Weasleysarch - 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦

do you realise how fucked up this group has to be when bucky barnes is the most stable out of all of them

One of the hottest things a man can do is love his wife

i’m back in the fucking building again

This was one of the most heartbreaking scenes in television history

SAY YES TO HEAVEN pt. 4

18+

I don’t know how taglists work but I hope it worked. Feeding the hungry and such.

Slowly you and Art fell back into your old routine. Sitting beside you in seminars, studying at your dorm, going to the movies. But only this time it was different. Holding hands was new. Art was addicted to holding your hand. The way your fingers fit so perfectly against his, like you were made from him. Sometimes he’d glance down at your fingers, thumb drawing over your knuckles. Your hands were always cold but it didn’t bother him, since Art ran hot.

Kissing was new as well. It didn’t matter if he picked you up from your dorm, or followed you into the toilet during class, Art couldn’t get enough of you. If he could, he’d climb inside you and embed himself into the marrow of your bone. He was an addict. Nibbling at your neck when you tried to finish your homework. An insatiable little thing that couldn’t believe his luck.

“Art,” you’d chuckle, softly nudging him away so you could finish writing your essay.

“Miss you,” he’d say, lips trailing down to your collarbone. You sighted softly, it didn’t take much for Art to convince you. You’d shove the papers away, spreading your legs for him to settle between your thighs. It had been going like this for weeks. Sometimes Art would cry after and you’d have to soothe him until he fell asleep. Other times he grew cold, distant. But you were patient. You couldn’t imagine how he felt, with his mind at war between his devotion and you. But you didn’t want him to suffer.

Art still wouldn’t let you touch him. Kissing was fine, your hands tugging at his curls or winding around his neck. But the moment your cold fingertips slipped under his shirt, he’d shake his head, gently pushing your hands away. You were surprised how much it bothered you. Usually the guys you were with mostly let you do your thing. They were with you because of their pleasure not yours. They barely made sure you’d finish after, so it felt weird, having Art go down on you but wanting nothing in return.

Sometimes you’d catch him adjusting himself with flushed cheeks, a wet patch growing quickly against the fabric of his boxers. It was frustrating. You wanted to touch him and you wanted to make him feel good. You wondered if it had to do with his beliefs. That he didn’t want to indulge his pleasure.

Art was tired. He was achy and frustrated. He was needy. Humping his bed until he came with your name on his lips was not enough at this point. But he didn’t allow to touch himself. He would be good. Well, as good as he could be. He tried not to imagine how the both of you could be doing other things. Emphasis on tried. His imagination wasn’t as loud and clear as most of the guys (Having never watched porn before) and he’d rather have it stay that way. Until some guys approached him after class.

Chad, one of the tennis guys, wound an arm around Art’s shoulders as if they had been friends for ages. Four other guys surrounded them, walking all in sync along the campus.

“Well, Artie, now that you managed to bag the jackpot you have to tell us,” the guys all had shit eating grins on their faces, waiting greedily for a crumb of information.

“Tell you what?” Art asked, confused. He didn’t really mind them talking to him, his thoughts were elsewhere already. He’d come over to your dorm that night and he knew he’d have to take care of his aching groin before seeing you, it was embarrassing how quick he spilled every time he heard those sinful sounds spill past your plump lips.

“Is she as good as some guys say?” One of the guys nudged Art playfully but Art only blinked at them all. He was feeling strangely left out. The group stopped surprised at the clueless look on his face.

“You must at least gotten to third base, with a girl like her,” a brunette snickers, his friend chiming in, “yeah, wouldn’t be surprised if she’d let you pound after a week.”

Art frowned. He had no clue what they were talking about but by their dirty grins and lustful gazes he shrugged Chads arm off his shoulder, stopping abruptly.

“Third base?” He asked.

“Yeah you know,” Chad made an obscene gesture with his hand, moving his tongue against his cheek in sync. Art flushed furiously before hot anger flared inside him.

“That is private.”

The guys laughed in unison. “Nothing is private with her. If you’re that easy, you’re obliged to give people a show.”

