recently but, of course, that had nothing to do with Lily. Her insecurities were hers only, she knew that. And her sister was asking for her help. She couldn’t refuse.

‘Of course I will.’

✵✵✵

As Daisy dressed for breakfast the following morning she couldn’t help but mull over what excuse she was going to use to get Remus out of the way. Lily had made it quite clear that she was to inform no one, not even Sirius, about what they were up to until after the fact. Before she could dwell on it more Lily came out of the bathroom.

‘Oh good you’re up,’ she said, watching as Daisy slipped on her boots.

‘I’ve been up for half an hour,’ Daisy grumbled, ‘and I’ve needed a wee the whole time.’

‘Sorry,’ Lily said apologetically.

‘It’s alright,’ Daisy said, ‘I figured you might be a little long in the bathroom today.’

‘I couldn’t decide on what eyeshadow to wear,’ Lily said nervously. She took a seat on the end of her bed, chewing on her nails as she did so.

‘Lil,’ Daisy said, ‘I can hand on heart tell you that James Potter does not care about what eyeshadow you’ve got on.’

‘I know,’ Lily said. She looked beautiful but effortlessly so. Her pale complexion was a shade darker now due to her foundation giving her a little more colour than usual. Her eyes were dashed with a variety of nude shadows and a slight wing of eyeliner that she never usually wore and her lips were blood red giving a little glam to her otherwise natural look. And her normal outfit of jeans and a T-shirt was gone, replaced by a skirt and a v-necked shirt Daisy was sure Lily had told her was ‘far too low’ to be worn when it had been hers. However, despite her put-together outfit she looked nervous, Daisy could tell.

‘You know you can change your mind right?’ Daisy said, ‘that’s okay.’

‘I know,’ Lily said.

‘No one’s gonna care if you change your mind,’ Daisy said.

‘I know,’ Lily repeated.

‘Are you gonna get rid of that massive weight from your shoulders then?’ Daisy said.

‘Yeah,’ Lily said, ‘I guess I’m just nervous…what if it’s…’

‘Shit?’ Daisy finished earning an eye roll from her sister.

‘I was going to say not what I expected but yeah,’ she said.

‘Well, I suppose it doesn’t really matter?’ Daisy said, ‘I mean surely the good thing about it is that you can practice and get better.’

‘Yeah I suppose,’ Lily giggled.

‘It’s right up your street isn’t it?’

‘What?’

‘I mean it’s just revision,’ Daisy chuckled, ‘and you’re really good at that.’

‘Oh shut up you,’ Lily said standing up and grabbing her bag. Daisy stood too grabbing her bag and coat and said, ‘ready?’

‘As I’ll ever be,’ Lily said.

The two headed down to breakfast where they found all the boys, Frank and Alice sitting at Gryffindor table. Lily slid in beside James and Daisy took a seat opposite her next to Sirius.

‘Morning,’ he smiled at her and his hand slipped under the table and into hers. They still weren’t actively broadcasting their relationship but it felt nice to be doing so in public.

‘Morning,’ she smiled. She leaned forward to grab a couple of slices of toast, frowning inwardly as she had to let go of his hand to butter it. As she did so she heard a cough from Lily who said, not too subtly, ‘so what’s everyone doing today?’

‘Well, I’ve got my gobstones tournament,’ Peter said, shovelling cornflakes into his mouth.

‘And we’re doing something that is not that,’ Sirius chuckled.

‘Me and Frank are headed into Hogsmede,’ Alice said, nudging Frank’s arm. He looked up from the book he was reading and mumbled an ‘oh yeah,’ before immediately going back to reading.

‘What about you Remus?’ Lily asked.

‘Dunno,’ Remus asked, ‘might do some studying in the library. I’m not fit for much today.’

Daisy watched as Lily’s face paled for a second before she threw a glance at James. Daisy realised he must have been up to speed on her sister’s decision though he seemed not to notice his girlfriend’s dilemma until there was a distinct thudding under the table where Daisy had walloped him in the shin. He grunted before he looked at his friend and said, ‘don’t you fancy heading into the village? I mean a brisk walk might do you good.’

‘Yeah,’ Daisy said, ‘Sirius and I were gonna have lunch in the three broomsticks.’

‘We were?’ Sirius asked, his brows knitting together.

‘I thought I’d told you,’ Daisy lied.

‘Oh I’d love to go to the pub today,’ Peter said, his mouth full of cereal.

‘Yeah but if you don’t go to the gobstones tournament they’ll be down to just what? Three other people?’ James chuckled.

‘What do you say Moony?’ Daisy said, leaning into him. He was sitting on her other side as she rested her head against his shoulder looking up at him with her large green eyes.

Remus looked at her. His eyes narrowed as he watched her and then his friends who were also hanging on his decision. Well, apart from Sirius, who seemed to have the same suspicion he did.

‘Alright,’ he said.

‘Yay,’ Daisy said.

‘Well, that sounds like a plan,’ Sirius said.

✵✵✵

It was baltic. The wind whipped through Hogsmeade attacking anyone who dared stand out in it. Unfortunately for Sirius, this meant him. He was trudging through the snow, next to his best mate, watching as his girlfriend walked a fraction ahead of them babbling as they walked. When she had suggested they come to the village he had supposed it wouldn’t be that bad. But he’d imagined cuddling up with her in the three broomsticks. Risking a quick snog in the changing rooms of Madam Malkins. Not this.

Remus seemed to be on the same wavelength. He was dog tired today even though he was mid cycle. All he had wanted to do was spend the day in the library. Away from all the couples. Away from all the in your face, nauseating love. But Daisy had piqued his interest. There was something a foot. He was sure of it. This idea was only reinforced by the fact Lily and James had somehow managed to escape this trip.

‘Dais,’ Sirius grumbled. He was bundled in jeans and a leather jacket, a thin jumper underneath which was doing nothing to protect him from the cold, ‘how much longer are we gonna do this trek for?’

‘Yeah, we’ll be at John O’Groats at this rate,’ Remus chuckled. He stopped walking as did Sirius though Daisy kept walking for a moment before she realised the sound of footsteps behind her had stopped. She turned and smiled at them sheepishly. The boys shared a look.

‘What’s going on?’ Remus asked.

‘What?‘ Daisy asked, feigning ignorance.

‘Oh come on Dais,’ Sirius smirked, ‘do you think we don’t know you’re up to something?’

‘What would I be up to?’ she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

‘I’m not sure,’ Sirius said, walking up beside her and throwing his arm around her shoulder, ‘but it’s definitely something.’

‘I resent the accusation,’ she said, her arms still crossed.

‘Yeah?’ Remus said.

‘Yeah,’ she replied. Remus had a theory and he decided to test it.

‘Well then,’ he said, ‘I doubt you want to spend time with people who would accuse you of such things. Come on Pads, let’s head back to the castle.’

Remus turned on his heel and headed back towards the village.

‘No!’ Daisy said with a little too much urgency which made Remus turn back with a smug smile, ‘I mean…why don’t we just head back to the pub?’

‘Oh we can but you’re going to tell us what’s going on,’ Sirius said as they walked towards Remus. He fell into step with them as they trudged back the way they came. Their footprints were the only one on the snowy track as they were the only ones mad enough to come out in this weather.Daisy sighed.

‘Fine,’ she said, ‘but you’re buying me a butter beer first.’

Once they were back in the three broomsticks, tucked away in the back corner, the boys sat opposite her watching Daisy as she sipped her drink ignoring them. As she put her drink down she seemed to realise they were looking at her.

‘So,’ Sirius said.

‘So,’ Daisy said.

‘Are you going to tell us why you brought us on this wild goose chase?’ Sirius asked.

‘It’s a long story,’ Daisy said.

‘We’ve got time,’ Remus said.

‘ Well it’s not my idea,’ she said, ‘it was-‘

‘-Lily and James,’ the boys said in unison. Daisy smirked, ‘So they’re not as clever as they think they are.’

‘Oh I’m sure Pete has no idea what’s going on,’ Sirius chuckled.

‘Yeah but he wasn’t the problem,’ Daisy said.

‘Problem?’ Remus asked.

‘Yeah,’ she said sheepishly, ‘they sorta needed to be alone.’

‘Well they could’ve just found somewhere private,’ Sirius said, ‘like the astronomy tower eh Dais?’

‘They-‘

‘Didn’t want to get caught,’ Remus said. Sirius looked at him curiously, an expression that grew deeper as Daisy said, ‘yeah.’

‘Hang on, am I missing something?’ Sirius asked.

‘Surely you can figure it out mate,’ Remus said, raising his eyebrows. An icy feeling flooded through Daisy at his words.

‘Figure it out the two of them wanted us out the castle so they could be alone and oh, oh,’ Sirius said, ‘well in Prongs.’

‘Sirius,’ Daisy chastised.

‘What? He’s the one shagging your sister not me,’ Sirius chuckled though he winced as she thumped him on the arm, ‘ow!’

‘She's right mate whatever they get up to behind closed doors and all that,’ Remus said.

‘Hey I wasn’t the one talking about it with my sister,’ Sirius said smugly.

‘That’s different, we're girls,’ Daisy said.

‘Like James won’t tell us everything later,’ Remus said. The three of them laughed as Daisy said, ‘yeah I suppose you’re right. I doubt there’ll be anyone left in our year that doesn’t know by tonight.’

‘Yeah because they’ll all be wondering why James internally combusted,’ Sirius joked, making them all laugh once more. After the laughter died down Remus looked at the pair of them all of a sudden feeling very much like a third wheel.

‘So,’ he started, ‘now that I know to avoid the dorm like the plague I'm okay to be released from being babysat?’

‘Rem, I wasn’t babysitting you,’ Daisy said.

‘No I know,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got stuff to do…and I’m sure the pair of you wouldn’t mind being left alone right?’

‘Oh feel free to bugger off on my account,’ Sirius smirked, earning him a dig in the ribs from Daisy.

‘Don't be daft,’ she said, ‘you can stay with us if you want. We like having you around.’

‘Nah,’ he said, ‘I think the library is calling.’

Daisy wanted to protest but she could see he was determined to leave them. If she was being honest she didn’t want to be alone with Sirius. Her worries from before we’re threatening to creep back in. Even more so now he knew what his friends were up to this afternoon. She nodded allowing him to hug her before he patted Sirius on the shoulder and exited the pub.

‘So,’ Sirius said once he was gone, ‘what now?’

✵✵✵

Since Remus had headed off to the library and all their other friends were occupied Daisy and Sirius decided to head up to the attic out of the way. They’d been up there a couple of hours, listening to music which eventually turned into talking over the music. To her surprise, Daisy’s nerves seemed to disappear when she and Sirius were alone together. She was sitting on the sofa, her legs across his with her back against the arm, babbling away about her muggle studies essay.

