Loki | Episode 3 - Lamentis

𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕥 // 𝕖𝕞 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕩 𝕤𝕙

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 → your bedroom shares a wall with your roommate steve’s. unbeknownst to you, he listens in every night, fucking his hand to the sinful sounds you make while your boyfriend fucks you within an inch of your life

𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥 → riding, hair pulling, masturbation (m!receiving), drugs, pervert!steve, roommate!steve, listening in on sex(?), orgasm denial. choking, dom!eddie, dark!steve, lmk of anymore! 18+ ONLY

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤 → 965

𝕒𝕟 → babe wake up, ameliora-j finally posted a new fic

tucked against eddie’s chest as some random black sabbath album played loudly in an attempt to drown out the sounds you were letting out as his cock hit that heavenly spot inside of you repeatedly. your nails dug deep into the blades of his shoulders as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. “fuck eddie” you whimpered softly. you were riding him, but in truth you were quite useless in the situation as he was the one doing most of the work. the blunt the two of you had just shared left you pliant, allowing him to do all of the work.

“that’s it baby, can feel your gorgeous little cunt—fuck—squeezing me so nicely. so—shit—so tight” he breathed as he tugged your hair to pull your head back so that he could suck beautifully dark hues into your neck.

unknown to you, your roommate could hear each and every one of your gorgeously sinful sounds. you sounded so wrecked. and he couldn’t help but wish it was his cock splitting you open every night instead of eddie ‘the freak’ munson. his pants and boxers were pulled down to his ankles, his hand wrapped tightly around his own cock, stroking ferociously as he imagined his hand was your pussy. he knew without ever seeing it that it’d be the most beautiful pussy he’d ever laid eyes on.

he didn’t even need any lube, the head of his dick leaking immense amounts of precum to make enough lubrication to easily guide his hand up and down. he’d learned your sounds, knew exactly what sounds you’d make when you were just nearing the edge and constantly timed his end to be with your’s, some nights edging himself for hours on end when munson felt particularly sadistic, forcing you to hold it in as he ravaged your poor little cunt. “fuck yn” steve grunted, unable to stop himself from bucking into his hand as he listened to your moans.

he felt disgusting. sick and perverted, but he just couldn’t stop himself. you sounded so beautifully fucked out, and he couldn’t help but wish he could see you. your hips stuttering and breathless pants coming out. your pretty little whimpers and the way you’d bite your lip to try and keep quiet. the way your eyes probably rolled back in your head when you fell apart. and the helpless little whines you’d let out when eddie told you that you couldn’t cum yet. those nights felt like a punishment for both you and steve, yet you’d never be able to know that you were punishing your roommate as well.

“eddie… eddie please ‘m gonna cum” you whimpered softly. you uselessly attempted to swivel your hips to get him back to that heavenly spot. his ringed hand wrapped around your throat, beautifully cutting off your air supply as he smirked up at you through hooded eyes.

“beg” he demanded simply. you whined loudly, tears cascading down your cheeks like a flowing river. you weren’t against begging, especially not in this state. you’d do anything to please eddie. to be his good little cocksleeve as he puts it. your head was swimming in lust and all you wanted was to cum. to fall gloriously off that cliff in a way that only eddie could make you.

so beg you did. stuttering and babbling out useless nonsense mixed in with pleas and his name. sobbing harshly from the exertion of holding back your orgasm as eddie looked up at you with a sadistic smirk playing on his lips. almost like he knew something you didn’t. “cum now.” he commanded “let stevie boy hear how gorgeous you sound when you cream on my cock.” you have no idea why he continued to speak, for the second he uttered the word ‘cum’ you were already falling apart. your pupils dilating so that no color could be seen except black and your vision going white as you screamed his name out in pure bliss, creaming on his cock just like he had asked you to.

steve’s ears perked up when he heard eddie say his name. he had no time to process it further, however, as his cock had already begun spurting the second he heard you scream out and bliss. “god fuck shit” he grunted loudly as he blew his load. he tried to be quiet, truly he did, but eddie heard it all. and listening to steve ‘the hair’ harrington cum simply on eddie’s command enacted his own orgasm. the three of you sat, steve in the room just behind the wall of your’s, moaning out in pure bliss as each of you rode out your orgasm.

steve had never cum so hard in his life. it went everywhere. spurting onto his abs and up to his chest, even making his thighs a sticky mess as his balls clenched up and his head weeped with small remnants of his cum. he whimpered quietly as he continued stroking, simply torturing himself as he rode out his orgasm. his hips bucking erratically, unable to decide whether his cock wanted more or less.

he squeezed his eyes closed. panting in an attempt to steady his breathing. “fuck” he breathed. the freak definitely knew steve was listening in on your nightly sessions with eddie. and steve couldn’t decide whether it was a good thing or bad thing.

meanwhile, eddie sat on the other side of the wall, trying to decide what to do with this new found information that the hair fucked his hand to the sounds you and eddie made in bed. he had both of you wrapped around his gorgeously ringed finger. knowledge is power. and eddie simply couldn’t wait to use this power he had over steve to both your and his advantage.

[follow my library blog and turn on notifications to be notified when i post a new fic!]

☾ ᴅʀᴜɴᴋᴇɴ ɴɪɢʜᴛꜱ ☽

ᴀ/ɴ: I am already back with a new fic for Sam. I am in a groupchat with some amazing people and I decided to write some ideas out that were thrown around. I hope you enjoy! Maybe I will do Alex or Elliott next... Anyway, thank you so much for your time! ✧

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x Reader (afab)

ᴡᴄ: 3884 words.

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: alcohol consumption, drunk sex, doggy style, cursing, unportected sex, drooling, exhibitionism, public setting, teasing, creampie, hornyness all around.

Sam’s mouth was watering, and the sole reason for it was you. Sam had fallen in love with you the moment you had stepped foot into Pelican Town yet had never managed to utter a single word about it. But now, the blonde was absolutely hammered, and that allowed him to shamelessly stare at you. Pupils blown, chest heaving and falling quickly, his eyes were focused on your ass while you were bent over the pool table, focused on your next shot in your game with Sebastian. The only thing that kept him from dropping on his knees and begging to be allowed to suck on those slender fingers wrapping around the cue was the fact that he still wasn’t sure if you liked him back.

When you wiggled your butt a little, a small groan passed his lips. It was desperate, and rough, making the attention of the room fall on him. “Are you okay, Sam?” You asked, worry in your voice. “Yeah…yeah…Yeah, ‘m fine… just gonn…you need help, dontcha? Winnin’ against Seb, I mean,” he slurred, pushing himself up on his legs, steadying himself using the pool table. Sebastian cocked his pierced brow; Sam sucked at pool when he wasn’t drunk, and now he was absolutely shitfaced. What help could he be?

Sam placed himself right behind you, pressing his crotch against you a bit, hoping – no, praying – that you didn’t catch on that he only did that to feel you against his growing buldge.

Though you were a smart girl. The feeling of his erection didn’t go unnoticed, but you kept up your pokerface. “I guess I could use a little help,” you murmured, voice coated in innocence. You leaned forward, smiling up at the oblivious Sebastian. “Sorry, I told you I haven’t played in ages,” you explained, directing the black-haired man’s attention back to the game. He shrugged nonchalantly, waving off your comment and watching you adjust the cue, but Sam had seemingly become hyper focused. He leaned over you, shaking hand gripping your wrist. He was so close, so close to you. He could smell you and feel you. If his mouth was watering before, now it was drooling. He had dreamed of this so often, having you bent over under him, and now he had, and you didn’t even notice his ulterior motives.

A thought that was disproved when he felt it. You pressed your ass against him, circling your hips just ever so slightly to cause friction. An accident? Sam didn’t care. The whine that slipped couldn’t be caught anymore; the despair obvious. The need to beg for you to at least let him feel you for one night, even just a single hour, maybe just put the tip in you if that was all you wanted to give, hanging onto his tongue by a thread. The only thing that kept him from speaking was a pair of attentive eyes that were placed on him.

„Ugh, drunk like that? It’s best he sleeps on the couch here, Jodi’s gonna flip otherwise… and I doubt I can drag his drunk ass up the mountain.”

“‘S…’s a bad position,“ Sam slurred in a weak attempt to explain himself, but he didn’t even really care. He cared about you, boxed in-between his wobbly arms. He could lean down, kiss your neck, suck on it. Leave his wet marks all over you – and who would stop him? “He’s right,” you mused, shifting yet again. This time you rubbed your ass from side to side as if to figure out how to stand, making sure to add pressure against his dick. Sam was creaming in his pants by now, his knees wobbling as he lowered his head. He licked his lips, hot breath hitting your neck.  The goosebumps that appeared made him want to drool all over you, but still, he cleared his throat and guided you into a sloppy shot. Trying to stay strong, not to make it too obvious. But fuck, your gentle grinding into his cock, the way you pressed into him – he swore his cock was about to burst right then and there for you, and if you kept it up, he’d cum in his pants in the saloon.

“Damn, Sam. You wanted to help her win, not make her lose. Maybe you should step back,” Sebastian grunted, an obvious edge to his voice, yet he would have never expected his best friend to actually growl at him in return. That was the only way the sound that radiated through the blonde’s chest could be described; it was deep and rough, almost threatening. Possessive, even.

While it shocked the other man, it sent a shock straight through your whole body. It was enough for you to put your cue away and stand up straight, giving Sebastian a small smile. “I think it’s time we get Sammy boy here to sleep.”

Perfect.

“I’ll take him to the farm, then. Until our ways part we are about halfway there, you can help me drag him.”

Sebastian sighed dramatically, but put the cue away, which probably signalled his agreement, or at least you decided to take it as such.

Both of you draped one of Sam’s arms over your shoulders and made the strenuous way up to your farm, Sebastian stubbornly staring ahead, while Sam was slumped between you. His cheeks were red, but the way you looked at him made him wheeze. The look that he gave you, so lustful and horny, eyes drowning in need, made your legs buckle every now and then, straining a grunt from Sebastian that now had to basically drag two whenever you did. “You sure you want him on your farm? I can stay over-“

“No,“ you interrupted, flashing him a quick, reassuring smile. “You’ve got to work with Robin tomorrow, and she will freak out if you’re not there. Besides, I have a guard dog, and if this fella acts up, he’ll be sent to the doghouse.”

Sebastian smiled a little and nodded, the thought of Sam sleeping in a small hut clearly bemusing him. Smacking his friend on the back, which almost sent the poor boy tumbling over, Sebastian turned. „Behave, you hear? Or I gotta whoop your ass.” With that and a wave, he began to make his way home.

Silence.

“So…,” you began when Sebastian’s silhouette had blended into the deep night, looking at the blonde hanging onto your shoulder. “What was all that about?”

“All…hicc… what about?”

“In the bar. You drooled on my neck.”  

Sam giggled at that, tilting his head back as his laugh became deeper. “Yea…that-…that probably was ‚cause I really fuckin‘ love you…an‘…an‘ cum in my fist every night thinkin‘ of fuckin…fucking you.”

If that wasn’t drunken honesty, you didn’t know what else would be. “But  I didn’t know hoooow to tell youuuu. So, don’t tell on me, m’kay? Don’t want ya to..hate me, ya know.”

Chuckling quietly, you pushed a strand of hair out of his, face, dragging your lower lip between your teeth. “You know who you’re talking to, right”

“Mh..course. My little farmer princess.”

“And you know what I did to you in the bar?”

“Mhhhhm. Was so close to cummin‘. Still…still am.”

“Do you know what could mean, Sam?”

“That… you suck even more at pool than me?”

You snorted, head tipping back as you laughed. Yoba, he wanted to lick down your throat, down your body, devour your cunt. He wanted to taste you so, so bad. He could have bet that you had the prettiest pussy he would ever lay eyes on, and he would make sure to worship it. With slow licks, the fast ones, by spelling his name on your clit and with your legs over his shoulder so he could get into as much contact as possible.

“No, Sam. I’m into you. I have been for a while. Didn’t you ever notice me flirting? Not even when I told you you should show me what else those fingers can do than play guitar.”

You could literally see the corks in Sam’s head reeling, trying to connect the dots of the information that had just been relied to him. “So…ya…like me back?”

You rolled your eyes, deciding that in this state, only actions seemed to count for Sam. Words took too long to process. You leaned down to kiss the man deeply - an opportunity he leaped at. His tongue immediately dragged over your lips, coating them with the taste of alcohol. The moan that left you was to his advantage, he shoved his tongue into your mouth clumsily, letting it run over yours, licking at it as if he was starving. His hands had found your body for support to stop himself from swaying back and forth. “Need ya…need ya so bad. This kay?“ He slurred against your mouth, pretty blue eyes staring at you, begging you without words.