Art’s skin crawled at his grating voice. He usually wasn’t one to get riled up quickly. He was the one to turn his other cheek when someone hit. But you were changing him in some way, he didn’t know if he liked he change. The only thing he knew, was that these guys were talking about you with distasteful smirks, dropping comments and making obscene gesture.

They didn’t see it coming as much as he didn’t. His fist flew out and landed. Bulls eye.

*

“Love, you need to be more careful,” you murmured as you held the frozen pea’s bag against Art’s bloody knuckles. He sighed, eyes puffy and red, cheeks tear stained.

“Was all my fault,” he murmured, head hanging low. You didn’t ask him exactly what had happened. You only heard some loud shouts as you were leaving the lecture hall, on accident coming across Art, decking Chad in the face. Blood streamed over his lips as he cried out and you were quickly at Art’s side, eyes widened in surprise.

You convinced him to join you early at your dorm, taking care of his split knuckles. You leaned down, kissing the split skin of his as silent sobs left his lips.

“I should’ve been better than this,” he whispered, head in your lap.

“Art, you’re only human.” Your hands softly weaved through his curls. “You hit him once you won’t do it again.”

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. That’s not what Art meant. It wasn’t the fact that his hand was throbbing. He deserved the pain. He deserved to suffer. But it was his thoughts that had been torturing him the most. Whatever the guys had suggested Art was disgusted by them. For them. But he wasn’t any better.

“How can I make you feel better, baby?”

Oh those words.

Art looked up from your lap, all teary eyed. He crawled onto the bed, lips meeting yours desperately. Art needed you to make the pain go away, to soothe the ache inside him. His tongue slipped past your lips, tasting of salty tears and clear devotion. His hands found your hips, bruising your skin with the force he was exerting. You shivered slightly at the change in his movements.

Art was always slow. Determined yes, but he was also careful and took his time to make you feel good. This time he was hurried, his mind wasn’t in on it and when you noticed, you pushed him back by his shoulders.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked, eyes wide in worry. How perfect you were. Worrying about him even though he didn’t deserve one bit of it.

He reached up to kiss you again but you pulled away, making him whine.

“I don’t want you to use me to drown out whatever you’re feeling right now, Art. That’s not what I’m here for.” There was hurt underlying in your voice.

Art flushed in a hurry. “I would never do that. Never.”

He kissed your cheek devotedly. “You’re everything to me. I just want to be close to you.”

You shivered, his words spreading over your soul like warm honey. You leaned down, capturing his lips again, tongues swiping wetly against each other. Your nails trailed down his stomach, stopping at the hem of his shirt.

Art was too fast, kissing too clumsily, tongue and spit mixing with yours before he leaned back breathlessly. He stared up at you like you were his god, thumb finding your bottom lip. Curiosity reflected in his eyes, pupils dilated.

He exerted small pressure and you parted your lips on instinct, letting him gently push his thumb in your hot mouth. Your lip gloss was all smudged, down your chin, glittering softly.

Art watched your lips entranced and a soft groan left his lips when you sucked the pad of his thumb.

“Ohh—mmh god,” he whispered and you slowly started to bob your head a few times. Arts lips parted pretty and flushed, making you smirk lightly.

You let his thumb go with a pop, eyes catching the bulge in his jeans. “Is that what’s having you all stressed?” You tilted your head at him and he flushed nodding shyly.

“You want me to do it?” You asked. “Give you head?”

Art didn’t know what to say. He knew it was wrong. He had tried to think his way around it, to somehow come up with a solution. But there wasn’t one. He had to decide between you and his beliefs. And right now the pulsing in his pants was obviously choosing you.

“I d-don’t,” he huffs, “I haven’t—“

“Art,” you chuckled softly, stroking his cheek gently. “We’ll try, if you feel uncomfortable at any point you tell me and I stop.”

“I won’t feel uncomfortable—“

“Art,” you interrupted him. Grabbing his chin you made sure that he was listening intently. “No matter what, no matter with who, you say stop the other person stops. If something with me doesn’t feel good you tell me or else this isn’t going to work.”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded quickly. Anything for you. Good. You pulled him to sit on the bed, leaning against the headboard.

His head was crimson, fingers fidgeting as impeding dread filled his chest. Your hands slowly unbuckled his jeans.