He didn’t know how the conversation had gone from talking about Led Zeppelin to muggle studies because in all honesty he hadn’t been listening. He was too busy staring at her. Too busy looking at how her eyes lit up a little when she got in the swing of talking. Too busy noticing just how much she used her hands when she spoke. Too busy looking at her lips, which were chapped from the cold outside but still begging for him to kiss them. So, as she spiralled through her conversation Sirius watched until she paused, noticing him ogling her.

‘What?’ she said.

‘Nothing,’ he said, ‘I just love watching you talk.’

‘Oh,’ she said with a pink tinge rising on her cheeks, ‘you mean you weren’t listening to a word I was saying right?’

‘Oh for sure,’ he said with a wide smile. Daisy smiled back at him. He looked good today though she always thought that. His grey eyes seemed lighter and his hair tousled from where he had pushed it out of his face when walking through the snow. His hand came to her cheek, catching her chin in between his thumb and forefinger as he leaned in and placed a kiss on her lips.

Daisy melted into it, wrapping her arms around his neck as she deepened it. He allowed her to and she swung her legs off of him so she could move into his lap, her legs on either side as her hands knotted in his hair. Sirius groaned a little, causing a tingling sensation to form in Daisy’s lower stomach. His hands were on her hips, dancing under the hem of her shirt, amping that feeling on a little more.

To her surprise, Daisy didn’t stop. All the worries she’d been having didn’t seem to come to the surface now. She moved a little causing a little friction between them which Sirius grunted at. He pulled his mouth off of hers and started kissing down her neck, his fingers going to the hem of her jumper and motioning it up a little. And then she felt it. Hard against her thigh. Sirius. Daisy stopped, her hands no longer moving through his hair and her hips no longer rubbing against him. Sirius didn’t seem to notice for a moment but when he felt her go still he pulled back, a little breathless.

‘What’s the matter?’ he said, looking at her with confusion.

‘Nothing,’ she lied, going back to kiss him. Sirius tilted his face so her kisses dotted along his jaw.

‘Dais,’ he said. His hands hadn’t moved from her hips but he gripped them a little differently forcing her to stop. She looked down at him nervously as he looked back at her expectantly. She sighed and slipped off his lap to sit beside him.

‘Is everything okay?’ he said, ‘I didn’t hurt you or-’

‘No,’ she said, waving him off, ‘of course you didn’t.’

‘Then what is it?’ he asked.

‘It’s nothing…I just…you were…’ she started. A blush crept back onto her face as she nervously played with the fringe on a cushion behind him.

‘I was?’ he asked, his brows knitted together again.

‘A little…excited,’ she said, glancing quickly at his lap and then back at his face.

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘well yeah.’

Daisy wanted the ground to swallow her up. She didn’t know why she was all of a sudden so embarrassed. It was Sirius for god’s sake. She dropped her gaze from his. Sirius’ bemusement turned to worry as he placed a hand on her knee, ‘Dais?’

‘I know I’m being silly,’ she said looking up at him. He was watching her with concern.

‘Silly about what?’ he asked, confused.

‘Well, since Lil told me about…y’know, I’ve been panicking because I’m not Lil. I mean we’re two different people right? We’re not going to, I mean it’s not that I don’t want to, I just, we just,’ she babbled.

‘Sweetheart you’re gonna have to catch me up because I’m not getting-’

‘I don’t want to have sex with you,’ she blurted out. Sirius looked at her for a moment and said, ‘oh.’

‘No,’ she started, ‘I don’t mean it like that.’

‘Well can you tell me what you do mean? Cos I’m still a little lost here,’ he said with a smile which reassured her.

‘Since Lil told me about her and James I’ve been worrying…because I’m not there yet,’ she said, biting her lip.

‘Well that’s okay,’ he said.

‘It’s not that I don’t want to eventually,’ she said, ‘I’m just not…’

‘Ready to jump my bones?’ he laughed.

‘Yeah,’ she said quietly, ‘you don’t mind do you?’

‘Why would I mind?’ he asked.

‘Well you’re a guy,’ she pointed out.

‘Okay, so, I’m not going to pretend I haven’t thought about it,’ he chuckled, ‘but if you’re not ready I’m not going to demand it happens today. Or this week. I’m happy for you to lead.’

‘But, what about…’ she said, dropping her voice again. Sirius watched her expectantly, urging for her to elaborate, ‘I mean you’re not exactly a novice when it comes to girls. I thought you’d be all gung ho.’

‘Dais, you should know by now that you can’t trust everything the Hogwarts rumour mill puts out,’ he said. He moved his arm onto the back of the couch now, leaning in so their heads were almost touching.

‘Huh?’ she said confused, ‘but you’ve dated so many girls.’

‘Dated yeah,’ he said, ‘slept with no.’

‘And Mar?’ she asked. She didn’t know why. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know what her boyfriend and her best friend had got up to in the time they were together.

‘Fooled around I’ll admit. But we never went all the way,’ he said, dropping his volume a little as he said, ‘I’ve never slept with anyone.’

‘No?’ she said hope evident in her voice.

‘I’ve been busy moping after you for the past year and a half,’ he smirked, ‘believe it or not no one fancies a lad who's busy pining for his best friend.’

‘I do,’ she chuckled, leaning in and giving him a peck on the lips.

‘Good,’ he said, ‘because even if we aren’t shagging there’s no way I wanna stop kissing you.’

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fuckmymunson · 1 year

Note

Dom poly marauders x sub reader who can’t take anything seriously and always jokes around (not being a brat, maybe, kind yes)

One of them is pounding into her and asks “Who’s pussy is this?” / “Who this pussy belongs to?” and reader replies with “It’s my pussy, but we can share.” / “It belongs to me but we can have shared custody if you want.”

And they can’t get mad at her with that because damn, she’s lying there, propped on her elbows and making them laugh while being irreplaceably sexy and pretty, suddenly they all slip from their serious role and have a sex with only dom/sub dynamic vibes

Ugh yes— plus I can see it as a constant teasing and so many punishments!!!!😵‍💫. Send me asks/thoughts/blurbs! Airport time!

18+, smut, poly!Marauders, Dom/sub relationships, mwah. Ofc not proofread.

︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿ʚ♡ɞ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

You moan around Remus' hard cock while you feel Sirius literally rearranging your guts from behind. They both groan in pleasure and mock you endlessly, calling you names, making fun of your blissed out state… anything to break you from that petty bratty attitude.

"What was that, whore?" Remus asks as he yanks your hair back, removing his cock from the back of your throat.

"We asked you a question" Sirius adds with a harsh slap on your thigh, making you yelp. "Who this fucking wet pussy belongs to?"

You smile, almost wickedly.

"It belongs to me, but I'm generous enough to share it with you, just don't ask for custody"

Remus rolls his eyes, huffing annoyed. He hates the passion you have to push their buttons. Sirius on the other hand, a big hothead, only takes your answer as an offense. His hand slaps your ass so hard, that the teasing grin on your face falls and your eyes water quickly.

"I swear you are gonna regret those words" He whispers, snapping his hips against you again, harsh, fast, over and over.

The door opens, and James walks in. He's holding his tie in one hand and looks tired, he hated to clean the trophies room. But the moment he sees you naked on Remus' bed, moaning against his thigh, drooling and getting your pussy completely ruined, he feels like a new man. He throws his tie to his bed and quickly starts to remove his clothes, smiling.

"What's the punishment today?" He asks.

"Bitch won't stop being a brat" Sirius groans, wrapping a hand around your neck.

"Is that true?" James tilts his head, taking a seat at the edge of the shaky bed and tracing one of his fingers on your back, fingertips sliding over the bite marks all over your skin.

"Not m–my fault Sirius is a pussy" You mutter, mischievously. "But I g—guess you are what you eat"

"So under that logic, you are a dick?" Remus laughs, anger already far behind. He yanks your hair and guides his cock to your mouth again.

You nod, sucking him dry. Your left hand sneaks under the covers to wrap itself around James' cock, already rock hard. He hisses in delight and lets his head back.

You take a moment to breathe, tears falling down your eyes. "I am a huge dick, so big even Sirius would be jealous of me"

James and Remus bark a laugh, almost coughing. Between moans and giggles, the air changes a bit. Sirius shakes his head and hold a laugh too. He can't believe you sometimes.

"Good fucking luck you are pretty as hell" Sirius says behind you, caressing your sides. "I should slap the shit of you for those words"

"You w–wont" You moan, challenging him. "Pussy"

"He won't but I will" Remus breaks in and squeezes your cheeks, making you raise your head a bit to look at him. The position is a bit uncomfortable and you can feel your neck sore at the effort. "You think you are so funny, maybe you are, maybe not. You should be grateful I even let you suck my dick"

You gasp, offended. "I am—"

"Shut up" He interrupts you. "I'll let this little bratty outbreak slide this time, this time only" He pats your cheek gently. "Now open up, gonna spit inside that filthy bratty mouth of yours"

︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿ʚ♡ɞ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

I know it sucks im a whore—

#omel is speaking!#omel's asks<3 #remus lupin smut #sirius black smut #james potter smut #poly!marauders smut #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders

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aithusarosekiller · 2 months

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Annoying, loud, arrogant jock James strutting around like he owns the castle knowing everyone thinks he's the biggest heartthrob out there. Some people love him for it, many find it obnoxious but they all give him some level of attention

The only person that doesn't seem to pay any attention to him whatsoever is the reserved, bitchy, judgemental Regulus who rolls his eyes whenever James walks past or laughs and flat out refuses to look at him

They just find each other's existence extremely irritating because James doesn't like being ignored and Reg hates attention seekers so James chooses to start provoking regulus on purpose more often and Reg decides he's going to take the chance to try and knock James down a few pegs

Imagine all the petty snippy arguments. They try to practice at the same time and end up snapping at each other for the entire practice slot, they bump into each other in the corridor and HAVE to insult each other, the other does something wrong and they have to laugh and point it out. When they play quidditch against each other, the winner looks over and mocks the loser while still in the sky celebrating.

They just fully feed off the bitchy energy

And ofc they end up falling in love and are incredibly angry at themselves when they realise

#jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #james potter #regulus black #i love them sm #marauders era #marauders #mwpp #mwpp era #dead gay wizards

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hier--soir · 4 months

Text

raising cain | 001

din djarin x ofc

pairing: spy!din djarin x spy!ofc rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: at a private gala in berlin, two agents slip inside, uninvited. unbeknownst to one another, and working for seperate agencies, they prepare to bring the same target to justice. the only problem is - one of them wants him dead, and the other wants him alive. who will succeed? will the strange connection they feel stop them from completing their mission? warnings/tags: modern au, spy!din can bring them in warm or he can bring them in cold, ofc is named + has short hair + is french, alcohol consumption, brief + unemotional mention of being an orphan, violence [including impersonal violence between din and ofc], descriptions of blood and injury and [briefly] brain matter, murder, very brief mention of sex trafficking, sexual tension like hello, choking [sexual and non sexual], ofc has an interesting relationship with pleasure and pain, fingering [not technically in public, but certainly not in private], kinda dom!din, explicit rough unprotected piv sex... on the floor... carpet burns... okay bye. word count: 9.7k series masterlist | main masterlist to raise cain means to cause a commotion, to create a disturbance, to make trouble. a/n: my only defence is that i've been watching too many james bond movies lately. also, for the record, i love berlin. also also, the smut in this made me blush. okay hope you guys like this one x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part one of raising cain.