You bit your lip and tried to steady Sam again, “Come on, let’s get to the farm, we can…we can-„ Sam’s mouth hit yours again, his teeth sinking into your lips gently. You moaned again, tugging at his hair, but your surroundings made you pull away and tug at him him. “Let’s get to the farm, I need you,” you ordered, setting a rather fast pace for drunken Sam.

He whined, begged and pleaded, but in the end, he strolled with you, legs buckling and wobbling, and the lack of blood in his brain seemed to make the short path to your house even longer. The fabric of his clothes rubbed against his buldge so uncomfortably, and the way your hips swayed when you walked brought him close to tears. He wanted you. He had wanted you for so long, he couldn’t wait any longer.

The moment you reached the bus stop, Sam dropped to his knees, almost making you fall over due to the sudden weight shift. “Sam! What are you doing?”

“Fuck…fuck, please. ‘M beggin’ you. ‘M so fuckin’ hard…it hurts so bad…shit, you look so pretty for me,” he gasped, rutting against his hand that he had rested in his lap. The moonlight hit you so perfectly…you looked so amazing. Amazing enough for him to throw his head back, now gripping his length through his clothes. “Pretty please,“ he added, helplessly looking up at you. You bit your lower lip again, your own knees growing weak. You could feel the wetness pool between your legs, and it was hard for you to not just let him have his way with you.

“But what if anyone is gonna see us? We can’t risk being caught. It’s not that far anymore…”

“No! No one will see us!” Sam cried, “I promise…promise I’ll be quick. I’ll be quiet. Anythin‘, princess. Pretty please. I beg you. Please. I’ll be good. Just…please.”

You seriously doubted the value of a completely horny, drunk and in love person’s opinion, but before you knew it, you found yourself on your knees, kissing Sam sloppily.

The blonde immediately pounced on you, pressing his crotch into yours, his hands seemingly everywhere. “So pretty,” he panted against you, kissing down your jaw, down your neck, and then he already lapped at your throat. You seemingly felt him everywhere at once, making you moan out lowly.  That only urged Sam on more. He wanted more. He wanted to hear you, smell you, taste you, feel you. He wanted you. No, he needed you.

“You know how often I’ve dreamed of fucking you?”

It was just a murmur against your neck on which he greedily sucked. “How often I’ve dreamed of holdin‘ you in my arms? Pretty baby, makin‘ you all mine.”

Sam had seemingly sobered up a little but that didn’t help much – he was was already intoxicated by you again.

He tugged at your pants and at his at the same time, trying to get them both off at the same time, causing you to laugh out breathlessly. He gave up his attempt and back, licking over his lips.

“Need you so bad,” he repeated while he unbuckled his belt, struggling out of his pants.

You licked your lips and opened the button to your pants much slower, pushing them down your long legs centimetre by centimetre. Blue eyes were glued on you; Sam’s mouth hung open as he watched you, tongue hanging out just slightly. He was pretty sure you could see his dick throb against his already wet boxers, but fuck, who cared? He sure didn’t. The hunger in his eyes made you shiver, no man had ever looked at you like he did, and you were sure he was already fucking you in his head.

“The panties,” he stammered, making you grin to yourself. “The panties. Please, princess. Take them off. You’re so wet already, fuck, please, I- am pretty sure I’m gonna die if you don’t.”

“You mean these?” You teased, gripping at the waistband and letting it snap against your hips. The blonde groaned, the force of the sheer lust hitting him almost making him drop forward again.

“You want them off?”

He nodded, eyes yet again filled with tears. “Yoba, please, yes…need…need to see your pussy.”

“Then take them off.”

Sam was incredibly quick to move, much quicker than you had deemed in the range of possibility, he did have a lot of drinks, but he was on top of you the moment you gave the go. He pushed your shirt upwards and messily pulled your breasts from your bra, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth. He trailed his tongue around it, before switching sides, his hand trailing towards your panties already. He let his finger glide along your slit over the fabric, growl escaping him upon feeling your wet spot. “All that teasing gotcha wet, huh?” He hissed, biting your nipple gently before he slowly licked down your cleavage, staying in-between your breasts for a moment longer, just inhaling deeply and leaving his love bites. You smelled so good, so sweet; it was hard to not get lost in his in his need. However, after a moment he picked up his journey again and licked down your stomach, until he finally reached the hem of your panties.

The night air began to fill with moans that tumbled out of your mouth, the eagerness you were treated with leaving your cunt pulsing. By now you felt a need similar to Sam’s, making you pretty sure you needed him all over you to ever think properly again, even though right now, you were far from it. He let his fingers run up to your exposed chest, gripping your nipples between pointer finger and thumb and rolling them gently. “Lift your butt,” he ordered, almost smiling to himself when you did. He gripped the lace of your panties with his teeth, slowly tugging them down. You shuddered when the cold night air hit your hot wetness, and Sam moaned lowly upon seeing your cunt.“ Look how beautiful. Such a sweet little cunt…all for me, isn’t it? All for my cock and me,” he rambled, having to sit back on his heels for a moment. The beauty of your almost naked body had him dangerously close to the edge, and he would have forever hated himself if his own dick cockblocked him right now.

“Sam-“

“Get on your hands and knees for me, pretty baby.”

You sucked in air through your teeth, eyes dragging down his body. He was hard as a rock, and you were sure his boxers were about to rip, so you slowly settled on your hands and knees. Maybe it was also because you just needed to be absolutely stuffed with cock.

You tried to wait patiently, even though your own need made that incredibly hard, but you couldn’t risk getting Sam distracted. His gaze seemed to burn holes into your back, making you shift around on your knees. Then you finally heard shifting and the gentle sound of skin smacking against skin.

“You are so ready for me, baby,” he murmured, his fingers spreading your drooling lips slowly. One of them pushed inside of you, low groan falling from his lips. He curled his finger and then thrusted it knuckle-deep, breathing in sharply upon feeling you basically pulling him in. You were so wet and warm… and he could finally get his dick into you. He couldn’t take it anymore. He was about to be ripped apart by the feelings tumbling around inside of him, and you were the only thing on this whole planet that would ease this ache he had for you.

You felt his finger leave you and whined, wiggling your ass in the air. Much to your surprise, a hand came down on your butt, forcing you to yelp out Sam’s name. “Teasin‘ me all night already,” he slurred, pressing his tip against your soaked hole. “And it worked…”

With that, he slowly pushed himself inside of you and the world seemed to disappear.

All he could hear was static, and the sound of his own heartbeat, mixing with your moans. He was pretty sure the world could explode and he wouldn’t have blinked an eye. All he could think about was how good you felt; despite only having the tip in, you sucked him in deeper already.

“This okay?”

You nodded eagerly, pushing back against his dick in a desperate attempt to get more. Yoba, you needed more. This time it was you that wanted to cry and beg for him, but Sam seemed to pick up your silent prayers.

His hips shoved forward eagerly; it seemed like your walls were made for his cock. You fit so snuck around him, cunt welcoming him with a wet sound. The two of you moaned and you had to rest your head on your arms to keep at least your butt up in the air for Sam, the promise of being quite long forgotten. Centimetre by centimetre Sam pushed inside of you, making sure to take his time, to really split you in two for him and only him. One of his hands was resting firmly on your hip, the other cupping one of your breasts. When he was balls deep inside of you, he abruptly stopped, his penis twitching violently inside of you. For a moment, you weren’t sure if he had just had his orgasm, and when you turned around you could see his eyes watering. You were about to ask, yet the thought was immediately cut off when Sam pulled back and rammed back into you.

Suddenly you could feel the weight of his upper body on your own as he angled himself to get better access to your sweet cunt.

“Mine, all mine,” Sam panted into your ear as he began to pick up a fast pace, humping you like an animal in heat. The sound of his balls smacking against your wet pussy and the way his pelvic bone hit your bare ass created sounds lewd enough for anyone within a kilometre to know what was happening. Neither of you cared.

You were a moaning mess beneath the blonde, and he was whimpering, close to sobbing your name. Sam sucked on your neck to mark you up, keep you away from dirty, greedy eyes such as his own, his cock bullying into you at a fast pace; your walls sucking him off so well. His eyes rolled in the back of his head when he felt you clench around him as he began to gently circle your clit.

“Like that, huh? Like when…I do this?” He snarled, licking his lips and kissing down your spine; a task that was rather hard given that his hard thrusts made your whole body shake.

“Sam!” You sobbed, trying to meet his thrusts desperately as if you just couldn’t get enough, and Sam was happy to deliver. He pressed you into his body and fucked into you as if his life depended on it, tongue hanging out and droplets of saliva falling on your back.

You swore you could see little fairies dance around you when Sam hit your sweet spot, this combined with his relentless spelling of his name on your clit made you approach the edge with fast steps.

Sam wasn’t much better – he was staring at his thick perverted cock vanishing into your pussy, spreading open your sweet little hole with each thrust. He loved to see how he forced wetness out of you with each thrust, and he swore to himself he’d make you cream.

“Sam, fuck, Sam! I’m gonna cu-cum!” You cried, the thought of if you could maybe wake someone with your needy cries for dick crossed your mind, but it quickly turned into arousal. You would love for people to hear how well Sam was fucking you, how mean he was to your cunt, snapping his hips back and forth mercilessly, accompanied by the sound of his skin smacking against your reddened ass that by now was sporting a red handprint. 

“Gonna cum, Sam, gonna cum!” You slurred, feeling his wet tongue trace patterns down the side of your neck again. White light flashed in front of your eyes, your toes curled up as you felt your face growing numb.

What the two of you didn’t notice was the text from Sebastian’s number that made the screens of your phones light up. Nice show. Make it less obvious that you want to fuck next time or send me videos so I can rewatch.

Sam’s whimpers and small groans had turned into dragged out whines, adoring how you let him fuck you out here near the bus stop. He wanted people to hear you. Show them you were his and his alone. He would have loved for each of the guys to see him ruining you, so they’d keep their hands off. Seeing how his cock vanished inside of you with each thrust, how his precum and your juices were mixing together, dribbling down his shaft. The thought of them seeing you sprawled out and crying for him and the feeling of you drooling all over his throbbing dick, begging for more was enough to push him over the edge.

His body tensed up, a cry of sheer pleasure was being bellowed into the night as his orgasm washed over him, his cock pressed deep inside of you. The feeling of his cum inside of you was too much. You sobbed his name, fingers wrapping around strands of grass as your body convulsed, the numbness that caught up to you soothing as you clenched around your lover’s dick, making it hard for Sam to move. The blonde gritted his teeth, his thrusts slowly slowing down as he hung his head; his breathing hard and laboured

You were lying beneath him, panting as well as your hand slowly searched for his. Upon finding it, you intertwined your fingers, and for a moment you two just sat there, Sam’s dick still buried inside of you, your hands interlocked.

“Round two when we reach the farm?” You whispered after a while, despite having his cum drip out of you as he pulled back slowly, making Sam smile like a lovesick puppy.

“Round two when we reach the farm.”

━ 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫

theodore nott x reader

author's note ⁀➷ welp, here we are ksksksks whipped for another slytherin man please send me theo requests i'm begging you and so is my brain. thank you to @lavendermaelk for discussing some of these with me! ♡

warnings ⁀➷ 18+ only - minors dni. smut headcanons are included.

Theo is more of the introverted lone wolf type. He doesn't feel the need to join a clique or belong to a certain group. He's in his own world most of the time.

Calm and stoic. Always. It takes a lot to get him to react in an overt manner.

Despite who his father is and his status - a son of a death eater, a Slytherin, and a pureblood aka a recipe for judgment from others - others find it hard not to like Theodore.

He's a loyal friend to Draco, Blaise, and Pansy and cares about them immensely.

The dad friend of the group. Always making sure all his friends are doing okay, immediately questions them if they aren't eating as much as usual, plans study sessions for everyone, always the first one done with his assignments and studying.

On the subject of academics, the man is extremely smart, rivaling Hermione except he's quieter about his intelligence.

He's naturally intelligent and perceptive so earning 'exceeds expectations' and 'outstandings' on his assignments require no effort on his part really, but he's held to very high standards by his father and is afraid to disappoint him.

Hard exterior, but a softie deep down. All he craves is warmth, something he hasn't had since his mother passed away.

Unfortunately, his father is unable to give him that.

But in comes you waltzing into his life - warm and bright like the sun - and suddenly Theo's world as he knows it is brighter.

He's very protective of you.

Like I said, he's very level headed and it takes a lot for him to get riled up.

But if someone even says your name with the slightest bit of malice he'll wreck the shit out of them quicker than their next breath.

He won't use magic either. Just his fists.

