#in which no bodices are ripped | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sarahscribbles · 2 months

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saz i am the FIRMEST of believers that loki’s into cock warming, especially when he comes home from a long mission or gruesome battle literally all he wants is to be nestled inside you for hours 😌

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐.𝟔𝐤

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The endless sky stretching beyond the Allmother’s library is a vibrant swirl of scarlet and amber when you hear the clatter of a dozen hooves in the courtyard below. Over the excited braying of horses you hear the calls of Einherjar for stable hands and body servants, and the book in your lap quickly tumbles to the floor with a thump as you rush towards the window in a flurry of skirts.

The sudden disturbance in the quiet of the evening can only mean that the campaign is over and the princes are home.

Loki is home.

You reach the window just as he swings a long leg over his horse and drops elegantly to the ground, looking every inch the warrior in leather and metal. The last dying rays of sun catch the small golden band around his finger and the breeze tousles his perfectly styled hair, but he barely appears to notice because his attention is already fully focused on something else.

You, standing at the library window.

He found you within five minutes of arriving back home. Always, your husband will find you, as though some invisible string connects his heart to yours.

The smile that curls across his lips when he catches your eye is both devilish and devastating, as is the wink he offers you as his horse is taken away.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies takes flight in your stomach and your fingers curl tighter around the pillar they rest on. Six weeks he’s been gone - one of the longest campaigns of your marriage - and it’s taking everything in you not to run through the palace and have him right there in the courtyard.

Perhaps more than once.

His bright eyes linger longingly on you until he disappears beneath the window ledge and into the Palace. From the floor below, you hear the gentle buzz of conversation and revelry as the warriors recount their journey to victory for anyone who will listen. You hear the distinct sound of Thor’s war cry; the hearty cheers of The Warriors Three; the joyous clanging of swords in celebration…

You hear the familiar deep roll of laughter that you would recognise anywhere.

The sound of your husband’s mirth, his uncontained joy, makes you giddy with excitement, the likes of which you haven’t experienced since you first started courting him or the first time you got to taste his kiss. You’ve missed him - missed the warmth of his embraces, the softness of his lips, the easy way he can make you laugh without even trying.

You’ve missed your best friend.

Forgetting all about the book you’ve left lying, pages akimbo, on the floor, you rush from the library on quick, quiet feet to race your husband to your chambers. You know it will be his first port of call, as it always is after any length of time you spend apart, and the thought alone is enough to make you fizzle wildly with anticipation.

Will he take his time worshiping your body? Will those large, gentle hands spend hours refamiliarising themselves with every dip and curve? Will his lips lavish attention on you until not an inch of you has been left unkissed?

Or, will he back you against the chamber wall and hoist your skirts around your hips? Will he rip your bodice from your body and roughly have his way with you? Will he make you orgasm again and again until you go limp in his arms?

Perhaps both if you’re lucky.

Perhaps this reunion will be similar to the last when neither of you were seen outside your chambers for three days; one day of pleasure for each battle the Asgardians had won, so your husband had promised.

And delivered on.

The late evening air tingles with his magic as you pass along the Palace hallways. He’s closer than you had initially believed, but when you finally approach the ornate double doors of your chambers, only the two Einhenjar stand outside.

You breeze quickly past them with a brief nod, stepping straight into the empty living area of your chambers. There’s nothing to suggest that Loki is anywhere within or lurking in the rooms beyond, so you haltingly let your guard down.

Beyond the walls of your chamber, you hear the merry sounds of the warriors making their way to Odin in the heart of the Palace to boast of their victory. They pass by in a raucous cacophony of cheers and shouts - still loudly retelling the events of each battle to their eager audience of courtiers - and you prepare for your husband to come striding through the doors energised by victory.

But they remain firmly closed.

Your brow furrows at the same time a knot of disappointment twists in your stomach. Loki’s letters from the battlefield had been dripping with innuendo and filthy promises of how he planned to ravish you upon his return - some so salacious that you’d had to lock the doors to your bedchamber early in the afternoon.

Surely, after so many promises of debauchery, he wouldn’t choose an audience with Odin over you.

The sounds of Thor and his fellow warriors become increasingly more faint and still there’s no sign of Loki. You wait another minute and then start towards the doors, but you’ve barely taken three steps when a familiar pair of arms wrap around your middle so suddenly that you yelp in surprise.

“I caught you, my little mouse.” Loki’s soft voice purrs in your ear, and you feel his warm lips press a lingering kiss to your cheek.

You pretend to huff, but it’s impossible to stop the smile that spreads across your face at being back in your husband’s embrace. “How do you always manage to do that?”

His answering laughter makes your heart swell. How had you survived six whole weeks without him?

Loki places one last kiss to your temple and twirls you around in his arms. You’re flush against his chest and the familiar feeling of safety washes warmly over you. “Do you forget to whom you are married, dove?” he teases, eyes twinkling as he gazes at you.

“As if such a thing is even possible!” you reply, teasing him just as easily.

“Little vixen,” he murmurs, and pulls you tighter against his chest. “Did you miss me?”

Briefly, you consider teasing him a little more, but something in his eyes makes you reconsider. Reflected in them clear as day is how deeply he missed you and how desperately he needs to hear you say that you noticed his absence.

“Like one would miss a limb,” you say softly and twist your arms around his shoulders.

Loki smiles and dips his head to kiss you gently. It’s sweet and innocent yet it still awakens six weeks of need within you. Your fingers curl greedily into his hair as you pull him to you, silently begging him for more, but you only feel him bite your lower lip and pull back.

“Don’t you wish to go and congratulate Thor and the others? I’m sure they would relish the praise of their Princess,” he says, his pretty green eyes dancing with mischief at your pout.

“The only thing I wish to do is spend the next few hours welcoming my husband home,” you reply.

The very thought has a throbbing ache begin between your thighs. You picture tousled bed sheets and your husband's firm body writhing and flexing beneath your hungry fingers. You want to spend hours losing yourself to the feel of him and clutch him to you like a life raft as he makes Valhalla dance behind your eyes.

You want to enjoy your husband.

Loki squeezes your hips. “You know there’s nothing in the Nine that I can deny you, darling.”

Before you can draw breath to reply, he’s easily tossing you over one shoulder and carrying you towards your bedroom. Your shrieks of laughter ring through the chamber. After six weeks, your heart is full again, swelling with love for the man who’s rushed straight home to you and is kicking the doors to your room closed with a satisfying bang. You wait for the inevitable feeling of soaring through air as he tosses you onto the bed, but seconds pass and you’re still draped over his shoulder.

“Are we feeling sentimental this evening?” you question, only half teasing.

By now, you had expected to be stripped and possibly restrained to the bed, but your husband appears to be in no rush to have his way with you.

“Possibly,” Loki answers, lightly tapping your ass.

He sets you down gently on your feet, then takes both your hands in his to raise them to his lips. They’re warm as they kiss the backs of your knuckles and his sparkling green eyes never once leave yours.

“Undress me, darling,” he whispers softly and releases your hands.

He’s already stepped out of his heavy outer armour, likely as soon as he stepped inside the palace, leaving him in the casual, soft leather that you know all too well. Your practiced hands reach out easily to push the long overcoat off his broad shoulders, and it falls to the stone floor with a quiet thump.

The rest of his clothing is quick to follow. It’s beautifully intimate, undressing him - revealing him piece by piece so you can marvel at this beautiful man who wears your ring on his finger. You reach out to lightly trace the scars on his abdomen that weren’t there last time, scars that you’ll kiss over and over while he falls asleep in your arms later.

“I’m fine,” Loki whispers, reading your thoughts while your fingers continue to dance over his skin.

Your eyes dart to his, searching for any tiny flick of untruth. The god of lies he may be, but he can hide nothing from you.

“I promise, dove.” He continues, letting his hands fall to rest on your hips. “I’ll recount the story of every new scar for you if I must.”

Your own hands find his on your hips to pull them to the fastenings of your gown. “I insist on it, my prince,” you say with a smirk.

Loki rolls his eyes, but the smile he gives you is nothing short of adoring. “As you wish,” he says, and begins to trail a single finger along the bodice of your gown.

In a pale shimmer of green the fabric disappears before you, melting to nothing until you’re finally bare before him. His eyes drink you in - heavy with six weeks of pent up desire - and you can’t fight the shiver when he reaches in to suck a bruise to the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, placing a kiss over your bruising skin. “Ethereal.” He adds, sliding his hands around your waist and letting them run along your lower back to squeeze your ass.

“Mine,” he says more forcefully, placing a firm kiss to your lips at the same time his hands lock around your knees.

You squeal against his lips as he hoists you into his arms, but easily lock your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck. You feel the shift of his body as he climbs onto the bed, but instead of being laid back amongst the generous piles of pillows as you expected, Loki positions himself back against the intricate headboard with you still straddling his lap.

“How I missed you, my darling wife,” he says quietly when his lips leave yours, and then he’s coaxing you onto your knees before him.

Loki takes your hand in his and guides it towards his cock, wrapping your fingers around it with a contented sigh. You know what he’s asking without him having to say a word.

Slowly, you begin to stroke him, watching his eyes flicker closed when you increase the pressure. “Did you miss me? Or did you miss this?” you tease him.

“How unfair of you to make me choose,” he replies instantly.

You squeeze his cock with a smirk, not missing the quiet groan that floats from him or the slight curl of his upper lip.

“Oh, that might cost you later, dove,” he says. It’s meant to be a warning, you know, but it only makes your core burn for him.

“Perhaps that’s what I’m counting on,” you quip back quickly, which makes the god in your bed chuckle softly.

His cock grows beneath your touch, which only makes a surge of power shoot straight to your head. You begin to stroke him faster and apply just the barest hint of pressure, but a large hand quickly reaches out to still yours.

“Am I…,” you begin, but trail off when you glance towards him.

Loki’s eyes are alight and dancing with the promise of mischief. Without a word, he edges you forward on the bed until your aching cunt is directly above his cock. You clench desperately at what you know is coming and it feels like an eternity until Loki is coaxing you down and the head of his cock is brushing teasingly against you.

He maddingly drags himself through your soaked cunt again and again, pulling groan after groan from deep in your chest. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his shoulder, leaving a pattern of tiny half moons in their wake as you fix him with pleading eyes.

“Fuck, Loki. Please, put it in,” you beg, needing to feel your husband fill you after six long weeks apart.

Loki grins back mischievously. “As my love commands.”

Slowly, he eases his cock inside you, making you take him inch by inch until you can take no more of him. He hisses at the feel of your cunt clenching wildly around him, and you’re rewarded with a stream of moans and curses until you’re fully seated on him.

A hand closes quickly around the base of your skull to pull you in for another blistering kiss that’s lazy and wondrously sloppy. “I missed this tight little cunt,” he rasps into your ear with a roll of his hips.

“Fuck,” you curse softly and let your head fall to his shoulder.

He feels so blindingly good inside you that all you want to do is ride him until he can’t remember his own name, but when your hips begin to rock against his, Loki plants two strong hands on them to hold you still.

“Ah, ah, darling. This is more than enough for now,” he says lightly.

Not fully believing what you heard, you pull back to peer at him. “What? Loki, it’s been six -.”

“Shhh, dove. I thought you insisted on hearing all about our time away?” he replies.

“Yes, but not now! There will be plenty of time for you to tell me after!” You try not to whine. There had been three battles in all, and Loki had promised to tell you about all of them in detail.

Your husband shifts beneath you, making you whimper when his cock does the same. “Perhaps, but, for now, I wish to have my darling wife warm my cock as I tell her about our victories. Would you deny me that?”

He knows that he has you. You can’t deny this man anything, even if it means spending a tortuous evening with his cock inside you.

“No,” you reply, fighting to keep from pouting.

Loki pulls you in for another quick kiss. “Good girl,” he says and gives another teasing roll of his hips. “If you can continue being good and not try to pleasure yourself all evening, then I will personally see to it that you don’t walk properly for the next week.”

#loki #loki smut #loki x reader #loki fanfction

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arcielee · 5 months

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Hae iksā

Summary: Aemond has been tasked to find himself a wife. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size Reader Word Count: 3.8k+ Warnings: AFAB Reader, kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, grinding, p in v, overstimulation, loss of virginity implied, fat phobic comments are made and a Lannister acts like a cunt. Author's Note: Hey everyone! This story is based on this request:

And I took inspiration from the prompt from @writings-of-a-hufflepuff 💜 Thank you so much to my beloved beta reader @annikin-im-panicin for your insight, for your help, Ilysm 💜 Valyrian translations: Hae iksā is as you are, Sȳz riña is good girl 😈 Dividers by @saradika 💜

You never expected to catch the eye of Prince Aemond Targaryen, much less be wrapped in his arms as you both glided across the polished dance floor. It was a moment that came from the fairy tales with how he swept you away with his graceful lead.

It felt surreal to think how this was the very same prince whose notoriety began with the first bloodshed that inevitably threw the realm into civil war, and how it solidified when he brought it all to an end with his victory in what was now known as the Battle Above Gods Eye. He continued his regency until his brother, King Aegon II, had healed enough to ascend the Iron Throne once again.

The king decreed that the title Protector of the Realm remain seeded to Aemond, a new namesake that shadowed the last whispers of kinslayer. With his heroism now renowned, and ballads created to commemorate his bravery, it was the king who suggested that Aemond continue his bloodline.

There was the announcement of a grandiose festivity which began to breathe life back into Westeros’ economy, with ravens sent to every noble house, extending an invitation to every eligible noble lady.

This was how you came to King’s Landing.

It was the possibility of any bloodline to knit within the Targaryen dynasty that your father could not deny, and you were soon boarded onto a ship to Lannisport, taking a carriage with your septa to follow the Goldroad to the capital, your House flag and its embroidered kraken whipping in the air.

With your travels, your septa reiterated your purpose, an almost daily affirmation repeated, but your mind was also aware of all the ladies that would be in attendance and the probability of a moment alone with the prince was… well, not something that you would hold your breath for.

In truth, you were actually excited to visit the capital, the opportunity to meet and befriend the other noble ladies, though this optimism soon soured after your arrival. Road wearied, you were ushered by your septa and handmaidens assigned, washed and dressed in one of the many gowns stitched for this occasion: a bodice tightened to flatten your soft stomach and your chest pressed up for display. Though your whines were ignored as the corset strings were pulled, you felt rejuvenated, albeit breathless, when you were finally escorted to meet with the bevy of nobility from every kingdom, dressed in their finery and their murmured pleasantries.

At first you were aglow with the socializing prospect, though your excitement withered when you realized the quiet that washed over, the cruel curl of their lips as their eyes narrowed, their brows raised in mockery. Any attempt you made at conversing was met with an echo of patronizing response, but it was the hurtful comment of the Lady Lannister who boldly spoke, “I suppose even a swine wrapped in silk is allowed their chance,” that made you excuse yourself, slipping away to wander the corridors until you found an ornate oak doors propped open, leading into the athenaeum.

Here you found your salvation amongst the rows of shelving, your unshed tears drying while your fingertips brushed over the leatherbound spines.

“Have I been found?”

It was as if your soul ripped away from your body, flooded with the burning realization that you were not alone.

Prince Aemond Targaryen was tucked away in a window seat, a book resting on his lap. Though his expression remained severe, his tone did not indicate if truly was annoyed with your presence. Instead, he watched you, his lavender eye flitting with curiosity, perhaps, while his sapphire stone reflected in the sunlight that poured through the bay window.

“Forgive me, I had only wished for a moment alone before I was paraded as a prize to be won…”

This made you laugh, your hand quick to clamp over your mouth to muffle the sound, and you would have sworn you saw the flicker of amusement wash over his sharp features. “My apologies, your grace, I had not meant to impose,” and you blushed from his steady gaze. “I also am hoping for some solace with a good book, though I find myself on which to choose with this selection at hand…”

What you had not expected was Aemond pushing to stand up, towering over your steps as he took it upon himself to walk you up and down the shelving, taking the time to point out his personal favorites and listening when you spotted your own. When you finally settled on Iron and Rubies, you noticed his brow knit with his question. “Warrior women?”

“I must learn if I am expected to survive this–” and you paused on the word choice, bevy of bitches, held back by your good propriety, caged behind your teeth, and instead you chose to say, “–these festivities being held in your honor.”

The prince was watching you carefully as if he did not believe your words, but he did not press and instead offered a smile. It was warm, it was genuine, and you tucked this moment away in the pages of the book in your hands.

But moments like these would repeat itself through the sennight, with your days finding its repetition: it began with a parade of skirts that flounced to capture the attention of Prince Aemond, with their indifference towards you allowing you to slip away and return to the library.

Every day you found him awaiting you, a question poised on his lips about your opinions on the book you were reading, or sharing his complaints of the tasteless tactics shown by the ladies in attendance. You saw the loneliness that haunted the severity of his expression held, like a mask worn to keep everyone at bay; there was a pain hinted with the little he would share when you two were alone, and his confidence in you made your heart soar.

You could not help but cherish this time shared, your wit striving to hear his laughter which would weave into your heart, this intimacy writing itself in the marrow of your bones. You already knew you would revisit these memories when you grew old and gray, all too aware that the prince would still be expected to take a wife by the end of the week.

It soon came to the final night and his grace, King Aegon, had called for two sets of minstrels to be rotated for a continuous play of jovial melodies that the guests could dance too. The night swelled with the clash of instruments resonating through the arched ceiling, of laughter and the clinking of crockery as every mouth partook in the feast that took a month to prepare.

When you arrived, you were nearly ambushed by the very same Lady Lannister, pulling at your arm, almost pinching at the flesh shown past your quarter sleeve as she pulled you aside. “I am aware of your dalliance with the prince, Lady Greyjoy,” she began with a tone that struck cold against the length of your spine. “I am aware of your…friendship with Prince Aemond and feel compelled to impart some advice.”

Your back was to the celebration, the sounds of the lords invited trying to capture the attention of the ladies who were searching for the silver haired prince muffled in this moment. Your eyes narrowed onto her. “What advice would that be?”

“My dear girl, I truly believe your stocky size would have you better suited for a broodmare,” her painted lips continued with a sneer. “A comely lord, of course, for your status sake…”

“Shall I gift her your tongue?”

You had barely processed her insult when his distinct timbre cut through as sharp as the blade of Dark Sister which hung at his side. You saw how the Lannister girl pale before she turned towards the prince, falling into a curtsy so deep, that her knees nearly touched the marble floor.

“Your grace,” her spiteful tongue now stammered her words, “I was unaware that you had arrived–”

“Or perhaps I should have her fed to Vhagar so she can no longer offend my sight?” He interrupted, his gaze settled on you alone, watching for your response.

There was a sense of exhilaration that trilled your spine with this momentary power he presented so flippantly in this moment. You could not stop your smile. “There is no need, your grace. I would much prefer a dance than to sour the belly of a dragon.”

He then reached for your hand, his large palm enveloping yours to tuck into the crook of his arm and leading you out to the dance floor. Here, he showed that the grace he held with a blade translated seamlessly with the waltz, and your head swam with the close proximity to him, of the woodsy amber musk that held onto his doublet.

You then burned with the realization that every set of eyes were trained to watch, to gawk at how tenderly he held you in his arms.

I suppose even a swine wrapped in silk is allowed their chance.

When it ended, you curtsied, quick to escape out to an enclave, to be met by the night and fresh sea air that rolled from the Blackwater Bay, the crash of waves muting the party you left behind. Your hand pressed to your chest, your heart beating against your bones, and you focused on slow, deep breaths.

“Are you all right?”

Your blood began to rise to the surface as you spun on your heel to face the prince. He was dressed in black, sleek and tailored to his leane frame with his house sigil embroidered onto his chest and a cape draped across his broad shoulders with a forest green underlay that peeked with the breeze. He was poised, his arms knitted behind and rested on his lower back, his silver hair glowing in the silver moonlight.

You looked back over the bannister, your grip tightening on the stone. “Please, your grace, you have done more than enough for me this night–”

“Aemond,” his low tone halted your words and you looked back to see his large hand pressed to his chest. “Please, my lady, with how well we have gotten to know one another, I would wish that you would call me by my name.”

You could not help your incredulous noise to his request. “Forgive me, Aemond,” and the emphasis added on his name caused his lips to curl upwards, “but I am confused as to what game you are playing. We are both aware of what is expected of you–”

“That I am to find a wife,” he again interrupted.

Your lips pressed into a line, barring the frustration that threatened to spill, exasperated by his amusement that seemed to replace his usual stoicism. “Aemond,” your voice was strained, “I have truly enjoyed our time together, but now I must implore that you find your formidable wife as is expected, as I am certain she must exist,” and your hand waved flippantly back towards the entryway that led into the hall, into the sea of skirts swarming, “somewhere within the Keep.”

“I have already, Lady Greyjoy.”

You did not dare meet with his gaze, your eyes dropping to watch his leather boots take slow steps to where you were rooted on the terrace. It was something inevitable, something that you knew would happen, but still his words began to burn into your chest. “Oh. Then may I be the first to offer my congratulations.”

His amusement was still apparent in his tone. “For myself or for you?”

You blinked. “Aemond, you could not possibly pick…” and you faded away, still mulling over his words.

“Would it have ever occurred to you that I find all of you attractive?” Aemond pressed closer, his arm reaching, and you allowed him to take your hand, watching his slender fingers curl to hold, his thumb running along your knuckles. “I would not pick and choose parts of you that I love, and just ignore the rest. I find that you, as a whole, are exactly what I have been hoping for,” and a sly smile played on his lips, “in a formidable wife.”

It tore the air from your lungs, but his warmth kept you grounded in this moment. “Love,” was all you could manage. It was not a question, but you were unbelieving still.

He leaned forward, the silk spill of his hair, his gaze locked onto you. “Yes,” his finger touched the underside of your chin, holding your attention. “I believe it began from the moment we met in the library, but it has become a certainty as we continued to cross paths. If you would have me,” you now noticed the pink stain to his cheeks, “I wish to announce that you would become my wife.”

“Me?” You felt numb from his confession, from the nip of the cold air.

He hummed again, stepping ever closer. “Yes. I love you,” and you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning your cheeks, “just as you are.”

With the announcement of your betrothal, the Red Keep was emptied of the excess nobles to begin preparations. Your fingers felt numb when you wrote the letter to your father: Prince Aemond Targaryen has chosen me to be his wife. The freedom you once shared in the library was now monitored under a spyglass; Aemond remained respectful, of course, though you noticed how his touch lingered, his palm pressed to your lower back or his lips to your knuckles with his kiss.

His subtle gestures were for you alone and it left you wanting more.

The ceremony was intimate with only his family and your septa present. You felt dazed from the attention shown that day, scrubbed raw and hair prepared, the corset tightened around your silk chemise before your heavy gown was placed over. Your ears burned as your septa tried to prepare what wifely duties would be expected, a trepidation curling at the base of your spine.

The vows were exchanged with a chaste kiss, and soon your fingers were tucking into the crook of his arm, his large palm covering your own as he escorted you towards the marital chambers, a party in tow. It was then you saw the dragon that thrummed beneath when his voice commanded the room to empty, finally leaving you alone with your husband.

There was a moment and he stepped further into the now empty room, while a bashfulness crept into your bones, your hands trembling to remove the cloak as your eyes fell towards the bed made. You were now painfully aware of the intimacy that would be required and your eyes dared to look over to Aemond.

He was already bare from the waist up, his doublet and tunic removed and draped over one of the chairs, his hands pausing at the laces of his trousers when his gaze met with yours. He pursed his lips a moment, his neck bobbing. “Would you…like me to help you undress?”

You were choked on your breath with the sight of Aemond, as he seemed to be carved from marble, lean and lithe and marred by silver scars of the battles won, decorating across his chest. He was waiting, the gleam of the candlelight on the sapphire placed in his scarred socket, and when you gave a shy nod you saw the shimmer of his hair that spilled over his shoulders with his slow steps to close the space between you.

Your eyes fell to the lines that cut into his hips, dipping below the waistband of his trousers that rested on his slender waist; your eyes widened at the laces already loosened, at his bulge that strained against the crotch.

Aemond was now close enough to touch, his hands warm as always, returning your attention to his bicolored gaze. You were burning with his heady gaze, from the fire you knew to be knitted with the ichor of his veins. He leaned forward until his brow touched with your own, your breathing a sweet exchange with the scent of the Dornish wine served.

“I would not wish to hurt you,” his hum punctuating his pause, his vow to you, “I will go with whatever pace that you set.”

And so you kissed him.

Aemond hummed again, his lips soft and sweet and so very warm against yours. It was not chaste like in the chapel and you dared to deepen the kiss, feeling his grin against your mouth and his clever tongue curling to taste.

You gasped softly and his arms wrapped to pull you flushed to his chest, enveloping you in his warmth, in his woodsy musk of sandalwood and ash. A heat began to pool at your lower back, slowly permeating throughout, sending your heart aflutter. When he pulled away, you could not control the small noise you made and it was met with an almost roguish grin, his hand taking yours to lead you to the bed.

Aemond turned to face you and you nearly choked on your nerves as his fingers began to gently unfasten the latches and laces confining you within your gown, pulling away the layers until all that remained was your chemise and the smallclothes worn under. Your arms folded across your chest to shield, to shy away, but he was quick to wrap his large hand around your wrist, pulling lightly until your arms dropped back to your sides.

It was then that you noticed the black that eclipsed the lavender of his eye.

“Gevie,” he breathed, closing the space once more to capture your mouth. His kiss devoured you, his passion pouring into you and you were all too willing to drown. His hands roamed to peel away the remaining layers, a red stain to his sharp features and his lips kiss-swollen and parted as he looked over your nakedness.

“Gevie,” he repeated, pulling you to lay back onto the bed.

You sunk into the pillows and he climbed on top, now bare himself, his tongue relentless to lave every curve, every roll of your skin showing until the heat prickling began to consume you, his love bites flushing their dark plumes against your skin. You writhed beneath him, breathless and flushed, before he finally settled between your thighs, his fingers dimpling with his hold.

His exhale tickled the warmth that pooled between, and then Aemond pressed forward to place an intimate kiss to the bloom above your entrance. Your lips parted with a wordless cry as his tongue began to taste, his low groan reverberating your bones beneath.

“Just as sweet as I imagined,” he murmured between your folds and you were burning with how his clever tongue now pulled you towards an unknown edge.

You gasped, louder than before, with the gentle prod of his fingers that were slick with his spit, curling with purpose within your velvet walls. You nearly cried out as sparks of white danced in front of your eyes, the heat that had been pooling now coursing throughout and returning to tighten in your lower abdomen.

Aemond continued his ministrations, his tone growing husky with his encouragement, “Yes, my sweet wife, just like that,” as your pleasure began to spill, pulsing around his fingers that continued to coax you through your completion.

It was otherworldly and you only felt grounded with the welcomed heat that permeated from Aemond, feeling him shift to slot his slender waist between your thighs. You cant your hips to cradle him in your hips and Aemond lowered to press his length against your silken folds with a delicious pressure that had you shudder.

He swallowed your soft whimper with a sweet kiss, his hands roaming to hold you close for the slow rut of his hips against you. You felt raw from your prior release, and the mixture of pleasure and pain was now amplified when his head dipped lower, his kisses tickling and tasting the sheen of sweet across your chest and neck.

“Aemond,” you gasped and he hummed again, his perpetual smirk playing across his lips that captured your own again.