BERLIN, FEBRUARY

It is bitterly cold, and she hates Berlin.

Not because of the weather, although it never helps to visit a city one loathes while the windows are covered in a thick layer of ice and the ground a slippery sheen of sleet.

No, Cain hates Berlin because it has always been a city of business for her. Never pleasure, nor entertainment.

In the car, en route to the gala, a driver escorts her by the Staatsoper Unter den Linden, the Berliner Dom, the Altes Museum, and each one passes her by in a blur of beige architecture and pretty lights. Endeavours for another trip, another year, another life.

She pays her driver in cash and thanks him for taking the scenic route. In broken English he slips his number into her palm and asks if she will use his services the next time she visits Berlin. She smiles and nods and doesn’t tell him that she hopes to never return.

Her dress is a flimsy thing. One of satin and silk that clings to the skin of her arms, her torso. It curls around her ankles, just shy of brushing the ground as she exits the car. The air outside bites against her skin. Her feet ache and cry out for reprieve, strapped into a skimpy pair of shoes that pinch at her toes as she glides across the cobblestone path.

A clean-shaven man stands at the door, adorned in a modest suit and a winding earpiece. He requests her name, notes her face, and grants her entry with a strict nod and an all too brief once over. Handsomely oblivious to the comforting weight of a weapon at the inside of her thigh.

The venue is small, but the crowd is thick, pulsing with life; dense enough for her to mingle, to go unnoticed as she glides through the ground floor, blending into a mix of countless other women dressed in long slinky dresses. She wears black because they all do; her makeup is simple because she did not come to be remembered.

She accepts a flute of champagne from a man with a tray. Offers him a graceful smile and a softly spoken danke schön, and waits until his back is turned before tipping the golden liquid into a plant at the base of the staircase.

Chancellor Karl Weber skirts past her, one of the most powerful men in the German government, and she does not meet his eye.

She is patient; thoughtful as she surveys the room. She knows better than to move too quickly. She counts the exits and entries, the number of security guards and wait staff. Assesses the balcony that overlooks the room, curving around the entirety of the upper level, and slips up a winding staircase when she is sure no one is watching.

With every upward step, the lengthy slit down the side of her dress parts, revealing the soft skin of her legs.

There’s something intimate about the balcony space. Red velvet drapery covers the walls, hanging from the roof and spooling against the floors in soft crimson swirls. She takes in her surroundings, fingers twinkling across the gorgeous fabric as she walks. A slim door around the bend, at the other side of the upper level, reads NUR FÜR MITARBEITER; staff only.

Another, a few paces behind where she settles, leads to a small bathroom. Six private stalls, one with a thin window above the toilet, just wide enough for her to squeeze through. Beyond it; open air, a thick pipe that leads down to the street. Perfect for scaling.

Assuming a position near the bathroom, she tucks herself amongst the drapes. Lets shadows and velvet caress her skin and hide her from prying eyes as she juts out a knee and slips a slender hand between her thighs.

The pistol is dense. Thick and black, it rests heavily in her palm as she slips a titanium cylinder from her purse. Deft fingers lead the butt of the suppressor to the mouth of the pistol. Pin meets groove and she lets it spin, stroking cool metal as she twists and twists until it clicks into place.

Ulrich Meier stands four metres from the stage, eight from the bar, and two from the closest security guard.

Another man—taller, leaner—talks down to him. Speaking in hushed tones, the two of them glance over their shoulders every few moments. Careful, cunning as they talk.

And as she watches them, her face remains neutral. But somewhere inside of her chest, somewhere forbidden and secret and soft, she feels a threatening rage begin to unfurl.

Because the longer she stares, the easier it gets to picture other faces. Men and women with sallow cheeks and fear in their eyes. Countless bodies strewn apart by weaponry they had no business being close to; rigor mortis setting their horror-stricken faces in stone.

Yes, that anger unspools inside of her. Burns through her veins like ice, chilling her blood until she feels nothing but relief as she bends her elbow and lines up her shot.

Cain does not think about collateral. Cain does not think about those standing close to him, ones who will no doubt remember this night for the rest of their lives. She does not think about his wife or his children. These things do not concern her. All that matters is the mission.

Her hands are steady around the weapon, finger poised beside the thick trigger. She takes slow breaths. Deep inhales that fill her lungs, followed by warm exhales. Once, twice, three times until she is steeled. An eye pinches shut. Her finger slips over the trigger. Meier laughs at something.

And then a heavy palm lands on her waist.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The man’s voice is a low, rasping thing.

She stiffens, grip freezing around the pistol. His breath hits the back of her neck, and a hundred little hairs there stand on end. She smells cologne, light and airy. Feels fingertips dig into the flesh around her hipbone. Ulrich Meier turns and walks towards a doorway, disappearing from sight.

“Take your hand off of me.”

“Lower your gun.”

Cain’s elbow whips backward, cracking hard against the centre of his chest. His fingers tighten then fall from her waist and she spins on her heel, the butt of her pistol colliding with his jaw.

He stumbles backwards and she advances on him, returning the gun to the holster on her thigh before striking him across the cheek with an open palm. His head hardly even turns before he’s batting her arm down with a stern shove.

She throws a mean fist forward, but her knuckles barely graze his jaw before the heel of his palm snaps against her chin. The blow sends her staggering to the side, head bouncing off the wall with a low thwack. She tastes blood, the tip of her tongue stings, and when he steps closer she juts her knee into his groin. Feels the harsh rush of the breath leaving his lungs, exhaled roughly across her face, and snarls.

Cain wraps her fingers around the nape of his neck and digs her nails in, pulling him down to meet the knee that she drives into into his stomach. The man grunts against her chest, his hand grasping upward to wrap around her neck. He squeezes tight, dragging her toward him before rocking her skull into the wall again, holding her there. Stars burst in her vision, her nose tingles, and she spits a low curse. Music swells downstairs, a live band starting up on the stage.

Neat curls and dark eyes dance before her. She blinks to stop the world from spinning. Firm jaw… strong nose. Moustache.

“Din Djarin,” she rasps, voice strained from the pressure of his palm on her neck. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Recognition sparks in those dark eyes.

“Cain,” he grunts, pupils like pinpricks as he assesses her face, and then his free hand is sneaking past the slit in her dress, tapping the gun at her thigh.

“A Walther?” Din’s fingers squeeze ever so slightly tighter at the sides of her throat, callouses rough on her skin. "A little old fashioned, isn't it?"

“A German gun to kill a German cunt,” she whispers. The artery in her neck pulses and pounds, blood roaring in her ears. “It felt fitting.”

“No one dies tonight,” he grits out, and it takes everything she has not to laugh right in his face. He cannot see the way her arm is twisted between them, fingers working to loosen the tiny dagger resting just inside the sleeve of her dress free.

“I should have known,” she smirks faintly, fingers grasping the hilt of the blade now. “The Guild do love to play around in international affairs these days.”

“Quiet,” he hisses, fingers sliding up to grip around her jaw now. His palm is hot against her lips, covering that sly smirk, the way she sucks in warm, grateful breaths. “Keep your mouth shut. Meier doesn’t die tonight. Not here.”

Smooth, careful, she presses the tip of her blade against his abdomen. Only 4 inches in length, but long enough—sharp enough—to penetrate through two layers of clothing and pierce the thick skin of his side. Thumb and forefinger tighten, begging for an excuse to press forward, to eliminate this new complication.

But then two things happen in quick succession.

Cain hears a peal of laughter raise from the staircase and glances past Din to spot blonde hair, a red dress, and slides the dagger back inside her sleeve. Moving fast, his hand falls from her face, body curling protectively around hers in a faux embrace. He tucks his face against her neck and the short hairs in his moustache raise goosebumps on her skin.

“Qu’est-ce-que tu fais?” she hisses. What are you doing?

“Shut up,” he bites back, jostling her against the wall once more.

Laughter dies down into awkward chuckles and murmured words. Cain peers over Din’s shoulder, understanding him then. Her fingers tangle in the loose curls at the nape of his neck and she watches them, ignoring how soft it is against her skin. Two women, eyes assessing them from the top of the stairs. The blonde frowns, wary; concerned.

“They’re looking,” Cain warns, hooking an ankle around the back of his.

Something soft skates down the side of her neck. Such a stark contrast to the rough grip of his hand before; a pair of lips tracing gentle kisses along her pulse point. For a moment, she holds her breath, focusing on the dull ache in the back of her skull, the feeling of his arms around her.

“Make them look away,” he says plainly, the words a hot wash against her skin.

His palm tightens around her hip, and Cain tilts her chin upward, letting the women see her smile as he lays kisses against her throat, lips parting to form a loosely whispered oh. Through heavy lidded eyes she sees the women flush and look away, one of them giggling. But they do not leave.

Meier, where is Meier? The thought jolts through her like an electric shock, and her smile fades a little.

Frustrated, she skates a hand around his body; lets it fall to the hem of his suit jacket, rucking it up until her fingers are digging into the flesh of his ass. Round and thick with muscle, he tenses beneath her grip, letting slip a harsh grunt of surprise into her ear. The women balk at that, turning to begin their descent down the stairs at last.

Biting back a smirk, Cain’s fingers trail up up up inside his jacket, around the front of his body. Down the buttons on the front of his white dress shirt, the solid muscle beneath it, to where it meets his trousers. The tips of her nails flirt across the front of his pants, and she is certain he’s stopped breathing; entire body still beneath her touch, lips frozen against her skin. Searching, searching, she finally hums triumphantly, fingers sliding over the holster on his hip at last. Hidden beneath his jacket, she fondles the butt of his gun. Slim; inconspicuous.

“Hmm,” she purrs, lips brushing the soft skin of his earlobe. “I thought it would be bigger.”

“I thought I told you to shut u—”

Din flinches as her other hand touches the side of his face, a finger pressing swiftly into his ear canal. His head tilts to the side, trying to evade her touch, but she’s already pulling away, using his surprise to slip around his body and move towards the stairs.

She smooths fingers over her hair, neatening the mussed strands and tucking them behind her ears. Straightens the neckline of her dress, ensures her holster is hidden. From where she stands, Meier is nowhere to be seen.

Din calls after her, a low warning. She doesn’t look back, gripping the railing of the staircase as she begins her descent. The gala is in full swing, guests dancing and talking in every direction. A six-piece band performs a playful jazz song from the stage.