You're one of the only good things in his life and he'll gladly die protecting your honor.

He's such a romantic.

He's that boyfriend that plans super cute dates for you guys, takes pictures of you doing literally anything and everything because he wants every moment with you captured (plus he thinks you're too pretty not to photograph), takes care of you when you're stressed or sick, writes you cute notes in your notebook or on a sticky note that he'll stick in a book you're currently reading.

Just babies and spoils the shit out of you in general because you're his girl and you deserve it.

Clingy baby idc what anyone says

"Can I come with you to get your nails done?" "There's nothing for you to do there, bub," "Well, I just....wanna hang out with you so,"

He's protective, so he keeps your relationship pretty private.

Doesn't try to hide it necessarily, but he keeps it under wraps to avoid someone exploiting it.

Plus you're his and only his. No one else needs to know you guys' business.

Takes things slow with you at first, but once you've had sex he's pretty much insatiable.

Slow, possessive sex where the two of you are pressed tightly against each other, moaning into each other's mouths, your eyes fixated on each other's pleasure-filled expressions.

THE FREAKIEST OUT OF ALL OF THE SLYTHERIN GANG

It's always the quiet ones that are the freakiest and that applies to Theo 10000%

Will spit in your mouth and then look at you afterward like "🥺 do you wanna have dinner with me"

Breeding kink. Cannot wait to have little Theos with you because you're the love of his life and there's no one else he wants to start a family with.

Also, he just likes filling you with his cum, watching some of it ooze out of your hole and dribble down your thighs, and loves knowing you're walking around full of him.

In conclusion, literally the best boyfriend ever.

enough about the hair, lets talk about the hands

dark tom holland when ur both filming a sex scene but he actually fucks you in front of the directors, who are none the wiser

pairing: dark!tom holland x actress!fem!reader

warnings: smut (minors dni,+18) (non-con)

the tension was high on set the moment you walked in. it was the day for the sex scene in the movie with your co-star tom holland. he was a sweetheart on and off screen until you’ve found yourself in this situation. usually these sex scenes were meant to be fake in reality but that was not what was happening as of now.

you and tom were under the sheets, to not reveal much nudity on screen and if anything slipped you were still in skin colored underwears. nothing would happen right? it was just acting. those were what you thought to yourself before the scene until tom was actually sliding himself into you. 

“what are you doing tom?” you whispered in his ear so that no one else would hear it. it was actually against the rules to do such things in front of the camera because it would technically be pornography. 

“making everything more realistic, darling. remember, i’m a method actor.” the camera was rolling and he was actually thrusting into you instead of pretending. your eyes were shut and back was arched. 

“great y/n, maybe a little harder tom, make it more believable, yeah?” the director ordered and tom was smirking in your neck while also kissing your soft skin. as the cue came in he went harder and started to moan too. your moans were filling the set and you were scared people would find out what was happening in reality. 

your breath was getting heavier and tom’s smirk was getting wider. he was genuinely enjoying this, on the other side you were confused about this whole situation, it felt wrong in so many ways. he didn’t even tell you that he was going to fuck you on set for real. 

before either of you could finish the director yelled “cut!” that was when tom pulled out without making it obvious. he adjusted both of your clothes and acted like nothing happened. 

“let’s take one more take guys. are y’all okay with it?” the director asked and not letting you speak, tom jumped in to say “any scene with her is okay with me really.” he winked at you and all you could do was smile and nod. 

everybody’s talkin’ up a storm (act like they don’t notice)

summary: The one where the boys don’t know that Eddie Munson is dating the pretty assistant librarian that always helps them out. Dustin has a crush on her. Mike thinks it’s fake. Erica just wants to get home to watch Thundercats. 

“Uh, Eddie?” Lucas started, voice small. “Do you have someone over?” 

Eddie blinked. “Uh. Just my girlfriend,” he said flippantly, tossing himself onto the sofa and taking a slow drag of his cigarette. “Keep it down for a while, would ya? She had a long night.” 

There was silence. 

“Your what?”

warnings: none! wholesome fluff here lmao. a lot of d&d references – curse of strahd is a banger

Keep reading

A Christmas Special

summary: after Christmas Eve at Remus' flat, thick snowfall prevents you from going home. He's more than happy to host you

cw: mentions of alcohol, smut mdni, p in v, oral (fem receiving), praise, inexperienced reader, shy little idiots in love

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 11k words

Remus isn’t sure entirely how he’d gotten strongarmed into hosting Christmas Eve at his flat. James and Lily usually host, but James claimed that this year their house was in too much a state of “baby mayhem” to have any hope of being tidied enough for a gathering. He’s said it in such a lovesick voice Remus couldn’t push back for long, his friend’s happiness so potent it was like looking into the sun. Sirius had begged off quickly, saying that his “bachelor pad” was too small to have a group over. As usual, when Remus spoke last, the matter was settled before he’d gotten the chance to have much of a say. 

He’s made an effort to live up to the hosting legacy passed onto him by the Potters, but it’s a flimsy attempt at best. Thankfully, the snowfall outside is doing a fair amount of the work for him. Remus’ street is coated in fresh, gleaming powder, enough that the trees look weighted down with it and his neighbor had put her little dog in a knit sweater to go into the yard and do its business. It’s still coming down, the snowflakes visible in crisp contrast against the darkening sky as they drift lazily to the earth. 

Inside Remus’ home, the Christmas tree is nearly covered in tinsel to make up for his scant supply of ornaments, he’s run out of stockings to put up above the fireplace and has had to use one large sock (that one will have to be for Sirius), and he’s still stringing up popcorn when a knock sounds on the door. 

Remus is surprised (he’d told everyone to come at six, but that was only because he didn’t think anyone would actually show up until a couple hours after), but that dies away when he unbolts the door and opens it to find you on the other side. 

“Hi,” you say, teeth nearly chattering as Remus ushers you inside. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was worse than I expected.” 

“It’s hardly fifteen after six.” Remus takes your coat, tsking. “People do seem to become worse drivers around the holidays, don’t they?” 

“Well, I suppose not everyone on the road tonight might be used to driving in the snow,” you allow, ever forgiving. 

Remus smiles. “Merry Christmas, love.” 

Your face is already flushed from the chill outside, but he could swear it goes pinker as you unwrap your scarf, smiling back at him. “Merry Christmas.” You’re merry as can be, cheeks dimpling and eyes sparkling under the twinkling lights Remus is suddenly very glad he decided to purchase for the occasion. “Where is everyone?” 

“Well,” Remus says, heading back for the couch, “Sirius is hitching a ride with James and Lily, so if I had to guess I’d wager that James is just putting the finishing touches whatever food he’s decided to bring while Lily tries to rush him out the door. And then they’ll go to Sirius’ place and have to wait for him to finish wrapping the presents he undoubtedly just remembered today.” 

You sit beside him with a half-exasperated laugh. “I was thinking I’d be the last one here,” you admit, “but I’d forgotten how they can be when it comes to events.” 

Remus shrugs. “Easy to forget.” Lily is usually able to marshal James and Sirius most places on time these days, but the frenzy when they actually have things to prepare is inevitable; Remus has learnt to account for it. He reclaims his half-finished string of popcorn, clumsily stabbing the needle into another kernel and wincing when it goes through easier than expected, pricking his finger. 

“Oh no, did you hurt yourself?” you lean over, trying to see his hand. 

“No, just a scratch.” Remus has about a billion of them by now. He’s far from coordinated on a good day, but the unwise decision to have coffee earlier has resulted in shaky hands that make working with a needle somewhat hazardous. 

You watch him try again, and it’s really the distraction of your cute frown more than anything else that messes him up. His needle goes through the fluffy edge of the popcorn, stabbing him and giving the string hardly anything to hold onto in the process. The flake falls to his lap for his efforts. 

“Remus, your hand’s not a pincushion,” you say, and you weren’t yourself he’d almost think you were chiding him. You reach over, taking the needle and thread from him. “Here, let me do that.” 

“I didn’t mean for you to come here early so I could put you to work,” Remus protests, watching as you string up the next piece of popcorn with nimble fingers. Jealousy wars with admiration, but his esteem for you wins out. “You’ll never come back for New Year’s if this is what you have to look forward to.” 

You smile down at your hands. “Sure I will. You’ll still be there, won’t you? And I really don’t mind helping, it gives me something to do.” 

Remus smiles back even though you’re not looking. “Alright, well I guess that means I can start rolling out the gingerbread dough. Thanks, love.” He touches his hand lightly to the crown of your head as he stands, letting the urge to press a kiss there pass as quickly as it arises. He goes into the kitchen and a second later you decide to follow. Popcorn swishes against the floor behind you as you make your way over to the bar counter, sitting on a stool with the string trailing all the way back to the couch. 

“You’re making gingerbread cookies?” you ask, watching with eager eyes as he plops the dough onto the floured counter, rolling it flat. 

“Mhm. You like them?” 

“Never had one.” 

Remus feels his eyebrows inch upwards. “Seriously?” 

You look almost sheepish, as though this is a crime which you expect to be held against you. Honestly, you’re not far off; had James been here, you would have been questioned and scolded to hell and back, and then he would’ve made Remus give you some dough to try, salmonella be damned. 

“No,” you answer him. “We made ornaments of them in school, once, but we weren’t allowed to eat them. I always thought they were so cute, though, with the little people cutouts.” 

“They’re the best,” Remus agrees, pressing out the shapes and laying them on the baking sheet. “If you finish that quickly enough, I might even let you help me cut out a few.” 

“Yes!” you cheer, and he laughs as you start working quicker with the needle. 

“Don’t hurt yourself. The privilege of cookie cutting is not actually contingent on your labor.” 

“I know,” you say, but your hands don’t slow. Remus has barely finished filling his second baking sheet before you’re done, having made more progress in the last twenty minutes than he had over nearly an hour. 

Remus’ hip touches yours as he shows you how to give the cookie cutters a little shake in the dough, freeing the shape before lifting it and placing it on the sheet. It’s not a painfully difficult task, and still he’s impressed by how quickly you catch on. You’re a machine of efficiency. You seem to enjoy rolling out the dough almost as much as pressing out the shapes, falling into a quick, happy rhythm. Before long you’ve pushed Remus out of the way (Lily would be proud, he thinks), urging him to go and hang up the popcorn garland before everyone else arrives. 

You haven’t seen each other in over a month, both of you caught up in the hustle and bustle of the season, and you catch up as you work on your separate tasks. Remus talks to you about his job, the students who plague him and the ones he wishes he could take home after work each day, and how none of them had liked the film he’d put on the day before break. (“Mister Magoo’s is a classic!” you protest as Remus shakes his head. “They’re too young to get it,” he says. “Our classics are just old to them.”) You tell him about your new cat, and the sweater you’d crocheted her for the holiday which she despises above all else, and he promises to come over sometime soon to meet her. 

You’ve poured yourselves spiked eggnog and sampled a few ginger cookies (“They’re twice as good when they’re fresh,” Remus says. “Don’t let the others’ tardiness rob you of the experience.”) by the time the door bursts open again, Sirius of course not bothering to knock. 

“Hello!” he calls from somewhere behind a tower of presents. “Merry holiday to you, Moony!” 

You get up to help, and so Remus is compelled to do so as well, taking a couple sloppily-wrapped boxes from Sirius’ arms. 

“Merlin, it smells good in here,” James declares as he comes through the door, Lily carrying a beaming baby Harry on her hip behind him. James’ eyes fall on you. “Aw, you beat us here?”

Remus scoffs, setting down the gifts by the tree and leaving you to arrange them as you see fit. “Not a very difficult task, when you’re over an hour late,” he says. “You’re lucky Y/N’s good company, or I’d be more cross with you.” 

“Sorry,” Lily says as Sirius makes a dismissive sound, flopping onto the couch. “We had some trouble fitting everything in the car with Harry’s seat, and then Sirius—” she shoots him a glare, and he grins like she’s sweetly cooed his name “—wouldn’t leave without his hat, even though he’d lost it.” 

“One only gets to wear one’s elf hat every so often,” Sirius justifies, unperturbed. “I wasn’t going to miss the occasion even if it took me all night to find it.” 

“It nearly did,” Lily shoots back, but then James is at her side, having discarded his load of food and presents and now vying to hold Harry. 

“Come here, my handsome little guy.” 

“Used to call me that,” Sirius quips with his mouth full of gingerbread cookies, a heaping plate seeming to have found its way into his lap. 

Remus isn’t going to smile at that poor attempt at a joke, but once you laugh he can’t help it. 

“Only on special occasions,” James replies, taking Harry under the arms and hoisting him into the air. Harry laughs, and it’s probably the most contagious thing Remus has ever heard. Everyone smiles; James most of all, grinning ear to ear as he does it again. 