His mouth trailed your cheek, pressing to the soft divot below your jaw, and the rekindled heat began to lick at your spine, spreading in response. “Are you all right,” he murmured against your skin and you could only nod an eager yes, your words gone along with the trepidation from before, wiped away with his mouth and his tongue.

This earnestness seemed to please him and his low timbre praised you. “Sȳz riña,” and you burned with embarrassment for being unfamiliar to the foreign tongue he spoke so sweetly to you.

His arm then moved between and you felt a blunt pressure at your entrance. Your fingers dug into his shoulder blades, beckoning him forward, and he followed with his gentle thrusts, pushing slowly past the slight resistance and sinking into your wet warmth.

You sighed when he fully sheathed, a pleasant stretch to accommodate his girth, and only when he saw your contentment did Aemond relax, melting against your softness. His head tucked into the curve of your neck, his low groan chorused your sweet sounds to this new sensation.

Aemond then stilled, waiting until your hands moved to cup his jaw, your thumb careful to trace, and you whispered words, “I am fine.” You assured him, you begged him for more, and he responded with a slow rut against you.

Your pleasure began to build with his pace, a passion that was rooted even deeper, and your thighs lifted to tighten around his waist, your soft cries encouraging him to quicken. Aemond snapped his hips against yours, and your pleasure began to expand, returning with the flutter of your walls as he continued, hitting a spot within that has your swearing that the stars now shone bright above the marital bed.

It consumed you both, with your tears pearling in the corners of your eyes and Aemond following after, his thrusts sloppy as he spilled inside of you.

You both stretched onto the mattress, flushed and spent, a comfortable silence punctuated with the crackle of candles that had been lit in the bedchamber. After he caught his breath did Aemond move to grab you, pulling you against his chest, his fingers trailing over to follow the length of your spine and back, his sweet murmured concern for your wellbeing.

You felt flustered from his attention, promising him that you felt fine, that it was nothing more than a delicious, dull ache between your thighs.

His large hand then cupped the side of your face, his chin tilting forward to press a kiss to your hairline. “Gevie,” Aemond hummed, a low rumble in his chest.

You could not help but ask him. “What is that word?”

His thumb stroked your cheek with his translation, “Beautiful.” It was stated as if it was the most obvious thing, your chest swelling with an emotion, bursting at the seams as he kissed your lips again.

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @hb8301 @snowprincesa1 @namelesslosers @darylandbethfanforever9 @helaelaemond

arcie's hotd masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #aemond targaryen x plus size reader #plus size reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you

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ghouljams · 1 month

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Regency soap is a fucknasty bodice ripper, pulling his mean ol darling aside to fuck some manners back into her and make her walk back into the party with his cum dripping out of her. Her pretty dress is all ruffled and her hair is a little mussed and he just watches with a shiteating grin as she tries to compose herself and make it look like she didnt just get her brain fucked out😔

-maus🐭

I love a good bodice ripper tbh, and that is the genre that Regency Soap has landed himself squarely in. Which is so good for me. I mean, so so good. God I actually have two ideas for fic, I might noodle on the other one later but here's the first

Johnny's fingers fumble with the knot on your stays, thick fingers and blunt nails digging into the lacing with grumbled swears. Your skin prickles with heat, he's so close to you, just a breath away really. Your body reacts to him so quickly, so greedily, he's only just gotten back to town and you ache for him more than you had in the month he was gone. You're glad he hauled you off to your room, though you're loath to tell him that.

"Bloody fucking bust," He grumbles, his nail slipping against the tight knot again.

"It's not a bust," You tell him, smoothing your hands from his biceps to try and take over, "they're stays."

"Don't need to know what it is," He shifts his grip, grabbing either side of your ribs to hold you still. He presses his mouth to the lacing, teeth scraping the strings, biting them with a tight hold. Your fingers grip his hair, your breath coming quick, you can barely feel the warmth of his mouth through the fabric but his teeth? You can feel the dull pressure of them, just at the same moment you feel Johnny jerk his head and hear the tell tale sound of ripping fabric. Johnny's breathing hard his eyes dark, when you look down at what remains of your laces. "Just need to know how to get it off," He breathes, his eyes fixed on your chest, "Oh my bonnie love."

You don't have time to snap at him, or really respond at all before his he's grabbed your chest in two big handfuls. He pushes his face between your breasts, turning his head to kiss the swell of one, then the other, as your stays are forced open.

"You're paying to fix that," You try to keep your tone annoyed, try to grumble and push at his head. You can feel Johnny smile, before his mouth opens and he's sucking at the soft skin of your chest, his fingers squeezing your breast tight enough to ache. He tips his head, moving to suck at one of your nipples, and you let out a short quiet whine.

"Shouldnae be wearin' 'em," He murmurs, laving his tongue over your nipple, pinching the other between calloused fingers, "shouldnae be wearin' anythin' when ya greet your husband."

You open your mouth to respond and he bites you, your back arches to force your chest further against his mouth, your lips closing tight to stem off the noise you make. Heat pools between your legs and Johnny hums, letting go with a chuckle. You don't have a moment to collect yourself, he pulls away only enough to squat down and grab you around your middle, lifting you quick to toss you on the bed. You scramble not to roll off, scramble to get your bearings as he grabs your ankle and drags you back where he wants you. You push yourself up onto your elbows as he parts your legs, forcing your chemise to pool around your hips.

"Johnny, wait, my parents," You push at him with your foot, your voice dropped to a whisper. Johnny pushes your legs apart again, and clicks his tongue admonishingly.

"Now, now, wife. I have to check, make sure you've been taking care of my pussy properly." He grips your hips tight and pulls them to the end of the bed, "if you're worried about your da hearin', ya might want to be quiet."

You smack your hand over your lips, just in time for Johnny to lick a hot, wet, stripe over your cunt.

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap call of duty #soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #f!reader #oc: moon #regency au #call of duty fanfic #john mactavish #johnny mactavish

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knavesflames · 4 days

Note

Yes. Write it :)

As promised😌

Fem Balletdancer! Reader x Arlecchino ;)

Contents: fingering, in a public space but they don’t get caught, slight choking (a tiny bit), tears, praise, but very slight degradation (in a loving way) arlecchino is possessive (and lowkey jealous)

Word count: 1263

Nsfw under the cut!<3

Breathing heavily after yet another performance, you stare out into the crowd. You keep your face still, but your eyes can’t help but light up when you see the familiar figure front and center in the crowd, clapping loud and slow. She stays seated while everyone files out of the opera epiclese, her stoic face disrupted by the hint of a smirk.

“Very fun, love.”

You finally move from your ending position, letting your fingers gently bounce on your costume— a beautiful white lace bodice with rhinestones that shine oh so perfectly in the light, complete with a white tutu, because what ballerina can dance without a tutu? You grin a thank you, stretching your feet that are still clad with your pointe shoes.

Finally catching your breath, you hear the familiar clack of her heels walking across the floor and up the stairs to the stage as you take a seat on one of the props. Your ballet partner nods and hastily runs off, not wanting the potential wrath of Arlecchino, because what if his hands were too close to your waist for her liking? What if he held you for a second too long? Her smirk disappears when she sees him run off, a quiet mutter of “coward” under her breath as she walks towards you. Her own hands dance up your waist, her breath coming close to your ear.

“I don’t like him.”

You can’t help but roll her eyes at her jealous streak, one she’d never admit she has.

“You say that with every partner I’ve had.”

Her voice takes on a sharper tone, not by much, but you can tell she’s serious, and you can’t help but try to contain a shudder.

“They’re not me.”

You plant a soft kiss on her jaw as you reassure her that you do not, in fact, feel anything towards them. Her lips twitch into a frown, and her hand grabs your wrist, a tight grip that can only be possessiveness, her voice practically a snarl.

“It’s not you I’m worried about. I know you’re mine. It’s them. You’re gorgeous, and they get to be close to you. I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried anything.”

“They don’t.”

Her other hand moves to gently grip your chin, keeping you looking at her. She enjoys watching your face flush when she does it, and if anyone were to walk in, well, isn’t that a bonus? She gets to showcase that you’re hers and nobody else’s.

“They better not. I’ll kill them the second they’re too touchy.”

“Stop it—“

Before you can protest anymore, she’s only gone and bent you over the damn prop, a small wooden table. Your tutu flares upward, which earns a low, throaty chuckle from Arlecchino.

“You’re cute with this tutu. You’re lucky it’s expensive or I’d rip it off you. You’re not only cute, you’re mine.”

She feels your breath hitch as her hand travels up your thigh before she removes it, only to have it landing down roughly on your ass. Her fingers caress smoothly where the slap landed, soothing the sting, and my god is she glad you can’t see her and her wicked grin when you yelp. Her nails, long and sharp (you’re lucky she files two of them down), slice through your tights and leotard with one simple movement, causing you to whine.

“Arlie, these were expensive.”

“Shut up, I’ll buy you new ones.”

“But—“

“Would you like to cum? Then be quiet.”

With a whimper, you comply. With her one hand on your back, holding you down against the table, her other hand traces around your slit, so carefully avoiding touching you where you want to. Your hips buck back in an attempt to force her hand where you want them, which earns another slap on your ass and a yelp from you.

Your voice echoes around the now empty opera epiclese, which makes you so painfully aware of the fact anyone could walk in.

“What if someone comes in?”

“I’ll kill them if they do.”

“Arlecchino.”

“Fine. They won’t.”

With her fingers finally dipping into you, a soft moan leaves your lips.

“Good girl. So wet for me, it’s almost like you want to get caught. Lift your leg.”

Seeing your confused look, she taps your thigh, almost commanding you to lift it.

“You’re flexible enough. You can arabesque and développé everywhere. Lift your leg.”

You bite your lip, but lift your leg anyway, wrapping it around her waist for support. She knows you’re able to stay like that, and she relishes in how easy it is to touch you with your legs the way they are, so she uses it to her advantage.

Her fingers dip into you once again, teasing you mercilessly. Pretending like she’s sliding her sharp nails into you, making you whimper in nervousness, but she’s not that cruel. She slips two fingers inside of you (the ones with the filed nails, thank god), groaning softly when she feels you suck her fingers in. You let out a quiet moan that echoes once more as her fingers card through your hair, untangling it from the elegant hairdo you had while dancing. With a gentle flick of her wrist, your hair is wrapped around her fist, giving it gentle tugs.

Her fingers pump into you, slowly, then faster when your cute sounds only confirm you want to keep going. The hand in your hair tugs harder, lifting you from the table and pressing your back against her. Once she’s satisfied with your position, her hand moves. The hand once weaves into your hair moves to your exposed throat, squeezing gently and chuckling at your choked moans and the tears forming in your eyes.

“Not so scared someone will walk in now, hm? You’re so confident on stage, I thought you’d like someone walking in to see you turn into a fucked out whore. My fucked out whore. Do you hear me? Not his. He’s lucky I don’t rip his head off for looking at you the way he does.”

Her grip loosens enough to let you speak, grinning when she hears your cute little mumbles of agreement, feeling the way your pussy clenches around your fingers as she curls them, hitting the spongy spot inside you just perfectly.

Your tutu and your pointe shoes, which are still on your body (for a reason, because she’ll never admit how much it turns her on seeing you like that), are long forgotten by you. Your brain is focused on one thing, and she knows exactly what— chasing the orgasm she knows she’s giving you. Your voice rings out, stuttering and punctuated by moans.

“Cu-cumming, I’m-“

Her velvety voice whispers in your ear, her lips travelling down your shoulder before giving a quick bite that sends you over the edge.

“Good girl, cum for me.”

It’s all you need as you clench around her fingers and tremble, your position finally failing you. Her arm is quick to catch you before you fall against the table, her body leaning over yours as she soothes you, guiding you through each wave of pleasure. Her fingers pump inside just a little more, slowing to a stop before pulling out. Her fingers glisten with your slick in the stage lighting, and she moves her fingers ever so slightly, if only to showcase how messy you made her fingers. She smirks, her stoic demeanour almost back into place as she stares at you, her tongue flicking out to clean her own digits.

“You always taste so good, little dove. Want to go home and clean up, hm?”

#arlecchino smut #arlecchino #arlecchino hc #arlechinno genshin #arlefuri #arlebina #arlechinno x reader #arle #genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin wlw #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #arlecchino genshin #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin imagines #genshin impact fic #genshin impact fanfics #knavesflames

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marvelmusing · 22 days

Text

Set In Stone

Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sankta Alina and the Darkling rule over those who live in the hidden realm of magic. Alina herself is particularly fond of turning those who trespass onto their kingdom into statues. Legend says they like to toy with their victims, and if they think you’re pretty enough they just might keep you forever.

Warnings [18+]: sexual content, non consensual human to statue transformation, dub con fingering, very brief anal fingering, nudity, mild threat, Aleksander and Alina collect people consensually (excluding the reader), praise kink, sensory depravation, smidge of humiliation kink and exhibitionism

A/N: just me dropping a big fic out of nowhere, don’t ask me what this is, I don’t even know, it’s mostly vibes (kinky magical vibes)

My Masterlist

“Did you know, I can choose what kind of statue someone will turn into?”

She ignores the quiet, fearful whimper that escapes you. Instead, she continues to talk, playing with your hair as she sits in your lap. Despite the blindfold looped around your head, you keep your eyes squeezed tightly shut, your heart hammering against your ribs. She hums thoughtfully.

“I think I want you to be marble. Something smooth.” Her hand rubs over your thigh, pushing aside the delicate fabric of your dress to reveal your bare skin and a shudder runs through your body. She laughs. “My apologies.” Her tone turns teasing, dripping with faux sympathy. “Are my hands too cold?”

Being an expert in Ravkan mythology, you had expected to find some artefacts or ancient stone carvings in these caves - not the infamous Sankta Alina. Known as a trickster goddess, the more recent legends state that she turns her victims to stone with a mere glance.

The dress you’re wearing was picked by the men who had sent you down into the caves, no doubt in the hopes of enticing the saint or perhaps even the Darkling himself. Another shiver prickles over your skin.

She presses a kiss to your cheek. Her lips are plush and warm, a painful heat sears down your body, stoking the traitorous arousal between your legs.

“Don’t worry, little statue. You won’t feel the need for warmth for much longer.” She kisses the spot beneath your ear, her nose buried in your hair as she breathes in a sigh. The affection makes you tense, confusion stirring in your heart.

“I usually pick limestone or granite for the humans intruding on my husband’s kingdom. They get broken up and used for construction.” Her hands wander over your body, feeling every inch of you. She curls a hand around your throat, squeezing momentarily and laughing when she feels your pulse leap. “But you. I think my husband will like you. I think you will fit in perfectly amongst his private collection.”

Her fingers reach for the ties of your dress, tugging lightly on the knots over your shoulders. Instantly, you squirm, holding the fabric close to your chest. She grasps hold of your chin tightly and you whimper in fright. When you continue to shift nervously, she clicks her tongue sternly and you freeze in place.

“Good,” she says softly, as you lower your hands down to sit at your sides which allows her to pull the front of your dress down. “A pretty statue like you shouldn’t be covered up by clothing. I want to see every part of you.”

Her nails tear at the rest of the dress, ripping the bodice until it reaches the slit at your legs. Goosebumps spread over your skin, your nipples hardening at the sudden chill. She hums appraisingly, her fingers dancing over the waistband of your underwear, before she removes the garment with a harsh tug that makes you squeal.

“There we go. I prefer you like this.” The smile is evident in her voice. She sinks a hand into your hair, grabbing a fistful to bear your throat to her and you can imagine her smile twisting into a grin. “Let’s get you into a better position.”

She urges you down onto your knees, nudging your thighs apart with her foot. There’s a knot in your stomach and a stiffness enters your body, your muscles quivering beneath your skin.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she murmurs. “It isn’t actually my eyes that turn people into stone. That’s a silly myth. It’s my touch. Can you feel it happening yet?”

Panic spears at your heart and you realise how deep the ache inside you actually is. A weak moan vibrates in your chest as the weight of your bones becomes noticeable, heavier than usual as they press into the softness of your body.

A pained whimper catches in the back of your throat and she hushes you soothingly. Her hands cup your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. Her touch burns like a gust of winter wind. A tear spills from your eye, cool against the painful heat of your cheeks.

“There, there. It’s alright,” she soothes. “It will happen slowly, at first, as your bones and muscles change, but when it spreads to your organs I’ll make it quick for you.” She brushes your hair backwards, working it into a more presentable style. “Can I see your pretty eyes before the end?”

With trembling hands, you pull off the blindfold which you had thought would protect you from this fate. The light in the cave is low, but it’s a startling change from the darkness behind your blindfold. Blinking away the blurriness, your eyes immediately lock onto the figure in front of you.

She’s beautiful. Impossibly dark eyes with a frightful amount of perception lurking in their depths. Bright white hair that casts an angelic glow over her features and you can’t tear your eyes away from her. She’s wearing a kefta, a garment you’ve never seen before aside from the illustrations in picture books. The silk is black, embroidered with golden threads.

She smiles widely, her expression softening as if she’s watching an adorable baby animal.

“Such a sweet little thing. He’s going to love you.”

She settles her knee between your thighs and you gasp at the sudden contact. Her smile widens into a grin as she cradles your face between her hands, forcing your back to arch slightly. Anxiety thrums beneath your skin as your body stiffens further. Panic begins to wind its way around your insides when you realise you can no longer move any of your limbs.

The sensation is cold and painful, each part of your body aching fiercely as it changes from warm flesh into hard stone. Each breath you take is frantic, despite her soothing words. She steps back to admire you as the pain spreads over your face, your features hardening into stone.

Sound is muffled, your ears filled with a soft roar like the distant waves of the sea. Her voice echoes through your consciousness, though you struggle to catch one singular word. Then she touches you.

She runs her hands over your breasts, admiring every dip and curve made into smooth marble by her. Her touch is methodical, checking over every inch of you for any imperfections in the stone. Her fingers stroke between your legs searchingly and the urge to squirm coils violently inside you. But you can’t move.

Her soft laughter echoes as she steps away from you.

Seconds, minutes, hours go by. With your senses narrowed, sound is indistinct and your sight is nonexistent. All you can feel is an incessant throbbing between your legs. The world fades in and out of focus as you drift thoughtlessly, tethered only by your unending arousal. Then someone approaches you.

“Oh Alina,” he remarks in an appraising sigh. “She’s beautiful.”

A deft finger traces along the underside of your jaw and a shiver fights beneath your skin at the feeling of two sets of eyes on you.

“She still experiences sensation,” she explains, a glimmer of pride in her voice. “Has full consciousness, though that won’t be too capable given her current state of constant arousal.”

He places his hand on your stomach to steady himself as he leans down to take a better look between your legs and the heat and pressure of his palm makes a silent moan writhe in your throat. There’s a molten sensation in your core. If he pressed his fingers against the seam of your cunt, you wouldn’t be surprised if he found it soft like wet clay.

“I know you wanted a piece for our bedroom.”

“You’ve outdone yourself.”

There’s a hint of shyness to her voice as she says,

“You like her?”

“Alya, she’s perfect.”

“I don’t know much about her temperament, but she made the sweetest little whimpers when I changed her.”

His hand strokes your cheek, fingers dropping down to trail between your breasts.

“I don’t mind if she needs some housetraining, and the girls will help her with the rules.”

She hums quietly in agreement, reaching over to cup one of your breasts, pinching the nipple. There’s no pain, but the pressure of her fingers makes your stomach flip somehow.

“I think, with a little breaking in, she’s going to be such a good girl for us.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Bright moonlight wakes you. There’s a stiffness in your limbs; you had been sleeping in an awkward position with your legs folded beneath your body. Blinking your dry eyes, you lift your head to survey your surroundings.

An unfamiliar bedroom, decorated in black silk and shimmering gold accents. The covers shielding your body are thick and cosy despite the gloss of nervous sweat gathering over your skin. The events of the last day are hazy in your mind, vague words and strange sensations blurring together, indecipherable from your dreams or nightmares.

There’s a knock at the door and you freeze in place, your heart hammering with fright. Drawing the covers up to cover your naked body, you stand on shaky legs and approach the door cautiously.

The moment you open the door, someone says,

“Oh, you are pretty, aren’t you?”

Her hair is the colour of autumn leaves, pinned delicately at the sides to frame her beautiful face. Smooth cheeks, flushed prettily with a rosy hue and wide eyes the colour of the summer sky. The rest of her hair spills down her back in gentle waves. She’s wearing a robe, made from a rich emerald green fabric that flares at her waist, where the belt has been tied neatly. The garment halts at her knees and her feet are bare, toenails painted a pearly pink.

The girl beside her is equally gorgeous.

Her eyes are as dark as midnight, singular stars shimmering in each of them as she looks at you. Full lips curl into a smile full of mischief. Dark hair cascades over her shoulders, creeping down to frame her breasts. The deep blue robe she’s wearing clings to her figure, showing off an ample amount of cleavage and her bare legs - the hem is much shorter than the red haired girl’s robe.

They are both wearing necklaces, identical to the one you now notice is hanging from your own neck.

Everything about them both is polished and pampered, yet their beauty seems effortless and innate. You have the distinct feeling that if you stripped them of their fine clothing and pretty jewellery they would be even more stunning.

The compliment offered so casually makes you draw back on yourself, tightening your grip on the covers shielding your body.

“Thank you?” you say shyly.

The dark haired girl smirks and your stomach flips. The other girl’s smile is friendly as she gestures to herself and then her companion.

“I’m Genya. This is Zoya.”

The door handle remains grasped tightly in your other hand, your body half hidden by the door. Genya seems to notice your apprehension.

“It’s okay, we’re like you.”

“Like me?”

“We’re part of Aleksander’s private collection.”

Her words stir at your thoughts, jostling the back of your mind. Then you remember. I think my husband will like you. I think you will fit in perfectly amongst his private collection. It wasn’t a dream. It was all real.

“Aleksander?”

“Alina’s husband.” Zoya’s eyes narrow fractionally, her gaze assessing you. “The king.”

Sankta Alina’s husband. The Darkling.

“You remember Alina, don’t you?” Genya asks gently.

Swallowing hard, you nod. You certainly remember her. The phantom sensation of stone spreads over your skin, drawing goosebumps to the surface. Entranced at the sight, you stare down at your arms, turning one of your hands over so that you can study the lifelong grooves and marks on your skin that now seem foreign.

“How- how am I back as me?” you ask quietly, continuing to stare at your hand.

“Not a statue, you mean?”

Gaze flicking upwards to meet Genya’s eyes, you nod.

“Alina’s magic only holds during the daytime. The night is when Aleksander’s magic comes to life.”

“So what happens to us during the day?”

“We turn back into statues.”

Instantly, your stomach drops. Glancing towards the window further down the corridor, you see a glimpse of the night sky. Anxiety gathers in your chest at the thought of turning into stone again once the sun rises. Zoya tilts her head at you with something like suspicion in her eyes.

“Alina doesn’t usually like to keep trespassers intact once she’s transformed them.”

Reading between the lines of her statement, you frown at them both.

“You came here willingly?” They nod. “Why?”

“Aleksander and Alina keep us safe.”

“By being their statues,” you state incredulously.

Zoya shrugs.

“Partially.”

Before you can ask her what she means, Genya interrupts your line of thought with a question.

“Did Alina tell you what material she made you into? I’m alabaster.”

“She said she wanted me to be marble.”

“Marble?” Genya muses quietly with a thoughtful looking smile. She appears to be suppressing a smirk, pressing her lips together as she turns her head to the side, away from Zoya. The dark haired girl in question draws her brows together, scrunching their perfect shape as she frowns.

“What kind are you?” you ask, before you can lose your nerve.

Zoya lifts her chin, a prideful glimmer in her eyes as she says,

“Bronze. I’m the centrepiece in the grand hallway.”

Despite your confusion, you nod slowly, feigning comprehension. Zoya seems to be expecting some sort of reaction from you, which makes you fidget anxiously. Genya’s smile softens kindly before she explains,

“We all have our own personal place in the house when we change into our statue form.”

“Oh,” you say, as understanding dawns on you. “I heard her - Alina - say she wanted a piece for their bedroom.”

Zoya scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Most of us started off in their bedroom. Don’t be insulted when they move you elsewhere.”

Something twists in your chest. Disappointment? Annoyance flares beneath your skin as you bristle at your own emotions. Why are you disappointed at the thought of not being wanted by them? They’ve abducted you. Genya places her hand on your forearm and you flinch at the sudden contact. She drops her hand instantly, smiling in reassurance.

“Alina and Aleksander usually like to keep an eye on a new edition to their collection. Once you’re more settled, and they’ve gotten to know you, they will find the perfect spot for you.”

She glances down at the bedcovers wrapped around your body.

“Alina has asked us to help prepare you for breakfast.”

You blink at her.

“Breakfast?”

Zoya smirks.

“Just because we’re statues during the day doesn’t mean we don’t eat.” Her comment makes your cheeks flush warm with embarrassment over your ignorance.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Genya prompts you gently. The prospect of food makes you realise how empty your stomach is. You nod hesitantly and she smiles. “Can we come in?”

You nod again.

Zoya strides in confidently, moving directly towards the bathroom to begin drawing a bath. Water tumbles from the faucet, spilling into the bathtub with an echoing rush. Soon, the room is filled with steam and the sweet scent of soap. Genya extends her hand towards you, which you take tentatively. She entwines her fingers with yours, giving them an assuring squeeze before she tugs you gently towards the bathroom.

Zoya has untied the belt of her robe, loosening the front of the garment so that it hangs casually over each of her shoulders. She’s wearing nothing beneath her robe. Unable to pull your eyes away, you stare at her body with heated cheeks. She smirks, crossing her legs elegantly as she sits down in the chair next to the bath.

“You’ll get used to it,” she remarks teasingly. “The rest of us statues rarely wear real clothes in the house.” She grins. “It makes for easy access.” Her fingers dance along her thighs, slipping momentarily beneath her robe and your stomach flips at her insinuation. You can’t ever imagine feeling so comfortable being naked.

Genya tugs lightly on the bedcovers wrapped around you. Instantly, you turn your face to look at her, your eyes widened.

“Do you mind?” she asks softly.

Swallowing hard, you steel yourself and nod with as much bravery you can muster. Loosening your grip, you allow Genya to drop the bedcover to the floor. A tension enters your body, every muscle stiffening as you stare directly ahead, to avoid both their gazes and the chance of seeing your own body.

Zoya turns her body, muscles stretching languidly as she reaches for a bottle of bath oil from a nearby shelf. Out of the corner of your vision, you think you see her eyes roll.

Genya offers a hand to help you climb in which you take shyly as you clamber unsteadily. Once you’re settled in the warm soapy water, she traces her fingers delicately through the bubbles.

“You really are pretty,” she says softly. “I can see why Alina liked you enough to keep you.”

Her words prickle over your skin, embarrassment and disbelief and painful hope coiling around one another as they rush through your veins. This time, you can’t even muster a word of gratitude. Genya doesn’t seem too bothered though. She begins to scoop a handful of water, pouring it gently over your back.

Throughout your bath time, Zoya remains an observer, while Genya takes it upon herself to bathe you. Her nails scrape delightfully over your scalp, drawing soft moans from your lips quite involuntarily - much to your embarrassment. With each sound you make, they share glances and stolen smirks that make your cheeks warm.

Zoya retrieves a thick towel, patting your body down herself when you step out from the water. The instinct to cover your body prickles over your skin, but there are too many parts of yourself to hide so you settle on rubbing your arms nervously, feigning a shiver. Genya takes your hand again, leading you back into the bedroom.