“There is no need to shout,” Cain murmurs, smiling when she hears a sharp intake of breath through the earpiece.

She doesn’t know if he follows her down. Keeps her gaze trained forward as she accepts another glass of champagne from another man with another tray. Drinks it this time, thick hurried gulps that wet the skin beside her lips and soften the rough scratch in her throat. She wanders, looking for the man she came here for, and in time she ends up at the bar.

“A vodka martini,” she tells the barman, slipping onto one of the plush highchairs at the counter. “Dirty.”

The blonde man grips a clear glass bottle from his station and asks, “Shaken or stirred?”

She waves a hand, unbothered. “Dealer’s choice.”

He’s short with thick hair and a reddish hue to his beard. Handsome enough. She watches him with a light curiosity as he finishes making someone else’s drink.

It doesn’t take long before Din Djarin slips onto the seat beside her, suit jacket straightened out, not a single curl out of place, and orders a cosmopolitan.

The barman pulls two frosted coup glasses from beneath the bar and Cain arches an eyebrow at her companion.

“You’ve a sweet tooth, Monsieur Djarin?”

“It seems that way,” he murmurs, turning on his stool to face her.

Brown eyes assess her face in this new lighting, pupils flicking across everything he can see. His hand reaches across the bar and peels a small square napkin from a pile. Slides it across the wooden countertop.

“Wipe your nose.”

She swipes the material beneath her nostrils and spies a small blot of blood on the fabric, crumpling it in her fist with a saccharine smile.

“In Germany long?” he asks casually, nodding at the bartender when he places their cocktails on the counter.

“As long as it takes.” She wraps her fingers around the stem of a chilled glass, dragging it closer. “And it shouldn’t take long.”

He takes a lengthy sip, draining half the glass in seconds, and his eyes slip closed as the alcohol hits his tongue. Cain watches his throat move as he swallows and crosses her legs tighter on the stool. Feels her gun holster dig into the soft flesh there and welcomes the distraction.

“Alone?”

He eyes her for a second, gaze momentarily dropping to the low cut of her neckline, the swooping curve of her shoulder. “I was.”

“Well,” she holds out her glass to him. “It’s an honour.”

A beat passes as he contemplates her—her words, her steadfast gaze—and then he knocks the rim of his glass gently against hers.

“I’d apologise for upstairs,” he smiles faintly, posture loosening. “But I’m sure you understand.”

“There is no need,” she agrees easily, taking her first sip. Cool vodka slips down her throat and she allows a pleased purr to fall from her lips. “Tempers are frayed. Patience is short. What’s a little scuffle between friends, hmm?”

He smirks at that, a miniscule upward twitch of his lip. Friends.

“You know, I’ve heard the stories about you,” he tells her.

His suit jacket is well tailored, she notices. Tight around those broad shoulders of his, hemmed perfectly around his wrists to reveal crisp white sleeves and silver cufflinks.

“Is that so?”

He nods. “Cain, the femme fatale.”

“Mm,” she smirks, tracing a finger around the rim of her glass. He watches the sharp point of her red nail ping against the coup. Glances down to her toenails peeking past the tip of her heels; the same colour. She wiggles them for him, and he looks up.

“Then it appears there are equally silly tales about the both of us, non?”

“Do tell.”

Her grin broadens, something like excitement splicing through her veins. “Well, I had wondered if it were true. That you have your own little… catchphrase.”

A low scoff rumbles from his chest, and his stare cuts to where the bartender stands, mixing a drink only a few feet away. Across the room, one of the musicians onstage starts up a winding piano solo. Sparse and melodic to start, he sprinkles his fingers against highest keys on the piano, and Cain focuses on keeping her gaze on Din. She never did care for jazz.

“Do you say it every time?” she teases in a whisper, eyes lit up with mocking glee. “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in co—”

“Stop.”

Din’s voice is harsh, a little too loud for the quiet space by the bar. The word cuts through the soft music and has a few guests glancing in their direction. Cain laughs, unperturbed by the sudden attention, and plucks an olive out of her drink. A saxophonist joins in with the pianist, and he relaxes once more. Leans into this little game of hers.

“Don’t be a fool,” he softens, reaching over to tuck a short strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb brushes the curve of her jaw as he pulls away and she fights the shiver that trips its way down her spine. “Not every time.”

She laughs again, quietly eyeing the length of his fingers as his picks up his glass. His knuckles are thick. Warm blue veins spiderweb across the back of his hand, disappearing beneath his shirt. If she tries hard enough, she can still remember how it felt to have that hand pressed against her throat, squeezing.

“And what else do they tell you about me?” she licks her lips, elbow on the bar, leaning forward to rest her chin in the palm of her hand. Eager – hungry.

“I know you’re an orphan.” He is stoic as he says it; as if unphased, uninterested. But Cain’s eyebrows lift, delighted.

“Then it must be true of you too,” she posits slyly, left eyelid dropping in a wink. “No one is more eager to accuse another of being an orphan… unless they themselves are one also.”

He ignores that, though she can see the way his weight shifts in the seat and the muscle in his jaw twitches.

“A Valkyrie.”

“Common knowledge in our line of work.”

“You’re from Paris.”

“An easy guess,” she leans back, bored.

“Your first name is Nikita,” Din says then, a teasing lilt to his voice. She considers that he may enjoy this game just as much as she does.

And that makes her pause. She lifts her glass and laughs against the rim, a soft tinkling sound that rings in his ears and has every man in earshot turning to look at her.

“You watch too many films,” she swallows with a smirk. “Think French, Monsieur Djarin.”

He ponders it for a moment, lips pursed softly, gaze darting somewhere over her shoulder and then back to her face. Takes a sip of his laughably pink cocktail and licks the residue from his lips, savouring every drop.

“Camille.”

“Oh,” she rolls her eyes, fighting back a genuine smile now. “I know you can do better than that.”

It’s his turn to wink now, and for one fleeting moment she feels oddly at peace with the idea of spending the rest of her evening at the bar with Din Djarin. A stranger, yes, but a little less so than the others that crowd the room.

In a career so harsh, characterised by its solitude, its violence, Cain is unaccustomed to the feeling of being seen like this. She knows unfamiliarity and discomfort and pain like the back of her hand. Is no stranger to a man’s grip around her throat, her life in his hands. But not this… this twinkle of implicit understanding that she can see in his eyes. Those endless brown eyes that say we are not so different, you and I.

Despite the bloodied napkin in her lap and the ache in her jaw, it’s enough to loosen her shoulders; to set her at ease.

But then he turns to stare pointedly over her shoulder, and she snaps out of it. Twisting around on the stool, Cain follows his gaze until she spots Meier across the room. He stands with a few others, shoulders back, eyes bright. Perfectly oblivious.

The barman slips to the other end of the counter, serving a tall gentleman, and Cain lowers her voice.

“What does the Guild want with Ulrich Meier?”

Din takes a sip of his drink. Keeps his eyes to the right, glossing casually over guests, the band, and then back to the asset.

“Information,” he says finally—carefully. “He’s of no use to us dead.”

She hums quietly, plucking an olive from her drink. Eats it slowly, allowing the briny taste to wash over her tongue as she watches him. When he doesn’t speak again, she squints, unimpressed.

“Are you not going to ask me the same question?”

An amused sound escapes his mouth, and he meets her eye again.

“You want Meier dead,” he muses simply. “But why so abruptly? When there is so much to be gained from taking him in.”

“That is not an option for us.”

“Why?” His voice takes on a harsher quality now, eyes narrowing. Mistrust.

“Did you know that name Ulrich,” Cain murmurs, leaning forward to avoid any listening ears. “Comes from the Old High German name Uodalrich? Uodal meaning heritage. Rich meaning king; ruler.”

Din Djarin says nothing.

“Did you do your research before coming to Berlin?”

“Yes.”

“Then you understand that Monsieur Meier is not simply an arms dealer.”

A beat of silence. His fingers tighten around the stem of his glass. “Yes.”

“He took his name personally, you see.” Her eyes float back to Meier. “Held it in his slimy little hands as a baby and said Oui Maman, I will rule. I will rule the desires of weaker men, and bring nightmares unto any woman that I can get these two hands on.”

“This is about revenge.”

“This is about justice,” Cain snaps, that calm façade slipping for a second. No more games. Din’s spine straightens. “Have you ever spoken to a human trafficking victim?”

He takes another sip of his drink and does not respond. She does her best not to remember the photos from her briefing. Not to remember the countless interviews, witness statements, and obituaries she’d had to paw through before her flight.

“Your silence is very telling,” she smiles, that easy composure returning. “But I trust that you understand my position now. Ulrich Meier will be of no help to your organisation after this evening.”

“Cain—”

“Because,” she continues easily. “When I leave this building, he will no longer be able to speak. And if you wish to get in my way… then I am afraid the same fate will befall you, Monsieur Djarin.”

A soft announcement sounds through the speakers, and they turn their heads to listen. The Chancellor will be giving his speech in a few moments. That’s her cue.

“And Weber?” he asks, the words coming out stilted, rushed. “What do you think of him? He’s known for turning a blind eye to Meier’s dealings.”

She tilts her glass, swallowing the last of the icy liquid.

“I do my best,” she places it down on the counter with a soft clink. “Not to think of men at all. Unless it is imperative to my mission.”

“And yet you’ve thought of me,” Din asserts, gaze heavy. His eyes slip down, just long enough for her to notice the way he stares at her mouth, before his eyes return to hers. “You know me. Enough to recognise my face in a second.”

“As I said,” Cain smiles, stepping down from her chair. “Imperative to my mission.”

He is still as she leans in and presses a soft kiss to his left cheek, and then to his right.

“Take care, Monsieur Djarin. I would like to see you live another day,” she says, slender hand coming up to the side of his face. Her finger taps the piece in his ear once, and she is not smiling anymore. “I’ll be in here if you need me.”

Cain coasts around the edge of the room, keeping her eyes to ground whenever an unfamiliar sets of eyes strays in her direction. Swipes a finger beneath her nose once or twice, checking to see if any blood has returned. And as Chancellor Weber makes his way towards the stage, she makes her way back upstairs, quietly hoping that Din does not follow her again.

Halfway up, a single word crackles through her ear piece.

“Amélie?”

Surprised, she grips the banister and almost turns around. But she can hear a woman speaking into a microphone in German, performing a plain and winding introduction for the Chancellor, and continues her ascent.

“Wrong.”

Reassuming her position on the balcony, shrouded in waves of those soft red velvet drapes, she watches Weber take his place on the stage. A hush falls over the crowd and her eyes move fast, landing easily on the thinning grey hair atop her target’s head. Every eye in the room is facing the stage. The Walther is thick and heavy in her palm as she ensures the silencer is correctly in place. Old fashioned indeed.