“He never lets me hold him,” Lily complains fondly. 

“Because I know how much you like seeing me with him,” James says breezily, making a face at Harry above him. “You’re mad with lust right now, Evans, don’t try to deny it.” 

“Sleaze,” Sirius says to him, the bell on his hat jingling when he tilts his head.

“I know you are, but what am I?” 

“I,” Remus says, “am hungry. And I’ll bet Y/N is too, since she’s very politely refrained from snacking much while we waited for you lot.” 

James' attention actually leaves his son for half a second to look at you and see if what Remus says is true, and you go instantly bashful. It doesn’t seem to matter how long you’re friends with them; having attention drawn to you will always bring some color to your cheeks. Lily comes to your rescue, ushering you into the kitchen like she needs somewhere to channel her mother hen urges while James is monopolizing Harry. 

“I hope you really are hungry,” she says, “because James has made enough bhaji to feed us all for a month.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Soon even James is stuffed and you’re all a bit tipsy on eggnog. Some of your natural anxiety fades as everything starts to feel slower and more fluid, your insides warm and soft as wax. 

“No, because it was so obvious,” Sirius says. He’s telling a story of a girl he’d seen at a coffee shop that he’s sure was enamored with him. James, naturally, agrees completely, but Lily and Remus aren’t so sure. “She did the—the thing. Y/N, back me up. When a girl makes eye contact with you and then looks off to the side, it means she’s not interested, but when she looks down, it’s because she’s nervous, right?”

You raise your eyebrows. “I think you made that up,” you tell him, tiny bits of laughter running in between your words. “Anyway, is her being nervous necessarily a good thing?” 

“She was nervous because she’s obsessed with me,” Sirius insists. 

“Or,” Remus says, “she was nervous because you were staring at her, and she thought you were going to follow her outside.” 

“And probably kill her,” Lily agrees. 

James’ eyebrows shoot up. “Merlin, you two are dark. Our Padfoot’s not putting out murderous vibes. He’s got too much boyish charm.” 

Sirius nods appreciatively, but Lily only shrugs, careful not to jostle Harry where he’s sleeping on her lap. “Girls have to think of those things.” 

“Gross,” James says, looking slightly troubled as he kisses the side of his wife’s head. “Well, I think she was in love with you, Pads.”

“Yeah,” Remus rolls his eyes, “he should show up at her house and find out. It’d be romantic.”

“And on that note,” James goes on, ignoring him, “shall we do presents?”

You all agree, and Sirius looks at James with an older brother’s entitlement. “Go ahead and distribute them, Prongsie.” 

James, well used to this, doesn’t even question it, scampering back and forth between the tree (which you can’t help but notice is somewhat lacking in the ornament department but quite sparkly) to deliver your presents at your feet. After a few rounds of this, you can’t stand it anymore and get up to help, laughing through the protests of your remaining three friends. (“He’s got it, love,” Remus says, and Sirius adds, “He’s got energy he needs to run off anyway.”) Between the two of you, the bottom of the Christmas tree is bare within a couple of minutes, small piles of presents next to each of your friends. You go to sit back by the pile meant for you, touched at the fact that you have a box from every person there. 

“S’not fair that James and Lily get to do couple’s presents now,” Sirius complains. “I’m going to start buying gifts for you like you’re one person, see how you like it.” 

The biggest pile is obviously for Harry, and you all start there, no small amount of eagerness in James’ expression as he tears open the first box. “The Velveteen Rabbit,” he reads aloud. “Wow, this is kinda hefty for a children’s book.” 

“Who’s it from?” Lily prompts, as if you don’t all already know. 

“Shit, I forgot to check.” 

“And that’s why we read the box,” Lily says slowly, and you get the sense this is a conversation that’s happened more than once, “before we start ripping, honey.” 

“It was me,” Remus volunteers, lips pulling into a half-smile. 

“Course it was,” James says, taking a break from sticking his tongue out at his wife to smile at Remus. “Thanks, Moony.” 

“You had the opportunity to get him Goodnight Moon,” Sirius tsks, “and you just let it pass you by.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, but then Lily says, “He already has that one,” and you watch as he tries and fails to suppress the shy smile that takes him. It shifts the scars on his cheek and lights his eyes with a warm tenderness. 

He looks especially pretty under the Christmas lights, you think. The warm glow suits him, bringing out the amber in his eyes and richening the various brown shades of his hair. It makes his skin look softer too, smooth even where you know he has stubble around his jawline. You want suddenly to reach out and touch it, and you’re glad you’re sitting too far from him to act on the urge. 

You’ve noticed Remus over the years, of course. It’d be impossible not to. You’ve always harbored a tiny crush on him, but you keep it shoved deep down in your gut where it can’t hurt anyone. You think the world of him, but you love your little group of friends more than anything else. You’re not unaware of the fact that Remus is a more crucial fixture in it than you are; if anything happened between you and it made things awkward for everyone, you’d be the one to go. 

“Aw, is this a hat?” Lily pulls something tawny brown from a box, and you realize they’ve gotten to your gift. “Oh my god, it has little antlers!”

You try not to smile too hard as she shows it to James and he coos, taking it from her hands. “No way, he’ll be like our little Prongsie! I’m going to put it on him.” 

“Don’t wake him,” Lily warns, but James waves her off.

“He can sleep through anything,” he says, settling the baby beanie on Harry’s head. Sure enough, he doesn’t stir. 

“Oh, that’s so darling.” Lily presses a hand to her chest. “Y/N, where’d you get this?”

You feel your face heat and hope the lighting is covering your blush. “I made it,” you admit. “I know we’re already well into winter, but I hope he can still use it a little.” 

“Um, he’s never taking it off. Like, ever.” James leans around Lily to press a smacking kiss to your cheek. You laugh, trying not to shrink in on yourself from all the attention. “Thanks, love.” 

Once all the cooing over Harry’s presents is done, the rest of the gift opening proceeds with decidedly less fanfare, though no shortage of gratitude. You get a bunch of purple eyeliners from Sirius (you’d complained to him a few weeks ago that they’d stopped selling your old one, and he’d been thoughtful enough to find you options to help decide upon new one), a cookbook from James and Lily (“Now you can stop eating all those frozen meals,” James tells you with a meaningful look), and a set of mittens from Remus (“They’re alpaca,” he explains. “Supposed to be extra warm, and your hands are always freezing.”). The rest of your gifts are received happily too, and then Remus’ living room is covered with the wrapping paper Lily had tried but eventually given up on getting everyone to put in piles as they went and you’re all starting to yawn. 

“Alright,” Lily says after a while, “it’s well past Harry’s bedtime, and ours, and I’m sure Remus would like his flat back.” 

“Booo.” Sirius lays back on the couch, letting his head loll over the edge of the armrest. “Domestic life has made you lame, Evans-Potter.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” James drawls, gathering Harry against his chest, “I saw you yawning, Pads. Let’s go.” 

You stand with the rest of them, going to find your shoes by the door. “Thanks for everything, Remus,” you say. “It was great.” 

“For a first time hosting,” James allows, jokingly prideful, “I suppose you did a pretty decent job. Big shoes to fill, and all that.” 

Remus smiles as he rolls his eyes, but it falters when his gaze settles on something behind you. “Are you all going to be alright getting home? It looks like it’s really picked up.” 

You follow his stare out the window. He’s not wrong. The unusually thick snowfall you’d arrived in has morphed into something that looks more like a blizzard, the wind whipping white across the black backdrop of sky outside Remus’ flat. 

James looks between the scene outside and his family once before seeming to make a decision. “Yeah, we’ll be alright,” he says, watching Lily as he talks. She nods her approval, and James’ voice becomes more solid. “We don’t have far to drive.”

Remus nods, still looking worried. His brows furrow as he turns to you. “What about you? Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” It’s the only answer in these situations, though you’re sure Remus would be alright with the alternative if you felt very strongly. “It doesn’t look too bad out there.” 

Remus casts another dubious glance out the window, and a particularly loud gust of wind whooshes past as if to spite you. “Are you sure? It looks pretty bad to me.” 

“Yeah,” James says, “don’t you live a bit far?”

“It’s not that far,” you fib, at the same time as Remus says, “She does.” 

You laugh awkwardly, pulling on your coat “It’s not. Anyway, I’ve driven in a lot worse than this.”

Lily gives you a small smile. “That’s hardly reassuring, babe.”

“You can stay here,” Remus offers, but you’re shaking your head before he’s even gotten the words out. 

“That’s sweet of you, but I can make it home.” You give him your most competent smile. “If I end up driving off the road and have to camp in my car, at least I’ll have fantastic mittens to keep the frostbite from my hands.” 

He gives you a deadpan look. “While I’m glad you’re excited to use my gift, I’d prefer to keep it from coming to that.”

“You can’t get in a crash and die on Christmas,” Sirius says. “It’d be, like, a super huge downer for us every year.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you insist. 

“Shortcake, I don’t care if we have to lock you in here,” James says, frowning in a way that doesn’t look particularly tough when he’s swaying back and forth to rock Harry on his chest. “There’s no way you can drive all the way to your place in this.” 

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, wrapping your scarf.

“Okay, you know I would never usually say this,” Lily says, gnawing on her lip as she watches the snow blow past outside, “but I think you should listen to the boys. It looks too scary out there to drive that far.” 

“It’s…” You look between them, your argument dying of futility on your tongue. James seems prepared to blockade you in Remus’ flat, and even Lily’s giving you a stern look. Your gaze lands on Remus, and the last of your resistance melts away.

“You really should stay here,” he says kindly. “Actually, I’d feel a lot better if you did. Okay?”

You sigh, slipping your scarf back over your head. “Okay.” 

“Phew!” Sirius says, pulling you into a one-armed hug. “Glad that’s settled. See you all soon, thanks for Christmas Moony!” 

“He’s so tired,” Lily says after Sirius is out the door. 

“Wiped,” James agrees, adjusting his grip on Harry so that he can wrap one arm around Remus’ neck. Remus leans down into the awkward hug, begrudgingly fond as he pats his friend on the back, then kisses Lily on the cheek when James moves to you. 

“Thanks for the gifts,” James says, grinning down at Harry’s knit antlers after he releases you. “He’s never taking this off.” 

“He means it.” Lily sends her husband a look as fond as it is weary as she hugs you. “I’ll probably have to bathe Harry when James is asleep so he doesn’t catch him without it.” 

Your face is feeling hot again. “I’m glad you like it,” you say with a little shrug, but your friends are used to your shyness and only smile and wave on their way out. 

And then the door shuts, and you and Remus are left alone in the quiet. 

“Are you tired?” he asks you, moving back into the living room. Lily had sneakily taken care of a good deal of the cleanup, but there’s still a few half-empty glasses of eggnog strewn about which Remus begins gathering. 

“Not really,” you answer honestly, beating him to the sink and forcing him to hand you the glasses to wash. “Are you?”

“No,” he agrees, and the look he shoots you has to be the gentlest form malice has ever taken as he takes up the dish towel and stations himself beside you. “Fancy a film?”

“Mmm, a Christmas film?”

“Obviously.” 

The dishes are finished quickly thanks to Lily’s interference, and Remus makes you some hot cocoa while you scroll through movies, calling out possibilities. The only conflict between you is your equal complaisance to whatever the other prefers, and you eventually settle on the first one you’d seen just to put an end to it. You take your cocoa gladly when Remus passes it to you, blowing gently while he settles a blanket over the both of you, your knees curled towards him and his one leg crossed over the other angling him towards you. 

The first few minutes of the film are spent in that contented quietude that the two of you so often fall into when you’re alone together, but then Remus asks you, “What is it?”

You look over at him. “Hm?”

“You’re frowning.”

“Oh.” You laugh. “I’m just thinking about snow.” 

His lips quirk. “It is kind of the bane of your existence tonight, isn’t it?”

“No.” You smile down at your hands, hoping it's not obvious how not unpleasant you find your circumstances at the moment. “That’s not it. I was thinking, I kind of hate how it always has to snow in these movies. It makes any Christmas where it doesn’t snow feel like it’s not up to par. Or not quintessential enough, or something.”

“Mmm, I see.” Remus looks back to the screen, considering. “Does that make this your quintessential Christmas, then? Are we living up to the movie standard?”

You watch him while he watches the TV, blue light cast over his handsome features. “I guess so,” you say.

The longer you sit there, the closer you get. You blame it on the late hour, your bodies relaxing towards each other on the couch. Remus’ arm brushes yours when he lifts his mug for a sip, and your knees dig into his thigh under the blanket. Soon you’ve drooped enough that you’re leaning nearly entirely against him. You don’t notice until Remus puts an arm around you to encourage your head to his shoulder. You tense but don’t sit up, and eventually his head comes to rest atop yours. 