She sits you down in front of the vanity table by the window, while Zoya opens the wardrobe and begins to search through the cacophony of clothing nestled inside the cabinetry.

Genya smoothes creams and ointments over your face, using a soft brush to sweep powder and swipe shimmer across your eyes and cheeks. She collects a dewy gloss on her fingertips, dabbing the substance onto your parted lips. She styles your hair effortlessly, in a manner that has you staring in awe.

“Why do they keep us?” you ask her. She frowns slightly, brows drawing together as she hums quietly in confusion, her gaze remaining focused on your hair. “What do they get out of it?”

She hesitates.

“We all offer them something different. I think both Aleksander and Alina would consider me as a companion.”

“You’re friends?”

She nods. Looking away from the reflection of her in the mirror, you glance at Zoya as she spreads a garment out across the bed. She lifts her eyes, meeting yours from across the room as she smirks.

“I guess you could say I’m their concubine,” she says with a pleased smirk, pride woven between her words.

Her admission makes your stomach flip, your eyes lowering to your knees self consciously.

“What will they want from me?”

Genya places a hand on your shoulder, which draws your gaze back to hers.

“Whatever you’re willing to give them.”

Her words are reassuring but before you can ask for clarification, Zoya is moving towards you with a dress in her arms.

“How about this?”

A soft blue dress. The fabric is practically sheer and the hemline is indecently short, but with your current nakedness you would be willing to wear anything. Slowly, you trace your fingers over the fabric, admiring the gentle shimmer of silver throughout.

“It’s beautiful,” you admit.

The two of them help to tie the strings at the back of the dress, fixing it into place on your body. Nerves begin to gather in your chest and you fidget with the hem, rubbing the material between the pads of your fingers.

After a few final adjustments from Genya, she takes you by the hand once again and begins to lead you out of the bedroom.

The nerves thrumming through your body prevent you from admiring the house as you follow Genya and Zoya towards the dining hall. As you approach the doorway, you can feel them both looking at you.

Genya says your name quietly and you turn to face her. Before she can say whatever is weighing on her mind, Zoya turns and stops directly in front of you, blocking your way. She and Genya share a look that you struggle to decipher. Then, Zoya seems to win whatever silent argument has ensued.

Genya squeezes your hand in reassurance, before she walks into the hall. Once she’s out of sight, Zoya turns back to you.

“Listen. If Alina has decided to keep you, she must care about you already - for some reason.” Her tone is incredulous, as if she hasn’t figured out why Alina has decided to keep you. “A word of warning, they both have a sadistic streak. Aleksander just hides it better. They will want to humiliate you and push you to your limits. If that’s what you’re into, you’re a perfect fit for them. If it isn’t, tell them, and they will find some other use for you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m not getting replaced by someone who didn’t even have to ask to be here. You’re not getting everything I’ve been working for.”

Unable to stop yourself, you argue,

“And what if I’m a perfect fit for them?”

She wrinkles her nose slightly, her mouth quirking with a barely suppressed laugh.

“You’re not. You’re too soft, I can tell. You won’t enjoy half the things they want to do with you.”

Her accusations make you bristle. She doesn’t even know you. The thought of being around Alina again, and meeting her husband, does make you nervous. In all honesty, you might be too soft for them. But there’s a curiosity deep inside you that longs to discover that for yourself - without any help from Zoya.

“Thanks for the advice,” you say stiffly.

The smirk remains on her lips as the two of you walk into the hall, her hand pressed to your lower back.

There’s intricate crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting an iridescent glow over the polished marble floor. The surface is cold against your bare feet and you shiver at the sensation and the reminder of how your flesh had changed to hard stone.

Along each side of the dining hall, there’s a row of marble statues, one in front of each window. The expression etched onto most of their faces is terror, their bodies bent into odd angles with a strange elegance as they all seem to have been captured in the midst of fleeing. Each one of them are morbidly beautiful, smooth features twisted by fear in a manner that makes your stomach turn.

By the time the two of you reach the dining table at the end of the hall, you’re shaking in anticipation. Zoya moves away from you, sitting herself down in the seat next to Genya. There’s a number of other people already seated and you can feel their eyes on you. The only familiar face is the one who keeps your attention - Alina.

She lowers her glass with a smile that widens as you draw closer, beckoning to you when you realise there’s no chair available for you.

“Come here, little statue.”

The nickname feels silly, given that the majority of the people at this table are probably also statues. Does Alina call them by the same term of endearment?

She pushes her chair back slightly, providing some space for you in her lap. Swallowing down your nerves, you take a deep breath and sit in her lap. She curls her hands underneath the crook of your knees, dragging you closer, and heat rushes through your body. Her smile twists with amusement.

“I see you’ve met Zoya.”

At the mention of the girl sitting across from Alina, you nod rigidly and Alina laughs. She strokes your cheek fondly, her eyes roaming over your figure.

“Before you eat, we need to check you’re fully human again. Make sure there’s no stone left in your body.” She hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your head backwards so that she can peer up your nostrils. “Nose seems clear.” Holding onto your chin, she turns your head from side to side. “Ears as well.”

Embarrassment burns over your cheeks and you can feel your pulse beating its way along your throat at the thought of everyone’s eyes on you. She presses her thumb against your lips.

“Open your mouth.” When you obey, she slides her thumb into your mouth. “Good girl.” Instinct has you closing your lips around her digit and she shakes her head with a stern expression. “Ah ah. Keep it open for me.” She presses the pad of her thumb down on your tongue and your stomach flips. She smiles. “There we go.”

Drool spills from your mouth as your tongue goes heavy, and panic grips at you when you remember how her touch had turned you into solid marble.

“Relax, little statue,” she teases. “My magic doesn’t hold during the night.”

“Mine will hold,” Aleksander counters with a small smirk, twirling his fork between his fingers. Then his gaze locks onto yours and he grins. “Though I have much more restraint than my wife, and I quite like the idea of you with a beating heart and warm body.”

Even with her thumb in the way, you manage to whimper and they both laugh. He beckons to you, fingers gesturing between you and himself as he says,

“Come now, Alya. Let me see my gift.”

She removes her thumb from your mouth, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek as she murmurs a warning.

“Be good.”

Even though Alina is the one who turned you into a statue, she’s familiar. Her husband, Aleksander, is a complete stranger. The pressure of impressing him weighs on your mind as you look over at him shyly. Unable to stop yourself, you glance across the table at Zoya. She presses her lips together, suppressing a smug smirk and frustration prickles over your skin.

Straightening your shoulders, you scrape together enough courage to move towards Aleksander. He uncrosses his legs, leaning back in his chair. His eyes move between you and Zoya, observing the brief interaction. Amusement glimmers in his dark eyes as he tilts his head, appraising you as you approach his chair.

His hands roam over your body, gripping at your hips to guide you into his lap. He smoothes his palms over your thighs, slipping beneath the soft skirt of your dress to grasp at your bare body. He traces his way over your hips and waist, curving upwards to admire the rest of you.

“What’s your name, little gem?”

Suddenly shy, you murmur your name to him. He smiles and repeats it in a low voice that makes heat spread over your face and neck. He circles his thumb over your cheek, stoking the fire burning beneath your skin.

“There are a few more areas we need to check,” he informs you. A frown creases at your brows as you think over the areas Alina had checked, and consider what spots she might have missed. There’s a smirk in her tone as she says,

“I thought I would save them for you, Sasha.”

He settles his hands back on your hips, dipping to trace the crease at the top of your thighs, while his thumb strokes your mound.

“May I?”

Realising where he intends on touching you, the breath catches in your throat. Turning to look at Alina, you find her expression fond as she regards her husband. Dumbly, you turn your head back and forth to stare at them both, unable to answer properly.

“I-”

“I’ll be gentle.”

You blink at him, confused. Zoya had said they would both enjoy humiliating you. Why is he asking for permission? Why isn’t he forcing you? He could spread you over the table in front of everyone to examine your remaining holes. Why does the thought of that excite you?

His hand presses against your stomach in an assessing manner, his head tilted as he seems to be searching externally for any stone left inside you. The expression on his face is serious and you realise Alina was telling the truth. Hesitantly, you nod in consent.

He nods with a soft smile.

“Just keep your eyes on mine.”

His fingers trace over the seam of your cunt and your eyes flicker between each of his, fighting to do as you’re told. His smile widens as the pads of his fingers sweep through the mess of arousal gathered there.

“Good girl,” he murmurs appraisingly. “That’s it.”

He sinks a finger into you slowly. A low moan catches in the back of your throat and his smile widens slowly. His finger curls searchingly, tilting to explore every inch of you, and your back arches with a small gasp at the sensation.

The skin of your thighs tingles with pleasure, your thoughts hazing over as he thrusts his finger teasingly inside you. Suddenly, you remember where you are. The sensation of so many eyes on you makes you bite on your lower lip, cunt tightening involuntarily around his finger. Sensing your dual embarrassment and arousal, he slips another finger inside, stretching you out delightfully.

The slight twinge of pain makes you whimper and he hushes you soothingly. The sounds escaping you seem to encourage him. He kisses along your neck hungrily, his lips moving eagerly over your pulse point. He increases the pace of his fingers, your toes curling with pleasure.

“There we go. Such a good girl for me.”

His teeth nip lightly at the sensitive spot beneath your ear and you inhale sharply. He smiles against your skin, his nose grazing the hollow of your throat as he murmurs more praises. The pleasure runs up your spine and you moan softly.

When he presses the pad of his thumb against the puckered hole between your buttocks you grow tense. Weakly, you shake your head and he hushes whatever protest you might have voiced.

“Easy now. Just relax.” He cups your face with his hand, keeping your eyes fixed on his as he eases his thumb into you slowly. “Deep breath.”

It’s intrusive and humiliating, yet he seems genuine in his care. Each breath you take comes out in stilted little gasps until he removes his thumb from you. He kisses your cheek, as a reward, before he murmurs,

“All done.”

Aleksander assembles a plate of food for you to share with him and he feeds you by the forkful, seated in his lap. Occasionally, Alina will lean forward to touch you - a soft squeeze to your breasts or thighs.

After breakfast, Genya shows you around the house, explaining a little more about the new life you’ve found yourself in and you follow her on shaky legs.

“Alina made the majority of the statues in the house,” Genya tells you. “She takes great pride in their maintenance.”

“Maintenance?”

Genya smiles, her cheeks flushing.

“During the day, when we’re in our statue forms, she likes to clean and polish us.”

“Oh.”

The image makes your blood rush hot beneath your skin - Alina with a cloth, polishing your marble body which has been frozen in place by her magic. Flustered by the idea of being so totally at her mercy, you glance towards the open window. A cool breeze strokes your cheeks and you take a moment to admire the sight of the grounds outside.

“Are we allowed out into the gardens?” you ask.

Genya regards the outside warily.

“Sometimes.” She reaches for the window frame, pulling it shut carefully. “If either of them are displeased with you, you might find yourself decorating the fountain on the front lawn.”

Being turned into stone is bad enough, you can’t imagine being left outside in the elements, where anyone could see you. The concern must be visible on your face, because Genya settles her hand on your arm.

“But you’re marble, I doubt they would risk damaging you like that.”

Lost in thought about what you’ve discovered, you hum quietly with a small nod.

The library is by far your favourite room. Once Genya realises you’re content to stay amongst the books whilst she seeks out her partner, David, you’re left on your own for the first time since you awoke.

It doesn’t take you long to find the books on magic. Absorbed by the words in front of you, the world around you fades as you read everything you can. Magic users in Ravka have always been called Grisha. General knowledge regarding their abilities has changed over the years. Originally, their power was divided into specific orders, but over the hundreds of years since the myths of Sankta Alina and the Darkling first began, their magic has developed.

One particular spell attracts your attention. The ability to turn someone into stone - and how to reverse the effects. An arm curls around your waist, pulling you back against a firm chest. Aleksander’s voice is low as he muses against your neck.

“That is a particularly complex spell.”

Heart pounding, you turn your head to face him, your grip on the book tightening.

“I wasn’t- Well I’m not Grisha, so it wouldn’t work.”

He tilts his head at you.

“Yes, you are.”

Perplexed, you begin to shake your head minutely in disagreement.

“I’m not.”

He nods his head, a condescending edge to the motion. He reaches over the book, flicking back several pages before he stops to trace his fingertips across a specific passage of text. It’s hard to forget that his fingers have been inside you and the memory has you growing warm.

“Read it aloud,” he instructs you.

“Should the object of this spell be Grisha, the effects will not be permanent. During the spellcasters height of power, the object will remain in their new form, shifting into their original form during a lapse in power.” The frown on your face deepens with each word you read and once you’re finished you look up at Aleksander. “What does that mean?”

“At sunrise, you will turn back into marble.” You nod. Genya had explained that to you earlier. “If you were an ordinary human, you would be a statue forever.”

“But I’m Grisha,” you state, unconvinced. He nods. His eyes slide slowly over your body, studying every inch of your expression and you struggle to meet his gaze due to its intensity.

“Do you want to free yourself?” he asks.

“I don’t think I want to be a statue for half of my life.”

“You don’t sound certain.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, fuelled by his statement. No one in their right mind would choose to be a statue - would they? And yet, you think of what Genya and Zoya had said. Aleksander and Alina offer them protection. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly as he watches you, shrugging as he decides to save you from your thoughts.

“Alina’s magic surpasses whatever latent power you possess,” he states. “It would take several hundreds of years for you to master such a spell.”

“Would you teach me?”

“No.”

“The stories say you taught Alina everything she knows.”

“You dare compare yourself to my wife?”

His words are sharp, yet there is a teasing smile dancing over his face and his eyes sparkle with a dangerous humour. Instantly, you shake your head, your stomach twisting itself into knots as you step backwards. Panic closes your throat as your spine presses against the bookshelf.

“N-no. I wouldn’t-” You stammer, before adding, rather self deprecatingly, “I couldn’t-”

Aleksander steps forwards, closing in on you. He laughs softly, hooking a finger under your chin. His smile fades as he looks into your eyes, his expression growing serious as he whispers against your lips,

“Don’t doubt yourself.”

He leaves the barest hint of a kiss there before he steps back, striding out of the library without another word to you.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

As the night draws to a close, your muscles begin to ache, anticipating the change your body is about to undergo. Genya walks you to the northern wing, stopping in front of the door that leads to Aleksander and Alina’s bedroom. She gives you a hug, wrapping her arms around your body for a brief squeeze of reassurance.

“They like you. I can tell,” she whispers.

“Thank you for today, Genya.”

She draws back, sweeping a stray strand of hair away from your face. Her thumb strokes your jawline briefly before she withdraws with a smile.

“See you tomorrow night.”

You nod shyly.

Then you’re alone.

For a moment, you consider fleeing down the corridor to find somewhere to hide. Then you hear movement from inside the room and the low sound of Alina’s voice, talking to her husband. Inhaling deeply, you curl your fingers around the handle and open the door.

Alina turns at the sound of you entering, a smile spreading over her features as her eyes lock on yours. She’s dressed in a soft bath robe, her damp hair bundled at the top of her head. Aleksander is sitting at the foot of their bed, his legs crossed casually.

There’s a fuzzy pain filling your head and you blink back tears as Alina extends a hand towards you which you accept.

“Where does it hurt?” she asks, rubbing your hand soothingly. Emotion catches in your throat, a hot tear spilling down your cheek.

“I- Everywhere.”

Her expression softens.

“Come here.” She draws you into her arms and you press your face against her chest, squeezing your eyes shut. She pets the crown of your head gently. “Come sit with me.”

She guides you over to a low daybed, settling your head in her lap as she sits. The velvet is plush against your skin, moulding into the shape of your body as you lie down beside her. She slips the shoulders of your dress down, pushing the fabric to your hips.

Heat prickles over your cheeks as you tug at the dress, ignoring your embarrassment as you pull it down your legs to pool onto the floor. The thought of being naked is still daunting, but Alina’s words ring in the back of your mind. A pretty statue like you shouldn’t be covered up by clothing. I want to see every part of you.

She smiles at the sight of you baring yourself to them both. Aleksander sits down beside you, stroking his hand along the bare curve of your waist.

“If you’re relaxed when you change, you will stay in that state in your statue form.”

You blink hopefully at him.

“I will?”

Alina hums softly in affirmation, cradling your face between her hands. Her thumbs stroke delicately over your cheeks as your muscles stiffen involuntarily. Aleksander’s hands wander over your body, providing soothing and affectionate touches as you try to fight the instinct to panic.

“Deep breaths,” he instructs you gently.

Trying to be brave, you nod. Despite your best efforts, a tear slides down your temple into your hairline. Aleksander wipes it away carefully as your body freezes in place, rigid as you begin to change into solid stone. They both murmur reassurances that become less comprehensible with each passing moment.

The world fades into darkness.

Alina continues to stroke your hair and face carefully. Her fingers trace over your features, wandering over your lips, up to your nose, before she smoothes her way across your brows. Aleksander was right, you do feel relaxed, especially with Alina touching you with such reverence.

She slips out from beneath you and the sensation of your head remaining suspended in the air without support makes you momentarily unsteady. The fear of tipping over clutches at your silent heart. Her hand curls under your head, keeping you in place as she replaces her lap with a velvet cushion.

The action has emotion welling in your chest, feeling cared for even in this moment - even when you aren’t human. Aleksander stands and his footsteps move over towards the centre of the room. The sound of bedcovers creasing with his presence have you assuming he is sitting on their bed - watching you and Alina.

When her touch disappears, you imagine her turning to look at Aleksander. The feeling of her weight leaving the daybed makes you want to reach for her.

She laughs, giddy with joy. Her feet pad hurriedly over the floor as she moves towards her husband. His hands rub over her skin and you can imagine her bounding into his arms.

“I really like her, Sasha,” she whispers.

The sound of them kissing makes your stomach flip.

“I do too, milaya.”

Her voice is quiet and with your mindset growing hazier by the second her words are barely intelligible.

“You don’t think I’m being silly, getting my hopes up so soon?”

He sighs.

“If it was anyone else, I would tell you to be cautious with your heart. You love so deeply, milaya, I don’t want to see you hurt again. But I have a good feeling about this one.”

They kiss again and your thoughts melt into nothingness as the sun filters in through the curtains.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @acehyacinth

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters @idohknow @vaguekayla @the-desilittle-bird

#darklina x reader #aleksander morozova x reader x alina starkov #aleksander morozova x reader #alina starkov x reader #darklina au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader

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navybrat817 · 11 months

Text

Around Your Throat

Pairing: Vampire Mob!Bucky Barnes x Gifted!Female Reader Summary: Bucky has the perfect accessory to go around your throat. Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: E/xplicit s/exual content, f/ingering, b/iting, p/ossessive behavior, b/lood, feel (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). Graphic talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics , Moodboard - yours truly A/N: Set before Lay Me Down, we're visiting our vampire to kick off Hot Bucky Summer challenge hosted by @buckybarnesevents! Theme - "What should I wear?" ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You stood in front of the full length mirror, a frown on your face as you looked over yourself. The black and gold gown you wore was beautiful, the v-neckline and fitted bodice drawing attention to your chest. Bucky had it designed for you, with your approval. He wanted only the best for his bride-to-be.

The fact that he had a matching suit almost put a smile on your face.

But you couldn’t figure out why you weren’t happy with your look. You thought for a moment that the dress was too much for a dinner, especially since you would be one of the only people at the table eating an actual meal. As Bucky’s future mate and your father’s daughter, however, it was the expectation that you’d look your best.

At least I won't have to create an illusion since I'll be amongst Bucky’s friends for the evening.

“I'm not sure about this,” you told your fiancé since he insisted on being in the room as you got ready, admiring your side profile with a sigh. "Should I change into something else?"

"Why would you change when you look good enough to eat?"

You spun around to face him, your breath catching when he stood from his chair and straightened his tie. He slicked his hair back for the evening and you longed to run your fingers through it to make a mess of it. This man managed to steal your heart and he would be the reason you took your last breath.

He was both your ending and your new beginning.

"Just what every girl wants to hear when she goes to feast with vampires," you teased, turning back to the mirror.

"If you sensed something was wrong, we wouldn't attend," he pointed out. He wouldn't risk your safety. He assured your father of that. "Should I tell Steve to play host while we skip it?"

"No, my love, because nothing is wrong," you assured him. You trusted his friends and the only gut feeling you sensed was that your evening would end happily. You looked forward to it.

"Then what's the matter?" he asked as he crossed the room and placed his hands on your hips. Though you couldn't see his reflection in the mirror, you imagined his blue eyes either darkened or glowed at the sight of you. Both stares always set the blood on fire in your veins. “Do you not like the dress? Should I rip it to shreds?”

“Don’t you dare,” you answered, narrowing your eyes when he chuckled. “I love this dress.”

“If you won’t let me tear this gown from your body, at least let me lift the skirt and bury myself in your pussy again,” he said, making you gasp when his cool lips brushed the shell of your ear. Your core throbbed at the idea, tempted to let him bend you over in front of the mirror as he took you apart. Once he turned you, you wouldn’t see your reflection ever again. “And if you love it, why have you stood here for the last two minutes, spinning and frowning at every angle?”

“As much as I’d love for you to ravage me, I don’t think we have time,” you said, gesturing to yourself. “And something’s missing. I can’t figure out what.”

Bucky hummed, gripping your chin to turn your head toward him. “I can get you off quickly," he said, which was true. "And you're missing an accessory. You need something around your throat.”

“Of course,” you smiled softly. Such a simple solution to a ridiculous problem. “What should I wear?"

He moved his hand to your neck before you could go to the armoire, making you moan when his fingers tightened. “I have something perfect in mind.”

“As much as I love this type of necklace,” you said, wetting your lips with your tongue. “I can’t go the whole meal with your hand around my throat.”

Bucky chuckled again, spinning you and pinning your back against the mirror with lightning speed. You trembled when his eyes began to glow, your blood rushing through your veins at the sight of his fangs. The mix of pain and pleasure whenever they pierced your skin brought you to a euphoric state. It was no wonder some begged to become a blood mistress or paramour.

You were lucky enough that you would belong to Bucky forever.

“And just because I can’t ravage you with my cock right this second doesn’t mean I can go through an entire meal without having a taste,” he whispered, pushing the skirt up so his cold hand could slide up your inner thigh. No tights and no underwear so he could have access to what belonged to him. His rule for the evening. “I need your blood and your cunt so I can behave myself."

“You better satisfy your craving then,” you whispered, knowing he’d want more before the sun came up. "And we'll see how well you actually behave."

Vampires had no shame when it came to sex or anyone who witnessed it.

Your wet, warm folds welcomed the cool feel of Bucky's expert touch. Before you could grip his arms, he pinned your hands above your head. His strength turned you on more, which you didn’t know was possible. You were almost in a constant state of arousal around him. “You'll beg for my cock long before you finish dinner,” he whispered against your lips, teasing your entrance as he kissed down the pulse in your neck. “Don't fucking move."

“Yes, sir,” you breathed, closing your eyes to brace yourself for what was coming.

Which would be you coming all over his fingers.

“Mine,” he growled, drawing a cry from you as he sank his fangs into your soft skin and slid two fingers inside your wet walls. You did your best to keep still as he slowly thrust and moaned against your neck. A submissive position he put you in to assert his power, yet you didn't feel weak. Even as he took your life essence and pleasure as his own he empowered you.

Because in return, you’d get every part of James Buchanan Barnes.

“Please, Bucky,” you begged when his thumb toyed with your clit. You wanted to grind your hips down, but he told you to stay still. If you had more time, you would've pushed to see what kind of punishment he'd dish out. But you knew he wanted to get you off quickly, like he said he could. "Please."

“So needy, darling. One of the things I love about you,” he said when he stopped drinking, blood running from your neck down your collarbone and chest as his fingers curled. He pulled back so you could see the red fluid around his lips. The feral look in his eyes as he licked them clean, your head spinning as you teetered on the edge. “Come for me.”

Your body seized up as you gushed around his fingers, your moan of ecstasy lost as he covered your mouth with his. You tasted your blood on his tongue as helped you ride out your orgasm. Days from now you would know the taste of him. Pleasure, eternity, love.

Your new life.

It took a moment for you to realize you were no longer against the mirror as you recovered. Bucky moved you to the bed to rest for a moment and catch your breath. the pinpricks in your neck closed and your dress straightened out. “Thank you for letting me have a taste,” he said, sucking his fingers into his mouth. “Didn’t think anything could make your blood sweeter, but your pussy does the trick.”

“Best combination,” you smiled.

“My favorite,” he agreed, helping you stand once your head stopped spinning. Lust still lingered in his gaze, but you couldn't ignore the concern that shone through. "Are you okay? I didn't take too much?"

"I'm okay," you assured him. He never wanted to lose control and take more than what he needed. No matter what, you were his number one priority. "And you won't have to worry once I you turn me."

"I'll still worry," he whispered. Loving you meant having something to lose. It also meant he had something worth living for. "One more thing before we go."

You smiled when he held up an onyx pendant surrounded by diamonds, like he pulled it out of thin air. Perfect to go with your dress. "It's beautiful," you said, allowing him to put it around your neck. "How did you manage to hide that from me?"

His fingers traced the delicate, gold chain as he smiled. "Because you aren't psychic, but you get feelings. Which is probably why you felt off when you looked in the mirror. You were waiting for me to give you this."

"It's like you know my gifts better than I do," you smiled, touching the pendant before you noticed there was still blood on your neck. "I should clean myself up."

"No," he said firmly, pulling you to his chest. You suspected his heart would race only for you if it could still beat. "You'll wear my mark with the necklace I gave you and your blood on your skin. You're going to be my wife and my mate. I want everyone to see that you belong to me and that there's no shame in my want for you."

You'd wear every brand and claim of his with pride.

"This won't show them that?" you asked, holding up your hand with your engagement ring.

"Vampires don't look at hands," he said, taking yours and kissing it. "They look at throats. And anyone who sees yours will know you're mine."

And I will be until the end of time.

"And when you turn me?" you asked, brushing your hand along his cheek. "Will I get to leave my mark on you and show everyone you're mine, too?"

"You can make an entire path of bites around my throat if that's what you desire," he offered, his icy hand covering yours. "I'll wear them proudly."

Bucky loved with his entire being. Not only were you strong and willing enough to accept it, you'd give him the same love in return. You would always be in each other's care.

My eternal partner.

"I might take you up on that," you smiled, feeling how hard he was through the fabric of his pants. Tempted to drop to your knees and return the favor, you asked, "Do we have time for me to take care of you?"

"We're already running late," he said, giving you a gentle kiss. "But maybe you can keep my cock warm at the table. No one will mind."

"I thought you were going to behave at dinner if you had a taste," you said, your walls clenching with the need to surround him, like he hadn't brought you to orgasm moments before.

"I will behave," he said innocently, but his eyes flashed as he showed his fangs again. "But we'll see how long you last before you try to ride me in front of everyone."

"Well, you did say I'd beg for your cock before I finished dinner."

And you suspected his hand, the necklace, and your blood would be the only things you wore around your neck once he took you to bed for the night.