Cain’s breathing is calm, heart rate slow and measured as she raises the weapon and aims it at his head. And then, like a little ant crawling across her skin, she feels something shift. The air gets thicker, and a suddenly familiar shiver tickles its way down her spine.

Her eyes tick up and she pauses at the sight of Din on the opposite balcony railing. Almost hidden entirely by the shadows, pistol raised. And it is not pointed at Ulrich Meier, no… no it is pointed at her. And he is so handsome, even when he’s bluffing.

Grinning now, she lets the tip of her finger lightly caress the trigger. So gently, with no intention of doing any damage just yet. Some feeling akin to glee sparks up in her chest. Such excitement. The Chancellor’s voice fills the room, swelling from the speakers as he welcomes his guests.

Din’s face is placid, unimpressed, and then that honeyed voice drifts through her ear once more.

“Celine?”

Cain allows herself a brief laugh, eyes drifting back down to rest on the man she came here for. The target drapes an arm around his wife’s waist. She inhales deep, filling her lungs before letting the air spill from her nose. Calm, collected. All of it so easy for her.

“Wrong again.”

The Walther jerks in her hand, bullet flying silently through the air, and for a moment there is silence. Nobody moves.

And then Ulrich Meier’s wife releases a blood curdling scream, dropping to her knees and cradling what’s left of her husband’s head in her lap. Popping the silencer off her gun, Cain catches a glimpse of thick, dark matter across the woman’s chest, spilling down the bare skin of her arms, and then she is slipping away into the bathroom in search of that thin little window.

Back on the cobblestone street, sirens wail through the air, police cars and ambulances roaring past as she traipses away from the scene. A little flushed, a little exhilarated, she blends into a crowd of pedestrians, hidden in the shadows. She cuts across the road, avoiding traffic, and heads toward Unter den Linden, knowing it is safer to walk. Don’t be seen by a taxi driver, don’t be recognised, don’t—

“That was a clean shot.”

The words ring in her ear, clear as day.

Cain’s feet drag to a halt against the ground, shoulders stiffening. She turns, eyes assessing the busy pathway behind her, a parked car idling by the side of the road a few metres back. But she can’t see him anywhere. Countless unfamiliar faces wander by, jostling her shoulders as they pass, but he isn’t amongst them. He’s hiding somewhere, watching her from afar – playing his own little game now. Shivering against the cold, she turns and continues walking.

And then: “I thought I might follow you home.”

The words are so confident, so self-assured, and they send a rush of jagged heat blossoming between her thighs. Her heels clip against the ground, knees feeling a little weaker all of a sudden.

“Would you like that?” he asks, and she wishes she could see his face. Wants to see the desire burning in his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw as those words drift from his pink lips.

“Only if you can keep up.” A little breathless, the words form a soft cloud in the air in front of her face.

Din laughs, low and dark in her ear, but he doesn’t speak again.

She walks for a long time, ambling her way down dark streets, icy wind whipping at her hair for all of half an hour before she finally reaches the street of her hotel. And all the while, she spares quick little glances over her shoulders, trying to spot him in the shadows. Her clothes begin to feel too tight, too warm, despite the low temperature, and with every step her panties cling closer to her warm, wet skin.

The hotel doorman smiles tiredly at Cain as she approaches, holding the door open wide to welcome her inside. As her feet hit the entryway steps, his eyes flit over her shoulder.

“Ein freund von dir?” A friend of yours?

When she turns, she is quietly amazed to find Din there. Gait unhurried, only a few steps behind her. There’s an easy smile spread across his face. Hands tucked deep in his pockets; the top button of his shirt undone.

“Ja,” Cain murmurs, slipping inside.

Din nods to the doorman, following her in. “Guten Abend.” Good evening.

They do not speak as she leads him toward the elevator. Her numb fingers slide against the button with an upward pointing arrow, and together they wait. Heat radiates from his body, warming the skin of her back where he stands behind her, so close yet not touching her yet. Together they slip inside when the doors open.

She presses a button, the number twelve lighting up on the switchboard, and the doors glide closed.

Soft, tinny music plays in the elevator, and they stare at each other from either side of the small space. Din’s chest rises and falls with steady, measured breaths. He watches her and she watches the buttons on the wall, lighting up in turn as the two of them travel up, up, up.

Two floors below Cain’s, he speaks for the first time.

“Vivienne,” he says. “Final guess.”

Her eyes flash to him and she smiles, the skin beside her eyes pinching.

“It’s Remy,” she reveals at last, voice so soft, so forgiving now that her mission is complete.

“Remy,” he repeats. Rolls the r like she does, hums around the y. Sees how it tastes in his mouth and steps forward, saying it again, again. Remy, Remy, Remy, Remy Cain.

“Don’t wear it ou—”

His lips crush against hers, chest warm as he pushes her back back back into the wall. His hand flies up, cradling the back of her skull to protect it from the wall. Not a third time. Despite the softness of his hand, the way his fingers card gently through the short locks of her hair, his kiss is biting. A wet mess of clashing teeth and tongues as he works her jaw open, coaxing his way inside of her mouth. A rough exhale streams from his nostrils, warming the skin of her face. His breath tastes like Cointreau and lime, and she moans.

His hand slips up her thigh, trailing past that slit in her dress for the second time this evening, until his fingers are brushing against the front of her panties. Feeling the thick damp strip in the lace, the way the thin material clings to her centre.

“Fuck,” he exhales, and when he meets her eyes again his pupils are blown fat and black with desire. Moving fast, he tugs the gun from her holster. She pauses, eyes narrowing, but then he tucks it into the waistband at the back of his trousers, simply allowing space for his forearm to rest between her thighs.

The elevator thrums around them, stomachs dropping as the metal box takes them higher and higher through the building. A finger curls around the edge of her panties, dragging them to the side, and when he finally slides through her wet cunt she sighs into his mouth, every muscle in her body pulling taut and warm.

His touch is lax, almost taunting as he sucks her tongue into his mouth and traces a digit over the drooling mouth of her entrance, smearing it up to make a mess of her clit. When she moans he presses down; careful little circles there, messy figure eights, a sharp back and forth back and forth back and forth, trying to see what she likes best. And the second her eyes pinch shut, a low curse falling from her lips, the elevator dings.

His hand whips out, slamming against the red emergency stop button. The elevator jerks to an abrupt halt and then he’s on her again. Teeth at her collarbone, her neck, her jaw, fingers moving in a slick blur against her pussy. Her thighs splay apart, and she leans heavy against the wall, knees shaky, trusting him to keep her from falling to the ground.

“So fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, the words brimming with pride, and she trembles beneath his touch, needing more and needing it now.

“Inside,” she pants, lips parted and searching for his again. “Want your fingers inside me.”

Din swallows those words down, pressing two fingers inside of her with a groan. Remy gasps, bearing down on the weight of his fingers and shivering as he curls them inside of her. Stretching her out and grinding his knuckles against her entrance with every deep thrust.

“Yeah?” he goads, watchful eyes drinking in the way she moans for him, turning her face into her shoulder as if to hide how good it feels. “You like that, hm?”

Warm wetness pools out of her, dripping past his knuckles and onto the inside of her thighs. Obscene sounds fill the tiny space as he pumps in and out of her, and she catches herself glancing upward, searching for a security camera. She spots it in the corner just as he fits a third finger inside and grinds the heel of his palm against her clit, her mouth falling open with a rough groan. Her shoulders tilt forward, forehead knocking against his shoulder, and Din grunts, fucking her harder. His fingers never leave her wet clutch now, the tips of them persistently working against that soft spot at the top of her walls.

“Such a tight little cunt,” he’s saying, nipping at her earlobe, but the words blur and warble around the rushing in her ears. “Squeezing my fingers so good, you’re so good.”

She grips the back of his neck, squeezing desperately. Her jaw aches with the strain of hanging slack.

“Tell me,” he says roughly, growing impatient. Everything feels hot, too hot; the skin of her face against his shoulder, her chest, the sizzling tension coiling in her core.

“Close,” she chokes out. Din snakes his free arm around the back of her waist, steadying her loose-limbed frame between his body and the wall. “Just a little longe—ohhh, merde.”

He shifts then, the thick heft of his cock crushing against her thigh through their clothes. He presses a finger against her clit now. And that low rub, his calloused thumb paired with three thick fingers massaging into her, is enough to send her spilling over the edge.

A hoarse cry pries its way out of her throat, body shaking against his and he works her through it, still pressing down against the aching bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. She pulses around his fingers, everything pulling tight and wet around them as she comes. Teeth sink into the lapel of his jacket in an attempt to muffle her cries but his arm is dropping from her waist, hand coming up to grip her jaw and push her back.

“Let me hear it,” he purrs, voice like silk as it washes over the skin of her neck.

“Ohh,” she moans, uncaring now about the camera, about who will hear. Focusing wholly on his fingers on her face, her cunt, the way her entire world seems to shake within his grasp.

He holds her there, lets her shake and shiver beneath his touch until the ebbs of pleasure finally fade and she’s strong enough to stand on her own. Remy watches as he takes a small step backward, pressing one hand over the front of his trousers and three slick fingers past his lips to taste her come. Din’s eyes slip shut at the taste, lips pursing as he sucks the remnants of her from his skin. Flushed and awed by the intimacy of it, the depravity of it, she looks away.

Her fingers tremble against the button as she presses it, and the elevator shudders back to life around them. Another sharp ding rings out again, the doors sliding open within seconds.

A few paces down the hall, the key card slips easily against her door, and she presses it open, flushed as she steps inside and kicks off her heels. She discards them somewhere to the side, turning to watch him follow her in, toes sinking gratefully into the rough carpet beneath her feet.

The door slams shut behind him and he tears his jacket off, letting it drop to the floor as he makes his way further inside. And he looks so much more intimidating like this, she thinks. Domineering as he advances on her, the thick length of his cock evident against the front of his pants. Despite him aiming a gun at her less than an hour ago, despite the way he slunk through the shadows to follow her back here, this is the first time all evening that she’s felt eager to bend to his will, his desire. Her heart races, thudding heavily against her ribcage, and he grins wickedly at her, as if he can fucking hear it.

They collide in the middle of the room, slick swollen lips sliding against each other in a mess of harsh exhales and lewd smacking sounds. Her hands roam across the vast expanse of his chest, trailing down to cup him through his pants. He groans at the feeling, hips jerking forward, seeking more more more. He rips the gun from his holster and tosses it onto the bed, her Walther following shortly from the back of his waistband, and then his hands are on her too. Fat palms pawing at her body, gripping the meat of her ass and squeezing, trapping her against his chest so he can rut his cock against her stomach. Din grips the back of her head then, thumbs rough against the apples of her cheeks as his mouth devours hers.