“Are you crying?” he murmurs during one scene near the end. 

Your reply is equally soft, not wanting to jostle either Remus’ head or his shoulder with your speech movements. “I really like this part.” 

“You know how it ends. It’s going to be okay.” 

“I know.” You sniffle, bringing a hand up to wipe your face now that you’ve been caught. “I know it is. It’s just really profound.” 

“Sure it is.”

“It’s the spirit of Christmas, Remus. Goodwill to man.” 

“Okay.” He rubs your shoulder, and you pretend not to feel his shaking with quiet laughter. “Okay, I agree with you.” 

And awhile later: “You’re tired,” he accuses.

You hum a denial.

“Sweetheart” —your stomach flutters, and there’s a jolt somewhere behind your ribcage; you ignore it— “you’re practically falling asleep right here.”

“Are you tired?” 

He shifts slightly, stubble tickling your forehead. “No. But you are.” 

“I want to finish the movie.” 

He seems to debate this for a moment, then his shoulder relaxes beneath you. “Alright.” 

The credits start, and neither of you move. 

You let your head slump more heavily onto his shoulder. “Your place really does look lovely. Thanks for having me.”

“Of course, love.” You can feel his smile squish up against the top of your head. “Would you go so far as to say my hosting measures up to James’?”

You chuckle, gesturing to yourself. “I’d say you’ve gone above and beyond, for sure.” 

Remus laughs too. “Perfect. Tell him so, would you?”

You’re going to agree when a great yawn takes you. You keep it quiet, but there’s no avoiding the way your chin digs into Remus’ shoulder, your shoulders rising with the prolonged inhale. He moves away from you. 

“Ready for bed?” He smiles down at you as you run a knuckle under your eyes, collecting tears from your lashes. 

You shrug an admittance. “Sort of. But I don’t want to kick you out of your own living room if you’re not tired yet.”

“No, I’m pretty wiped too,” he says. “Anyway, I’m the one kicking you out. You’re staying in my room.” 

You had a feeling he would say something like that. You grab a throw pillow, getting situated with your head near the armrest. “No, I’m not.” 

His laugh is disbelieving. “Yeah, you are. Come on, you’re my guest. I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.” 

You tug the blanket off his lap, curling up with your pillow stubbornly. “I’m not going to steal your bed. You’ve already done so much. You’ve helped me try gingerbread cookies and given me nice mittens and hosted an amazing Christmas. Let me sleep on your couch, please.” 

“While I appreciate all that,” he says, “no.” 

“Remus.” You’re near pleading at this point. “Your back will hurt.”

“Your back will hurt.” 

“Not as badly as yours.” You give him a hard look. “I’m not taking your bed.” 

There’s a brief silence, terser than your usual ones but no more awkward for it. You stare each other down. 

“Right,” Remus says, reclaiming the remote from where he’d set it on the coffee table. “I suppose we’d better start another movie, then.”

“Remus, come on.” You sit up, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge. “You’ve just said you’re tired. Go to bed, please.”

The TV flickers back on. “I’m not leaving this couch.” 

“Well, neither am I,” you laugh, completely serious. 

He rolls his eyes, then snuggles up to you under the blanket. You take this as a sign that he’s not really very cross with you. “You’re much more argumentative than usual tonight, you know that?”

You huff, laying your head back on his shoulder. “I could say the same about you.” 

“True, but I know I’ll win out in the end.” 

“You can think that if you like.” 

“Want to watch this one next?”

“Sure.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus watches as your eyes drift closed, then twitch back open, over and over again. He thinks his bony shoulder is the only thing keeping you from falling over the precipice of sleep. If he were James Potter, he’d simply pick you up with ease and carry you to his bed, but Remus can’t say he’s entirely sorry for this extra time with you, even if neither of you are awake enough to make much conversation.

Silly as it sounds, he enjoys just sitting here with you nearly as much as talking. Your cheek squished into his shoulder, your legs curled up atop his, you’re warm and weighty against him. 

He should have known it would be a hopeless endeavor trying to get you to agree to take the bed. You’re a gentle thing by nature, but stubborn in your selflessness. Even if you had gone, Remus knows he wouldn’t have slept all night anyway, too preoccupied with thoughts of you all wrapped up in his sheets, your face pressed to his pillow, getting your shampoo-smell on the pillowcase. He doesn’t know if it smells like him (does he have a smell?), but he would have wondered all night if it does, if you were noticing. 

Your head nearly rolls off his shoulder, and a pitying sound escapes Remus when you jerk awake to set it right. He lets his head rest on yours so it doesn’t happen again. Your eyelids droop closed almost immediately, and Remus begins dragging his thumb over your shoulder blade, a nice, slow back-and-forth. You’re quiet for a long while. 

“Are you trying to put me to sleep?” you murmur, words all sloshed together. 

It’s a conscious effort not to let his thumb slow. “No,” he says. 

You hum. 

“Unless you mean it’s working.” 

Another long silence. “It’s not,” you reply, head growing heavier on his shoulder.  

He chuckles. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed, hm?” 

“You go to bed,” you mumble, and if he thought you were capable of it he’d say there was some bitterness lining your words. 

He sighs. “You’re too nice for your own good,” he tells you. 

“No,” you reply, softly, plainly, like it’s a fact, “that’s you.” 

He picks his head up off of yours to see your face. “Yeah?” 

“Mhm.” Your eyes are closed. You don’t know he’s looking. Your face is wholly relaxed, no hint of pretense about you. “You’re the best I know.” 

Something warm and wheedling works its way through Remus’ ribs to the soft gooey core of him. “Well,” he tells you honestly, “you’re the best I know.”

You seem unconcerned. “Another impasse for us.” 

He actually laughs at that, instantly guilty when it jostles you on his shoulder and your eyelids peel apart. He can’t regret it, though, when you look at him the way you do. You’re glowing in the light coming off the tree, soft and warm and lovely, and yet you’re looking at him like he’s the only place your eyes want to go. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

You come gradually more awake, eyebrows twitching towards each other just slightly. “Remus,” you murmur, and he finally does what he’s been wanting to since you’d shown up at his door hours ago. He kisses you. 

Your lips are pliable, parting for his almost instantly, like you’d been waiting. His hand coasts from your shoulder to cup the back of your head, keeping you close as your nose slides against his. You both all but fall back onto the bed you’d made yourself on the couch. He’s careful not to put too much of his weight on you, but when his tongue brushes across the inside of your lip and you inhale, he draws back. 

“I...” He pants into the space between you. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

You make a sound that’s half hum, half whine, and bump your chin up into his. 

Remus loses himself again with frightening quickness. It’s even better now that you seem more sure, your mouth asking, coaxing against his. You taste like gingerbread. An low, embarrassing sound pries free from the back of his throat when you wind your fingers into the hair at his nape, and he slips his free hand beneath your back, getting as close to you as he can. Your legs make room for him automatically, knees tipping open so he can slot between them.

“Do you—” you breathe when his attentions move downward, tilting your head to the side to offer access as he mouths at the skin just under your jaw. “Do you want this?” 

The word leaves him in a soft exhale, muffled against your skin. “Yes.”

You swallow. He feels the movement in your throat. “Are you sure?”

His eyelashes brush your jaw as his kisses slow, become more tender, more intentional. “Lovely girl,” he murmurs. “You’re silly, you know that?” His mouth meanders it’s way over to your pulse, getting stuck there and sucking at your skin lazily. “I mean, you’re smart.” The words are all mushed up against you. Noticeably amused. Remus quit the eggnog hours ago, yet he feels half drunk. “You’re really smart, honey, but you can be so oblivious sometimes.” 

You don’t respond, and as much as he loves the sound of your voice, he’s hoping your silence is in his favor right now. He wants you wrapped up in him, wants to engross you so completely you forget how to form your lips around speech. 

“Do you want to move to my room?” 

You take a breath. Fuck, even the sound of you breathing is nearly enough to undo him. He moves back to your mouth as if to intercept it, nipping at your lower lip. 

“Is this a ploy to get me off the couch?” 

“You’re relentless.”

Your lips curve against his, and he mirrors them without thinking. You stay quiet.

“Fine. I promise it’s not, okay?” 

Your laugh is fizzy like champagne, and it warms Remus’ chest like it too. “Okay,” you say in that lovely voice. “Okay, let’s go.” 

❆ ❆ ❆

You’d always thought Remus was all softness. He’s made up of soft looks, soft colors, and hair that you can now confirm is soft as dandelion fluff. But this night has defied your expectations in a thousand ways. And your Remus, soft, gentle, kindhearted Remus, is scraping at your throat with his teeth. 

You have to suck your lip between your teeth to keep from making a humiliatingly desperate sound when he passes his tongue over his work, another crescent moon that’s sure to be purple by morning. Your hands are beseeching in his dandelion fluff hair, keeping him close while his hands are busy lower, one gripping the fat of your hip while the other drags tantalizingly slow up and down your side. He’s kissing you like you have all the time in the world, sometimes rough but no more urgent for it, and you’re breathy and molten and useless beneath him. 

You’re brimming with adoration and something else too. Something that you think you could almost identify—you’ve felt it before, but never like this. 

“What do you want to do?” There’s a raspy quality to his voice that would send you to your knees if he hadn’t already taken them out from under you. He dots leisurely, open-mouthed kisses up the column of your throat, soothing over spots he’s already nipped and sucked into oblivion. Your head feels fuzzy. “Sweetheart?” 

Christ, is he trying to send you into cardiac arrest? Remus doesn’t stop kissing you even at your silence, finding your lip still held between your teeth and encouraging it free with his own. You try to remember what he’d ask you. What do you want to do? You have no idea. Where would you even start? You want him to keep talking to you in that raspy voice, that’s for sure. You want…you want to keep kissing him, to know what his hands would do if you let them beneath your clothes. You want to keep investigating that warm feeling in your gut. See where it takes you. 

Remus’ kisses slow, then stop. He pulls back to look at you. In the dim street light coming in through the window, you wonder what he sees. “You alright?” His voice is soft, gentle, saying it’s okay if you’re not without saying it. 

You take a breath. It shakes a little on the way out, but you don’t think he can tell. “Yeah, I’m good. Just nervous. But not in a bad way.” Nervous-happy. 

“Don’t be,” he implores, lips brushing your cheek. “It’s only me.”

Exactly, you think. It’s you. 

“What do you want to do?” You turn his own question back on him. 

His smile is tinged with bashfulness. “I mean, whatever you’re alright with.” There’s a tentative quietness to his voice. “Have you…”

If it were possible for you to get any warmer, embarrassment would do it. “No,” you say, shrinking away from him though there’s nowhere to go. Whatever the end to that question might be, the answer is no. 

“That’s okay,” he says quickly, dropping another kiss on the corner of your mouth like a cure-all remedy. “That’s okay, you just tell me if you want to stop, yeah? If you don’t like something, or you want to slow down—anything at all, you let me know.” He kisses you again, further up on your burning cheek. “Okay?” 

You swallow. “Okay.” 

“Don’t be nervous.” He says it like a promise, hand stroking your side again as if to soothe you. His lips find your shoulder, nosing the fabric of your sleeve. “Can I take this off, lovely?” 

You nod, words all stoppered up in your throat, then realize he can’t see you and do it yourself. He has to pause as it comes off, taking the opportunity to do away with his own sweater, tossing it on the floor beside the bed. You do the same, and your bra quickly follows. You’d always thought (largely influenced, admittedly, by trashy novels) that this was the part where the guy stops what he’s doing and openly oggles the shirtless woman in front of him, but Remus has seen tits before and wastes no time in getting his mouth back on yours, pressing you into the mattress. His skin is as heated as yours, the areas where you touch deliciously warm despite the cold still whipping past his bedroom window. You allow yourself one sweeping, appreciative pass over the muscles on Remus’ back before your hands go down to your bottoms, shimmying them down your legs. A long-fingered hand finds the exposed skin of your thigh and kneads reverently. You swallow Remus’ groan, and he kisses you more deeply, long, savoring passes of his tongue along the inside of your mouth until his lips move downward. 

One hand stays at your hip while the other strokes up and down your thigh, spit cooling in a path down your stomach. You try to relax as he passes your navel, but the anticipation is hard to shake. You’re nearly trembling when he kneels between your legs, kissing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. 

“Is this okay?” he murmurs. 

It’s all you can do to nod, gasping when his teeth drag over one of the stretch marks there. You clutch at the sheets above your head like a lifeline. 

“We can stop anytime you want.” 