Who wouldn't want an eternity with Bucky? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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divineidolatry · 2 months

Text

CONSTANTLY IN THE DARKNESS — CHAPTER TWO

— written by june.

pairing: coriolanus snow x reader*

rating: explicit (18+) — mind the tags, see masterlist for disclaimers

summary: against your wishes, you call the curtain on your relationship with coriolanus snow and walk out of his life for good. against your wishes, he waltzes back in like nothing's changed.

tags: exes to lovers, it's complicated, slow burn but they're constantly fucking, manipulation, toxic relationship, power play, unprotected sex, bdsm, dom!coriolanus, sub!reader, edging, overstimulation, orgasm denial, spit kink, bondage, pearl play, choking, shoe riding, degradation, dirty talk, brat taming, penetrative sex (piv), aftercare

taglist: comment on the masterlist to be added to the taglist.

wordcount: 6,747

index: previous chapter

Coryo, ever good at playing the gentleman, gets out first and offers you a hand, which you take gratefully. It’s comforting, being able to lean on him for stability as you cross the pristine and empty lobby to the elevator. It’s all familiar. Nothing has changed. Even the staff remembers your name. It’s like you never left.

He puts a hand over yours, looking at you with that cool expression of his that you know so well, full of poise and elegance, but there is an unmistakable pull in the air between you. The elevator doors open and he bows his head to the neighbors coming out, exchanging a brief pleasantry, and you put on a pleasant face. Part of you wants him to see you still hold the value you promised: perfect at his side, controlled to the very end.

When the elevator doors slide shut and the gears begin pulling it up, he releases a sigh and pushes you up against the gilded walls, hand dropping down to your hips.

“I missed the scent of your perfume in here,” he whispers in your ear, and it’s hard to trust him, hard to believe he means any sweetness he says — but what’s the harm? He buries his nose under your ear and inhales deep, his breath hot and humid against your skin.

You swallow, licking your lips, watching the floors pass by. 10, 11…

“I missed the scent of you.” His lips graze your earlobe and you can’t hold it back anymore — you missed this, you missed him, you missed his skin pressed to yours, his touch. You moan, and as the elevator slows down as it gets to his floor, you feel him smile against your neck.

The board is all his.

He wastes no time scooping you up to carry you to the bedroom, tossing your fur shawl off to the side somewhere between entrance and bedroom. Setting you down on his bed, he pauses for a moment, looking at you like he has discovered a piece of priceless art thought to be lost to time. You stare back, pulse quick, blinking too much, wondering when the bubble will burst. This is delicate, too delicate, you were supposed to be clashing, ripping clothing off one another, begging for release — and instead there’s a tender fondness lurking in the room, offsetting your balance.

“Coriolanus…” Your voice is barely more than a breath. He stiffens a little, annoyed that you’d dare disrupt his reverie.

And that’s the thing. Even though you are here, there is that tug in your heart that nothing has truly been resolved. You’re just a moth to the flame, likely to get burned.

You squirm under his gaze, wanting him to take you, touch you, tease you, anything. Instead, he just looks you over, inch by inch, his eyes roving and hungry. The fire in him is rising and you tremble, eager to be consumed, and you part your lips a little, wetting them. It catches his eyes and he comes closer, leaning over you toy with the pearls on the gown’s bodice. He tugs a little on them, not bothering to look up at you.

What game is he getting at now?

“Stay still.”

Ah, there it is. The command in his voice, something sharp entering his gaze. A terrible and pleasant shiver passes through you, your body knowing what’s coming before your mind catches up.

He pulls a butterfly knife out from his coat pocket, flicking it against the pearls of your dress, tearing them off and ruining the design. You pout, but he gently traces the knife along the velvet, cutting at the straps, his brow furrowed with intense focus. This is simply meant to debase you, to ruin you, to claim you. And when he pulls up your skirt, he will find you soaking through the silk and lace of your lingerie.

“Coryo…” Your whine brings his eyes back to your face. He looks entirely unamused.

“You know better than that, doll.”

“I liked this dress, sir.” You are huffy and indignant, and you know what that does to him, how it irks him to have you pushing back. It’s easy to read on his face, how he wants nothing more than to lift you up, shove you against a wall, and put you in your place, you begging and blubbering all the while.

And it is exactly where you want to be.

“I know. Stand up.”

No more room for debate. You do as told, turning your back to him as he slices the knife through the ties of your bodice. The sensation of cool air touching your skin makes you whimper, and he presses himself to your backside, letting you bask in the heat of him, a taste of what’s to come.

The wet heat of his breath against the nape of your neck sends goosebumps down your arms, and he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“Do you remember your safe word, darling?”

You nod and he sighs. Is it relief? Is it joy? You aren’t quite sure, and he doesn’t let you linger on it before he turns you around and gives your ruined dress the gentlest of tugs, watching intently as your breasts spill out.

“There you are… starting to look like the slut you are.” His words are unforgving, and he smirks at the whine catching in your throat.

“Oh? Do you disagree? Good girls don’t usually give their exes fuck me eyes at a high society balls, or beg to be taken by them in the back of a car, now do they?” He sounds like a right prick, and you’ve never been more attracted to him in your life.

You shake your head, feeling the warm, salty sting of tears, and he steps close, pressing himself to you as he twists your chin upwards to lick at the wet trail running down your cheek.

“Crawling back to me like this, grinding against me like a common whore… just look at you.” He drags a hand up from your waist to grasp at your breast, pinching the nipple, appraising you in a way that has you pressing your thighs together, something he does not fail to note.

“I’d strip you bare now and give you exactly what you want if I were a better man.” His eyes flash cruel and dark, and he’s so dangerously beautiful like this. Like he wants to watch you turn to cinders in his hands if you’d let him — and you would. “But I don’t think you need that, no. You need to be debased. You need be used. Isn’t that right, darling?”

He wants you to admit it, beg for him to tease you, treat you like a whore, use and degrade you, and you are burning up with want for him to do exactly that.

You only hesitate for a moment before you nod, swallowing thickly. “Mhm. Please put me in my place, sir.”

He laughs at you, harsh and oppressive, but you can feel the growing hardness pressing against your lower belly. As easy as you are, he’s no better for when you drip ’sir’ from your lips like honey for his ego.

“Oh darling…” He runs a thumb over your kiss-swollen lower lip. “You can ask me much better than that. Remember, I’ve seen how low you’ll go to debase yourself for me, so let’s not play dumb, hmm?”

You swallow again and it feels like rocks. He has begun fondling your other breast, letting its weight feel some relief from the way he massages it, watching as your mouth goes agape when he toys with the nipple. Everything is betraying you, any argument you might make faltering in your head.

You close your eyes, jaw quaking with poorly contained need, an intense blush bleeding over your cheeks.

“Sir, I want you to treat me like the whore that I am. Please, punish and use me as you see fit, for I want nothing more than to serve as your slut.”

You sound so desperate and you hate how humiliating that is, but he steps back and pushes you back onto the bed, kneeling down to lift the hem of your dress and bunch it up around your waist.

“Let me see if your words hold any meaning,” he murmurs against the tender skin of your inner thigh. Like a starved man, he bends his head down and sucks at the gusset of your underwear, the sound so loud in your ears that you feel dizzy. It’s obscenely filthy, and you can feel his wet tongue through the soaked fabric, licking at the edges. When it makes contact with your skin, it feels like a bolt of electricity crackling through your nerves.

You lift a gloved hand to thread through his hair, holding him there and bucking into his mouth, stealing a moment of this. When he comes up, your hand falls away, surrendering to the dark and primal in his eyes.

“You’re soaked through, desperate, and what I give you still isn’t enough, mm?”

There’s a shred of defiance in you, and you cling to it like a weapon, leveraging it to egg him on. “I need more.”

He retrieves the knife from his pocket and trails it with a feather-light touch over your underwear. “Look,” he commands as he grabs one side, slicing the knife through, then repeats on the other, peeling the tattered garment away and throwing it to the side.

He sits back, smirking, smugly satisfied with himself. “Look at you. A fallen grace.” He shifts to the side, allowing you to look in the mirror across from his bed, and oh, you know what he means, you’ve seen the marble statues on show from the old world. Your ruined dress pools around your waist, tits hanging out, cunt dripping and accessible: there’s no other way to put it, he’s reduced you to a simple whore.

“You can dress yourself up in your finest, parade yourself around like the queen of high society, and charm the masses with your wit, but I know who you really are.”

Your eyes meet his, knowing he is watching your uneven breath, the minute movements of your body in response to his words. There is a cruel glint in his gaze as he continues to undo you with nothing more than his voice, the words dripping like honeyed poison from his lips.

“You’re nothing more than a greedy little girl who wants to be made to submit, to take cock in each and every hole until you forget yourself, to cum until you’re stupid and no one else in the world would want you… no one but me.”

He reaches down and cups a hand over your cunt, running a finger through all your slick, and there’s a twisted delight on his face.

“You’re dripping, darling. And I’ve barely touched you… what do you have to say for yourself?”

You writhe, bucking your hips against his hand only to find emptiness as he swiftly moves away, clicking his tongue at your greed.

“Ah, ah. Where are your manners?”

You hate him for it, the bastard, but he knows how to wring it from you. “Please, sir,” you whimper, clutching the bedsheets around you so hard you feel the nails tearing the fine fabric. “Please. Touch me. Spit on me. Do anything to me.”

You need him. You are under his thumb.

And he always knows what you want. For his cruel touch, you’d walk through any blaze — it’s the only thing that stirs you anymore, the only thing that feels real in this society of masks and charades.

Deep down, you hope that is what he sees in you too…

He pulls you off the bed and pushes your trembling body down on your knees. He sneers down at you with disdain, running a hand through your hair before he tugs at it to crane your neck up, causing you to let out a whining cry.

“What am I to do with such a filthy whore but use her for her intended purpose, right?”

You watch him, desperate with need. He releases your hair and slaps your cheek.

“You know when I ask you a question, I expect an answer. Do you think you can do that for me, hmm?”

You nod, thrilling at the touch even as it stings.

“Yes, sir.” You wince at how pathetic you sound.

“Good girl.” The words are a purr from his lips. “Now, I believe you know how to service me with that mouth. So show me what you’re best used for.”

Consumed with want as you are, you hastily undo his belt and unzip his trousers, licking the hard curve through his underwear. Your saliva hangs in thick strings between the fabric and your mouth, and he groans above you, fingers tightening in your hair. It spurns you on as you free his cock. You tongue at the tip, messy and wet, saliva already dripping down over your chin before taking it into your mouth, stabilizing yourself with a hand at his thigh. The hand in your hair softens its grip and he runs his fingers through your hair. You sigh around him, the touch so gentle, so pleasantly encouraging as you slowly take more of him in. His length and girth fills your mouth, and you push it as far back as you can take, and he lets out a hitched groan as you begin to bob your head at a languid but steady pace.

“That’s a good fucking girl.” His voice is low, heated. You’re already getting to him, and that’s good, but the praise gets to you too, leaving you whimpering around his cock and bucking your hips, wanting just a little touch, anything…

“You’re not really sucking like a proper whore though, are you?”

His other hand comes up to your hair and you feel his fingers comb through to establish a firm grip. You stutter a little, but pick up the pace, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him as deep as possible, relaxing your throat — if you just breathe a little deeper, maybe you can take him to the root, maybe…

“That’s it, that’s it, good little whore.”

And you can tell he means it by the laboured breathing. Your increased pace is met with him starting to thrust into your mouth, leaving you to choke and slobber around his cock, drooling and making a mess of yourself that drips down over your chin, spilling over your breasts. As you descend further to your place beneath him, you can tell he is doing the same, getting lost in the way he wants to take you, ravish you, own you. No role comes as easy as this to you — and he’s the one who could get you there with a snap of his fingers.

So you give him bite, just like when you first met. The slightest bit of teeth as he fucks your face, and you hear him moan shortly before he cums down your throat. You’ve surprised him, taken that from him, and it is a victory. Credit where it is due, however, he’s quick to pull out and let some of his cum hit your chest, turning you into an even worse mess. Even as you look more the part he wants you in, you can tell he is frustrated, and you’re thrilled to find out what comes next.

You watch — not without a little disappointed whine — him tuck himself back into his underwear, zip his trousers back up, and it isn’t long before he has a cruel grip at your chin.

“Open your mouth. Tongue out.”

He sounds furious and his expression leaves no room for doubt. You obey, and you know it’s coming before his cool saliva hits your tongue as he spits in your mouth.

“Close your mouth and swallow, cunt.”

You swallow, loudly, humiliatingly, and there’s tears welling in the corners of your eyes again, hot and shameful. You open it again without him asking, showing your clean tongue, showing how good you can be.

“Please, sir… I want to cum…”

He laughs at you. There are tears streaming down your face, you know he sees how desperate you are and all he does is stick the toe of his dress shoe against your cunt.

“If you want to cum, darling, you can rut against my shoe.”

You wish you had shame left, but he has ripped it clean out of you with how badly you need him. There’s no hesitation as you cling to his thigh, rocking your hips as you finally find an angle that has your swollen clit pressing against the smooth leather of his shoe, smearing the polished dark with your wetness. You’re close, you hate how close you are, rutting against his shoe, but the moans betray you, everything betrays you, and you look up to find him smirking down at you.

“You continue to impress me with how desperate you are for me. Your first orgasm of the night, and it’s going to be had clinging to my shoe like dirt.”

Sobbing, you rut harder, more desperate, because you need this. You need to cum, you need him to see you like this, pathetic with your need for him so that maybe he might take you, cruelty and all. You know he wants to, know he is as desperate as you from how he just came, he just wants you to play his games, debase yourself, and you’ve never had a problem with that before. The guilt of tonight only makes it sweeter.

“You’re close, aren’t you, whore?”

You nod, your body taut and trembling. “I’m so close, sir, please.”

And he denies you.

He pulls you up, your shaky legs made worse by the heels still on your feet, and he scoops you up to bring you over to his desk, plopping you down on it. The blubbery crying escalates, thick in your throat, vicious and demeaning. You were so damn close.

“Did you really think I’d let you?” He leans over you, grabbing your face. “You truly are a stupid brat.”

It’s a victory, you think, because he’s still upset you made him cum already, but it’s not a terribly sweet one all things considered.

“Stupid little whore thought she’d get to cum just like that?” He punctuates his words with gentle but firm slaps against your cheek, leaving the skin burning hot. “You’re the one who begged me to treat you like this. While you’re crying over that lost orgasm, remember all the ways you’ve debased yourself for me already. And yet you still think you have a say when you cum. Don’t be a fool. It doesn’t become you.”

You glare at him for that, pained from your need and furious for his words. He’s punishing you for leaving, you’re far too intelligent to miss that even at this stage and he knows as much.

He circles the desk where you are sat, seeming to think. The moment drags out, silent and unnerving, your sticky breasts cold in the chill air. It’s getting harder to predict his moves — and a part of you no longer wants to. You want him to wash over you with the ruthlessness of the ocean, drag you under into waves of pleasure. Anything his calculating mind concocts is a treat, however harsh it feels in the moment.

He nudges you into a standing up after a while, tugging your dress down and off, letting it pool around your feet. The gloves go with it, and now all you have on are heels that have become far too wobbly, and the pearl jewelry.

“Don’t move. Heels stay on for the night.”

Ah. You’ve played together like this before, he likes how they look on you and they act as their own sort of punishment, painful and demanding. He arranges you so that you sit straight up, hands splayed out on the dark wood surface on either side — and he makes you wait like that as he steps away to the drawers where he keeps his collection of tools and toys.

Looking around the room as you wait, you note little has changed; it’s as familiar as when you were sleeping here every night, spacious but well decorated, including touches you’d suggested to him. You figured he might have replaced certain things, things you were certain were just him entertaining your vision, but no, the room remains as much yours as it was his… It’s a strange feeling.

He stands before you again, snapping you out of your drifting thoughts as he sets a few things down on the desk behind you, and there’s a bit of an unreadable glint in his eyes. But it’s nothing good, it never is. He palms your breasts again, gaze focused on them as a smirk crosses his features.

“Sometimes I think I should fuck you up against a window so the entirety of the Capitol can see how gorgeous your breasts are, and know that they’re all mine.” He sounds serious, but as much as he would delight in everyone knowing how much he owned you, you knew he was far too possessive to ever let anyone else actually see you like that.

“But no matter, I can treat myself to an even better view, isn’t that right?”

It’s infuriating how smug he is, but you nod. He loves when you surrender to his judgement, accept your place with affirmations, reminding him just how much you want what he doles out.

He picks up a clover clamp, and as he pinches one of your nipples to attach the clamp you let out a whine. It pinches, it aches, and it’s going straight to your cunt, feeling so good and vicious all at once. He retrieves another, repeating the process, and then you see a tiny strand of pearls in his hand and at the center of it: a little weight. He loops one end into one of the clamps and you whimper pathetically as it tugs heavily at your nipple. The other end is attached and you want to cry, but refuse him the satisfaction, biting back.

“Now, I think a trade is in order.”

You don’t comprehend what he means until he reaches behind you to unclasp the double strand of pearls from your neck, pocketing it. You want to pull them back, they’re yours, he gave them to you, but you resist, pressing your palms down hard against the table. He’s pushing you, and you will snap… but not in this moment. You want him to put in the work.

He takes the last items from behind you into his hands, and pushes you back until you’re lying down on the desk. Circling you, he ties your wrists together in silk. It’s slippery and delicate, and you could break loose easily; it’s a test — of willingness? Loyalty? Weakness?

“You’re breathtaking.” It’s like a revelation from his lips, and far too emotional for you right now.

“Don’t—” Your protest is short lived as he puts his hand over your mouth, a warning.

“Do you want me to gag you too?”

When you shake your head, he releases you.

“I’ll say it again, then. You are breathtaking, always, and absolutely beautiful when you submit to me like this.” He is speaking softer, it’s a moment of vulnerability that kind of pisses you off, and on the other hand makes you want to sob. It’s unfair that he knows how to pull at you like this, knows just when to go so soft that it throws off your balance. It shouldn’t make you whimper and rub your legs together, but it does. His mask comes back up.

“Legs apart, slut.”

You don’t hesitate to do as you’re told now, watching with a held breath as he comes to stand between your legs. He sees the eager expectation on your face and quick as a flash, he slaps your cunt with a few light strokes, smiling wide as you cry out and try to press your legs together. He won’t let you.

“Ah ah. Not this time. You’re not getting away from this.”

Pulling the pearls, your pearls, from his pocket, he leans over you and runs them over your wet cunt, coating them in your slick. For a minute, he teases like this, lightly running them along your clit in fleeting touches, a brush of the smooth pearls and nothing more. You let out quiet moans, breathy little things, and he chuckles.

“You’re so filthy, do you know that?”

He takes the pearls and twists them until they encircle your clit, pushing on both sides to create pressure. It draws a ragged moan from you as you dig your nails into your palms, twisting in the soft silk ties.

Removing the pearls for a moment, he gives the weight connected to your nipple clamps a firm tug, leading to a keening wail from you, pulling it until you whimper and whine, your jaw quaking from how good and awful it feels.

He drops it back down on your tummy as if losing interest in it, and continues to drag the pearls around, every so often circling and pressing into your clit, giving you want you want only to yank it away moments later. When he does, he hooks a finger into the chain connecting your nipples and tugs, hard enough to remind you: pain and pleasure go hand in hand. It leaves you breathing heavy, silent tears running down your cheeks and onto the desk. You need release badly, worsened from the earlier denial.

“Remember, you don’t cum without permission.” It’s a stern reminder, and you know the weight of disobeying.

“Please, sir, please, I need to cum, please make me cum, please…” You cry and blubber and whimper, but he merely tuts at you.

There’s no relenting from tormenting your clit, then easing up or ceasing entirely while he toys with your sore nipples, the chain a cruel reminder of all you’ve surrendered to him tonight. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve come close from this, you worry your palms may begin to bleed, and you don’t know how much longer you can withstand this. Theres a sheen of sweat across your body when he seemingly stops entirely and you watch with hooded, cautious eyes as he comes around the desk. You expect him to put the necklace around your neck again where it belongs, where he’s fastened it so many times, and instead he shoves the the wet, slippery pearls into your mouth. You whimper around them, tasting yourself, and he runs a gentle hand through your hair as you notice him straining against his trousers again.

“I’m going to fuck you now, doll. You’re allowed to cum when I do.”

You whine in relief.

Circling back to the other end of the desk, he undoes his trousers, freeing his cock of his underwear, and lines it up with your greedy cunt. He teases the tip along your wet folds, groaning as you buck your hips, trying to get him inside of you already. He pinches your clit until you still, your breathing twisted through with moans and whines, and when he finally pushes in, you swear you see stars as he stretches you open. It’s so good, it’s so filling, you have felt so hollow and empty all night and now he’s filling you to the brim with his cock.

“You’re so wet,” he groans. “Drenching my cock like this… you feel so good.”

It’s the sweetest praise you’ve heard all night.

He starts moving agonizingly slow and the tears continue to come against your will — it’s so much, how your cunt clenches around him, how badly you need him. You want relief and you want him deep inside, you want him to hit that spot and you want him buried inside you until you feel your clit rubbing against his skin.

His pace picks up steadily, and you can feel the weight between your breasts rolling and tugging, making you whimper from the tenderness. He reaches up to remove the clamps, each one eliciting a pained cry from you as the blood begins to rush back, leaving them even more tender and sensitive than before.

Everything in your body is alight from the stimulation and edging, and you feel every inch of his girth stretching you open. You haven’t been fucked in months and your body can’t get enough of his.

He grabs your hips, nails digging in as he picks up the pace, the thrusts growing erratic as he leans over you.

“Look at me,” he groans, and you do.

For a moment, you can’t see anything but him: he fills up all your senses, his words command your absolute attention, and his cock, it’s pushing you to breaking. Though your body is aware, your mind is a haze, and before you realize it you are clenching and fluttering against him, squirting and making a mess of the desk, of his suit, and biting down on the pearls so hard they break apart, spilling all over and making soft noises as they roll over the desk and onto the floor. You’re shaking and trembling and he’s still fucking you, chasing his own need, moaning as he does.

“Such a sweet, tight cunt for me,” he murmurs, licking a long stripe on your cheek were tears have rolled down. “I know you can cum again.”

Your whimpers are desperate, the sensation of him continuing to fuck you is verging on too much, but you cum again, and again, or rather you really never stop cumming. He delights in the mess he’s made of you, working one hand between your sweaty bodies to play with your clit. The sensation snaps the last strings in you, and you begin sobbing, reduced to nothing in the palm of his hand. He’s so cruel, his touch is horrid, and you want him, you need him, you can never get enough of him.

You hear him groan above you, his hips snapping against yours sharply, and you feel him cum inside you. He thrusts deep one final time and you both moan, the mess spilling between you as his mask breaks. He’s spent, and he’s vulnerable, and even though you’re shaking and trembling, you know you have him as much as he has you.

He stands there for a moment, staring down at you with adoration and something you cannot read. You’re sagged against the desk, spent, and you whine as he pulls out, cunt gaping empty. Some of his cum drips out of you and pools on the desk below.

“Messy, my cum leaking out of you like that.”

Your cheeks flush with shame, his gaze feeling too hot now as he gently strokes your clit again, pushing some of his cum back in. It’s obscene, the sound, the feeling, and you’re relieved when he undoes your heels before he unties your hands.

The game is over. You’re not sure who won, only how good and wrecked you feel, thoroughly fucked by the only man that has ever drawn out this side in you.

“You did so well, darling.” His voice is soft, but filled with the same heat you heard from him at the ball.

Your eyes land on some of the pearls scattered on the desk, a tired hand absently playing with one. You’re pretty upset they ended up ruined like that, but if he catches the sullen look on your face he doesn’t say anything, and you won’t be bringing it up. Some losses are inevitable in war. You can take it. The pearls had been like a collar, a profession that you were his. You taunted him with that at the ball but this wasn’t love, not anymore.

The complexity of it all settles back into you, and you blink rapidly a few times, trying to bite down on the mixed feelings. You’re broken up, and yet… You’re here. With him. And now?

He scoops you up silently, watching your face carefully as you look up at him. Neither of you speak as he carries you to the ensuite, easing you into the tub as he turns on the hot water, the level of luxury indulgences he could enjoy knowing no bounds.

You wince a little for the heat against some of your more sensitive areas, but you sink into the feeling, letting yourself finally relax after a long night. Though your eyes are heavy, you watch him, head in hand, as he undresses completely. A sight for sore eyes at least: his body is just as beautiful and firm as you remember it, a surprise to find under his handsome suits.

Gently, he helps you scoot forward, giving him enough room to slide in behind you, putting his legs around yours. He presses a kiss to the nape of your neck and your breath hitches. You kind of want to shout at him for being so tender with you, so romantic, but you’re still a little gone, and there isn’t much room for you to escape as you are. So you try to ease up, let him take care of you. You can try to quell whatever possessive notions he has later. Harder with the ones burning a hole in your gut, but you breathe in deep, leaning into his touch.

He doesn’t speak as he fixates on taking care of you, and you listen to his even breathing and the sounds of the bath, the clink of a glass cup being picked up, filled with water, then poured over your hair. Herbal shampoo that you know costs more than what some citizens spend on a nice dinner, massaged into your scalp. You feel like a prized possession as he rinses it out thoroughly before following it up with conditioner, gently run through the locks of your hair.

Slowly you feel yourself coming back up from the space you sank into as he washes your body, slowly and tenderly, cleaning of the sweat and grime of the evening. You sink further into him, resting your head back on his shoulder, and when he reaches down to help clean off your cunt, you sigh.

“Feels good,” you murmur. Shit. You didn’t mean to.

He chuckles and you feel the rumble against your back, but either he is too concentrated on his task, or he is pocketing that to use against you later. Maybe it is just a mercy he is offering you this once but… no, you know him better than that.

When he is satisfied with his work on you, he lets you both just sit there, bask in the ease of the moment. Surely he knows you won’t let it drift on forever, but it would be so easy to. He places a kiss to your temple and you would cry if you had it in you. He shushes you, as if he knows the inside of your head already, as if he knows each crevice of your mind… and maybe you can’t put it past him.

“We can fight in the morning,” he says, “just relax. You’ve had a long night.”

Well, at least he knows you won’t go down easy.

When the bath has run its course, he helps you towel off and carries you back to bed. Moments like these always make you almost mistake him for a gentleman. Almost. You don’t know all that lurks underneath, but the shadow flickers across him now and again, an abyss you could fall into. Maybe you want to.

When the two of you are tucked under the duvet, he lays a kiss to your shoulder blade and pulls you close.

“Are you alright?” His voice is nothing more than a whisper, and you know he is just checking in with you about the scene. Everything else is too complicated for such a question.

“Mmm, ‘m good.” The words are slurred and messy this close to sleep, and pressed against his body, his arm holding you close, you finally fall away from waking, dreaming of nothing.

Sunlight isn’t supposed to be this harsh this early. Still, as it starts to pour in through the tall windows of the penthouse bedroom, you rub your eyes and wince at how bright it illuminates your shame. You should not be here. It pounds like a depraved headache in your mind.

Despite the way he let your relationship fall by the wayside before, Coriolanus Snow is a possessive fucking bastard and you just played right into his need to keep you. You’re right back to where he likes to keep you, and you let your guard down and let it happen. Foolish. Greedy. Slutty.

He’s still sleeping next to you, arm draped over his face to blot out the sunlight. As quietly and swiftly as possible, you look around for something you can wear home as only your gloves and fur shawl wouldn’t exactly cut it. Not without causing a scene worthy of exile.

You’re not sneaking out, you fully intend to make good on his promise last night and get a few meaningful barbs in before you walk out of his life for good, but it would be best if you could do so fully dressed. Pretty certain you must have left a thing or two behind, you scamper over to the walk-in and peruse your options. Lingerie, a few pairs of heels, and a couple silk slips… not your first choice but it will have to do. With the shawl, it might be just chic enough for stepping out when your chauffeur arrives.