Thick fingers drift from the ends of her hair down the nape of her neck, the curve of her spine, until they slip beneath the back of her dress. Distracting her with his kiss, greedy and lustful and dominating – she doesn’t notice his curious fingers until they’re curling around the fabric and ripping. Remy staggers backwards with the force of it, gripping his neck. He snarls into her mouth, following her to the ground as she falls. The breath rushes from her lungs and her tailbone aches from how she lands but she doesn’t care. Doesn’t even care when Din straddles her waist, chest heaving, and continues to tear satin and silk from her body. The black material practically shreds in his hands. So thin and delicate, the threads fall apart with every twist, every yank, until he’s prying the ruined dress away and throwing it towards the bed.

Remy’s fingers work hastily to undo the buttons on his shirt, but just as she reaches the fourth one, he’s gripping her hands, pinning them above her head. Din’s free hand works open his belt, the button and zip on his trousers, and then he’s dragging them down his legs, freeing the thick weight of his cock. She gasps, eyeing the angry red tip hungrily. He’s thick and long and leaking against the white material of his shirt. Her hands push against his and she grunts when he simply tightens his grasp on her, the friction of the coarse carpet harsh against her skin.

“I let you have your way back there,” Din says, eyes blazing. “Are you gonna let me have mine now?”

Her body stills, wholly captivated beneath the heat of his gaze, the weight of his thighs over her hips.

“Yes,” she exhales, mind a blur, limbs still loose and heavy from her orgasm. “Yes, Din, just fuck me.”

“The Guild are gonna have my fucking head for this,” he mutters, fingers falling from her hands to rest heavily at the waistband of her panties.

Remy isn’t sure if he’s talking about Meier or her, but she doesn’t fucking care. What happens to Din after tonight is not her problem.

He toys with her for a moment, tickling the skin around her navel, above the band of her panties, before his fingers hook around it and—snap. She flinches as the material is torn away, her skin pinching beneath the lace.

She stares up at him, clad in nothing but the pale material of her bra now. He watches the way her chest heaves beneath it, nipples painfully stiff against the thin lace.

“It was the right thing to do.”

“I know,” he snaps angrily. He shifts back, moving down her body until he can pry her legs from between his, spreading them open on the carpet to display her glistening cunt to him. The sight seems to stem his anger a little, jaw going loose as he gazes down at the shiny swollen mess of her.

A thick thumb swipes through her folds, pinching one of them back to hold her open for him to ogle at.

“Such a pretty little cunt,” he tuts under his breath, thumbing at the flesh between her clit and her hole.

Her face heats, heart stuttering in her chest a little at this feeling of exposure. Can feel the intensity of his stare practically inside of her the longer he looks, waiting for something.

“So take it,” she says finally, patience thinning.

She fists his shirt in her hands and tugs him forward, breath hitching when he grips his cock and jerks it slowly, smearing her wetness down the length of it before notching his tip at her entrance.

He pushes inside of her in one fell swoop, hardly giving her a moment to adjust to the fat girth of his tip before he’s pressing deeper. Lips on lips, sucking the breath from her lungs, their kiss vibrates with the strength of his groan. It tastes like relief, like understanding. And for a moment it’s just that. The thick weight of him seated inside of her, his chest against hers as they kiss lazily, sloppily, smearing spit across each other faces, tasting beneath tongues, behind teeth.

“So fucking tight,” Din bites out, forehead heavy against hers.

“Mm,” she whines, face screwed up.

A dull burn ricochets through her abdomen, the stretch more than she’s taken in a while. Remy wills herself to relax, but desire has her core tightening around him, sucking him in further and further until the coarse hairs at his base are flush against her clit and there’s nothing more to take. She loops a leg around his waist and ruts up against him, and anything soft about him vanishes.

Din’s thrusts are punishing. Hard and fast, the weight of his hips rocking her into the ground over and over, until she can feel carpet burns forming at the base of her spine, the soft skin of her ass. Every slick pass of the heft of his cock punches the air from her lungs and has her eyelids fluttering.

It’s greedy, the way he fucks her. Like he’s had it before, perhaps in a past life, and been deprived of her touch for years. He fucks her like he misses her. Like he loves her or hates her or something dark and grotesque in between the two emotions. Like if this were the last thing he ever got to do in this lifetime, then he was going to do it right.

So she says, “Harder,” and he grits his teeth, fucking her into the carpet until she’s sure there’ll be littles scrapes and bruises on her back in the morning.

The tip of his cock brushes near to the end of her, and every little nudge there has her gasping in an intoxicating medley of pain and pleasure.

“There?”

“Yes,” she begs. “Fucking—yes.”

Din works her open like it’s his fucking job. Settles on his knees and drags her ass up onto his thighs, splitting her open with every brutal thrust, hands fitted over her waist in a vice.

Up close like this she can see past the collar of his shirt. Can see thick raised lines on his skin, pink and purple scars beneath his collarbones. She reaches up and lays a hand there, feels his heart jack hammering against the marred skin, and moans his name. Din, Din, Din.

And he likes that. Releases an almost pained moan at the sound of his name on her lips, leaning down to attach his mouth to her neck. He bites and sucks and kisses, leaving a trail of deep dark marks from the hollow of her throat to the hinge of her jaw.

“That’s it,” he snarls into her skin, hand lowering to press down above her mound, and that mixed with the sound of his voice makes a fresh load of slick gush out of her. Pushes her deeper into this depraved, endless pit of pleasure he’s raining down upon her.

He tells her again, say it again, and she cries out Din, head lolling back against the floor.

Something fierce begins to brew inside of her. A bright white twisting feeling that frays and sparks like a live wire, stoked by the speed of his movement, the firm press of his hand against her lower stomach. And just as she thinks she’s there, almost there, so close, a shrill ringing comes from the sofa to their left.

Din’s hips stutter against hers, head snapping to the side to pinpoint where the interruption emanates from. A little pink phone rings and rings, the sound piercing through her ears and setting her teeth on edge. She taps his chest quickly, urging him back. He frowns, opens his mouth to tell her no, tell her ignore it, but she pushes him harder, again and again until he slips out of her with a haggard moan.

He grips her waist and turns their bodies, landing on his back with a thud. Eyes trained on his face, the dark red blush on his cheeks, his swollen mouth, she reaches out blindly, snatching the phone from the receiver and putting it to her ear.

“Allo?” Remy breathes, eyebrows pinching together as she sinks down onto his cock, free hand splayed on his stomach. “Bonjour.”

He props himself up in a seated position, resting back on one hand while the other comes up to grope at her chest. Cocky asshole. But her eyes glaze over as she takes in the tanned skin that peeks out of his shirt again, the soft smattering of hair between his pecks. Legs spread out wide on the carpet, he watches her bounce slowly on his cock, nodding in encouragement but careful not to speak, lest he be heard down the line by her handler.

At this angle his tip presses into her g-spot with every movement. It only takes a moment for that low burn to start up again in the base of her stomach. Her mouth is open wide, ragged breaths spilling from her lips as she listens to the words being spoken down the line.

She says, “Ouais, c’est fait.” Yeah, it’s done.

Din’s fingers flex around the cup of her bra, tugging down the fabric to let one of her tits spill out. He sighs heavily, leaning forward to latch his mouth onto the skin there. Lathing hot, messy kisses against her sternum, her nipple, and then grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud. She trembles against him, hand coming up to grip the back of his head and hold his face there. He sucks it into his mouth, pulls it taut between his lips before letting it slip out with a wet pop.

“À bientôt.” See you soon.

She hangs up the phone with a rough clang, and then her mouth is seeking his out again. Teeth clash and she moans at the sharp pain, uncaring. Din’s grip on her waist tightens and he plants his feet on the carpet, fucking up into her at a break-neck pace. She cries into his mouth, a harsh animalistic sound, and her stomach is pulling tight, cramping up. Her cunt locks down around him, and when she comes it’s a low throb of a feeling. A deep swooping ache that spills from her core and spreads out through her thighs, her stomach, until her body is jerking and twitching above him.

“Fuck yes,” he grits out, white teeth flashing in her hazy vision. He doesn’t give out, spitting a mess of that’s it, fucking give it to me as her pussy flutters and drools around his cock. Her hips roll and stutter over his, the muscles in her stomach twitching beneath the skin, and Din swears under his breath. Her vision whites out, throat hoarse and head pounding as she succumbs to the pleasure. And he feeds off it.

“God, look at you,” he grunts, prolonging that low burn in her gut the longer he fucks into that softest warmest little spot. “Made to take this cock.”

“Say it,” he rasps urgently, eyes rolling back when her hand grips his throat for purchase, nails digging sharply into the skin over his thrumming carotid. “Say you fucking want it.”

“I want it,” she moans, back arching, knees on fire where they slide against the carpet at his sides. “Want your come, Din, fuck—fuck, give it to me, give it to me.”

His body practically vibrates as he comes. A thousand tiny little twitches and spasms rocking through this frame, the muscles in his thick thighs turning to tense stone beneath her. A gravelly shout falls from his lips, cock kicking hot and hard against her walls until she feels his spend begin to seep out of her around his length and pool around his base.

It’s almost frantic, the way his hands clutch at her body, clinging to any part of her that he can. And when she thinks he might pull her closer, press himself deeper to keep painting the inside of her walls, he pushes her away, dragging himself from her clutch just to grip his length in a tight fist.

He strokes himself in tight wet movements, a few final weak spurts of his come shooting up to land over her mound and the swollen lips of her pussy. And only when he’s done, spent cock beginning to soften in his palm, does he pull her down a little. Resting wet hands over the base of her spine to feel the way she shivers, body shuddering its way through the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Remy’s chest expands with stilted, ragged gasps for air, trying desperately to fill her lungs as she folds against his hot thick frame, exhausted.

And after a few moments the foggy, erotic blur that held her mind in a vice for the past few hours slowly begins to lift. Din’s hand is on the back of her thigh, fingers splayed, tickling the skin there, and the weight of it suddenly itches. Reality drifts back in and it feels heavy on her shoulders. The clock beside the hotel bed reads 9:12 – her flight out of Berlin leaves in two hours.

His hand drifts up her back, nudging her down to rest her head against his chest. Her body aches suddenly; dull pains popping up in her neck, her jaw, her hips. She remembers the way it felt to have his palm strike her chin and almost smiles.

A metre away, her suitcase lies spread open on the floor. Clothes and lingerie and a gun peek out of the red trunk. She can see two passports beside it, stacked neatly atop one another. And she knows that his hotel room can’t look that dissimilar from his own, but it feels too much now. As their breathing starts to even out, vision swinging back into focus, this level of intimacy – having another person, even a colleague of sorts – seeing behind the scenes of what after looks like for her… it feels like a splinter in the tip of her finger. A sharp sting that won’t go away. Wrong.

Remy rests her chin against his collarbone and glances up at him. Din’s eyes are closed, lips parted as soft breaths puff out from between them. He looks tired – almost as tired as she feels.