You inhale raggedly. “No,” you manage. Your breathlessness is obvious in the quiet room. “I want—I want to keep going.” You pause. “Do you?”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, love, that sounds good to me.” 

Good, you’re about to say, but Remus’ next kiss lands on your slit, and your voice withers and dies in your throat. He uses a hand to push one of your legs open further while bringing the other over his shoulder, spreading you open. His breath fans hot over your cunt.

You’re writhing at the first broad stroke of his tongue, and he wraps his fingers around the outside of your thigh, keeping you still while placating you at the same time. 

Remus takes his time, lapping experimentally at your entrance before making his way upwards. You gasp as his tongue skims over your clit, burrowing your hand in his hair before hesitating. 

“Is this okay?” you ask. 

His hummed assent has you tightening your grasp. He brushes over your clit one more time, and when this gets a similar reaction from you, begins sucking on it gently. You’re panting, and Remus has to move his grip to your hip to hold you in place, squeezing indulgently at the fat there while he narrows in on what you like. Before long you’re trembling all over, grasping feebly at his hair as you squeeze your eyes shut against the odd sort of bliss that’s taking you under. 

“Remus,” you breathe, and it’s a miracle that he hears you but he does, raising his head with a lewd suctioning sound. 

He looks at you questioningly with eyes almost all pupil. 

“Come here,” you plead. 

He obeys, crawling back up you to peck at your bitten lips. “Doing alright?” he asks you.

“Yeah,” you promise, cupping his head in one hand and wrapping your leg over the back of his as if to prevent him from leaving. “Just wanted to kiss you.” 

You feel him smile against your lips. He slots his mouth over yours, and you dedicate yourself to his top lip. He tastes like sex, braver now as he explores your mouth. He drags your bottom lip between his teeth, and you make a high, breathy sound. His grip on you tightens. 

“Do you think—can we—”

He hesitates, kissing softly at the corner of your lips. “Are you sure?” 

“I want to. Do you?” 

Remus actually laughs, muffling the sound against your cheek. “Yeah, I fucking want to. I’ve wanted to forever.” 

You can’t think about that. Think about that and you’ll fall to pieces. 

He noses affectionately at the underside of your jaw, slipping down you once again to stand at the end of the bed. He steps out of his pants and grabs a condom from the drawer of his nightstand. “You’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t like, yeah?” 

“Mhm,” you promise, anticipation coiling up snugly with that other thing in your stomach. They don’t feel all that distinct from one another. 

“Alright,” he says, palm slipping under your thigh. “Can I lift this up, love?” 

You nod, and he grasps the soft underside of your knee, bringing your leg up to your stomach as he lines up. You gasp as he pushes in slowly, watching your face to make sure you’re doing okay. You’re already slick and worked open from his ministrations, and it’s still a bit shocking. His thumb strokes beside your knee as your walls adjust to the size of him. “How’s that feel?” 

“Good,” you say honestly. There’s a note of desperation to your voice. “I can—more, please.” 

He’s quick to accommodate you, pushing deeper as he folds himself over you to recapture your lips. Your breaths shallow. His free hand moves to your breast, kneading gently at the soft flesh. He gives it a firm squeeze at the same time as he moves inside you, and you nearly bite Remus’ lip off, a half-suppressed keening sound escaping you. 

“So good,” he mumbles. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Taking it so well.” He lifts his head, kissing your temple. “Think you can handle a bit more?” 

Your response is barely more than breath, but he catches the affirmation, pressing another firm kiss to your forehead before he bottoms out inside you. Your head lolls back, fuzzy with the strange pain and even stranger pleasure. Remus tightens his grip on your leg to keep it up, dotting kisses down the side of your face. 

“Good girl,” he says hoarsely. “Still doing okay, lovely?” 

“Yeah,” you say, somewhat dizzy. “Remus, it feels so good.” 

“Good,” he croons. “It should feel good, love. Ready for me to move?”

“Mhm.”

He pulls out slowly, dragging against your sensitive walls. He starts mouthing at your neck again before he pushes back inside you, filling you up all over again. A slew of expletives roll out of your mouth, unbidden and entirely unlike you, as Remus begins pumping your breast again, the rhythm matching that of his thrusts. He sucks the flesh of your neck between his teeth, and you bite down hard on your lower lip to repress what promises to be a high-pitched and deeply mortifying sound. 

Remus praises you amply, soft kisses and reverent touches and a raspy “Fuck, sweetheart, just like that.” Your head floats or swims or both, your body tensed all over and yet completely plaint beneath Remus’ hands. He moves back to your mouth, discovering your bottom lip held captive between your teeth. 

“Come on, don’t do that,” he chides, easing it free with gentle kisses. “Let me hear you, bet you sound so pretty.” 

The Welsh accent that’s grown faint after years of living away from home is emerging now, as is the crude vocabulary it's tied to in memory, a host of barely comprehensible profanities spewing from Remus’ lips when you clench on him again. His grip tightens on your tit, and a moan tears from the back of your throat. 

“That’s it,” he praises, head dipping to kiss the soft spot he’s found under your ear. “There you are, lovely girl.” 

The coil in your core grows impossibly tighter, your thighs quivering as you approach a peak you’ve never known before. Remus feels it, cooing softly even as he drives into you harder.

“You gonna cum, sweetheart?” You nod dazedly. “Good, good, just let it happen, I’ve got you.” 

“Come here,” you demand again, and he wastes no time in obliging you. He kisses your lips sore as you dig your nails into his shoulders, pulling his body flush against yours, the feeling inside you growing so great you don’t know where to put it, don’t know if you can contain it. You can’t remember ever feeling this close to someone, Remus’ touch the only thing keeping you from hurtling off some unknown precipice.

“Let go,” he urges, and you do. You trust him to catch you. 

It’s bliss like you’ve never known. You cry out, and Remus’ hand slides down from your breast to spread wide and flat against your ribs. Steadying. He kisses soothingly at your jaw as you gasp and pant your way back to him, grip slackening on his shoulders. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, though you really haven’t done much at all. 

“Are you—” You swallow, choking on the emotion that’s risen unbidden in your throat. “Are you close?” 

Remus smiles, coming back to your lips like he can’t help himself. He pecks you once, twice. “Sweetheart, I’m more than close. I’ve barely been holding myself together since you kissed me.” 

Well, he’d actually kissed you, but you’ll take the compliment anyway. 

“Do you think you’ll be alright if I move again?” he asks. “It’s okay if not.” 

“You can,” you say certainly, leaning up on your elbows to see him better. “Is there…anything I can do to help?”

The smile fades from his face, leaving something far more tender in its wake. “Just, keep looking at me like that?” He says it almost like he’s embarrassed, voice quiet with supplication. 

You want to tell him you’d never needed asking to look at him, but you don’t, keeping your eyes on his obediently as he pumps into you. He really must have been close, because he’s cursing again not long after, accent twisting his syllables with a gruff pleasure. Your walls contract at the movement, still sensitive, and that’s all it takes. Remus digs his fingers into your waist and makes sounds you’re sure you’ll dream about, panting, breathy moans you sit up to smother against your lips. He follows you back down onto the mattress, mouth slotted against your own. You hold him to you until his breaths even and his grip on you loosens. 

“Was that alright?” he asks, some of the rasp still lingering in his voice. 

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, dizzy with affection. “Yeah, it was good,” you promise him. Understatement of the year. “Really good, Rem.” 

“Good,” he echoes, lips brushing the skin under your eye. You don’t know how you know, but you can feel the amusement building in him just before he asks, “Tired yet?”

You guffaw. The force of it jostles him on top of you, and his lips curve against your cheek. “A little bit, yeah.” Actually, you hadn’t realized how exhausting sex would be. If it didn’t mean having to take your eyes off Remus, you’d have closed them and passed out by now. 

“Good,” he says again, hands sliding down your waist as he moves to stand again. You make a small sound as he shifts, and Remus shushes you, slipping out from inside you. You watch fascinatedly as he removes the condom, sticky with cum. He tosses it in the wastebasket under his desk and walks away from you.

“Hey,” you protest. “You’d better not be sneaking off to sleep on the couch.” 

His chuckle echoes in the bathroom, followed by the sound of a cabinet opening. “So mistrustful,” he says when he comes back in with a damp towel. “What’ve I done to arouse such suspicion?” 

Your fuzzy brain gets stuck on the word arouse in his teasing tone, and it takes you a second to answer. “Well, I’m here and a blink away from falling asleep, so you tell me.” 

“Fair enough.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, taking your thigh in his grasp to move it aside. “Alright if I clean you up, love?” 

You startle, coming up on your elbows to see where Remus is holding the towel between your legs. “I didn’t realize it’d be so messy,” you admit. “You don’t have to, though, I can do it myself.” 

“I don’t mind,” he says, thumb soothing over your knee. “S’my mess anyway.” He seems to have not quite agreed with himself to say that last part aloud, a blush spreading over his cheeks. 

“Sure,” you say, mostly to alleviate his embarrassment. You let your weight lean more heavily on your elbows, trying your best to look relaxed. “Sure, if you’re alright with it.” 

“Might be a bit sensitive,” he warns. You’d guessed as much, but it's worth it for all the praises he rains down upon you as he works, finishing with a kiss to the side of your knee. 

You miss him humiliatingly when he goes to the bathroom again to discard the towel. It’s all you can do not to reach for him when he comes back, but luckily Remus reads your mind anyway, slipping under the covers and tugging you to him until his lips rest against your forehead. 

“That was really great,” you tell him. 

“I thought so too.” 

“You’ll stay here, right?” 

A low laugh. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m staying here.” 

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus hasn’t known anyone to sleep in longer than Sirius, but you seem to be vying for his title. The sun has long since passed above his windows when Remus wakes, and still he has time to spend idle hours marveling at the closeness of you. His nose is cold above the covers, but everywhere your bodies are pressed together is warm, your palm flat against his chest and one of your legs wormed between his own. Your fingers twitch as you dream. 

It has to be early afternoon by the time he rises, slipping his hand carefully from beneath you and plodding into the kitchen. The blanket is still on the couch where you left it, throw pillow creased with your indentation. Your mugs are discarded on the coffee table with globs of once-hot cocoa stuck to the bottom. Bright light refracts off the snow outside and into his kitchen, making everything look shiny new. 

Remus starts the kettle first, letting that warm up while he rifles through the cabinets for his big mixing bowl and starts whisking together ingredients. A bird chirps outside as the kettle gurgles, and somehow the peace of Remus’ kitchen feels more complete knowing that you’re sleeping just down the hall. 

Until, apparently, you’re not. Your footsteps are so silent he startles when you appear, still blinking yourself awake as you cross your arms over the sweater you’ve thrown on with your bottoms from the night before. Remus’ sweater. And Remus had thought he’d come to terms with the idea of you here, in his apartment like the best Christmas gift of all time, but apparently not, because his heart stutters and stops at the sight of you. 

He’d thought you’d looked adorable in the soft glow of the Christmas lights the night before, and again tucked into his sheets this morning, but you’re almost ethereal now. Sunlight bathes the planes of your face and gleams off your hair, making you appear almost like you’re emanating the bright light rather than standing in it. You smile at him, seraphim. 

“Morning. Sorry I didn’t ask,” you say, fingering the hem of Remus’ sweater. “I was cold and you were gone, I hope you don’t mind.” 

Mind? Remus can’t even think. 

“Course not,” he manages, but just barely. It’s more an exhale than a statement. “Did you sleep alright?” 

“Really well,” you say. His sleeves cover your fingers as you rest your elbows on the counter, and your gaze has gone a bit shy again, but Remus can hardly blame you. You both seemed to have experienced unusual nerve the night before. He only hopes you aren’t regretting your part in it. And now that he’s had some time to think, he hopes even more that you’d truly wanted it in the first place. “Did you?” 

“Yeah, thanks.”

You lean a bit closer in a way that he doubts either of you are even slightly unaware of, peering into the mixing bowl. “What’re you making?” 

“I’m experimenting,” he says, though he wishes now he weren’t. He wanted to make you something good, but his confidence in his adaptation is waning now that you’re in the room. He should have gone with something basic, tried-and-true. “Or, I’m attempting. Gingerbread pancakes?” 

His voice crawls up into a question, as if he really has no idea what it is he’s trying to make (maybe that’s closer to the truth), but Remus’ regrets vanish instantly at the genuine elation that lights your expression. 

“Really?” 

A laugh startles out of him, giddy. “Yeah, does that sound alright?” 

“More than alright,” you declare with full seriousness, seating yourself at the bar counter. “That sounds amazing, Rem, thank you. Merlin, I owe you so big for all of this.” 