When you step out, his eyes are on you immediately, sat up in bed as he is. He’s watching you with a bemused grin.

“Leaving so soon? I was going to offer you a round two.” Bastard. He looks so fucking self-assured.

“How generous,” you say, flashing him a brilliant smile. “I’m pretty confident in telling you that won’t be happening in this lifetime, Coriolanus.”

“You sure? Last night you were cockdrunk like an addict. If I remember correctly, you even cried over how good it felt.”

He’s not wrong, the words are a blow because yes, part of you does want to stay but in the harsh light of day, your desire to play a better game rears its vicious head. He can’t get everything he wants with just a cocky snap of his fingers.

As you take another step toward the door, you watch his face drop, and you pause, looking back at him.

“Ah, I see how it is now,” you say, the words a dagger you can finally twist back in him. “You’re the one who doesn’t want me to go. If anyone is the addict here, it’s you.”

You leave the room, heading towards the elevator and grabbing your shawl on the way. You hear footsteps behind you but attempt to pay it no mind, waiting for the ding of the lift, but it’s taking too long and you feel his hands on you, shoving you against the wall before you realize it’s happening.

He kisses you hungry, a man possessed, pushing the slip up, dragging his fingertips over your mound. He’s desperate, he wants you to stay, he wants you and it’s a weakness. How rare to see him like this. You know you should push him away, but you melt into it for just a moment — and he breaks the moment as he bites your lower lip, too hungry for his own good.

Fuck. You let him open you up, push in and possess you. Again. You need to get out of here.

The elevator dings. Finally.

You bite him back, harder than he bit you, and when he pulls back in surprise, you push him off you. His lips are red with blood. His, you hope.

“Goodbye, Coriolanus.”

He watches you with a furious fire in his eyes as you wait for the doors to close — but there is a fire in your eyes too this time. A warning. You will burn him just as bright as he does you.

And despite it all, you know this is just the start. There’s no escaping unscathed.

taglist: @ohmeadows @casualhedonists @qalijahbydior @missakward123 @akira1803 @damagdsnow @carebear209 @herewegoagaiinn

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x you #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader

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saltylandland · 26 days

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I want to draw this but idk how to draw nsfw plus, busy, so here is a list of ideas, also I’ve been following @weebsinstash for awhile and I just think you’d be into this :)

Your dearest friend (and co worker) confesses that she’s the main heroine of this world, she got randomly sent here from her world, in her world this place is a romance game. She says regardless of if you believed her she was telling you the truth and-

You nodded yes, and not because you were a loyal side character, but bc you knew. After her confession you get a flood of memories of a different world, and a detailed retailing of the world you’re in.

Your friend, though she is bland by design, she is radiant and an unforgettable presence, despite not being able to remember her face even after just facing her.

The story, about an emperor with a curse. The entire castle keeps the secret, all families have been working there since the empire was first founded. Cult like loyal to their (admittedly really competent) emperor

Your friend, what was her name again? No- that’s not the point. Her goal, the goal of the game, was to tame the emperor's curse by existing, something no one had ever been able to do.

Face multiple challenges like the jealous empress, make your way through the fanatical loyalists and get closer to the emperor. Rise from empress’s handmaiden, to imperial consort, to empress herself!

Your friend whispers to you that she can tame the beast that prowls though the castle at night, and that she’s going to soon.

(The emperor becomes extremely aggressive with sharp claws yada yada, unfortunately no monster fucking this time tho)

But when that night arrives, she fails. You find her corpse before anyone else does. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen, she was supposed too- her body was collected and buried and it was almost like she never existed. Not that she didn’t have family, but like a spell the mysterium of the heroine fades away seemingly with no impact, she was just another victim of the beast.

With a new sense of fear, and with new memories, no loyalty to this empire, you were hatching a plan to leave. The night you were scouting out a path, with the excuse of chores on the night shift, you run into the beast. He was supposed to be chained up?!?

you are tackled to the ground, the emperor is on top of you. Opening your eyes you see him nuzzling your neck, shallow breaths fanning across you. You panic, this was supposed to happen to your friend not you. You can predict it now, he’ll turn into like a lap dog how embarrassing-

RIIIIIIIIIIIP- suddenly he rips your bodice down the middle, exposing your breasts to the cold air.

————

You try to avoid it but he keeps hunting you down and mounting you.

One night you hide away in the deepest parts of the castle, since you had been searching for a place to hide all day (and the beast fucked you all night) you fall asleep

Waking up to a gentle rocking it takes you a minute to process that you were now under him taking his cock

—

Then on one of the nights he does it in front of servants and they tell the empress who then calls you into her office, reader who is already planning to leave is scared you’re gonna get executed

The empress tells you that this is your job now, using your body to ‘tame’ the emperor bc there has been no incidents otherwise

This is a complete 180 to the empress from the game. She also insists that the emperor cannot know that he’s fucking you every night, as he is a decent man and he’d feel guilty, and to prevent you from getting pregnant she will supply you with potions to prevent that. And there is no other choice (not said but heavily implied) Now you are being treated as the unofficial concubine which the empress seems to dote on, your official title is the empress’s handmaiden/confidant

It is later revealed to you as you unwillingly get closer to the empress that though she loves the emperor (they grew up together) she doesn’t really care for sex (either cuz she’s lesbian or just ace) and once she got pregnant with their heir, their sex life basically stopped, tho they didn’t have an actual conversation, the emperor could tell she wasn’t into it and didn’t push her

Bonus points if she’s telling you about what a good man/husband he is for not pushing her/making her take care of his needs like that while he rearranges your guts.

Later later you find out that the emperor realized what was going on, but since it prevented him from hurting anyone he went along with it. And now since you’re so close to the empress, both of them start to fall and become yandere and now you have the most powerful couple who want you for themselves ❤️

Also, quick idea for an ending, he starts regaining control of himself as basically his and the beast’s goals become the same, and he starts loving on the reader even before nightfall and so the two personalities begin to blend and he’s cured! How wonderful! But now you’re the official concubine congrats! What? You don’t want it? Too bad! They want you! Also good luck making it out of the castle as everyone their views you as the emperor’s saviour.

#yandere #yandere emperor x reader #yandere empress x reader #yandere smut

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pink-princess-pussy-pop · 9 months

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Behavioral Lessons - King Ben x Reader

Summary: You push Ben's buttons too far

Words: 5.3K

Inspired by a section from my Dating Ben Would Include. Ben didn't lose his beard or fangs in this guys. He just didnt. So with that, he might just have some other… beast like qualities. (im so sorry i went rouge)

Link to photo of the dress, but if you hate it, just ignore when the dress is described and picture whatever you want to be wearing!

Warnings: Smut, uhhhh, thigh riding, a bit of edging, choking bro im not well at ALL for doing this to poor mitchell, not proofed

Edit: oh god. yall this is so dirty. i didnt mean to make ben a degrader but here we are... I’m sorry if I ruin this franchise for you rip i ruined it for myself

You had to take matters into your own hands. You hadn't seen Ben in weeks. And when you had, it wasn't for more than a few minutes when you passed each other in the corridors of the castle. He hadn't even been returning to your shared room at night, sleeping in his office instead. You were growing restless without your fiancé.

Since you were both twenty-one, your wedding was coming up. With the nearing celebrations on top of his usual king duties, Ben had been more stressed than usual, which is why you hadn't seen him recently.

So naturally, you just had to take matters into your own hands. You knew the way to help your fiancé was to help him relieve his stress, and you knew just how to push him to get there.

Every Friday night, you sat down with Ben and his parents for dinner. But this Friday was special. Not only were his parents going to be there, but so were your friends. It was the final Friday before your wedding and it would be the most you've seen of him in weeks so you were looking forward to it. And what was to come afterward.

...

You kept the dress hidden for months. It was strapless and fell mid-thigh. The body of the dress was a pale yellow, the outer layer was a sparkly floral pink fabric, and the bodice had tiny bows up the front. Evie had designed it for you and was standing in front of you now.

"Oh. My. God. I don't think I've ever made anything better. You look incredible. Ben is gonna go craaaa-zyyyyy." She was gushing over you, shoving a pair of gold shoes into your hands. "Now put these on, and then let's get to that dinner.

You looked at yourself in the mirror absolutely mesmerized at your reflection. Your legs looked incredibly long with the length of the dress paired with the heels. Dizzy had so graciously styled your hair, a simple updo, but with your small tiara on your head, it was perfect. You smiled at yourself, bringing your hand to your neck where a small, gold, necklace with the letter "B" sat.

...

You were giddy with anticipation, ready to see Ben, ready for him to see you. You entered the large dining hall, filled with your friends from the Isle and Auradon. Belle was at your side immediately, looking beautiful as always.

"Y/N! Sweetie! You look lovely!" The small woman hugged you. "I am so looking forward to you and Ben's wedding next week. It is going to be beautiful!" You smiled at her.

"Thank you! I'm excited about it too. Ben is a wonderful man. I’m very lucky to be marrying him." Then, Lumiere announced that dinner had been served and as you turned to go to your seat, Ben was behind you.

"Hi." He was giving you the smile that made your stomach flutter with butterflies. His hands were on your waist almost instantly, bringing your body closer to his. He looked perfect, would you expect anything different? The blue suit with the golden crown was a look you'd never get tired of.

"Hello." You smiled back at him as he kissed you for the first time in weeks. You broke it first, knowing that people were most definitely watching you and that you needed to leave him wanting more.

As you walked to your places at the table, Ben whispered in your ear...

"You look incredible, Y/n." You flushed at the compliment and at the way his voice sounded when he said your name.

You sit next to him, the chairs closer together than normal with the new amount of people. The plan was in full motion now.

The feast was grand, as it usually was, but before it began, Ben rose to give a toast.

"Thank you all for joining Y/N and me," He gestured for you to stand and join him. His arm wrapped around you instantly. "In our final feast before our wedding." He turned to you, his beautiful smile returning again. "I can't speak for my beautiful fiancé, but I am so happy that our closest friends and family were able to join us tonight." You spoke before he could go on.

"I am also very happy you are here!" The hall erupted in a chorus of laughs and Ben squeezed your side.

"I'm so honored to be marrying such a wonderful person. I cannot wait to share the rest of my life with you.” You smiled at him as he bent down to press a soft kiss to your lips. He whispers, "I love you." and then he pulls away to continue. “Alright, I’m sure you all want to eat, so I won't bore you with my love speech any longer."

...

As everyone else ate, you counted the minutes until you could begin your plan. You didn't want to start it too early or too late. You had to wait for the right time. Ben was such an attentive fiancé that he had noticed your behavior.

"Honey?" You were startled at his voice in your ear again. "Are you feeling ok?" You turned to him, noticing that he was looking down at your chest, blushing when he looked back up. You shifted at the sight of his tongue running over the tips of his fangs.

Now. It was time for your plan.

You set your hand on his upper thigh, leaning over to whisper into his ear.

"I guess I'm just hungry for something else..." You ran your hand up further before you were stopped by him. You looked down at his hand grasping your wrist, right above the seam of his pants.

"Y/N." His usually sweet voice was stern. You set your face with a smirk but innocent eyes, looking up at him. His jaw was clenched but you could tell you were getting somewhere. His skin was dusted pink and his pupils had dilated. "What are you doing?" You reached your fingers to brush against the fabric of his pants and he snarled, his grip on your wrist tightening.

"Ben!" His father interrupted and he swallowed, squeezing your wrist once more.

“Stop if you know what’s good for you.” His words were low and then he turned to his father who was across the table. You took this moment to shake yourself from him, turning to the former king, before placing your hand back onto his pants.

Ben jerked, trying to keep his composure in front of his parents and friends, but how could he when you were teasing him like this? In order to not draw attention to himself, he kept both hands on the table.

"Son, are you ok?" Ben eyed you, giving you a glare that only spurred you on further. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"I'm fine." He continued his conversation with his father, talking about God knows what, as you continued to tease him. You were half listening to Ben and Adam and the other half of your brain was only thinking of making Ben as flustered as possible, so you ran your hand over the growing tent in his suit pants. You could tell he was struggling to maintain his composure, his breathing had gone uneven, his face was red, and he kept glancing at the big grandfather clock behind his father's chair.

You smiled, gave his clothed member a squeeze, and withdrew your hand, reaching for a large piece of chocolate cake. You looked over at Ben, his eyes narrowed on you as you brought a bite to your mouth. His slip in composure was glorious and you winked at him as you brought a bite of cake to your lips.

You almost choked on the cake as his hand slid onto your thigh, just past your dress, fingers skimming the soft lace of your underwear, already wet from your actions and your thoughts of the night to come.

"So needy that you've resulted to disobeying your King? How pathetic." His lips grazed over the skin under your ear before he leaned back to look at you.

Your thighs squeezed against his hand involuntarily and it was his turn to smirk. He regained his composure, returning to “normal” Ben, now free from your teasing.

You, however could barely eat your dessert with his hand pressed between your legs.

“Regretting our actions are we?” He whispered to you as his engagement ring slid over your core. You covered the gasp with a cough. “That’s what I thought.”

...

The second dinner had ended, Ben's arm was around your waist. As the two of you neared the doors of the large hall, his name was called.

His dad and Lumiere were behind you.

"Your Majesty, your father and I have been talking and there are a few things we wanted to go over for palace security during the ceremony. If you come with us, it won't take very long." Ben's face was completely normal as he gave Lumiere a nod before turning to face you.

He plastered on his King Ben smile, brushing his hand against your cheek, bringing your lips to his, but he didn't kiss you.

"I hope you know, I'm not going to be nice tonight." His lips were on yours for mere seconds before he stepped back, running his tongue over his fangs once again. Then, he turned back to Adam and Lumiere, leaving you in the dining hall, thoughts running wild about what was to happen to you that night.

...

You called Evie as soon as you got back to your and Ben's bedroom.

"Do I keep the dress on? Or do I wear something else?" You were frantic, walking around the closet, not knowing what to do.

"Girl! Calm down!" You had told her what had happened and she was so excited she practically screamed. "If I were you, I would put on one of his dress shirts. He won't be expecting it when he comes in to punish-"

"Oh my GOD, EVIE!" The laughter on the phone was enough to make you roll your eyes. "Thanks for your help." You grumbled.

"Let me know how it goes!" Before you could reply, she hung up. You set your phone down and grabbed one of Ben's white dress shirts along with a simple, white lace lingerie set from a drawer.

Slipping the dress off, you carefully put it on a hanger and set it in your closet. You slid the shirt on, buttoning it up, leaving it open just enough to see the bra you had just put on. You began to take out your hair, setting the crown down on your vanity counter, and removing the pins holding the updo in place. Finally, you applied a bit of lipgloss and a spritz or two of Ben's favorite perfume before climbing onto your shared king-sized bed.

...

Thirteen minutes later, not that you had counted, the bedroom door burst open, and in walked your fiancé. His eyes locked on your body as he removed his suit jacket. You knew he was waiting for you to look at him, so you obliged, looking up from the random book you had picked up, you really weren't reading it anyway. He was glaring at you as his hand loosened his tie and removed it. You tried your best to look at him with the most innocent eyes you could and he chuckled.

You watched as he unbuttoned the first two buttons of the white shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his forearms. When you looked back into his eyes, they were almost black.

"Did you have a good time at the dinner, my dear? Did you enjoy yourself?" His hands were placed on the bed so he was leaning down. His tone was condescending, which sent shivers down your spine. He was always so sincere. This new side to Ben was intoxicating.

“Answer your King when he speaks to you.”

If he noticed your eyes widening in shock, he didn’t acknowledge it. He was unmoving, his eyes challenging you, taunting you.

“I’m not going to ask again.” You didn’t know how to respond, so you nodded.

Ben chuckled again, his fangs on display. Any sight of them made your heart race and he knew it.

“No, honey. Use your words.” His voice lowered. “Or do you want to disobey me again?”

“Yes, I enjoyed dinner.” Your voice was small but you held your ground, not breaking eye contact. You challenged him back. “Did you enjoy dinner, Ben?” A dark look crossed his face.

“Why don’t you try saying that again, using my correct title?” You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, but you had to admit, you liked this side of him.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight…” You sat up from the headboard, leaning towards him, and bowed your head. Then, looking up at him through your lashes added, “…my King?”

His eyes narrowed again and his hands wrapped around your ankles, tugging you to the end of the bed. He settled his knee between your legs, brushing your clothed core on purpose, but not acknowledging it. His hands settled by your head and he hovered over you.

“No.” He dug his knee into you harder and you threw your head back, exposing your neck to him as you moaned. “No, I didn’t.” You felt his finger slide down the column of your throat before hooking itself around your necklace laced with his initial. He leaned down, mouth hovering over the pulse point in your neck. “My bratty fiancé couldn’t keep her hands to herself.”

His teeth ran down your neck and goosebumps erupted at the sharpness of the canines. “You haven’t touched your bratty fiancé in weeks.” He tugged on your necklace and your eyes found his again.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Now that was a surprise.

Though he got stressed fairly often, he never used vulgar language. You had heard him say “damnit” once after losing a Tourney game in high school, but that was it.

Suddenly, you felt your body flush at his outburst. You didn’t reply, too shocked to say anything.

Ben smiled, but it wasn’t his good King Benjamin smile.

This smile was positively wicked.

“I believe I asked you a question, Y/N.” The fingers hooked on the chain around your neck now rested softly on your throat.

Holy shit.

“Yes.” The words were almost inaudible.

“M’sorry… what was that?”

“Yes.” You spoke clearly now.

He snickered.

“That’s now how you properly answer a question, now is it? Let me ask again.” His fingers tightened slightly. “Do you want your King to fuck you?” The word rolled off of his tongue like honey and your hips rolled into his knee.

“Yes, I want you to…” His eyebrow went up. “…fuck me.” His fingers withdrew from your throat.

“Hmm.” Suddenly he was standing up, leaving you on the bed, catching your breath. “I don’t think you’ve earned it.”

You watched with wide eyes as he sat down at your vainity in the corner of the room. He looked so casually regal. His crown, the unbuttoned shirt, his crisp blue slacks. But there was some other air about him that was making you crumble in his hands. The way he was man spreading, his long legs awaiting as your own throne. His beard and sharp fangs you were aching to feel between your thighs. Your toes curled at the thought.

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you honey?” The mean tone from before had returned. “You’re thinking about me fucking you?” Your face flushed so much you were sure it went down your whole body. You quickly realized he’d asked you another question.

“Y-Yes. I am thinking about that.” Your snarkiness from before was long-gone. He gave you another wicked smile. His picked up your crown, which was much smaller than his since your coronation would happen after the wedding.

“Well, are you going to sit there all night or are you going to come finish what you started at dinner?” You got up from the bed immediately crossing to where he sat. His fingers wrapped around your necklace again, tugging you to his level. Your knees hit the floor, hands on his thighs while he brushes your hair from your face. He tilts your chin up to meet your eyes.

His hand retracts while he takes you in. On your knees in front of him, wearing one of his shirts and dear God, the white lace of your bra peeking out at him was making his head spin.

No longer having self-restraint, Ben’s lips lock on yours. You moan into his mouth as his hands wrap around your torso, pulling you to sit in his lap. He growls into the kiss as you grind your hips into his.

Finally. You thought to yourself. Ben’s control over his respectful manner had cracked a little but your goal was to break through it completely. And you knew by his bruising grip on your hips that you were on the right track.

Then suddenly, Ben wasn’t touching you anymore. Your body was left heaving on top of his while he leaned back in the chair, resting his elbows on the armrests.

“Go on.” You stated wide-eyed at him. “I’m not going to do all the work here, honey.” Your face flushed as you looked to his crotch, the tented fabric strained. “You did this…” His hand grabbed yours, setting it back onto his pants. “…so do something about it.”

Slowly, you began to move your fingers and Ben’s eyes narrowed.

“You and I both know you can do better than that.” His hand found it’s way back up to your throat. “Don’t you want to please your King?”

Dear GOD where had this side of him come from? He shifted the slightest bit so his pants ran against you.

“Ben!” Your eyes squeezed shut, brain foggy with him.

“Are you really making me wait?” You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as yours shifted to where your shaking hands were now trying to undo his belt buckle.

As you worked to free him from his pants, Ben’s hands found their way back to your hips, slowly pushing up the fabric of his dress shirt so he could see what was lying underneath.

His mouth almost watered as the white lace was brought into view. He licked his lips at what the fabric was trying in vain at hiding.

Ben had to remind himself that you were not being rewarded now. That you’d disobeyed him at dinner and now was not the time to be relishing in how lovely you were.

He was brought out of his thoughts as your hand slid into his boxers.

He threw his head back and muttered a barely audible,

“Fuck.”

As your fingers wrapped around him, timidly moving up and down.

He looked at you, so focused on what you were doing, so desperate to make him feel good, needing to hear his words of praise. Ben guided you to straddle one leg as he began to rock his hips into your hand.

You were so trained on pleasing your fiancé, that you hadn’t even noticed that you’d begun grinding on his thigh.

Ben had noticed. He watched as your breathing became more rapid and how your strokes became less careful. You looked up, meeting his gaze, sucking in a breath at the primal look in his eyes.

His eyes flashed with pleasure as your thumb ran over the tip of his cock. His fingers stopped your hips and he said,

“Stop.” Right as you were about to come. You did as you were told but you couldn’t help the whine that escaped at the lack of sensation.

Ben rolled his eyes, the hands on your hips forcing you to grind into his leg once again. You moan, tossing your head back to avoid looking at him. The fucker was edging you.

“So Goddamn needy.” His hot touch on your skin was gone and you had to steady your breathing before looking at him again.

Ben had begun to unbutton the rest of your shirt, pushing it off of your shoulders once it was fully undone. He shamelessly raked his eyes over your body, grinning that evil grin as he did so.

Then, his hands were under your bottom, picking you up before setting you down on the bed.

“Are you going to behave now?” The dampening of your underwear at his words is embarrassing. Ben’s thumbs skim over your abdomen, right on the waistband of your underwear. Ben doesn’t break eye contact with you, smiling once again. He looks hot as hell, his fangs and the beard along with his crown.

Was he going to fuck you while wearing his crown? God you hoped so.

“Honey?” Ben lowered to his knees, fingers now on the sides of the lace fabric. You instinctively close your legs but Ben’s strong hands are there instantly, forcing them back open.

Embarrassment floods your system as you watch him look down, a shit-eating grin appearing on his face before his eyes return to yours.

“Keep them open.” His fingers dance dangerously close to the damp lace. “Answer my question, please.”

He’s so close that you can feel his breath fanning your core.

“Yes, Ben. Fuck! I’ll behave.” He kisses your inner thighs which are now practically shaking in his grasp. His mouth moves to your hips, right where your waistband is.

“Do you want to know a secret?”

“What?” You sound breathless.

He looks directly into your eyes.

“I’ve been able to smell you this entire time.”

You’re too late to react as Ben rips through the white lace with his teeth. His hands are keeping your thighs to the side and he looks at you for a moment: A shaking little mess before him, your cunt dripping and clenching around nothing. You watch as he smiles again, bracing yourself for the contact of his tongue, lips, and teeth.

His tongue licks your glistening cunt from the bottom up twice and your hand clamps over your mouth when his lips wrap around your aching clit.

And then.

Oh, fuck.

You’d forgotten about his facial hair.

The delicious roughness contrasting with his sweet mouth made the pleasure skyrocket.

Ben loved the taste of you. He was never able to get enough. So anytime he went down on you, he took all he could get. He moaned at the taste of you, the vibrations going straight through you.

Your hips lifted off of the bed as one of his hands moved off of your thigh and a thumb pressed hard against your swollen clit. At the same time, Ben bit into the soft skin of your thighs, marking his territory. He repeated his actions on the other side, now rolling your clit between his fingers.

If you weren’t covering your mouth, you were sure the whole castle would be able to hear you.

Ben’s mouth returned and you let out a scream as his teeth bit your clit gently. He let his tongue swirl around it as his thumb ran down your slit, parting your folds, exposing more of you to the cool air. He moved the slightest bit and the roughness of his mustache brushed against your clit, sending you into your awaiting orgasm.

Ben continued devouring you through it, eating you out like a beast, already wanting to get another one out of you like this. He looked up at you, realizing he hadn’t been able to hear you, eyes narrowing once again at the hand over your mouth. Your hips rocked again as he slid his middle finger into you easily but then he stopped all of his actions.

Your grown was muffled but one look from Ben and your hand fell to the side.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of being too loud…” his finger curled inside you and you let out a loud moan, a blush settling over your cheeks instantly. “…because I don’t care if anyone hears. They’ll know how good the king is fucking you, right?” His mouth was on yours again, finger pushing in and out of you slowly. Your hips jerk up and you moan into his mouth, making him smile into yours.

Ben pulls away, making you groan in frustration. As you sit up on your elbows, you watch as Ben steps away from the bed to undress and you know he's doing it slowly on purpose.

"Ben-"

“Shut up. You brought this on yourself, honey.”

Once again, your cheeks heat. His harsh glare makes your heart pound.

His eyes tear away from yours as he finishes undressing. Yours close, waiting for what's next half in anxiousness, half in eagerness. His warm hand on your knee snaps you out of your thoughts.

His tongue runs over his bottom lip before he brings it between his teeth. He pulls your body down and steps between your legs. Ben's hand settles on your neck again, smirking at the feeling of your racing pulse.

"Don't tell me you're nervous, sweetheart." You take a deep breath before looking into his eyes with a smirk of your own.

"Why would I be nervous if this is what I wanted?" His jaw sets as the smirk disappears.

And then under his breath,

"Such a fucking brat." Before his hand fully wraps around your throat as he brings his lips to yours.

Your hands reach up to wrap around his shoulders pulling him down on top of you.

You pull away when Ben bites your lip, tasting blood.

"Benjamin!"

His smirk is back.

"Oh, so you're using my full name now. I thought this is what you wanted." You glare at him as you run your tongue along the bite. His head dips as he kisses you again, sucking on your bottom lip. You are so enthralled with the feeling of his mouth on yours, you don't register what else he is doing until you feel the head of his cock pushing into you.

You act on instinct, pushing your hips into him but he pulls away.

"Don't be impatient. That stunt you played at dinner was cute and all but-"

"You thought it was cute?" You pout. "I thought you were going to punish me for it, my King."

With that, Ben pushes into you the rest of the way, wrapping his hand around your throat again, silencing any moan trying to escape.

"You were saying?" Your pelvic muscles clench around him which spurs him on further. "What's the matter, my love?" He pulls out of you and puts the slightest bit of pressure on your throat. "You want me to punish you?" He leans in to kiss you again but stops centimeters from your lips. "You asked for it."

Ben kisses you once again, hands now on your hip bones as his hips roll into yours at a brutal pace. Your hands wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you as he does the dirty work.

Your nails dig into his skin as you near your orgasm, pulling away from his lips as you struggle to catch your breath. Then suddenly, Ben stills inside of you and laughs as you whine.

"Would you like me to keep going?" You nod, although you know he will continue to fuck with you. "Really?" His lips find your neck again, kissing the spot beneath your ear. He grins against your skin at your whine. "Alright."

Ben begins to move ever-so-slowly. Annoyed, you begin to roll your hips into his but he is quick to stop you. His hands press your hips deep into the bed, forcing your movements to stop.