“You want them on or off?” You asked gently, hand stroking his thigh.

“O-off,” he stuttered. His hand went up to clutch the cross dangling from his neck. Once the jeans were off you looked down at his cock. It was already fully hard, no need to go easy on him. Still, you only started to stroke him over the fabric softly.

“W-wait,” Art stuttered and you stopped immediately. You looked up at him, waiting as he undid his necklace and leaned over to put it on your nightstand. The gold glinted in the dim light of the rum, metal hitting the wood with a dull thud.

Something shifted then and you turned to look at Art. He was shaking slightly, a determined look on his face as he slowly nodded. You kissed his left knee, then the right one, hand still moving slowly over his erection.

Art whined, his hips moving upward into your hand, cheeks flushed. “Y-you need to start or I’ll-ahh,” he quickly pushed your hand away before he could spill in his boxers again.

An embarrassed smile made way on his lips and you chuckled. “All right, I’ll stop teasing.”

Your hand wandered inside his boxers, fingers wrapping around his hard cock and pulling it out. Your breath hitched at the look of the sensitive skin, the tip all wet. “Damn,” you huffed. “You’re wet like a girl.”

“Stop,” he whined and hid his face in his hands. You smiled sweetly, pressing an apologetic kiss to his tip. His eyes flew open as he quickly looked down at you. Your tongue licked a stripe up the length of him, salt hitting your taste buds.

“Ohh,” the sensation was so strange to Art. He tried to keep watching as you kissed him bottom to top, tongue darting out and pushing into his slit. His hips arched off the bed again as he whimpered softly, his cock slipping past your grip and sliding against your cheek.

Arts eyes widened. “Sorry.”

You giggled slightly, hand moving up and down his shaft. And finally your lips parted around his tip. It took everything in Art not to buck up his hips, his hands fisting the bedsheets as you slowly lowered your head.

You stayed down for a moment, letting him adjust to the warm feeling of your mouth around him. Art breathed through his nose, trying everything to not spill down your throat at that moment.

When his heart slowed enough you started to move. Your head bobbed slowly and if he weren’t so needy he’d be astonished by the way you could fit all of him down your throat.

The tight, hot inside of your throat kept working him, humming softly as your tongue swiped over his tip repeatedly.

“Oh—ohh fuckk,” he moaned, the tightness in his body rising rapidly. His hips slowly started to thrust, hands still fisting the mattress beneath him as he watched you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled one hand finding your cheek. Oh. Wrong move. He could feel his cock from the outside and he started to blubber incoherently.

“You feel so good, baby, uhh—fuck. Never want to leave your hot mouth,” he moaned. “‘M never gonna want anyone else. You’re—god—you’re it for me.”

You hummed appreciatively and when your fingers found his balls it was too much. There was no way he could hold back.

“Oh no don’t do that—I’m gonna—argh,” his hips bucked up quickly, making you gag but you knew well enough to stay where you were as Art’s hot seed spilled into your mouth. It was so much it started to spill past your lips and down his cock, even though you tried to swallow as much as you could.

It took him a full minute to calm his breathing as you slowly slipped his softening cock out of your mouth.

Art’s lids cracked open, his hand still stroking your cheek lovingly.

“How’d it feel?” You asked with a cheeky smile. Art couldn’t answer, only shaking his head repeatedly. How could he ever get enough of you? How would he be able to hold himself back after this?

His eyes met yours and he relished the moment, not worrying about his guilt. He could feel bad later, he would feel bad later.

His thumb slowly drew over your lips, pushing the spilled cum back into your mouth. You pressed a soft kiss against the palm of his hand.

“I want you to meet my nan,” he suddenly blurted and you looked at him wide eyed.

“What?”

“You need to meet my nan, she has to know my girl,” he said. Your heart thrummed and thrilled at his words and you crawled upwards into his lap.

“I can’t believe you just told me to meet your nan after you pushed your cum into my mouth.”

Art flushed furiously before you both broke out into laughter. You pressed a chaste kiss against his lips. Arts eyes widened at the salty taste of himself and you giggled again.

“I’d love to meet her, Art.”

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SHAWN HATOSY as DETECTIVE SAMMY BRYANT Southland (2009-2013)

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