“I think you’ve more than made it up to me.” It slips out without permission, Remus too high on the flow of your conversation to filter the words through his brain before they reach his mouth. His loathsome, traitorous mouth. “I mean, I’m sorry—fuck, that sounds awful—I only meant that I’ve had a really good time with you here. I’m glad you stayed.” 

You flush horribly, and Remus doesn’t expect he’s faring much better. 

“Not that I’m only glad because of—or, I’m always glad to have you. As a friend, too.” 

There’s a tiny pinch in your features, gone before he can diagnose it. Somehow, you seem even more uncomfortable. “Right.” You give him a thin smile. It’s a hearty attempt, but you’re too genuine a soul to fake it. Remus hates himself for it. “As a friend.” 

They’re his own words, put hearing them from your mouth and with that piss-poor smile feels like having a fire poker jammed between his ribs. 

With his track record this morning, he really should be taking a vow of silence, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “Just friends, then?” Hesitance makes his voice sound quiet even in the silent kitchen. He looks down, stirring the batter to avoid watching the answer take form on your face. 

“I mean,” your tone is a match to his, “is that what you want?” 

A short, soft laugh escapes him. “I think I made what I want fairly clear last night.” 

There’s a short silence. “I thought I did too.” 

It’s a conscious effort to keep stirring. Had you? Remus had kissed you, he’d brought you to his room, he’d been the one to ask if you wanted to do more. And you’d been game for it all, sure, but he can’t help but wonder if you were just going along with it. If maybe you’d thought it was just a fuck, something he’d come up with to pass the time while you were both snowed in, no strings attached. Remus could understand that. He could disentangle the strings from last night if it’s what you want. But he’s liked you for years. He could love you oh so easily. He’s practically teetering on the edge of it already, though you’ve only been friends all this time. 

Remus spoons some batter into a waiting pan on the stove. He’s debating asking what exactly it is that you thought you’d made clear when you speak again. 

“I understand if it’s too much for you.” Your voice is shy. He looks up, and your shoulders are hunched as if you’re trying to hide yourself. You shrink further under his gaze. “We can stay just friends if it’s…if that’s what you want. I want whatever’s easier for you.” Your next words are so impossibly soft, Remus has to strain to hear them over the low sizzling of the pancake batter. “I really want you to stay in my life.” 

“What?” It’s a staccato, loud enough that it surprises you both, Remus stepping toward you while you nearly flinch back. “Sorry.” His hand goes up, reaching into the space between you as if he can soothe you from feet away. He lowers his volume. “Sorry, sweetheart, I just—I didn’t realize that was even on the table. I would never want to not be in your life.” 

“I just mean that I don’t want to make things weird for you, or for everyone else—”

“Hey.” He manages to cross the distance this time, his hand landing on your wrist atop the counter. Remus isn’t sure why he needs it there so desperately, but he suddenly feels much better. “There is nothing that could make any of us not want to be friends with you. I can speak for everyone in that regard. Okay?” 

You look at him consideringly for a moment. Remus holds your stare, letting you see his certainty. “Okay,” you echo, sounding unsure. He’ll deal with that later, he decides.

“Okay,” he says once more, and it’d almost be firm if it weren’t so gentled by the tenderness he can never seem to get rid of around you. Even so, what he says next doesn’t sound particularly tender. It’s not very kind to you, he knows, but Remus is selfish, and he feels (selfishly) like he’s done his part already. He tries to phrase it as nicely as he can. “Can you tell me what it is that you want, please?” 

You try to shrink again, and Remus’ grip tightens on your wrist instinctually as if to keep you from running off. He swipes his thumb over your skin apologetically. “Remus, come on.” You sound almost upset, but it’s hard to tell with your voice so quiet. “I know I’m not that good at—at covering myself up. I must have hearts in my eyes half the time I look at you.” 

Remus would give a month’s rent to know what you can see in his eyes right now. Even if he’d been hoping for an answer something like that, he hadn’t expected it. And for you to act like it’s been obvious…he does his best to think back. 

You’ve always been a shy thing. It had taken James months to get you to be remotely yourself around them, and though you’d seemed to warm to Remus first, you’d always retained some of your bashfulness when you were alone together. He’d chalked it up to the result of two people, quiet by nature, with no wildly extroverted James or Sirius or Lily to run interference. 

You’ve always been kind to him, but you’re kind to everyone. How is anyone supposed to suspect favoritism from a soul as indiscriminately sweet as yours? 

He recalls your voice last night, thin and reedy and fragile as the cattails that had bordered the river behind his house as a kid. Wary of getting swept along by the current, but willing to go if Remus would take you. Do you want this?

He’d called you oblivious for asking. How could you wonder, when he’d been the one to kiss you and has probably been looking like he wanted to for years? He’s certainly been thinking about it for as long. But perhaps your obliviousness is another congruity between the two of you. 

So much for opposites attract. 

“I think I’m an idiot,” he says, and mercifully, a smile far more real than the last sneaks onto your face. 

“You are not,” you reply, ever forgiving. 

“Don’t tell Sirius,” he warns, “but I really think I am.” His voice drops into a more earnest register. “I had no idea, love, I’m sorry. Maybe you’re a better actress than you thought. But if you don’t want to be friends, I don’t want to either.” Remus hesitates. “Or, I always want to be your friend, just—”

“Remus?” 

Finally. Someone needs to stop him. “Yeah?” 

“Your pancake…”

He turns to find a thin spire of smoke rising from the pan. “Oh, fuck.” He grabs a spatula and quickly flips the pancake, but there’s no saving it. The bottom side is completely blackened. It’s inedible. “Sorry, I…I’m not sure I have enough batter for much more.” 

“It’s fine.” There’s laughter in your tone, and that’s more than enough to make up for it. “It was a really sweet thought, that’s what matters anyway.” 

Remus turns to find you’ve slipped out of your seat and are standing uncertainly on the threshold of the kitchen. His heart warms with incandescent, aching fondness. 

“Would you come here?” he asks. 

You comply with an eagerness he wonders he’s never noticed before, stepping forward to let him fold you into his arms. Your wrists cross over his mid back and the tip of his nose mushes into your hair as he touches his lips to the top of your head. He can’t believe he could have been holding you like this all along if only he hadn’t been so thick. He supposes he’ll have to make the most of it now. 

“Let’s do away with asking about want, does that sound alright?” He rubs lightly between your shoulder blades, wonders if you like the feel of his breath on your scalp. “How about you tell me if anything comes up that you don’t want, and I’ll do the same.”

“Yeah.” Remus knows he likes the feel of your voice on his skin, chin moving against his chest. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

“Good.” He smiles, pressing another kiss to your head. “Okay, should we venture out to find something for breakfast? Or lunch, I suppose it is by now.” 

You ease out of his arms. “I really should go home.” There’s an apology already embedded in your tone, but you add one anyway. “Sorry, but my cat’s been there all night by herself, so…”

“Right.” Remus ignores the dull throb behind his sternum, which is really a bit dramatic. He’ll see you soon, surely. “Yeah, that makes sense. Think you’ll be able to drive?” 

“I mean, I looked outside.” You shrug, backing towards where you’d hung your coat the night before. “The roads here are cleared, which I hope means they’ve gotten to most of them already.” 

“That’s good,” he says, though he feels the opposite. Your poor cat, he’s pitted completely against her now. She’s done nothing to deserve the resentment he’s directing at her, almost petulant in his malcontent. “Good, good.” 

You’re both silent as you put on your shoes, your scarf. It’s not unusual for the two of you, but it lacks its usual easy contentedness. Your eyes flit up as you pull on your new gloves, a silent thanks in them that you know Remus won’t let you voice aloud again. Despite the upset in his chest, he smiles. 

“I…listen, I have to go home,” you tell him, looking down as you wriggle your fingers more snugly into the gloves. “I have to feed my cat. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to…leave.” 

Remus can’t see how that changes anything, but he recognizes it for the olive branch it is. You’re both so uncertain, and you’re trying to alleviate his worries about what you leaving right now means. He can return the favor. 

“I don’t want you to leave either,” he says, “but I get it. She seems important to you, best to keep her well.” 

“Exactly.” You smile, relieved. “But I mean, if you’re not doing anything, you could come meet her? We could pick up breakfast on the way. Or I could make you something there.” 

Remus can’t believe his luck. And, once again, his stupidity in not getting there himself. Why is it that all of a sudden, everything that has to do with you seems so absurdly difficult? At least one of you is thinking clearly. 

“Yeah, that would be fantastic.” He’s grinning hugely, totally unlike him but liking it very much. “Let me grab my coat.” 

“Wait.” There’s a newly familiar breathless quality to your voice, and when Remus turns you’re already coming forward to meet him. Your palm slides against the stubble along his jaw as you stretch your neck, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “There,” you say, timidity shrouded beneath a good layer of happiness, “now we’re even.” 

Remus laughs, loud and startled. He wants to be generous with you, he really does, but he still thinks you’re far from even. “I’m not sure about that, sweetheart,” he says warmly, pressing a brief kiss to the corner of your eyebrow, “but we'll get there.” 

Pet

Jotunn!Loki x Reader

AU in which Loki is the king of Jotunnheim.

This turned out pretty fluffy? I was orignally gonna write something dark but, oh well.

TW: Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of infertility, agnst with a happy ending. Oh, and smut, filthy stuff.

The chain was thick, made of a metal that looked like gold but did not have gold’s relative softness. The links fit closely together, not a seam in sight. Even if there were some sort of weak spot, it would be fruitless to attempt to exploit it without tools of some sort.

You shifted uncomfortably where you sat in the floor. The gilded collar around your neck hurt your clavicle, but the ache had mostly gone away. You wondered briefly how long it had been since it had been placed around your throat and bound you permanently to your place beside the throne.

Keep reading

Hey would u be up for writing an Anthony Bridgerton fic where Daphne's bff is distracting Anthony so that daphne could enjoy the balls without him interrupting,and they kinda fall in love?????

Sorry that was a hugeeee request. I've never done that before😅😅

Distractions

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Word count: 3.3k

A/N: This is a fic that I have been referring to as ‘Anthony without his trauma, but he’s still a dumb ass’ and ‘Anthony doesn’t oppose marrying for love, but he’s still wildly emotionally constipated’  so please enjoy! This ended up way longer than I intended and it still doesn’t feel fleshed out *shrug emoji*

Vauxhall Gardens

“Please,” Daphne begs. “I need your help.” 

“It’s Anthony. I need someone to keep his attention away from me,” Daphne continues. “Otherwise I’ll never dance at one of these balls with someone who isn’t related to me.”

You can’t help but sigh. 

Daphne’s brother loves her, and is understandably overprotective of her. As the “Diamond of the Season”, she’s the debutante that every eligible gentleman (and a few non-eligible men) have set their sights on. Someone needs to protect her. But Anthony Bridgerton would not be your first choice for that task either. He may love his sister very much, but he’s also an arrogant man and a rake. He thinks the worst of all men because he is the worst type of man. And if they were you would understand his behavior. He seems to have assumed that each and every male member of the Ton is exactly like him. The type of man that you try to avoid at these types of things.

“Fine. But you’ll owe me for this,” You grumble as you nod. Acquiescing to your friend's pleas.

Daphne’s your best friend. You’d been close since you were children, you were only about a year older than her, with mother’s who were close friends. She’d been your playmate and then your confidante as you both grew older. With your debut having taken place a few years ago, you’d been eagerly awaiting Daph’s debut, and the chance to partake in these events with a friend by your side.

But her older brother had put a damper on the entire season with his insane micromanagement of Daphne’s social calendar. 

Turning away fortune hunters, you understood, but not letting her dance with a single gentleman at Lady Danbury’s ball? And then scaring off every suitor who came to call on her? It had taken Lady Bridgerton stepping in to convince Anthony that she could call on you in the afternoons without being accosted by men on the walk to your family’s home. 

The man was on a power-trip, and was certain to destroy Daphne’s impressive chances at a great match this season if he kept it up.

“Bring me over, and then I’ll talk to him while you slip away,” You tell her as you spy the viscount’s gaze already searching the crowds for his sister.

She grins as she pulls you in and hugs you tightly, a silent thank you before she grabs your gloved hand in hers and pulls you in the direction of her brother.

“Anthony, you remember (Y/N),” Daphne says as she stops in front of her brother, prompting you to bow your head and give Anthony a small smile.

“Miss (Y/L/N),” Anthony Bridgerton greets you politely with a small bow.

“How have you been, Lord Bridgerton? I don’t believe we’ve spoken in several years, since before you graduated from Oxford,” You say politely.

“I’m well, It has certainly been a while, last time we spoke you had not come out yet,” He replies.

“Yes,” You reply with a quizzical look.