"Ben..." You trail off, eyes closing as Ben continues. He leans back, his beautiful smile gracing his face.

He gradually picks up speed, every movement into you brings you closer to the brink but Ben knows your body well. He's memorized your body and the ways it reacts to his. He knows that when you throw your head backward and try to cover your mouth to subdue the noises you're making that you're close. That's when he knows to stop.

"Fuck, Ben, please." He leans over you again, his beautiful smile still plastered on his beautiful face.

"Please what?" He has the audacity to rub soothing circles on your skin.

"Damnnit Ben." Your eyes are squeezed shut, unable to look him in the eyes. Ben leans over more, his lips brushing against yours.

"Please what, honey?" Your eyes open and narrow at him.

"I already asked Ben..." He chuckles.

"And I'm asking again." He raises his eyebrows. "Now unless you'd like me to," his hips roll again, "continue with your punishment, I suggest you use your words and answer my question."

"Benjamin," You pause briefly, waiting to see if he will stop you and make you use his title, but he doesn't. "Please, please, fuck me."

Ben smirks, making him impossibly more attractive.

"That's all you had to say." His hands grab your thighs, wrapping them around his waist before turning his smirk into a grin.

He moves again and it is glorious. Ben does all the work, which is fine for you because you're too enthralled with the pleasure to do anything about it. His hands tighten on your legs and pull you to him, bringing your bodies impossibly closer. His pace is brutal, fingers most definitely leaving bruises in their wake.

Instead of covering your mouth, your hands wander up his arms and pull him down to you again before resting on his broad shoulders. His crown glints in the light and your eyes roll at the sight. His hand leaves your thigh and reaches between your bodies to pinch your clit. To cover your moan, you pull his lips to yours, releasing it into his mouth. Ben smiles in return, rolling your clit between his fingers.

You break the kiss, gasping for air as your head is thrown back, He takes the opportunity to attack your neck again, his teeth gently biting at the soft skin.

His hips slam into yours once again and it pushes you over the edge. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, your body going limp in his arms.

Ben follows not far behind, groaning into your neck.

"Fuck."

After the two of you calm down, he pushes himself back, looking down at you.

"I'm sorry if I went a little overboard. I just-"

"Ben..."

"No seriously I-" You cut him off.

"Benjamin shut up." His eyes widen. You look up at him, a small smile on your lips. He watches with wide eyes as you push yourself up to sit under him. His smirk returns as you wince at the soreness he left you.

"Did you just tell me to-" You cut him off with a kiss, hands pulling his face to yours.

You break away from him and his eyes are wide.

"Ben, if you had gone overboard I would have told you." You kiss him again. "Besides, it's what I wanted." His eyes narrow.

"What?" You giggle, squishing his cheeks together before his hands wrap around your wrists, pulling your hands down. "Y/N, what did you just say?" You fall back onto the bed, laughing.

"I had this whole thing planned out, Bennie Boo." His eyes roll at his ex-girlfriend's nickname for him. "You were stressed and we hadn't..."

"Fucked?" He finishes for you.

"...in weeks, so I put this plan together to help you relieve your stress and so we could..." It's Ben's turn to grin.

"Say it."

"Make me."

His smile drops.

"Oh, you're asking for it now, sweetie." His lips were on yours before you could even think of a clever response.

I'M BACK!!!

bro ive literally been working on this for like 3 months.

:) ENJOY

#ben florian #ben florian smut #king ben x reader #ben descendants smut #king ben #ben florian x reader #descendants king ben #king Ben Florian #king Ben smut #descendants #ben descendants

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cissa-calls · 4 months

Text

Rewatching Crimson Peak & Things of Focus and Notice:

As a child at her mothers funeral, Edith wears butterfly/moth earrings

Is the pen her father gifts her the one she later uses to stab Lucille? He describes the importance of having “The right tool for the job,” is that foreshadowing for gifting her the tool to begin her escape from Crimson Peak?

Is Edith wearing a butterfly hair clip when she dances the waltz with Thomas?

Lucille’s iconic crimson red gown is so detailed, so beautiful. It represents the skeletal ghosts with its spinal column along the back, crimson peak itself in color, the carapace of a bug on the sleeves and structure, and the upper bodice has trim that blooms outward (present similarly in her blue gown) but is bisected by buttons…creating a familiar shape…a moth?

The candle they hold during the waltz is held at the same level Edith holds her iconic candelabra, a subtle parallel

The trim on the collar of Lucille’s black dress references the spikes and trims of gothic architecture - which is very heavily featured in Allerdale Hall

Lucille says that: “At home we only have Black moths, formidable creatures but they lack beauty.” Knowing the parallel between her and moths, it implies that she sees herself as a survivor and powerful, but something no longer beautiful because of it

Lucille places the butterfly she holds directly into the ants, an action that’s brutal but quick. Is it foreshadowing to her execution of Edith’s death? Something quick for such a beautiful thing, done by her hand?

The LOOK Lucille gives Thomas when they realize Edith’s father knows their past. THE LOOK (JESSICA CHASTAIN YOUR ACTING)

“You seem the more collected one my dear” Lucille is called this. She always holds the mission undetered in her mind, as opposed to Thomas who seems more easily swayed by emotions

When Thomas breaks Edith’s heart by ripping apart her book. He says: “What do you dream of? A kind man? A pure soul to be redeemed? A wounded bird to be nourished?” He is telling her exactly what he is. None of those things, none of the dreams she has built of him in her mind. Not with a past and life such as his.

The significance of gramophones and wax cylinders: it is what plays when Edith’s father is murdered, it is also what saves her from meeting the same fate

I want to know more about Lucille!! Her character is so rich, so so complex, she needs more screen time!!

Need a prop replica of the ring NOW

[the house] “is a privilege we were born into, one we can never relinquish” METAPHOR ALERT METAPHOR ALERT metaphor for the cycles of abuse and trauma they could not break

HOW THE FRICK did I MISS the fact that Thomas’ workshop is in the attic when that was where him and Lucille were locked up as children. SO MANY IMPORTANT SCENES HAPPEN THERE. So many significant to their past we never see, so many ghosts not visible but are so real and present to have caused this

The trail of smoke like red essence that emanates from the ghosts as they walk, like they are still bleeding

Lucille’s hair looks black in darker lighting, but a dark brunette in others. It’s provides a black, dark shroud when she’s in America, and catches more light when she’s in Allerdale Hall

“I like to think she can see us from up there. I don’t want her to miss a single thing we do.” UM MA’AM

“…in time, everything will be right” LUCILLE QUEEN OF FINAL OMINOUS STATEMENTS IN SCENES

The amount I WISH to explore this set. To pry apart each detail and pick apart each piece, so much of it had to be handcrafted pieces for the movie or vintage pieces sourced for it. LET ME IN

THE LIGHTING MUAH

The ghost in the hallway has a rope dragging behind her…is this a gory detail, or an allusion to how she may have died (if not by poison)?

The ghost in Edith’s dream is pointing, though it is never shown to what. Is it to the exit, her warning to leave as all the other ghosts try to do?

The children’s laughter after the presumed scream of their mother’s ghost as she is stabbed, is it just for creepy effect, or did Lucille and Thomas actually laugh after they murdered her?

The scar on Lucille’s lip? Never noticed it before!

Not the first time I’ve noticed it, but the act of her clutching hot steaming food with her bare hands is chilling every single time

Were the bodies of Thomas’s wives left in the vats of clay? I don’t know HOW I didn’t make that connection before, originally i thought it was merely for creepy effect.

Many people villainize Lucille and try to make Thomas out to be solely a victim. But as stated in the wax cylinder, he was fueled by his desire to pay for and make his machine. Him and Lucille are both complacent in using their victims money for their own gain

We need to bring Chatelaine’s back into fashion. That is all.

The scrape of the spoon over the porcelain cup, it screeches and is a subtle way that shows Lucille act of caring has a harshness to it, an unpleasant sound resulting from an otherwise pleasant action: tending to Edith

Such an interesting camera choice to have the camera focus in a circular inwards and outwards

also also Lucille has a temple scar on her forehead?

The small amount of glee Lucille takes saying Edith “thought [she] was was a writer” as she throws the pages to her novel in the fire.

The absolute deadpan, matter-of-fact-ness Lucille has to Edith when she signs the papers “you have nothing to live for” & “mercy killings.” This is a familiar repeated cycle

“Sign your name! Sign your bloody name!” Bloody is not just for emphasis. Edith’s name is soon to be nothing but blood

Lucille’s night gown sleeves as she flies down the stairs in pursuit - like a moths wings fluttering towards its prey

Lucille and Edith fought each other with bare feet on the stone and in the snow

Lucille is the only one of the two who knows how to start Thomas’s machine, because she was the one who witnessed it working

It is only the stab wound on Thomas’ face that bleeds and smokes when he is a ghost, perhaps because it is the wound that bears his betrayal by Lucille, reminiscent of tears of his lingering pain

Edith now has a facial scar, gifted to her by Lucille, who bore ones of her own. It is a passage, a continuing of the cycle, but it is its finale. It is Edith’s souvenir from Lucille, who took her own souvenir (her hair) from the other like a prize

#a very exhaustive list from my most recent rewatch of one of MY FAVORITE MOVIES #crimson peak #many many thoughts #lucille sharpe #edith cushing #thomas sharpe #cissarambles

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suuuupernovaaa · 9 months

Text

Suit | Hobie Brown

Y/N sees Hobie in a suit for the first time. It goes... well.

18+

It had taken me at least 20 minutes to assemble the perfect jewelry set to go with my dress. Admittedly, the dress itself was boring. A deep maroon, with billowy sleeves and a tight bodice. Since the dress was so simple, I felt the need to adorn myself in gold jewelry. Earrings up and down both ears, multiple necklaces of varying lengths and textures, bracelets that clanged together in a satisfying way as I moved, and a gold hoop through my septum that was delicate and only noticeable up close.

"Perfect," I whispered, stepping away from the mirror to admire my appearance. It had been a while since I'd gotten so dressed up. My free time was either spent on the couch out in the living room, exercising (which I hated, but had a life-long compulsion to do), or doing whatever Hobie wanted to do.

Tonight was a first for us both. First wedding together. First formal event. First time Hobie was meeting my family.

"Well?" I heard Hobie say from behind me. He appeared in the doorway, and I could see him in the mirror before me.

My jaw fell to my lap.

Hobie, usually dressed in tight jeans, ripped t-shirts and studded jackets, looked entirely unlike himself.

He wore a suit - an honest to god suit - dark blue with silver trim. Underneath, he wore a gray, knitted vest over a white button up shirt. Everything was perfectly tailored to suit him, courtesy of my parents. The pants hung perfectly above a pair of gray dress shoes that I knew were pinching his toes. His shoulders looked broad and strong, his waist tantalizingly thin, and I stood up to get a good look.

"Wow," I replied in a whisper. The clean, sharp suit was in a delicious contrast with his facial piercings, and the tattoos creeping up over the collar of the freshly pressed white shirt.

He spun around, arms out to his side. "Well?" he asked again.

I glanced down at the watch dangling on my wrist. 11:30. We didn't need to be there until 1, which meant we had a little time before we needed to get in a cab.

"I don't think I can wait until after to fuck you," I replied, and Hobie's pierced eyebrows raised towards his hairline.

"That so?" he asked, already charging towards me. "Don't wanna mess up the suit."

"We'll be quick," I replied, meeting him in the middle of a room for a kiss that guaranteed I would need to re-apply my make up before leaving.

We weren't as quick as we thought we would be, but by 12:15, we were in a cab and only set to be a minute or two late. I buttoned the top button on Hobie's shirt and he smirked down at me.

"Should I wear a suit more often?" he asked.

Flashes of passionate kisses, Hobie ripping my underwear off, entering me without either of us taking any other clothes off, flashed across eyes, and I clenched my thighs together, well aware a cab driver was listening to us.

"I'm worried you'll attract too much attention," I replied with a teasing smile.

He put two fingers under my chin, and tilted my head up to his. He pressed a gentle kiss on my freshly lined lips, and one on my powdered nose.

"Yours is the only attention I want."

#Hobie brown #Hobie brown smut #Hobie brown fic

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cattyb2 · 1 year

Text

Take a Break

Summary: As news breaks of an assassin targeting Senators in Coruscant, each Senator is assigned a Jedi for protection detail. Anakin Skywalker, a young Jedi knight has been taking his job protecting you very seriously. He grew on you, and finally let you convince him to take a break.

Warnings: flirty Anakin, then protective and serious Anakin, blood, guilt - gif not mine

A meeting of the senators had just come to a close, the heavily armed room now leaving. Anakin Skywalker stood behind you the whole time, he didn’t make any commentary, not even a face as you argued endlessly with another senator. You couldn’t understand why anyone would want to prolong this war any longer. And you were mad.

You stood up quickly from your seat, your long evergreen colored dress swaying with your movements. The dress was nothing short of bothersome. It was exceptionally long, having a train, the sleeves fell so low around your hands, and the open back made a chill constantly run down your spine. You’re sure Anakin could sense how angry you were, and he learned in the past months of being with you to not ask. You’d come to him when you’re ready to explode, and he would sit down and listen to everything you had to say. He never disagreed, and often offered his own input.

“I cannot believe this is what we’ve come to!” You almost shouted while reentering your apartment. Chancellor Palpatine had each senator moved when these assassination attempts came to light. You left your small, homely apartment to get moved into a bigger one higher up. It had another room, as Anakin also stayed in this apartment to monitor you around the clock. It didn’t bother you, and he insisted it didn’t bother him. Of course, it was his job, but you’re sure the poor guy wanted alone time.

“I’m surprised you didn’t combust on the spot, Senator Y/L/N.” He joked lightly, though this was not the right time for it. You shot him a glare, which caused his smile to go into a smirk. He knew when he struck a nerve, he became very good at doing in these long months. “Alright, alright. I agree with you, you just need to get others to agree.”

“I cannot get others to agree when everyone’s head is so far up their own ass!” You shouted, forcefully ripping pins out of your hair, letting in fall down your back, finally providing much needed warmth.

“Senator,” Anakin said.

“We’ve been over this. No senator talk when it’s just the two of us, please Anakin. I need one person to treat me normally.”

“Your wish is my command, Y/N.”

He was resting against the back of the couch, his arms crossed. His mechanical fingers moved with the utmost precision.

“Does it ever, hurt?” You asked lightly, not wanting to offend.

“My arm?” He questions, although he already knew that was what you were talking about. You nodded, staying silent.

“Sometimes, other times I barley notice I’m without a limb. Depends on how busy you keep me.” He spoke calmly, another signature smirk on his face. You pursed your lips at the comment, but then again, what else did you expect to hear from him? His laugh rang out clear as day, his arms moving to grip the edges of the couch.

“You’re almost as infuriating as them.” You accused, trying to balance as you unlaced the summer styled wedges that adorned your tired feet.

“You wound me.”

“Good.”

“Maker, you look like a baby trying to take its first steps.”

You huffed, getting more irritated. You didn't want to bend over, not with him in front of you, and not with the low cut bodice dress you had on. So balancing on one foot while bringing the other up was the best solution in this current state. He knelt down in front of you, looking as if he was about to propose and confess his undying love for you. But his mouth stayed shut, lips still twisted into a light smirk. His mechanical arm reached out for your ankle, taking it softly, and resting your shoe clad foot on his thigh.

Your dress slid, exposing your entire leg and pretty high up on your thigh. Although it was a beautiful dress, the low cut front, exposed back, and high cut slit made you question if you were ever going to wear it again. A common dress back home, wasn’t so common on Coruscant.

You wanted to look away as he unlaced your shoes, if he looked up and saw the blush on your cheeks you knew it was over. He’d never let you live this down. But you couldn't tear your eyes away from him. Not as he gently placed your foot back down, reaching for the other.

“Do this often?” You asked, trying to split the tension with some humor.

“Would you be surprised to hear that you’re the first?” His breath tickled your leg, and you were sure he saw the goosebumps that it caused crawl across your skin.

“Yes, actually. I would.”

“Well I’m sorry darling,” He started, the name catching you off guard. “But with all my watching out for you, I haven’t much time to myself.” He dropped your foot back down to the ground, grabbing your shoes and stood back up.

“Trust me, Anakin. If I had my way you’d be out fighting on who knows what planet. Not here, wasting away day after day.”

“I don’t consider protecting you wasting away.”

“I know, which I’m extremely grateful for. But still, you’re a Jedi Knight, not a guard. They shouldn’t treat you as such. You should be off on the front lines somewhere, actually doing something for us.”

“I’ve been gone for a long time, it’s good to be back home. Plus I needed a break, I haven’t been able to relax since I was living on Tatooine.”

“Relax? I didn't even know you knew such a word.”

“Oh please, despite all you’ve heard about me I can relax.”

“Would you like to know how I relax?” You asked, not even caring if he didn't. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. “I get out of this stuffy apartment.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, chuckling. “I’m afraid that is a non negotiable activity. We haven’t found who is behind these attacks, and until we do you are not going anywhere.”

“Well, I’ve heard there are some beautiful gardens the Jedi-”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“I’ve got you. What can happen?” You asked him. “Plus, only a Jedi can access these gardens I’ve heard about.”

“Those gardens are used for meditation. And I don’t believe Master Yoda or Master Windu would view kindly any sort of distraction.”

“Oh, so I’m a distraction?”

You couldn't imitate the look on his face if you tried, the eye roll and tight smirk.

“Take a break, Anakin. You’ve been at this for so long, nothing is going to happen in...” you thought for a minute. “20 minutes.”

“20 minutes?”

“In and out.” You say, getting excited he was considering it. “I just need something other than meetings, angry senators, and this stuffy apartment. So, I’m going somewhere tonight, with or without you.”

His eyes ran you up and down. Your dress perfectly hugged your figure, you were shorter than him, not by much. Your tan long legs made up for a lot of your height, although he never understood how you always managed to look so sun kissed. It’s not like you had much time to lounge around, especially not since the war started.

“In and out, and I mean it. I get one inkling of a feeling, and we’re done.”

“As you command, general.” You whispered, walking towards your room to change.

“Isn’t it me that is supposed to convince you to break the rules? This doesn’t seem like you, Senator.” The title rolled off his lips like honey, and your spine tingled.

“It does seem to be backwards.” You admitted, realizing that ever since you were appointed this position, you seemed to become a different person. “But where’s your sense of adventure, Skywalker?”

He watched you walk, you could feel his eyes boring into your back. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but your ‘bodyguard’ was starting to feel a little bit more like a crush than he should.

Within a flash you slipped the dress from your shoulders and stepped out of it. It felt nice to put on a pair of pants, felt like such a mundane thing, but one you cherished. Although you would agree you had quite the knack for being a part of the senate, it wasn’t where you wanted to live forever. Traveling to all the planets, touching the stars. That’s what sounded like a life, not arguing with opposing sides.

You glanced at yourself before leaving the bedroom, you looked normal. Pants, a black jacket, pair of old working boots. You didn’t recognize the reflection staring back at you.

“Are you ready?” Anakin’s voice ripped you out of your headspace. You didn’t even hear the knock, but his knuckles where resting against your door.

“Yes.” You say with a smile, slipping past him in the doorframe and heading out of the apartment.

Little did you know, he did cherish spending all his time with you. He had learned a lot, seen a lot, met a lot of important people. But most importantly he gained a friend, someone who understood him, who listened to every feeling he had. Someone he had grown to admire, someone he had grown attached too. One of the first important rules of the Jedi, and he broke it. Broke it trying to do a job given to him by the Jedi. He spent long nights gazing out into the distance of Coruscant, telling himself, convincing himself that this wasn’t right. He was given a job, an order, and he was starting to let this job personally affect him. He never wanted to let you out of his sight, whether it be his job, or not.

But, little did Anakin Skywalker know, that you felt the same.

In the beginning it was a tad tedious in your mind to have a 24/7 bodyguard. The constant communication every second, the constant shadow following you to meetings. But over these looming months, he had been a constant. You knew he was there, and always would be. No matter the Chancellor, no matter the outer rim, it was just him and you.

As he escorted you to the gardens, it was hard to miss the lack of people around. Although yes, this was secluded, there was no one. No stray Jedi wandering about. It was silent, eerily so. By the look that homed in on Anakin’s face, you could guess he was feeling the same. His brows furrowed together, and his fists clenched tightly to his sides.

“Is everything alright?” You almost whispered it, as if you weren’t supposed to talk.

“Something about this isn't right.” He commented, eyes scanning the gardens. We hadn’t even entered them, only standing in the doorway. The sight of green was overwhelming, it filled your heart with some hope.

“It looks like home.” You whispered, this time not because you were worried if anyone would overhear, but because emotions clouded all your senses. You ignored Anakin’s voice, not purposely, but you couldn’t help just staring at what’s in front of you.

“Y/N, we need to go.”

You turned your head toward him, but everything happened before you could even move a finger. He moved, rushing in front of you, reaching for the lightsaber hooked to his belt. A blaster fired, the hit meant for you. There was a wind as Anakin hit the ground. The assassin fled, but that was the last thing you had on your mind. The only thing you could wrap your head around was the man laying on the ground in front of you, a blaster shot through his chest.

You started to scream, you screamed for help, hoping someone would round that corner. Hoping someone needed a late night meditation session.

“Y/N,” Anakin said softly, face scrunching with pain. You looked at him, you didn’t know when you crouched down but you held a type grip on his hand.

“We have to get you up, we need to find someone.” You started saying, but your words were getting stuck in your throat. “Please, please Anakin. I have to get you up.”

“I’m sorry, Senator Y/L/N. But you need to go, that assassin could still be around. I will not take the risk of him finding you alone. You need to leave.”

“I am not leaving without you.”

This groans intensified, and a light layer of sweat started to appear at his forehead. You knew this wasn’t good, you knew he needed help, and he needed it now. His Jedi robes were burned through, but the smell of flesh was fresh enough to make your nose crinkle. You wiped his longer hair out of his eyes, and stood up. Legs shaking, and breathing heavy you went to reach for his arms.

“Y/N. You need to leave. Go. Now. That’s an order.”

“Last time I checked, General. You cannot order me around. We are getting you up and we are getting out of here.”

He groaned loudly again as you tried to pull him up, you got him to a sitting position, but he wasn’t budging any further than that.

You kneeled in front of him, exposing your back to whoever just had tried to kill you. But you didn’t care about that, the only possible thing you could think of was Anakin Skywalker.

“Anakin. Get up. NOW. We don’t have time, I need to get you up and get you help. I can drag you the whole way once you’re standing, but I need you to help me.” You pleaded, one of your hands resting against the back of his shoulder, helping keeping him propped up, the other rubbing soft circles on his cheek with your thumb. “If you do not get up,” you started to say. “I will be forced to stay here with you, assassin nearby or not. I will not leave you alone, and if you die, then i’ll die out here with you.”

Trying to convince a stubborn man to listen to you was not the easiest task. But the threat of staying here was enough to panic him into helping you get him to stand. By whatever power you possessed, you managed to get him standing. He screamed in pain, his jaw clamped down tight, and his nostrils flared.

“Y/N.” He whispered as you linked your arm around his back, throwing his left arm over your shoulder. “Y/N.” He said again, his tone more urgent.

“I’m not leaving you behind so I’d just drop that if I were you.” You snapped, focusing on starting to drag him out of the gardens.

“They’re back. I can feel them.”

“The assassin?” You asked, your heart beat starting to race as you already knew that was the answer.

Before he could answer you, a familiar voice came from Anakin’s wrist. The com link. How could you forget about that?

“Anakin, Anakin.” It was Obi-wan.

You grabbed his wrist, ready to quickly tell him where you guys were, and that you needed help, and fast.

“Obi-wan, we are at the gardens. Anakin is hurt badly, we need -“

“Say another word and I’ll kill you both.” It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, having a blaster pressed to your back. But it wasn’t one that you ever wanted to deal with again.

The assassin stood tall behind both you and Anakin. You let go of the com link, hearing Obi-wan’s panicked voice still coming in.

“Senator Y/L/N? Senator? Can you hear me?”

“Turn around slowly Senator, and drop the Jedi.”

Anakin’s spine snapped up straight. His eyes going cold, and his breathing even more intense than it previously was. Whatever pain he was feeling, the burning wound on his right peck was no longer existent in his mind.

“Run, Y/N.” He whispered, unhooking his arm from around your shoulders. Anakin turned, shoving both his hands in front of him as the assassin flew backwards. “GO.” As Anakin drew his lightsaber, stumbling slightly, you turned and ran towards the council room. Someone had to be there, Obi-wan had to be coming once he heard about Anakin.

Your body came to a screeching halt as the sounds of blaster fire rang from behind you. Anakin.

You turned back around, determined to do something. What, you didn’t know. You weren’t a Jedi, you didn’t have the force, a lightsaber, you didn’t even have a blaster on you. You were utterly defenseless. Yet, still you ran in his direction. You shouldn’t have left him, why did you leave him?

“Senator!” It was Obi-wan’s voice. You turned towards him, tears prickling in your eyes. He wasn’t alone, Mace Windu and Yoda trailed behind him. Lightsabers drawn except for Yoda. You couldn’t pull your body away from where Anakin was. Your feet were frozen, but your mind was running wild. Obi-wan and Windu ran past you.

“Senator Y/L/N, with me you must come.” You knew he could tell you weren’t psychically hurt, but mentally you were battling yourself. You wanted to go to him, needed to see him. “Taken care of, he will be. Protect you, we must.” You knew he was right, and as the blaster fire finally ceased, you turned towards Yoda.

“Master Yoda,” You started saying. He just nodded, and motioned for you to walk. Your feet stayed planted, all your weight leaning forward, still ready to run in the direction of Anakin. But it was eerily silent again, and you were struck with the overwhelming feeling that you could have lost him.

“Come, meet them in medical bay we shall.” You knew there was no point in arguing with him, he’s far too wise to argue with. You silently nodded, ripping your head from Anakin’s direction and walking with Yoda.

You sat in the same chair for hours. Although to you, it felt as though days have passed. Yoda sat you down and stayed with you for a while, which you assured him was unnecessary. The threat was eliminated, which means not only are you in any harm, but also that there would no longer be a need for Anakin being with you.

“Alone right now, I do not think you should be.”

“With all due respect Master Yoda, alone is all I want to be right now.”

“Fine he will be. Guilt, you have. Very troubling indeed, but not your fault, this was.”

“He’s been with me every day, every minute, for the past couple months. Knowing his reputation I thought he’d get bored and break the orders he was given. But he never did. This was my fault, I asked him to take me there. I wasn’t listening when he said there was a threat. I did this.”

“You did nothing, Senator.” Obi-Wan spoke, although you didn’t even notice when he walked in. “This is no one’s fault. He followed orders, he protected you, also allowing us to catch this assassin.”

You sighed, running your hands through your hair.

“Maybe you should get some rest, Senator.” Obi-wan suggested.

“I want to see him.” You said, ignoring his comment completely. You weren’t trying to be rude, and all three of you knew that. But you couldn’t erase the rush of terror that filled your body when the events of the night unfolded before you.

“One must be mindful of their feelings.” Yoda said, studying me.

“I’m no Jedi, Master Yoda. I respect you, I respect all the Jedi for what they do. Anakin and I were pushed together by the councils doing. And in these long months he became my friend. So I mean no offense when I say tonight, I don’t have to mindful of a damn thing. I want to see him, I need to see my friend.”