“I’m going to shower,” she tells him, fingers brushing curls back off his forehead. His eyes are soft, warm as they open to watches her stand. Too much, that look in his eyes. Too close. “Be gone when I come out, okay?”

Remy turns, back to him as she grips the handle of the ensuite door, and for a moment she pauses. Feels the weight of the silence between them, the heady scent of sweat and come in the air, on her skin, and glances over her shoulder. Looks between him spread out on the floor and her things dotted across the room. An empty martini glass lying on its side. The blush-coloured rotary phone on the hotel sofa. Passports with different names, birth dates, home countries, addresses, and her face. She knows that has to be firm now.

“Don’t give me a reason to kill you, mon chére.” My darling.

Din’s lips curl up into a smile and his eyes drift up to stare at the ceiling. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She slips inside the bathroom and pulls the door almost closed behind her. Twists a nozzle until water is beating down against the floor of the shower and steam begins to fill the room. Silently, she pries open a cabinet and slips her hand beneath the sink, feeling around until her fingers grasp the pistol strapped there.

Bare skin of her back flush to the wall, thighs still wet with come and sweat, she peers out through the crack in the door. Still ajar, she can see him past the wooden frame. Sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her, looping his belt through the waist of his trousers. With her eyes trained on the soft skin of his neck, on messy curls, on shoulder blades and biceps that bulge out against the thin material of his dress shirt – she leads a silencer into place over the mouth of her gun. A rhythmic repetition, the exact same as earlier. She doesn’t even need to look down. Pin meet groove, twist, twist, twist.

Din slips his arms inside the suit jacket, elbows bending as he smooths his palms along the front of it. She holds her breath as he turns, as he takes three steps toward the hotel room door, and then—pauses. Hand on the doorhandle, he does not move.

Remy’s finger rests featherlight on the trigger.

She is calm. What happens next is his choice.

And he must know this because he does not turn around. Does not try to catch one last look at her. His fingers curl around the handle and he slips out the door, closing it was a soft click behind him. The air in the room rushes to fill his sudden absence.

Only when there is silence does she exhale, dropping the pistol onto the marble countertop beside the sink. And she smiles as she slinks beneath the hot spray of the shower head, letting it rush over the crown of her skull and drench her hair.

Her scalp stings and pink water swirls in the drain, blood slipping from a little cut on the back of her head. She pays it little mind, tilting her chin up so the scalding water hits her face too, stripping away a thick layer of sweat and blood and secrets from her skin. The silence stretches, and her smile grows. He does not come back.

Smart choice, Din Djarin.

thank you so much for reading! x

#i know the fire brigade probably gets called when you hit the emergency stop in an elevator #but this is a fantasy land where i get to make the rules #my writing #fic: raising cain #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin au fanfic #din djarin x ofc #din djarin smut #din djarin fic

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blu3m00ny · 1 month

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evan and regulus speak fluently french and use it when they talk to each other and it drives james and barty crazy.

imagine barty and james listening to them talk like “idk what they’re saying but I’m so turned on rn”. they hate not being able to participate in the conversation but they find the langage so hot. so they just both sit in silence, fuming next to each other, and regulus and evan laugh at them (in french ofc).

also, kinda off topic but do english speakers really find french sexy? like?? as a french speaker, I’m confused.

#marauders #dead gay wizards #regulus black #james potter #jegulus #starchaser #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #bartylus #evan rosier #sunseeker

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nataliesfirefly · 2 months

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You and I Walk a Fragile Line - Farleigh Start x F!Reader - Part 4

a/n: hey everyone! i know it's been a while but the next part is finally here! not sure how many parts i want this to be bc i dont want to fill up the tag, still waiting to make an ao3 account haha- but anyways im getting a taglist started just of people who have shown interest in this series, if i put you on it and you don't want to be on it just let me know. and ofc if u want to be on it lmk! i also made a playlist if anyone wants to check that out :))

playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/60Kll9HCoQru14J18bT21C

series masterlist

word count: 3.9k

warnings: language, suggestive stuff?, alcohol, smoking, emetophobia

Things are extremely awkward with Felix. He’s too nice to kick you out of Saltburn, yet he’s too prideful to apologize, so you two are stuck dancing around each other with small talk and short interactions.

Things with Farleigh, on the other hand, are surprisingly good. You never would have expected how close you two became in the past few days. In fact, you can’t remember the last time he insulted you, at least not in a playful way. You must have bonded over your shared dislike for Felix at the moment.

But for some reason, you worry if you get too close, he might push you away.

Tonight was dinner with all of Sir James’s friends, and as the Cattons tend to call them, the Henry’s. The actual dinner was full of awkward conversations with people much older than you about the future of your life and what you were going to do after graduating college. You actually had no idea what your plan was or what you wanted to do with your life. You used to push all the questions away and blamed it on the fact that graduation was pretty far away. It only recently dawned on you that you would be graduating in about two years.

After dinner, you sit in the dimly lit living room with Farleigh on the couch as everyone else participates in karaoke. You and Farleigh snicker at some of the guests’ performances, whispering things to each other as if you are judges of some competition.

Eventually, Farleigh sighs and stands to his feet. “I’m going to go smoke,” He tells you, putting his hands in his pockets. He turns and looks at you expectantly. You take it as his way of asking you to come with him, so you stand up and snatch the bottle of wine you were drinking off the coffee table.

You follow him up the stairs, down the long, dark hall and eventually into his bedroom. He shuts the door behind you and draws out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lights one. “At least open the window,” You walk over to the window and open it to let the smoke out.

“Oh, right. Cause you hate the smell so much.” He rolls his eyes at you as he exhales some smoke. “Weren’t you the one that asked me for one of these the other day?” He points the cigarette at you and you glance down shamefully.

“Yeah. I wasn’t at my best, okay?” You shake your head and slump down to the floor, leaning against the wall and stretching your legs out.

“Okay, sure, miss goody two shoes.” He chuckles and sits down next to you. You take a swig from the wine bottle and sigh, leaning your head back.

“So, Felix…” Farleigh trails off and looks over to you. You continue staring up at the ceiling. “Can we not talk about Felix right now,” You reply, closing your eyes. “We need to,” He says, nudging you.

“What is there to talk about?” You ask, turning to meet Farleigh’s gaze. He presses the cigarette to his lips and inhales. “You said it yourself, that he only hangs out with me out of pity.”

As he breathes out, the smoke passes over your face but you don’t care. “And what’s your problem with him? It seems like you’ve been waiting for someone to turn on him so you could join in,” You continue, and his eyes tell you that you’ve just read him like a book.

He quickly recovers and remains expressionless. “You’re projecting,” Farleigh responds. “Then why have you been so nice to me?” You ask.

The room goes silent and you are stuck in a moment where time doesn’t pass, it’s just you and Farleigh. His usual cold and dark gaze is replaced by something softer, warmer. Something in the air shifts and you can feel some kind of tension rising.

But then he looks away, breaking eye contact. “Because Felix is just stupid sometimes,” He finally replies, nodding toward the bottle of wine you are holding. You hand it to him and your fingers brush against his.

He takes a drink. “I don’t think he ever had bad intentions. He’s just an idiot,” You consider this. Maybe he’s just extremely out of touch with reality like the rest of the Cattons.

There’s a pause as you think of something to change the subject to.

“So… How about that Sadie girl?” You ask, turning to him with a grin. He gives the wine back to you and you take a quick swig.

Elspeth is, for some reason, attempting to set Farleigh up with a daughter of one of James’s friends. Her name is Sadie, and she is very pretentious and fake, from what you can tell. You hadn’t spoken to her, but you watched from afar as she and Farleigh engaged in a conversation.

“She’s alright,” He shrugs and stands up to press the cigarette out on his ashtray. He sits back down next to you and sighs.

“She was like, hardcore flirting with you,” You chuckle and observe his exasperated expression. “Oh, I know.” He smirks smugly and you roll your eyes.

“That’s weird, usually you hook up with someone the moment they show interest in you,” You smile at the way he frowns slightly. “That’s not true,” He furrows his eyebrows and glances at you. “Okayyy,” You say sarcastically.

A while later, you are still upstairs with Farleigh, but you are now feeling the effects of all the alcohol you’ve consumed. You both had gone downstairs to steal more booze, and you ended up drinking almost all of it. Your whole body feels tingly and warm, and your brain is fuzzy.

You run a hand through your tousled hair and sigh, turning to check if Farleigh is as wasted as you. He seems slightly better off than you, but his dark eyes are half lidded and glossy.

“Do you ever miss Sasha?” He glances at you, seeming surprised at your random question. Sasha is Farleigh’s ex from Oxford, who he had endured a tumultuous and rollercoaster ride of a relationship with. You had met her once or twice, she seemed kind, but slightly possessive.

“Sasha?” Farleigh repeats her name and takes a moment to process it. It seems like memories are returning to him and replaying in his head.

“Sometimes. But not really. She was crazy,” He raised his eyebrows and stared straight ahead. “You guys broke up and got back together, like, ten times,” You giggle foolishly and he turns to look at you, slightly offended by your amusement.

“It was too hard to keep up with,” You sigh after your laughter subsides.

“I didn’t know you were keeping up,” You make eye contact once again with Farleigh, and this time his gaze is more intense. You can’t tell if it’s one of his usual sarcastic comments or if there was an underlying meaning behind his tone. Your face burns red with the realization that you had been studying his relationship so closely. But, really, everyone in your friend group knew about Sasha and Farleigh’s dumpsterfire of a romance. Break up, random hook ups, they said they love each other, then they argued again.

“It’s just.. what friends do,” You reply, your speech slurred. “Friends keep up with each other’s relationships.” You shrug and wave your hand as if to dismiss the seriousness of it.

“You consider me a friend?” Farleigh chuckles, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, what if I do?” Your voice comes out softer than you intended.

There’s another long moment of silence and prolonged eye contact between you two. The tension is so thick, you can feel it in the air and your heart pounds. It’s almost like you are waiting for who will make the next move. Your brain is all muddled and you can’t seem to think clearly.

Your eyes flicker down to his plush lips and you can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or not, but your instinct is to kiss him. You grab him by the face, a hand on either cheek, and pull him in, smashing your lips together sloppily. You pull away, shocked at yourself, dropping your hands into your lap as your lips hover over his.

You expect him to be disgusted and stand up and walk away, but there’s a slight pause before he is grabbing you and pulling you back in, kissing you almost aggressively. Like he’s been starved, like there’s not enough of you.

You squeak with surprise before you melt into him, softening as one of his hands travels down to your neck and the other settles on your waist. You both have to gasp for air in between sloppy kisses, but you don’t mind. Your heart races and your hands travel up into his hair, running your hands through his unruly dark curls. You find that you’ve been waiting so long to do that, to feel his hair in your hands.

He bites your lower lip and your eyebrows pinch together. “Sorry,” He mumbles, although his voice disappears into your mouth. You feel yourself losing balance and beginning to fall back onto the floor.