You sigh when you realize that you’ll have to keep up this conversation and come up with something to ask him if you’re to distract him.

“Have you read anything interesting recently?” You finally ask. Settling on a topic that is both non-threatening and that you’ll find at least half engaging.

“I’m afraid I haven’t read anything that isn’t a report from our estates in the past few years,” Anthony admits.

You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. “I suppose I should have known, a man of import such as yourself has far better things to busy himself with,” You tell him, unable to stop the corners of your lips from turning upward. “Like staring down every man who so much as looks at his sister.”

“I- that’s-” Anthony protested before huffing when he realized that the conversation would not be productive. “What have you read recently?” He asks instead.

“Pride and Prejudice and The Heroine were both quite good,” You tell him. Normally you would have continued to push but with the topic of books, you can’t help but give Anthony your honest answers. “I’ve read the recent Byron and Shelley, though I find them insufferable,” You add, your nose wrinkling with distaste.

“I also revisited Shakespeare, I heard the Theater Royal is putting on Romeo and Juliet in May, and I’d quite like to see it.”

“You’ve turned into quite the scholar in recent years, haven’t you?” Anthony asks, a bemused smile across his face.

“I’ve always been invested in my education, Lord Bridgerton,” You reply. “You’re just finally intelligent enough to notice.”

Anthony merely stares at you while you smirk, taking great joy in teasing him. 

“Where did Daphne disappear to?” He asks once he’s recovered from your thinly veiled barb.

“Probably just to the powder room,” You reply banally, the lie easily forming. “I think she was going to try and find your mother afterward.” 

When Anthony’s gaze zeroed on a subject over your shoulder and he seemed to have completely tuned you out you knew that he had spotted Daphne. You turned your own head, searching for Daphne in the crowd only to see her making her way to the dance floor on the arm of the Duke of Hastings. 

“Oh!” You gasp.

That little minx. 

Now you knew why she’d been so adamant to get her brother off her tail. She was interested in his best friend. 

“Did you know about this?” Anthony asks harshly, though his gaze never tears away from the couple making their way to the dance floor.

“Of course not!” You protested. “I-I had no idea!”

“I thought they didn’t like each other,” You offer lamely.

The Trowbridge Ball

“Do you know where Daphne is?” Anthony asks as he appears suddenly at your side.

“Would you care to dance?” You reply.

You know it’s a faux pas. But you don’t really care. Besides, no one can hear you, and you need to distract him with something that will keep him occupied for several minutes.

He looks at you for a moment. Like he’s trying to discern what exactly you’re up to. But in the end, he nods.

“Of course,” He replies as he offers you his arm.

You place your hand in the crook of his elbow and allow him to shepherd you to the dance floor.

“Do you know where she is?” Anthony tries to ask again once the dance begins.

“I’m not your sister’s keeper,” You reply. “And nor, it seems,” You add as Anthony spins you around. “Are you.”

Anthony doesn’t reply and you can tell by his face that he’s still struggling to let Daphne take care of herself. Especially with the Duke’s interest in her.

“I’m sure she is fine,” You finally tell him once you’re facing him again. “Your sister is far more discerning than you give her credit for.”

“I never said she wasn’t-” Anthony begins to protest. “You are baiting me again,” He says as he looks down at the knowing look on your face.

“You’re learning,” You reply with a grin. “I know that you are only caring for her, that you’re overprotective because you love her, but she must marry this season, and you do her no favors if every man with any sense is scared of you.”

“You do not want to let your sister marry a fool, do you, Lord Bridgerton?” You ask him, your tone becoming more serious.

“Of course not,” He replies quickly.

“Then learn to step away,” You tell him.

Hyde Park

You should have expected Anthony to join his family at the park. And with the Dowager Viscountess and Lady Danbury chaperoning Daphne and the Duke, both you and Anthony were left to your own devices. So when he asked you to promenade, seemingly of his own volition you were taken aback.

“Have you ever been out of the country?”  You finally ask after a few minutes of the two of you  walking silently alongside one another. 

“No, I never had the chance,” He tells you. “Have you?” He asks.

“I once went to visit my cousins in Scotland, and the Scottish certainly believe themselves to be another country,” You tell him.

Anthony hums in agreement with your statement.

“How many children do you want?” He asks.

Your eyes widened.

“My Lord?” You ask, clearly taken aback by the question. But he merely looks at you. “I suppose however many I am blessed with, though more than three or four would be a challenge to manage,” You tell him.

“Why haven’t you married yet?” He asks.

“Well,” You say, trying to figure out how to answer such an abrupt question.

“This is your third season,” Anthony says as if you hadn’t known. “You are truly accomplished, and far more eloquent than most of the ladies and the gentlemen in my acquaintance. I would think you would have already made a fine wife.” 

“I think I ought to be offended by what you’re saying my lord,” You tell him with a small smile.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to-” Anthony quickly begins to apologize.

“I ought to be,” You clarified. “But I am not. I suppose I just haven’t given much thought to marriage.”

“Most women are solely focused on the institution,” Anthony points out.

“Most women have no other choice. My family is secure, my parents are in no rush, my brother has a good enough head on his shoulders,” You tell him. “I have a great privilege in that. So I suppose I ought not to waste it by marrying for anything less than happiness.”

“I see.”

“Yes,” You tell him. “Any other questions about marriage I can answer for you? I’d assumed at nine-and-twenty you’d grasp the mechanics of the marriage bed, but I could offer you an explanation-”

Anthony’s eyes widened as his gaze snapped to you, appalled. It was only when he saw the smirk on your face that he realized you were only poking fun at him.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” He replies.

The Penwood Ball 

Distracting Anthony Bridgerton had been much easier than you’d expected. And surprisingly less annoying. You often found yourself surprised by the fact that you were looking forward to spending time with him.

Anthony greeted you seemingly the moment you walked through the door.

“Lord Bridgerton,” You replied with a smirk as he offered you his arm.

Taking it you could have sworn you saw Daphne laughing in the corner with Simon, and so you quickly pivoted on your feet, pulling Anthony in the opposite direction. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said last week,” You told him. Once you had put a safe amount of distance between yourselves and Daphne.

“Why I am not married,” You clarify. “I realized that perhaps the truer answer is that no one has ever asked.”

“That surely cannot be true,” Anthony replies.

“But it is,” You tell him. “Most eligible gentlemen see me as a bluestocking, or as merely a platonic acquaintance. No one has ever seen me as more than that.”

“That is not true,” Anthony replies quickly.

“I think I would know better than you do, Lord Bridgerton,” You tell him with a roll of your eyes. “In case you’ve forgotten, we have not spoken in years until last month.”

“Besides, you only prove my point. You are certainly not looking for a wife,” You say.

“What makes you say that?” He asks, turning sharply to look at you.

“Everything about you, starting with the fact that you are wasting your time with me,” You explain. “And ending with the fact that you are the definition of a rake.”

“You can’t tell me that you don’t only spend time with me to get your mama and the other eligible young ladies off your back,” You tell him plainly.

“That is most certainly not the only reason,” Anthony replies. And for half of a second, he almost looks offended by your comment. “I can’t help myself if I find your charm beguiling,” He adds with a smirk.

“My charm? Is that what ruthlessly berating you is called now?” You ask with feigned confusion.

“Your jabs are far from ruthless, my lady,” Anthony replies.

“Then I shall need to sharpen my sword,” You tell him, raising your eyebrows.

Anthony begins to open your mouth and you can see the mirthfulness in his eyes.

“Do not make a double entendre out of that,” You say quickly as the very thought enters your mind at seemingly the same second it does Anthony’s.

“You are delightful company, my lady,” He says with a chuckle.

“And you are a ridiculous man,” You reply, though you can’t help but laugh with him.

The Greenwich Ball

It had been a difficult morning. You’d hardly slept the night before, and your mother, bless her heart, had insisted on you joining her for every single one of her social calls. You probably should have been glad that your mother was not foisting suitors on you left and right, but having to listen to every other mama in town discuss her own daughter’s prospects while you had to sit quietly at your mother’s side was hardly much better. 

It had been exhausting, and now Anthony seemed dead set on making the evening as difficult as possible. He’d wanted to dance and now seemed to think that taking a turn about every room of the party was a worthwhile use of your time.

You weren’t sure what he was doing, or who he was looking for, but when you saw Daphne and the Duke standing in a corner, with the Duke whispering in her ear in a way that was nearly scandalous you quickly remembered your one responsibility and tugged on Anthony’s arm, attempting to lead him back in the other direction.

“What are you doing?” Anthony asks you as you continue to move around him, pushing him into the next room, towards the refreshments table. 

You huff, already annoyed. “I’m supposed to be distracting you!”

To be fair, you and Daphne hadn’t spoken of her little scheme in a few weeks, but you had just assumed you were supposed to continue on with it, as she hadn’t said anything about ending it either.

Your eyes widen when you realize what you just said. Out loud. To him.

“What?” Anthony asks, deeply confused.

You consider lying to him, but your exhausted brain can’t seem to come up with a single plausible excuse. 

“Daphne told me to distract you so that she could spend time with suitors without you scaring them all off,” You admit.

“What?”

“I was supposed to distract you,” You repeat. “And clearly you appreciated the break from your mother’s match-making, otherwise you wouldn’t have put up with me for so long.”

“You thought I was using you?” Anthony asks slowly. His tone is imperceivable. 

“Weren’t you?” You ask slowly. Suddenly far less confident in your assessment of your relationship with the Viscount.

“Of course not!” He replies quickly. “I-” Anthony starts to say before he stops himself.

“But you were spending time with me because Daphne made you?” He asks instead.

You swallow. This was not how you expected this conversation to go at all. 

“Well… yes, but…”

“But what?” Anthony presses

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think you would be upset,” You tell him.

“Yes, clearly you did not,” Anthony replies, his words clipped as he searches your face. “I need to have a conversation with my sister. Good night,” He states abruptly before walking away from you.

“Wait, Anthony, please, I’m sorry!”

You’d never felt so awful, so guilty before. Or so confused.

“You have a caller,” Your butler announces as you and your mother sit at the breakfast table the next morning. 

You’d hardly slept, but your mother refused to let you sleep in, your shared breakfasts were a tradition that she would not let you get out of easily, and as an early riser, she didn’t understand why others struggled to wake as early as she did.

“A caller? At this hour?” Your mother asks. Clearly surprised.

“A Lord Bridgerton, asking for Miss (Y/L/N),” He replied.

Your entire body froze as you tried to imagine why Anthony could possibly be calling on you. And at nine in the morning. 

“He’s in the drawing-room,” Your butler adds.

“Yes, I’ll go right in, thank you,” You reply as you stand from the table. You merely give your mother a slight shrug of the shoulders as she looks at you curiously. 

When you entered the drawing-room you found Anthony standing in the middle of the floor, seemingly pacing the room.

“Anthony, what are you doing here?” You asked as you made your way towards him. 

He stops completely when he hears your voice, turning so that his entire body is facing you.

“I needed to see you,” He tells you.

“Why?”

“I love you,” He says.

Your heart stops when you hear those three words. Of all of the things you’d imagined Anthony coming to say to you, this was never on the list, not even in your wildest dreams.

“What?” You ask, thinking you might have misheard.

“I love you.”

“I don’t- What is happening?” You flounder as you laugh in disbelief.

“You said last night that I wouldn't have put up with you unless I was using you to get away from my mother and her matchmaking,” He explains. “But you’re wrong. I spent time with you because I liked it, and when I wasn’t with you I was thinking about when I would see you next. It was never about my mother, or my sister, or anyone else for me. It was about you, and how I want to spend my life with you.”

“You do not have to return these feelings, or say anything at all, but I just wanted you to know,” He says. “To me, you’re my person.”

“Oh my,” You finally say after a moment as you look up at Anthony’s tentatively hopeful expression. 

“I think I’m in love with you too,” You tell him, a smile spreading across your face.

“Is your father home?” He asks, taking your hands into his own and squeezing them tightly.

“It’s nine in the morning, of course he’s home,” You tell him.

“I will speak to him at once,” He replies.

“Anthony,” You begin to protest.

“No,” He says quickly. “We are going to get married. And I don’t want to have to wait any longer.”

“Anthony,” You try again, pulling on his hand so that he focuses back on you and on the present moment. “You haven’t even proposed yet.”

“Oh,” He says before dropping down onto one knee.

“(Y/N) will you make me the happiest man alive and agree to marry me?” He asks.

You can’t help but laugh at his ridiculous antics before nodding.

“Yes, yes, of course,” You tell him.

Anthony grins as he looks up at you before he’s pushing himself back onto his feet and taking your face into his hands. 

Anthony couldn’t help it, he kissed you.

she knows what nancy listens to.