You’ve heard about Yoda’s extraordinary wisdom and ability to read people. So he could probably read right through you now. Something about the young General made your heart skip a beat, yes, he was your friend, one of your best friends. But he was something more, a bit of happiness, and he reminded you of home.

You could sense Obi-wan and Yoda gazing at each other, a silent conversation over what to do.

“I’ll take you to him.” Obi-wan finally spoke, offering a soft smile. You only nodded, no longer trusting your voice.

The walk was silent, but quick. You had been ushered to change earlier, Anakin’s blood on your other set of clothes. The blue dress was simple, but elegant. More acceptable to see a senator in versus pants. As you came to the door Obi-wan stopped in front of it.

“He’s a little out of it, but shouldn’t cause an issue.”

“This is Anakin Skywalker, when has he not caused an issue?” You quipped.

“Right as always, Senator Y/L/N.” Over the months Obi-wan had also become more present in your life. Of course, not as much as Anakin, but you noticed him around more. You tried to get him to just call you by your first name, no formalities, but it never worked. Obi-wan was a rule follower, a senator you’d always be to him. As Master Kenobi walked away, you stood in the doorway and stared at him. He was sitting up right, and not bandaged like you thought. The wound looked more healed, like it happened weeks ago. It was still an angry shade of red, but it looked … old.

“Force healing.” He said calmly. You looked up towards him, peeling your eyes away from his chest.

“Ani- I.” You started your apology to him.

“Don’t. I don’t need an apology, and I don’t want to hear one.”

“You could have died. You could have died because I pushed you to do something. I pushed you when all you wanted to do was keep me safe.”

“I did my job, and even if it wasn’t my job, I would still do the exact same thing. If you haven’t picked up on that already, I’m afraid you aren’t using your head Senator.”

“You’re never allowed to do that again. Do you hear me?”

He chuckled, his normal, sassy, Anakin chuckle.

“Come here, Y/N.”

You sat down on the bed, slightly facing him. You didn’t want to stare at his chest, but it was right in front of you. His skin tanned, and his muscles rippled around with each breath he took. But you also didn’t want to stare at the wound.

“Thank you.” You whispered, looking down to your fingers. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for. I did it today, and I would do it all over again tomorrow. If that’s what it takes to know you’re protected. That’s the price I’d pay, because there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make sure you’re safe.”

“So stay with me. Don’t go, just live with me, be with me.” He was silent for a moment, taking in the words you effortlessly spoke.

“You know for a Senator you sure wear your feelings on your sleeve.”

“You know for a Jedi you have formed an attachment.” He laughed, a wince of pain flashed across his face but he barely let it show.

“Will you always fight me, Senator?”

“Until my last breath.” You confessed. He smiled, motioning you towards him.

“You sure you could keep this a secret?” He questioned, causing you to scoff.

“Yes.” You responded. “But only if you could keep this secret.” Before giving him the chance to respond, you turned his face towards yours and pressed your lips against his. They were softer than you’d think for a man who was just shot, and you smiled. You could feel him smile too, pulling back ever so slightly to gaze at your face.

“I don’t know if I can keep this secret, I must find a way to keep my mouth occupied so I won’t spill.”

“That was the worst thing I’ve ever heard.” You say, holding back a laugh.

“Kiss me, darling.”

This was Anakin Skywalker. The man, the myth, the legend. A name known in every corner of the galaxy. And you couldn’t be any happier to have his lips pressed against yours.

#Anakin Skywalker #star wars anakin #star wars #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin imagine #Anakin #anakin x you #anakin x y/n #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin fluff #anakin x fem reader

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hellfirenacht · 19 days

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Wing Man Part 8

Fic Summary: Steve 'the Hair' Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you'll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.

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Chapter Summary: Eddie explains himself, and you two make plans to hang out on purpose.

a/n: Sorry I haven't been updating! I swear, I'm almost always thinking about this fic but I've been trying to figure out where to go with it. I'm started to see how I want to shape the story (over 40k words in, go figure). Thank you all so much for your patience!

Also, I've had a lot of people ask me about Paige and have shown interest in what happened between her and Eddie. She is actually from Eddie's prequel novel, Flight of Icarus! I'll still explain bits and pieces during the story, but I highly recommend reading the novel for the full context. I am trying to write this in a way you don't need to read FoI, but it does give extra context to the story.

Anyway, we continue.

Aside from the mixtape playing in the van, it was surprisingly quiet between you and Eddie. Despite his eagerness to show up and take you out, now that you were sitting in his passenger side seat again, he had no idea what to do next. The sound of Iron Maiden was rumbling through the van, crackling through the old speakers.

It wasn’t often that Eddie was at a loss for words or couldn’t come up with something to say. After embracing his role in the Hawkins High ecosystem as the resident loudmouth freak he could always come up with something to say to break the ice or cause a ruckus.

But, being loud wasn’t exactly a substitution for actual charisma. He could hold the attention of his Hellfire Club during the game, and keep them safe enough from most bullies even. But intimidation was different than... whatever the hell he was supposed to be doing here. Flirting? That seemed right. He knew he should be trying to flatter you or compliment you or do something to show that he had an interest in you.

“So,” you were the one to break the silence between the two of you. “What have you been up to for the past two weeks?”

Eddie know what you actually meant was “What the fuck, man?” which was a really fair question.

“I should have called you sooner.” It was best to go ahead and rip the bandaid off now and get this conversation out of the way. “I’m sorry, I wanted to but I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” you asked, leaning against the passenger side door as you looked at him. Despite your eagerness to get out of Family Video with him, he could see that you weren’t going to just let him not explain why he hadn’t talked to you. Not that he was going to leave you hanging like that anyway.

“My phone blew up.” Eddie said bluntly.

“Your phone blew up? Like... actually exploded?” you asked, trying to see if he was fucking with you.

“Remember that huge storm a few weeks ago? Turns out that old trailers don’t exactly have the best wiring sometimes so when lightning strikes it knocks out power for a few days and fries some important wires.” he explained. “So... yeah, we just got a new phone today and when I tried to call...”

“So, I didn’t answer my phone so you decided to track me down?” There was amusement in your voice which he took as a good sign. “Seems like you could have done that part earlier. I’m not hard to find.”

“I’m not exactly interested in stalking.” Eddie snorted. “I’m already on enough people's shitlist in town.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” you laughed. “You know where I live, you could have shown up at my doorstep in the rain or used random phones around town to leave weird messages about how you can’t stop thinking about me or sent me letters with cryptic meanings.”

“Where do you come up with these things?” Eddie laughed, feeling the tension between the two of you start to dissipate.

“I read a lot of bodice-ripper books.” you shrugged. “Trashy romance novels are a guilty pleasure sometimes.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a weirdo?”

“Steve did about an hour ago when I suggested that Bozo the clown could be the shit out of Pennywise from It.”

Eddie wasn’t sure what he expected you to say, but it wasn’t that. Every time you had shown up in his life, you had completely thrown him off. He was starting to suspect that no amount of “Munson Magic” was going to work on you. Not that he wanted to work his dad’s charm on you to begin with.

What he really wanted to do at that moment was ask you about your little bet with Steve. No, wait, not a bet. A deal? Maybe he should have asked Dustin more questions, or at least waited until after Hellfire to talk to the kid-

”So what’s the plan?” You broke through his thoughts once again. “You show up out of nowhere and have me get into your unmarked van to take me to a second location... is there a second location in mind?”

There wasn’t, Eddie really hadn’t thought that far ahead.He’d panicked after his talk with Wayne and had shown up to Family Video on the chance that you’d been there. He’d run straight out the door with every intention of finding you and let you know that he was stupid for not trying harder to call you before.

”I figured we could just... drive.” He wished he could ignore the sudden parallel between you and Paige. He wished that he could just forget about what happened in ‘84. Fuck, him and Paige never even had an official date, only hooking up in his van for a few weeks before everything blew up.

Wait, was this a date? Crap, that had been the plan right? Show up, ask you on a date and then... then he’d be on a date. What the FUCK was he actually doing? He was acting so fucking awkward now- everything had been easier before. Why did Dustin have to open his big mouth about this?

“Just driving sounds great.” you said, and Eddie once again tried to relax. Every girl he had been with had wanted something from him. Nicole Summers and Cass Finnigan just wanted bragging rights that they got with the freak, and Paige had wanted him to be a rock hero. What did you want from him?

“Have you eaten?” It wasn’t exactly late, but it wasn’t really early in the evening either. His uncle always asked him that whenever one of them got home, and it had taken Eddie an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was Wayne’s way of showing that he cared.

“I could eat.” you replied, which at least gave this... whatever this was, some structure for the night. Eddie didn’t have a lot of cash on him, but he could probably scrape together enough to get you each a burger or something.

When the Iron Maiden tape clicked off and spat itself out, you took it upon yourself to pull it out and look it over. “Got any other tapes in here? I need to judge your music taste.”

That made Eddie laugh “You and every other person in this town. I have a few more tapes in here.” He tapped on the center console which you eagerly dug into, flipping through the different cassettes with eagerness.

“Metal. Metal. Metal. Metal.” You said, going through each cassette one by one. “I’m starting to see a pattern here, Eddie.”

“What gave it away?” He said deadpan. “Was it that I play guitar or the fact that we’ve only bonded over music so far?”

“And Chris Morrison.”

“It was your hair, actually. You look so much like Eddie Van Halen it’s actually uncanny.” You looked up from the tapes and he could feel your eyes studying his face. He was glad that it was dark out now, as he could feel warmth rising in his cheeks at the comparison. Was that a compliment? Were you into him looking like Van Halen?

“Van Halen?” Eddie asked. “I figured I was more of a Kirk Hammett type.”

“The hair yes,” you agreed, still staring at his face as he continued to drive. “But your smile is definitely more Van Halen.”

When was the last time someone had ever looked at him with that much consideration before? Something in Eddie’s gut twisted as he glanced over at you for a split second to meet your eyes. Huh, that was weird. Had anyone made him nervous like this before? Yeah he’d been attracted to Paige but this was starting to feel different.

He really needed a cigarette right about now.

“I hope that’s a compliment.” Eddie managed to say as he fumbled for the packet of Camels in the cupholder by him.

“Oh, it is. I promise.” you replied, digging out a lighter and helping him light the smoke in his mouth. The world's tiniest supernova...

Eddie hated that the closest thing he had to compare notes on when it came to a healthy romance was two months with Paige and a handful of movies that he barely watched.

You went back to his tapes, and seemed to pick one out. You removed the tape that had been spat out, put it back in the appropriate case (which Eddie found himself appreciating), and he was surprised to hear the old riffs of Muddy Waters playing.

“A palate cleanser.” you said, leaning back into the passenger side seat.

Eddie felt his mind reeling from your choice of music. Muddy Waters had been how his mom introduced him to rock at a young age. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the well loved tape as he pulled into the drive in of the next fast food joint he’d seen.

When he pulled up to the window to pay, a fresh ten was shoved in his face before he could even reach for his own wallet. It took a moment for him to realize that you were wanting to pay.

“You got me out of work early, it’s the least I can do.” you said, not giving him the option to say no as cash was exchanged for a bag of questionable but cheap food. You held the bag in your lap as Eddie started making his way out of town.

“So is this an ‘eating van’ or a ‘non-eating van’?” you asked, messing with the top of the bag.

“I think I’d starve if I didn’t eat in here.” Eddie snorted. “Knock yourself out.”

You wasted no time digging into the fries and taking a few for yourself as Eddie went to the only place that he could afford to take you right now that might be date worthy.

Luckily, Lover’s Lake was quiet and private on weeknights. If Eddie had taken two minutes to plan this better, he would have thought to maybe clear out the back of his van and set out a blanket and have a picnic. When it came to music and D&D he was great at planning out details, with dates? Not so much.

This isn’t a date. He reminded himself for the hundredth time tonight. She’s just a girl that you ran over to spend time with the second it occurred to you that she might have an interest in you and she really willingly hopped in your van and your friends actually like her-

Shit. This had to be a date right? Neither of you had said the word but that’s what it was... right?

Eddie was snapped out of his thoughts with the sweet smell of hot potatoes and grease was wafting under his nose. You had shoved a few fries in front of his face and Eddie wasted no time in taking them. You continued to absently feed him fries as he found a spot to park.

The two of you divided up the food on his dashboard, and Eddie rolled down the windows to let the cool autumn air in.

“So... what are you gonna be for Halloween?” Eddie asked, wincing internally. When was the last time anyone he knew had dressed up for Hallowen? Okay, so Hellfire Club did tend to dress up on Halloween for a special one shot but that was different- no one came to school in costumes anymore.

“It depends on my plans.” you answered. “Halloween is on a Thursday so I’m usually working. If I have a morning shift I’ll probably do zombie makeup for work, if Steve and Robin are working with me that day I think we’re gonna attempt to be Luke, Leia, and Hans.”

“And are you gonna be Leia?” Eddie asked.

“Ideally, I wanted to be Chewie but I don’t have the time for that.” you laughed. “Robin and I voted on Steve to Be Leia. Robin will be Luke, and I’ll be Hans Solo with a teddy bear.”

“Please tell me that Harrington isn’t going to be in the bikini.” Eddie laughed.

“Keith said costumes had to be work appropriate so, sadly, Steve will not be gracing the store with his sweater-vest chest hair under a bra.” You sighed dramatically. “It’s like he hates the idea of us having fun!”

“What if you have to close?” Eddie prompted, adjusting in his seat to lean against the door to face you as best he could. Next time he was absolutely clearing out the back to give you both more room.

“Oh, I am not closing.” you said firmly. “And if Keith thinks he can schedule me that day he can suck it because I have plans.”

You already have Halloween plans. Of course you would. It’s not like you had to worry about school on a weekday like he did. Eddie tried not to deflate in front of you and remained calm.

“And what plans would that be?” he asked.

“Have you ever seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips.

He had, once, with Reefer Rick a few months ago when picking up his usual supply. A quick pick up had turned into a game of pool, which had turned into the two of them high on Rick’s couch watching an old VHS tape while Rick laughed his ass off and yelled at the tv before passing out in the middle of Tim Curry seducing Brad and Janet.

“Once.” Eddie said, not giving the exact details of circumstance. “With a friend, I didn’t really get it.”

“Did you see it in theaters or did you just watch it at home?” you asked, finishing off your food.

“Friend’s house.”

“Oh, no wonder you didn’t get it. Rocky Horror is an experience, you can’t just pop the tape in and watch it. You have to come see it in a theater.” As you spoke you were absently folding a napkin in your lap turning it into what looked like a heart. When you were done with that one, you started with another shape with a different napkin.

“Is that an invitation?” Eddie asked, tearing his eyes away from the way your fingers moved for now. He found his heart pounding in his chest, unsure if you were actually wanting him to come to this, and from the knot forming in his stomach as the shapes you were folding reminded him of the times he met you before.

“It is.” you confirmed, the ninja star you had shaped with the napkin was placed on the center console as you grabbed another napkin. “...It could also be a date.”

Despite the period at the end of the sentence, Eddie heard the slight waiver in your voice on the word date. It was that same nervous stammer that had been in Paige’s voice when she offered to let him move in with her in California, it was the same hesitant inflection that one of his Hellfire players used when they weren’t sure if Eddie would approve of what crazy plan they had for their character.

Aside from that first awkward meeting at the Palace Arcade, you had been pretty confident and upfront with him. Now here you are, laying out your intentions and seeing what he would do.

What would he do? Eddie had shown up at Family Video with no real plan. He only knew he wanted to see you again, and he knew that Dustin and Steve were trying to set you two up. And it’s not like Eddie was completely against the idea of going on a date with you. You were sharp, and you kept him on his toes, and when you smiled at him it felt like his brain might short out.

But he had also panicked when he had thought that you were going to kiss him before. After Eddie’s disastrous break up with Paige two years ago, it’s not like he’d been completely against any physical relationships. There had been a grand total of two other hook ups that he’d sabotaged. People weren’t interested in getting to know the freak, they just wanted to say that they had been with him. So both times, Eddie had made sure that he’d been a lousy date and a decent enough lay before deciding that he’d rather had a date with his right hand and a Heavy Metal magazine.

Eddie would rather the rumor mill call him a boring date rather than set a standard that he’d go out with anyone who asked. He wondered if he had, would Steve have put his name on the town marquis for the world to see? Would Eddie ‘the Slut’ Munson be treated any differently than Eddie ‘the Freak’?

Shit, you were still waiting for a response.

“A date.” Eddie finally managed to echo your last words back at you. The napkin you had been messing with in your hands was now taking the shape of a ninja star.

“I mean, if you’re interested.” you said quickly. “It could just be a friend thing. Or you probably already have plans for Halloween-”

“I don’t.” Eddie interjected. “It could be a date.”

He watched your shoulders relax and you smiled up at him. “It’s a date then.” You grabbed a napkin and your green marker out of your bag and scribbled something down, handing it over to him.

“In case your phone blows up again, here is the date and time and location for the Halloween showing of the movie.” your eyes narrowed slightly at him. “And my work schedule has been hectic but I consistently work on Sunday’s and clock out at four.”

Eddie got the message loud and clear, he would know where to find you now. There wouldn’t be any excuses for not reaching out, but two could play at this game. He took the marker from your hand and grabbed his own napkin, scribbling his own phone number down and handing it over to you.

“I’m at school all week, but I still play at the Hideout on Tuesdays.” He answered back. “Friday is Hellfire.”

With that, the playing field felt a little more level. Both of you now had the power to track the other one down or call when needed.

“So what are you going to be for Halloween?” you asked, tucking the napkin with his number into your bog.

“Oh, haven’t you heard? When you’re the town freak every day is Halloween.” Eddie chuckled.

“So what, you’re gonna put on a polo and khakis instead?” He liked the way you scrunch your nose when you laughed. “Ditch the jewelry and cover your tattoos?”

“That would probably scare some of the teachers at school.” Eddie had considered doing exactly that, but he really didn’t think he’d want that kind of attention. “No one dresses up at school anymore.”

“Boring.” You sighed. “I tried dressing up for Halloween my senior year but when I got to school my friends convinced me to change clothes.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like the type to let other people tell you what to do.”

“Now I’m not.” you shrugged. “I’m not in high school anymore, and all those people that I saw everyday? Turns out I was only friends with them because I saw them every day. Once you get away from that forced routine you realize that it’s all bullshit.”

Eddie could relate, probably better than anyone else. He was so sick of the day to day hierarchy of highschool that he’d scream it from on top of a table. Literally.

“What were you trying to be before your friends killed your fun?” Eddie asked.

“A pirate. It was last minute but I had a bandana, an eyepatch, a sock puppet with feathers glued to it for my parrot, and a wire hanger I was carrying around as a hook.” you laughed at the memory. “I ended up dropping the eyepatch before my friends made me change because I kept running into people. My wire hanger was confiscated, some asshat stole my parrot, and one of my friends gave me a sweater to change into. I didn’t even make it to first period in that outfit.”

Eddie had made it a point to not pay attention to anyone outside of his small group at school, only ever keeping an eye out for lost sheep that didn’t have anywhere else to go. He wondered, if he had seen you that morning in the brief window before you were pushed back into conformity would he have noticed you? Talked to you? You had already been nice to him before.

“Wait,” Eddie over at you, taking in the picture you had painted for him. “You made a sock puppet parrot?”

“I needed a parrot, or else no one would get it!” you explained. “But then when I took it off and left it to go use the bathroom it was gone. I finally found the thief in fourth period because they kept playing with it and squawking my own parrot at me. But by that point I had just cut my losses and had given up on Halloween.”

“Are you usually this crafty?” Eddie asked, once again looking at the final napkin you were folding into what looked like an old cootie catcher.

“I get bored easily.” you said. “If I don’t have something to do with my hands I can’t focus.”

“How’d you start with the whole-” Eddie grabbed one of his slightly used napkins and gave it a wave. “Folding thing?”

“Fourth grade show and tell.” you said. “I did not prepare anything and so I spent a full ten minutes in the school library to find something to show. I found a book on origami, found the easiest thing to make and realized that I actually enjoyed it.”

If that was a mystery, it sure did get solved right there. Eddie wanted to ask about Steve and Dustin. He wanted to ask you why him? He could keep his mouth shut, let this whole thing play out and see what happened. Eddie could sit here, and enjoy the fact that a girl was giving him the time of day and leave everything up in the air just like he had with Paige.

“So I heard you and Steve had a deal going on.” Eddie said. “Something about getting dates?”

You froze for a second, the completed cootie catcher in your hands. Things were dead silent for a grand total of ten seconds. Ten agonizingly long seconds. Even the cassette player had clicked off and was now whirring as it rewind the Iron Maiden tape.

Then you started laughing. A lot.

“Jesus, Eddie!” you said, wiping your eyes with the ninja star as a tear threatened to spill down your cheek. “I tell you I have origami as a hobby, and you follow up with ‘So I heard you and Steve are trying to get dates.’ Seriously?”

Eddie remained silent at your reaction, trying to process your laughter. You didn’t seem scared or nervous that he had called you out, and he had to admit that he hadn’t completely thought through the consequences of asking you that question.

“Who blabbed?” You asked, after your laughter had calmed down.

“Henderson.” Eddie admitted and, in an attempt to ease any lingering tension he leaned forward to rest his elbow on the center console and held his chin in his hand as he looked at you. “That shrimp informed me that you found me so irresistible that you begged Steve to set you up with me.”

“Is that right?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah,” Eddie agreed. “Told me all about how ever since Chris Morrison shot you down, you’ve been desperate to get my attention to get back at him.”

“So which is it, am I attracted to you or am I using you to get back at a guy I talked to once in high school years ago?” you asked. Eddie saw a glint in your eyes, the same one he’d seen that first night at the arcade when at the air hockey table.

“Both are true.” Eddie continued to explain, a shit eating grin on his face. “You see, you were originally going to use me to get back at Chris, but then you saw me play guitar and instantly fell in love.”

“Damn, this sounds like the plot of a terrible movie.” you laughed. “So is this the part where I tell you that ‘It started out like that, but I swear it’s not like that anymore!’? Do I beg on my knees that my feelings for you are genuine, even though we’ve hung out a grand total of two-and-a-half times?”

Five times, but who’s counting?

“What’s the half-time?” Eddie asked.

“You ditched me at the arcade after I said I’d be right back.” you stated matter-of-factly. “I’m hoping it’s not a pattern where you start dropping off the face of the earth just when things start getting good.”

“Between you and me,” Eddie leaned in closer. “I thought Dustin was trying to set me up with Steve. Not you.”

Cue more laughter from you as you threw your head back. “Are you kidding me?! Dustin makes me and Steve show up to an arcade and tries to force a meeting with you- and you thought you were supposed to be dating Steve?!”

“Not dating!” Eddie clarified quickly. “You see, Steve and I only have one thing in common and that’s Dustin Henderson. Kid practically worships Steve. I thought he was trying to get us to be friends or something.”

“Oh my god, you thought Dustin was trying to hook his two dads up!” Your cootie catcher was now crumpled up in your hands, stained with tears from your laughing. “I’m a homewrecker!”

Yeah, this really wasn’t going the way Eddie had expected it.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry.” you said, your laughter calming down into giggles instead. “Have I been reading this whole thing wrong? I mean, if you have more of an interest in Steve I could probably set that up. He’s only ever shown interest in girls but you have long hair and are pretty enough-”

“No.” Eddie said. “I don’t have an interest in Steve- you think I’m pretty?” How were you able to throw him off so easily? He could tell that if you had been able to join Hellfire you would have been a menace at his table.

“Extremely.” you said, your voice more sincere now.

The two of you just stared at each other for a while and Eddie felt that same twisty feeling in his gut again. You thought he was pretty. That was good, right? Did you like pretty boys? You were pretty- he liked that a lot.

“I...” Eddie started and then dug deep inside himself to find the words he wanted to use. “Prettier than Steve?” Those were not the words he wanted to say, but he said them anyway.

“Steve is conventionally attractive but, as I said before, not my type.” you said. “I like guys with long hair anyway.”

Eddie really couldn’t tell if he was nailing this or blowing it. “So, what is your type?”

“I’ll tell you mind if you tell me yours.” you countered.

Had Eddie ever really thought about what his type was? Yeah, he’d had ill-advised crushes and had been attracted to various women in comics and tv but did he have a type? He tried to connect all the girls in his mind that he’d been with, trying to find a pattern.

Someone who actually pays attention to me. That’s pretty sad, Eddie. He came to the conclusion. Yeah, aside from his disastrous kiss with Ronnie five years ago, every girl he’d been with had been the one to show interest first, and you were no exception. But had he actually had feelings for the others? Not really. Attraction? Yeah. Feelings? Well, with Paige he had been far too busy dealing with Corroded Coffin, his dad, and school to really decide what he felt for Paige. Any other small flings had been dead on arrival.

So why did he keep wanting to spend time with you?

“Don’t go spreading this around,” Eddie started. “But if I had to pick a type, it’d be She-Hulk.”

“She-Hulk?” you mulled that over in your mind. “So tall, green, and angry?”

“Strong-willed, and funny as shit.” Eddie corrected.

“And green.”

“If I had known that earlier I would have picked Kermit the Frog as my Halloween costume this year.” you teased. “I don’t have a character off the top of my head, but I like people who feel.. Real.”

Real. The word that Paige and him had used over and over in those two months.

“What’s real to you?”

“Not high school.” you said. “Someone who’s not afraid to exist and be themselves. I’m most attracted to anyone who can let go of their desperate ego and just have fun. High school was boring because everyone was so wrapped up in their own bs of looking cool that they didn’t do anything that they actually wanted to do. Shit, even I fell into that.”

Eddie didn’t want to ask if he was real to you. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for an answer. There were lots of times he wished that he wasn’t still in school, but this time really hit harder. He was starting to really like you, and yeah part of him was terrified of that.

The two of you finished off the last of your food and Eddie shoved all the leftover trash into the brown bag and tossed it in the back so you wouldn’t be stepping on it.

“I don’t know much about real anymore, but I think you’re pretty badass.” Eddie finally said. “I mean, you brought a wire hanger and a fake parrot to school for a costume. That’s pretty brave, even if your friends did talk you out of it.”

“I’m more mad that the parrot was stolen and used to annoy me than the lack of costume.” you said with a small laugh. “They weren’t even funny. They just kept repeating what I said. It was easier to just shut up at that point.”

“Didn’t think to make them say anything embarrassing?”

“Oh, I tried. But, jocks don’t know the art of a good ‘Duck Season, Rabbit Season’ gag. Anything embarrassing I said they’d just turn it around. I’d say ‘I pissed myself in gym.’ they’d reply with ‘you pissed yourself in gym’. No love for comedy.” You took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “If you’re going to be a bully, at least give me a good story to tell later, you know?”

“I once got slammed against a locker by a jock who called me ‘a myriad freak.” Eddie said. “To this day, I still don’t know what he was trying to mean by that.”

“See? At least that’s funny.” you said, and then. “Holy shit, we’ve gotten off topic.”

“There was a topic?” Eddie leaned back on the seat again.

“Yes, an important one that I was very interested in before we started talking about bullies and high school and She-Hulk.” you nodded.

Talking to you was so easy that he hadn’t realized how many topics the two of you had blown through in a short amount of time. He looked at his watch real quick and realized it was creeping towards 11 pm now. Had the two of you really been talking that long?

“What topic was it?”

“You flirting with me.” you said, your lips pulling back in a cheshire grin. “I’m pretty sure you were at least, before I became a homewrecker between you and Steve. Normally I’d hate to break up a happy family, but I might have to make an exception this one time.”