Before you know it, he’s on top of you, refusing to stop kissing you. It’s messy and you know you’re both drunk, but damn does it feel good. The tension feels like it’s being lifted off of you, and it’s relieving. You don’t know how long it will last but hell, you’re enjoying it. Both of his hands have moved to your hips and his fingers are pressing into you.

You feel his lips move from yours, moving down from your jaw to your neck. He’s kissing and sucking on your skin so passionately that you know you will have bruises tomorrow. You moan quietly and you hear him groan in response, his low voice vibrating against your neck.

You attempt to catch your breath as you suddenly feel something in your stomach, something unpleasant. Saliva begins to build in your mouth and it’s like you have an internal clock telling you how much time you have left before you absolutely hurl.

“Far-Farleigh,” You place your hands on his shoulders. You whimper and slightly push up on him. He glances up from your neck, staring up at you in confusion. You can’t deny that you enjoy viewing him from this angle, but you have other concerns at the moment.

“Gonna throw up,” You manage to get out before he’s rolling off of you, allowing you to get up. You clamber to your feet and scramble into the connecting bathroom, barely making it to your knees in front of the toilet before you throw up.

You grip both sides of the toilet for support as you practically spill your guts, coughing loudly. You would have liked some help or something from Farleigh, but it seems like he has just left you here to deal with it yourself.

You groan and wipe your mouth, sitting up and staring straight ahead in some sort of daze. You eventually come to your senses and stand up, flushing the toilet. You feel dizzy so you grab onto the counter of the sink to not lose balance, catching your reflection in the mirror.

Your hair is very messy, and your mascara is slightly smudged around your eyes. Your cheeks are warm and rosy, but in an unflattering way. You look like a wreck.

When you walk back into his room, he’s gone. You sigh in frustration and press a hand to your aching and pounding forehead. Somehow, you stumble back to your room and flop onto your bed. You managed to avoid the small number of guests left in the house, along with Venetia and Felix. You just want to get some sleep after the shitshow that just happened. And you know you’ll be paying for it in the morning.

2 YEARS EARLIER

You, Felix, and some of your other friends were gathered at the pub on a Friday night. There was chatter and the smell of cigarette smoke all around you. Felix returned from the bar and handed you a tall glass of beer.

You were focused on Farleigh and the girl who sat on his lap. Her hands were all over him, and he seemed totally enamored with her. She had a short skirt on and her wrists were covered in bracelets. She was pretty, you had to admit.

“Who’s that?” You asked, glancing up at Felix and pointing to the two. “Oh, that’s Sasha.” He replied. “She’s obsessed with Farleigh. And from what I can tell,” Felix sat down, pulling his chair closer to yours, “He’s liking it.”

You chuckled and took a sip of your beer. “Good for him,” You said, shrugging. “Bet they’ve already fucked,” Felix remarked and you snapped your head towards him. “Ew, Felix. That’s none of your business.” You made a disgusted expression.

“What? Everybody shags around here, it’s no surprise,” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Except you,” He added, grinning and nudging you. You rolled your eyes and looked back towards Sasha and Farleigh.

You didn’t want to imagine them… doing that. But for some reason, your mind kept trying to paint a picture of it. You shook your head to clear your thoughts.

You didn’t know why, but for some reason, you felt jealousy bubbling up inside of you. Why was it so easy for her to get what she wanted? You had liked a few men at Oxford, but you didn’t really even want a boyfriend or a commitment like that.

But as you watched Farleigh and Sasha’s hands intertwine, you felt envious.

“Hey, Felix, who was that guy you were going to introduce me to?” You asked, tapping your fingers against the table. “What? Oh, Joshua? I thought you said you didn’t want to meet him,” He replied. Felix was trying to set you up with one of his friends who seemed like a player. At this point, you didn’t care. It was like you were trying to prove that you could actually get a guy. Prove to who, though?

“I know. I changed my mind,” You said decidedly. “Well, he’s actually here tonight. Would you like me to go grab him?” Felix stood up and pointed towards the other side of the pub. You nodded. “Sure,”

You waited patiently and took a few swigs of beer for confidence. A minute later, Felix returned with a man who was a few inches shorter than him, with fluffy blonde hair and hazel eyes. Freckles were dusted across his nose and his skin was nicely tanned due to the warmer weather of spring. He looked sweet and innocent, but the rumors you had heard about him told you otherwise.

“Hello,” He greeted you, holding out his hand. You stood up to shake his hand, smiling as you introduced yourself. “Nice to meet you, I’m Joshua.” He grinned brightly and Felix seemed amused by the interaction.

“Hi, Joshua.” You tried to make a good first impression, although you weren’t good at this stuff. But it seemed like he was already interested, looking you up and down.

You both sat back down and began small talk about classes and life and friends. Felix left you two alone, but you’re not sure where he went. It was good, talking to someone new, but still a bit uncomfortable since you were so introverted. The conversation flowed nicely between the both of you.

You couldn’t help but feel like someone was watching you. You glanced up, seeing Farleigh’s cold gaze drilling into yours, flicking back and forth between you and Joshua. It was like he was waiting to see who would break eye contact first, and of course, it was you. Your gaze faltered down to the table and then back up to Joshua.

“You alright, love?” He asked, placing a hand on your thigh. You nodded and your face turned a shade of pink with embarrassment. “Sorry. Just thinking,”

“Hey, what do you say when we go back to my dorm? To just chill, relax, you know.” He tilted his head and you could already tell what he was implying. “Uh- Sure, yeah. Let’s go,” You smiled and stood up, grabbing your bag and walking past him toward the doors. He placed a hand on your lower back as you stepped by him.

You woke up the next morning unsure of where you were before memories of the night before came back to you. You were in Joshua’s bed, tangled up in the sheets, with your clothes off and scattered on the floor.

Your eyes widened as you realized you had lost your virginity to Joshua Brown. You sat up and scratched your head, not sure what to do next.

“Oh my God…” You whispered, looking down at Joshua, who was sleeping on his stomach, his face pressed against the pillow. It didn’t look like he was waking up anytime soon.

You stood up and winced as you realized you were a bit sore. You tried to be as quiet as possible as you picked your clothes up off the floor, hurriedly putting them back on.

Joshua stirred in his sleep and groaned, rolling over. You grimaced as you took your bag off of his desk chair, tip toeing to the door and opening it slowly.

You sighed with relief once you had closed his door behind you and you were safely out in the hallway. You know you probably looked like a wreck, but your main goal at the moment was to get back to your own dorm going unnoticed.

You heard your name being called, fairly close to you. You froze before turning to identify where it came from, and you swear your heart dropped to your ass. Farleigh was standing in the doorway of his room, which was conveniently right next door to Joshua’s, smirking at your frazzled state.

“You should work on keeping it down. I couldn’t sleep last night because I kept hearing you and Joshua.” He chuckled and you could feel your face heating up.

“Sorry,” You muttered, casting your glance downwards to the floor.

“You finally got some after all,” He teased. “Can you shut up?” You groaned, facepalming and shaking your head. “Oh, I will if you can figure out how to,” He raised his eyebrows. “Was it really that good?” He questioned.

You considered the question. You didn’t really know if it was or not, you were just trying to be loud because you thought guys liked that. Were you satisfied by the end? No. But Joshua certainly was.

He seemed to notice your puzzled expression and he nodded. “Oh. So the rumors are true about him.” You tilted your head with curiosity. “What rumors?” You asked.

“Oh, you poor thing.” He cooed sarcastically. You narrowed your eyes at him and crossed your arms. “Well, you’d better get back to your place so you can study,” Farleigh mocked. “Make up for that time you lost last night, huh?”

“Can you just not tell anyone? Please?” You knew it was useless asking him not to tell. He had the biggest mouth in the whole class. He just snickered at your pleading and stepped back into his room and shut his door.

That night you hung out with Joshua in his dorm once more, but you told him you didn’t want to have sex again. He respected your decision, so you were just drinking some alcohol with him and making out occasionally.

“Yeah, I don’t really know what I’m going to do with an English degree. I just had to pick something.” He shrugged. You were talking about your futures after Oxford and what you were both majoring in.

“Hm. Well, there’s a lot you could do,” You replied, trying to reassure him, although you weren’t too sure yourself. “You could be-” Your sentence is cut short by a loud moan coming from the room next to you.

“Ah, shit. It’s Farleigh and Sasha again,” Joshua shook his head like it was a regular occurence. “They’re usually at it for a while,” He informed you. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

Some odd, depraved part of you wanted to stay and listen. “No, that’s alright.” You shrugged. “Surely it can’t be that bad.”

The walls seemed paper thin. You swear you could hear every little noise, like the bed springs squeaking and the wanton sounds that came from Sasha. But then you heard something different. It was Farleigh, whimpering and moaning in a way that you couldn’t even believe what you were hearing. You didn’t know men could make sounds other than grunting during sex, let alone sounds like that.

“Oh fuck,” You heard him breathe heavily and Sasha was practically screaming at this point.

“Damn. They’re really getting into it,” You whistled and raised your eyebrows. Joshua nodded. “I wish I was as good as people say he is,” Joshua looked down. “What?” You asked as you tried to ignore the continuous noises. He was really telling you to be quieter earlier today?

“Farleigh. People say he’s really good in bed,” Joshua explained. You were surprised that he was okay with discussing this with you. “Oh.” You chuckled nervously. You didn’t expect that, but for some reason it made sense. “Was I bad?” Joshua asked suddenly.

You froze at his question and wondered if you should tell him the truth. “I mean… I don’t really… know the difference, you know? It was my first time, remember?” You told him. He nodded but you could tell he seemed hurt and defeated.

“Right,” He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck and you leaned back in your chair. You could say this was one of the most embarrassing moments of your life, having to listen to Farleigh fuck some girl while having an awkward conversation with the man you had a one night stand with.

The next day around noon, you were walking to a café near campus when you saw Farleigh walking ahead of you on the sidewalk of the cobblestone streets.

An idea popped into your head and you smiled mischievously, jogging to catch up with him. When you appeared at his side, he glanced down and made a face.

“Are you following me?” He asked, glaring at you as you fell into step next to him. “No. I just had a complaint,” You tried to hide the smile threatening your face. “What’s that?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Me and Joshua were trying to have a nice conversation last night,” You started, and his playful expression immediately dropped. “Maybe try to keep it down next time, right?” You grinned and he stopped in his tracks.

“You were there last night?” He seemed annoyed and a little bit shocked. “Yeah.” You nodded and stopped next to him. “I mean, I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts,” You laughed to yourself and he narrowed his dark eyes at you.

“And it wasn’t even Sasha as much as it was you–” “Keep your mouth shut,” He ordered, and you knew you got a rise out of him. “Practice what you preach, that’s all I’m saying,” You waved and skipped along the sidewalk, leaving him standing there in shock.

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