“Was I flirting?” Eddie tilted his head with his own grin. “I’m pretty sure I was just telling you that I thought Dustin was trying to make me be friends with Steve. If I had known that the shrimp was trying to introduce me to a cute girl-” He would have shot it down and canceled Side Quest Day- “I wouldn’t have left the way I did.”

“You think I’m cute?”

“Extremely.”

You nodded. “Alright, then it’s a good thing that we’re going on a date. I’m glad to know that I’m not coming between you and Steve.”

It was just past midnight when Eddie dropped you off at your apartment that night. This time when you leaned over the center console towards him, he didn’t freeze up or panic. Eddie let you hug him and he hugged you back, his cheeks growing hot momentarily when he felt your lips press against his cheek and he was able to breathe in your scent.

“See you later, Eddie. Oh, and for the movie- I highly recommend dressing up.” you looked him up and down. “Actually, just wear what you’d normally wear. I think you’ll fit right in.”

Eddie made a mental note to ask Rick later on what he was supposed to wear for this.

“I’ll call you.” he said. “I promise. I mean it this time.”

“Not if I call you first, I have your number now. And worst case scenario, I know where you play.” you responded. “See you Tuesday, Eddie.”

And with that you were gone again, leaving Eddie alone in the van feeling much better than the last time he had given you a ride. There were still questions he had. He still wanted to know why exactly everyone was wanting the two of them to meet again, and why you always so readily agreed to meet up with him. But those were questions for another day.

“You had a missed call.” Wayne said as Eddie made his way into the trailer. “Didn’t leave a name or number. Said she’d call you back.”

Eddie laughed and shook his head, guess you meant it when you said you’d call first.

“Don’t stay up too late watching tv.” Eddie said before heading towards his bedroom. He once again found himself falling asleep with his copy of The Hobbit, the origami flower tucked safely in the back.

Ending note: This fic takes place during October 1985. Stephen King’s It did not come out until September 1986. I would like to ask you all politely to suspend your disbelief for the historical inaccuracy of a piece of dialogue that probably didn’t add much to the plot. If this horrible inaccuracy bothers you, please repeat to yourself “it’s just a fic, I should really just relax” which is what most of us should be doing anyway.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

Tag List: @k8loo @terrormonster55 @sp1dyb0y1008 @crocwork-clockodile @ali-r3n @mxcheese @josephquinnschesthair @gagasbee @peaches-roses-sins @witchwolflea @vintagehellfire @royale1803 @cumslutforaemond @prestinalove @browneyedgirl320 @perpetualmess @thebook-hobbit @mistonk @cultish-corner @grishaversecaptivated @sortagaysortahigh @halialex1119 @bakugouswhOr3 @siriuslysmoking @pookiesnatcher @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @takemetoneverlandbabe @killjoynotes @maelibo

#nacht post #nacht fic #eddie munson x reader #wing man

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ghouljams · 1 month

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ANOTHER FASHION HISTORY NERD!!! YOU MAKE ME CRY TEARS OF JOY!!!

I hate seeing a period piece and then: ‘he pulled her panties down’ it gives me the ick… pantaletts are a sexy concept! Just get through all the ribbon, silk and lace of her skirts? There’s no barrier, it’s sexy! It’s like crotchless panties but, better… idk why it’s better but, it is.

(I love those novels!!! ‘titillate’ is a funny word and very accurate to use as a descriptor. It feels like a cross between giggly and turned on, y’know?)

Lord Mactavish is so *sigh* … just picturing him in any way shape or form… when they’re actually married he takes her (us) back to his mansion? Chasing her through the manor house; through the winding halls… taking her (us) against the carpet until your knees are covered in rug burn. (I picture the massive mansion from the secret garden)

(Servants are scared to roam at night. It’s too awkward to look your lord and lady in they eye after seeing that)

When you go to get your dresses for the season, he comes with. “Leave extra room- need to alter it for her pregnancy soon.” You’re not pregnant. He intends to fix that and parade you around at every gala.

On god I am staring at period undergarments just to make sure I'm not misremembering when pantaletts became a thing lol. They weren't popular during the regency period so we can just pull the skirts up (drool) It's so much better than crotch-less panties you're right.

You're fucking doing something to me... Lord Mactavish parading you around at every gala, he knows full well that not everyone thinks it's proper to have you out and about when you're showing, he also knows that he's supposed to be using euphamisms. He still settles a hand on your stomach and proudly announces that his wife is "bred just like she's supposed to be" which gets him smacked and gets you fucked in whatever room he can get you into quickest. Grrrrrr I want him.

More Bodice Ripper Soap...

He likes this little game you play, you know he does. Barely married, and he's taken every opportunity(on every surface) to make sure you remember it. You can hear him whistling through the corridors of his manor, letting you know where he is at all times. It's also a warning to any servants still awake and busying themselves about the place. Your heart hammers in your chest as you press yourself back behind the door of the study. You know he saw you come this way, you made sure to close and open various doors along the way to try and throw him off.

It's funny, the anticipation of being caught makes your stomach heat, makes wetness slick your thighs. It's terribly improper, being chased through the house by your husband, you can't even remember what sparked it this time. He'd said something, he always says something, and you'd called him exactly what he is, a rake, a bodice ripper. He's laughed, mirthful and dark as the night outside your windows. Then he'd done just that, gripped your nightdress between two hands and ripped it open. Even now you're clutching it closed over your chest, feeling the frantic flutter of your heart under your fingers, and pretending it doesn't do something sinful to you.

The whistling comes close, you turn your head to peak through the crack left by the hinges. Your husband in all his glory, still in his hunting clothes, you half expect to see him carrying his gun or rope. His hands are lax by his sides as his eyes sweep the hall. He slows by an open door and turns to investigate. You're careful, quiet, as you make your way around the door, eyeing the room nearest you.

You can't stay here, not if he's stopping to look around. Your best bet is running, and hoping he doesn't catch you coming out. You tiptoe to the next room, press yourself to the wall and listen for Johnny's whistle. You close your eyes tight and hear him wander into another room. You take a steadying breath and poke your head out again, determined to make a run for it.

You dart past the next door, or try to. Johnny catches you by the throat, his thick fingers curling menacingly around your neck as you come to an abrupt halt. Your hands fly to his wrist and his grip tightens ever so slightly. "Caught you," He growls, "Shouldn't run from your husband, love." You're pulled against his chest, and bullied to the ground. He's not gentle putting you on your knees, but at least he has the compassion to follow you.

Compassion that flies out the window when his hand leaves your neck and grips your hair tight, pushing your face to the hall's carpet as he pulls your skirt up. You choke feeling his fingers prod your sopping cunt. Johnny makes a noise, a soft, pleased sound that has heat prickling over your skin. He drags his fingers through your folds, collecting the slick, enjoying the heat, before his touch leaves you. You squirm without meaning to, your hips moving to follow his fingers. He hums, fabric rustles, and then you hear him slicking his cock with your wetness.

"Fuck this pussy," He leans over you, forces you to take his weight, the blunt head of his cock teasing your entrance, "tell me she doesn't want me, that you don't love this."

You can't, it wouldn't be true, and he knows it. The best you can do is try to hide your face, nearly impossible with Johnny holding your hair so tightly, and whimper, "Can't."

"Can't what hen?" Johnny coos, "Can't tell me? Or can't take it?" You shake your head against the carpet, try to, at least. Johnny releases your hair, his hand moving to grip your hip hard enough to bruise instead. He ruts against you, his cock just catching at your entrance before slipping back over your slick folds. He presses his forehead between your shoulders. On another man it might be an almost tender gesture, but on Johnny it rings alarm bells in your head. "I'll make it fit," The smile in his voice makes your eyes roll back, "don't worry."

The tip of his cock presses more insistently against you, pushing into your cunt. Your back arches, your nails clawing the carpet as you gasp and whine. He stretches you open on his cock, the heat of his skin burning the same way the stretch does, like he's hoping he'll reshape you for himself. He shushes you, keeps you held tightly in place as he rocks his thick cock into you. You shake and shiver under him, knowing it only spurns him on. There's nothing you can think of that turns this man off of you, he seems annoyingly predisposed towards finding you charming.

Though perhaps charming isn't the right word. Tempting. No, tempted men don't always give into their wants. Your husband has never restrained himself around you, tempting you are not, you're magnetic, destined to attract the Lord Mactavish at every crossing.

You clench on his cock, feel his hips press against your ass, feel every tantalizing inch of him. You feel his teeth ghost over the back of your neck as he drags his cock out of your cunt. "Scream for me wife," He tells you,

and you do.

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moonchildstyles · 2 years

Text

l'amoureux

weddings are beautiful, especially in Paris, but as the bride's personal assistant, y/n didn't expect to lose herself in the magic.

wordcount: 11k

—————

"(Y/N), I think I'm going to lose it."

Taking a deep breath, (Y/N) tried to center herself before turning on her heel to face Priscilla. Finding her boss with the perfectly creamy and embellished bridal veil in hand, she could only imagine what kind of imperfections Priscilla believed she found in the accessory.

"What happened?" (Y/N) chirped, the feigned pleasantry coming as second nature at this point with how hellish these last nine months have been.

Holding up the veil with the sparkling adornments facing her, Priscilla's hands were shaking. (Y/N) couldn't tell if it was the three cups of coffee she made herself before they'd even left the villa for breakfast or if Priscilla was three seconds away from a legendary tantrum.

"I think they gave me honey pewter, and not the lavender pewter I asked for when I ordered," Priscilla rushed out, shaking the veil in (Y/N)'s face as if she could see the sparkles better if they were less focused, "Do you see that? That's going to throw off everything I had picked out for my bouquet!"

"Hold on, let me see," (Y/N) indulged her, grabbing for the delicate veil before her boss could have a chance to rip it to shreds. Angling the crystals to the light, (Y/N) could see some warmth in the jewels, but she remembers specifically making the order for Priscilla and emphasizing how important it was that the crystals lean on the cool tone (it was easier for both (Y/N) and the bridal shop to just do it this way, no matter if Priscilla was difficult during the entire process). There was no way this could have slipped by, especially with the amount of email updates (Y/N) requested for Priscilla throughout the entire making of her veil.

Pulling out her phone and swiping into her professional email, (Y/N) found the initial conversation with the bridal boutique owner, all the details of the order spelled out plainly before being verified by the owner. Inside the same thread, photos had been sent with very clearly lavender hued jewels stitched to the tulle inbetween the romantic pearls. Examining the photos further, (Y/N) couldn't help but notice that, aside from the crystals and pearls, this veil looked nothing like the photos she had received.

Priscilla's veil was supposed to have a subtle sheen to the fabric, chosen for the express purpose of emulating the way the Eiffel Tower sparkled at night which was exactly where she wanted to have her bridal shoot the day before the actual wedding. Minimal lace detailing was meant to border the entire hem, matching the delicate bodice of the gown Priscilla planned to wear during the ceremony. The veil in her hand had none of that, something she was surprised her boss hadn't picked up on, but was grateful for nonetheless.

Peeking over her shoulder, Priscilla was busy with her daughter, Lenore, as the toddler walked her around the room, pointing at every tiara and ivory gown the tiny boutique offered. At least she could count on baby Nora babysitting her mother when (Y/N) couldn't. With her boss distracted, (Y/N) went on her mission to find the salesgirl she'd just had a choppy, half-French, half-English conversation with.

"Ex-Excuse me?" (Y/N) muttered as quiet as possible before the girl could disappear behind a curtain taking her to the back.

"Oui?" she chirped, petite blonde brows raised.

Holding up both the veil and her phone, (Y/N) did her best to remember the two semesters of French she took in high school. "Le... Le voile? It's not... It's non, not right," she struggled through, pulling up the string of photographs of the correct veil on her phone in her other hand, "We need this one."

She watched as the salesgirl looked back and forth between the photos and the veil in her hand. "Comment tu t'appelles?"

"Um—its for Priscilla King?" Despite the fact she knew she couldn't butcher Priscilla's name like the French she didn't know, (Y/N) didn't feel confident saying much of anything right now.

"May I?" the girl asked in accented English, gesturing to the veil in (Y/N)'s hand.

After offering it up, (Y/N) watched as the salesgirl's eyes immediately dropped to the ticket looped around the comb attached to the veil. It only took a moment for the girl to turn the ticket around, displaying a completely different name on the tag.

They gave her the wrong veil.

"Je suis vraiment désolé," the girl bubbled off, muttering out something about bringing the right one before holding up one finger and disappearing passed the curtain.

(Y/N) let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Priscilla had been a nightmare as soon as the real wedding planning started a year ago when she found out it was more than just looking at wedding magazines and telling her wedding planner what her budget was (there wasn't one). But, in the last few months especially, she had escalated into a territory that made even her fiancé cower when she was in one of her moods, and Nate was one of the most firm and level-headed guys (Y/N)'d ever met (he really had to be if he was going to be with Priscilla at all). And, unfortunately for (Y/N), since she was Priscilla's full-time personal assistant and part-time nanny, she got the brunt of it all.

At least with this, she wasn't going to get her head ripped off, unliked when they found out the venue had accidentally ordered one case less of the very specific champagne Priscilla insisted on serving. That had been one that even had Nora asking why her mom's face was turning so red over some bubbly water.

Stepping towards the case of the something blue's the bridal shop offered, (Y/N) caught Nora's attention first before her mom shot her a panicked glance when she noticed there was no veil in sight.

"Everything's okay," (Y/N) shot off before her boss could say a thing, "They brought us the wrong veil on accident, but I showed her the pictures and emails, and she's getting yours right now."

"So, no honey pewter?"

"Nope. And, there's going to be lace trimming."

"Oh, thank god," Priscilla exasperated, looking much too relieved over this simple of an inconvenience. "(Y/N), I don't know what I would do without you; I'd probably lose my mind."

(Y/N) refrained from telling her she most likely already did long before (Y/N) entered the picture. Instead, she plastered a smile on her face and hoped they would make it back to the villa in time to take a nap before she would be on Nora duty while Priscilla and Nate had a final meeting with their wedding planner before guests started pouring in tomorrow for the start of the three day long celebration leading up to the actual wedding on Friday.

"You know I'm always happy to help."

————— (Y/N) sighed as she stood outside of the banquet hall's bathroom. As soon as the guests started pouring into Paris this morning, she had been on Nora duty while Priscilla and Nate ran around with the wedding planner, leaving her to entertain the toddler for hours. Now, she was left exhausted as she lent against the elaborately carved wall of the hall, watching as the bride and groom welcomed their guests in before a dinner and cocktail hour would be served to kick off the next couple days worth of celebration.

"Nora, sweetie," (Y/N) called, turning to face the heavy wooden door to the restroom, "do you need help?" It'd been longer than five minutes, which was cause for concern for the easily distracted Nora.

"No, I'm just wiping!" Nora chirped through the door, much too loud given the echo provided by the looming hallway of the banquet hall. (Honestly, the space was basically a cathedral, as far as (Y/N) was concerned. Stained glass windows were placed high on the intricate walls, tinting the vaulted ceilings in shattered hues. This place was much more than a banquet hall, especially if the deposit for one night was anything to go by).

The sound of a huffed chuckle came from behind (Y/N), the laugh getting her to instinctively turn on her heel. She had an apology poised on her lips, a reciprocating smile that said "kids, right?", but as soon as she caught who was behind her, she stopped a breath short with her lungs stunted.

Dressed in a raspberry blazer, gold accents stitched through the seams with curling brown hair held back only by a pair of large sunglasses, was Harry Styles.

Harry actual Styles. In real life.

(Y/N) didn't have a chance as soon as she caught sight of that curving smile, dimples and all, as he advanced down the hall to the men's bathroom just to the side of her. She was sure she looked like a guppy with the way she gaped her mouth open as if to say something before snapping it closed.

Sucking in a deep breath, the air coming in prickles through her throat, she did her best to form a coherent thought. "Sorry, she's just..." (Y/N) breathed out, an absent smile plucking at the corners of her lips as he came closer. He really did have the smallest group of freckles dotted over the bridge of his nose.

"'S alright, it was funny," he told her, voice deep and rich. It was familiar to her—at least as familiar as a voice could be when only previously heard through a pair of headphones or a speaker.

With that, he slipped around her. A polite, lopsided smile was on his lips, as he disappeared into the restroom.

(Y/N) stood in shock, watching at the bathroom door closed heavily behind him, only a flash of the blazer and the flare of his pants seen before he was gone.

That was Harry Styles.

What was Harry Styles doing in Paris? What was he doing at this venue in Paris? Priscilla and Nate had rented out the whole space for the entire night, so no one outside of previously RSVP'd wedding guests should be here.

There was no way he had been invited to the wedding, though, right? Priscilla surely would have mentioned if she knew Harry Styles at all, let alone well enough to invite him to her one-hundred dollar per plate, per course, per person wedding. Right?

(Y/N) even helped her mail out invites and had passed along the final seating chart to the wedding planner, she couldn't have missed a name like his, right?

Just then, Nora popped out of the bathroom, tiny fingers grabbing for (Y/N)'s hand before (Y/N) had even noticed she was there.

"I'm ready now," Nora chirped, already tugging (Y/N) back to where the bride and groom were shaking hands and hugging guests, welcoming them into the space.

Though her brain was still a bit rattled (she had literally been listening to his music just this morning as she got ready and now she was sharing the same air as him), (Y/N) escorted Nora through the fray of guests until they had reached her mom and dad by the entrance.

"There you are!" Priscilla beamed as soon as she saw her daughter, reaching her arms out to pick Nora up and sit her on her hip. "Got everything taken care of, Nori?"

"Yeah, now I have room for dinner," Nora smiled, nothing short of proud of her accomplishments in the bathroom.

Priscilla only laughed along with the guests that were slowly shuffling through the entrance that had caught the exchange, bouncing her daughter on her hip before turning to (Y/N). As soon as she caught sight of her assistant's face, the dark arches of her brows came together in a pinch.

"Is everything okay, (Y/N)?" she asked, stepping out of line and letting Nate field all of their relatives and friends for a moment.

(Y/N) floundered as she tried to find her voice, her mouth suddenly dry as the memory of him was brought to the forefront of her mind. "I think... I just saw Harry Styles by the bathrooms."

"Oh, is he here already? I don't remember saying hi." With Nora hooked over her hip, Priscilla stood on the toes of her heels, eyes scanning over the hall in search of the head of brown curls (Y/N) could probably point out from memory.

"You know him? He's really here for the wedding?" (Y/N) questioned, trying to keep her jaw from dropping.

"Kind of," she shrugged, dropping her search to match (Y/N)'s wide gaze, "Nate knows him better than I do, but yeah. His firm reps Harry, but they don't see each other too often. It's mostly through his manager, but Harry's always friendly and super kind when he comes in; he's so good at remembering the weirdest things Nate mentions in passing. We decided to invite both of them."

(Y/N) didn't want to admit that she knew exactly who Harry's manager was and was excited at the thought of Jeff also being in attendance of the wedding.

"I can't believe you've never told me," (Y/N) gaped, "You've heard me listening to his stuff all the time, and you never said anything. I helped with the seating chart and I didn't even notice his name!"

A soft smile worked its way onto Priscilla's lips. "I know, I thought that was weird, but I figured you'd find out soon enough. You should talk to him more; he's really nice, (Y/N)."

"I can't talk to him," (Y/N) immediately shut her down, remembered the way she looked at him like a guppy during the whole two second interaction by the restrooms. A wonderful first impression.

"Why not?" Priscilla pressed, painting a bright smile over her face when one of her relatives skated passed their conversation.

"He's Harry Styles, I can't talk to him," she reasoned though it sounded silly out loud. That thought was only reaffirmed when Priscilla gave her an arched brow and a quirked smile.

"Whatever, (Y/N)," Priscilla sighed with affection for her assistant, "We'll be here for a few days, so I doubt you'll be able to avoid him much, but I'm excited to see you try."

Shaking her head, a short smile tugged on (Y/N)'s lips. "You want to see me suffer."

"No, I would never," Priscilla waved off, "Nora likes you too much for me to torture you. But I enjoy seeing you torture yourself over silly things like this."

Before (Y/N) could give any kind of smart remark back, Nate beckoned Priscilla back to the fray, where an elderly couple (Y/N) remembers as Nate's great-aunt and uncle was waiting to greet the bride. Priscilla gave them a wave before turning to (Y/N) one last time, something wicked turning the very corner of her mouth.

"Have fun."

With that, she walked back to join her groom, Nora on her hip waving to (Y/N) over her mom's shoulder.

—————

"This way, this way, s'il vous plaît!"

Tearing her eyes from the Degas painting hung up high on the gallery wall, (Y/N) followed the guide that was touring their group through the Louvre. With Priscilla, Nate, and Nora spending the day with their families before the craziness of the pre-wedding shoot tomorrow and the big day on Friday, (Y/N) was given somewhat of a day off of all her duties. After forwarding Priscilla everything she might need while filling out some of the marriage paperwork that went along with having an abroad wedding, she was left to either go on the wine tasting at one of the beautiful vineyards outside of Paris, or on a guided tour of the Louvre—both booked and paid for by the bride and groom so their guests can enjoy a taste of Paris as a thank you for spending their special day with them. As much as (Y/N) would have loved to get a little day drunk at a French vineyard, she didn't trust that she wouldn't be on Nora duty later in the evening. Instead, she packed herself onto the shuttles with some of Nate and Pricilla's family and friends that would take them to the art museum.

Now, almost an hour into the tour, (Y/N) wished there wasn't a guide telling her when to move on from each room and where to go next. Of course each room was teeming with people just as excited to see the classics as she was, but that didn't diminish any of the magic she felt staring at the pieces, a tiny plaque next to them detailing out the title and materials used with a famous artist's name attached. She was currently entranced with the Degas paintings of all the tutu clad ballerinas—dramatic in the value but tender in each stroke—and didn't want to go before she had a chance to get a look at each and pretend she was there in the opera house watching those girls perform.

But, as she had found during the beginning of the tour, the guide wasn't going to leave without all members of the group with them. He would stand at the threshold of the next room, mega-watt smile on his face as he waved his little orange flag above his head, beckoning the group to come this way, this way! It was easier on everyone if she said her quiet goodbyes to her favorite pieces with a lingering glance and a photo on her phone before joining her group.

Before she could pout any at the loss of the Degas paintings, the guide directed everyone with a bright smile into the next long hallway. In here, marble statues and sculptures were dotted around the space, standing proud and glimmering in the sunlight filtering through the open windows. The space was otherwise sparse, leaving all attention onto the legendary figures planted across the room. Though she heard the tour guide spouting off facts and details about how important these statues were, how they came to be in the Louvre's possession, and some of the techniques that helped them come to be, (Y/N) didn't hear anything coherent. She was too busy trying to keep her jaw from dropping.

How could anyone manage—especially with tools that weren't anywhere near as advanced as what was at an artist's disposal now—to make stone appear soft and pliable, full of curves and gentle give? Nothing was as breathtaking as seeing the hand of a sculpted man holding his lover by the thigh, his fingertips denting deep against her flesh, only to be reminded from the glimmer from the sunlight, that this was nothing more than stone manipulated to mimic human skin.

As soon as she heard the guide announce in his accented English that the group was free to roam around the hall, take photos and explore the pieces, she all but bound away from the group. She made a beeline towards the statue that caught her eye the second they slipped into the room.

Large, sprawling wings sprouting from Cupid's back almost looked large enough they could graze the ceiling as the marble swooped down in the shape of a muscled arm as he cradled his lover. Pysche was wrapped in nothing more than a sheet, the marble somehow looking thin and delicate like the silk that was meant to be draped over her waist in a cradling hold. Cupid held her gently as he craned his neck, trying to reach her lips and revive her with a kiss as the title of the piece suggested. They were trapped in that one moment, not close enough to share their kiss, but just near enough (Y/N) could see and feel the anticipation shared between the two mythological figures.

"'S crazy, isn't it?"

The same deep voice that made her breath catch not more than twenty-four hours prior brought (Y/N) back to the real world in the middle of the museum. Whipping her head to the side, she saw Harry Styles once again sharing the hall with her.

He wore wide legged jeans with holes over the knees and a faded, vintage looking t-shirt with bunnies graphically printed along the bottom hem. A brown tortoise clip disrupted the flow of the line of rabbits as it was pinned to the bottom as well, bunching the fabric enough to reveal the waistline of his Gucci branded pants. The same large sunglasses she had seen him with last were perched on the top of his head, holding back the iconic brown curls he was known for.

"What?" she asked, the sound of her blood pumping past her ears having drowned out everything he had to say the second she realized who he was.

"The sculpture," he smiled, nodding ahead to the marble gods, "'S crazy people can look so real when they're made out of stone like that. Even the blanket she's wearing looks like 's about to float away, even though 'm sure 's easily over a hundred pounds."

"Oh," she chirped, clearing her gaze with a blink before she turned back to face the sculpture that had captured his attention. Neurons fired in her brain, pushing her to find something to say that wasn't about how much she loved him or oh my god, you're Harry Styles, what are you doing out of my phone screen?! "Y-Yeah, definitely. I've always thought it was interesting the way these people were able to make rocks look so soft. I don't understand how, but I like looking at it."

A dimple dented his cheek, that much (Y/N) could see from the corner of her eye. His arms crossed over his chest made him appear even broader than photos granted, even as he shifted his weight on long legs that toed at the ground with a hip pushed outwards. "I know what y'mean. I've tried painting something like this a few times, and I can't even get something that's actually soft to look the way this marble does. I don't think 's real; we're not supposed to touch, only because if we do, we'll find out 's all actually made out of sponges or something."

A smile quirked (Y/N)'s own lips at his joking, a stifled laugh exhaling from her nose so as to not disrupt the quiet that filled the hall. "I think you might be on to something," she told him, exaggeratedly looking around the hall as if trying to spot eavesdroppers, "I'd be careful with that information, if I were you."

A peek of his white teeth appeared from between his raspberry lips as he nodded to her joke, leaning into the secrecy they were creating over the subject. A short silence fell between them as they resumed looking at the sculpture, (Y/N) peeking at the plaque beside the statue though she couldn't comprehend anything knowing who was standing beside her.

"You're friends with Nathan and Priscilla, right?" Harry asked, side-stepping into her space though he crooked his head, making it apparent he was looking over her shoulder at the plaque.

"Yeah, I guess" she mused, impressing herself by how normal she was appearing through this conversation despite the rattling of her heart in her ribcage. "I'm Priscilla's personal assistant, and sometimes nanny for Nora. We're basically family at this point."

"Oh, so you're (Y/N), then." Harry pulled his attention from the sculpture, looking to her with a bright smile and something like recognition going through his gaze as he trailed his eyes over her face, placing her for the first time.

"I am, yeah," she smiled back, feeling her skin warm at the fact Harry Styles knew her name and had some idea of her existence.

"Nathan's mentioned you a few times. Supposedly, y'keep Priscilla's head attached to the rest of her, and keep her from biting off Nate's when she's had a day." She couldn't help but think he sounded almost impressed. If only he knew what it was like to work with Priscilla day in and out, then he really would be impressed.

"I wouldn't say that...," she trailed off, feeling a little too proud to completely deny the hard work that went into her job. "Nate's very good at calming her down, too. So is Nora. I'm just the first one she goes to with her problems."

"See? That says it all," he pressed, dimples denting his tanned cheeks, "If y'weren't so good to her, she wouldn't go to you before finding Nathan."

She liked when he said it like that. It made her feel important, even if she was nothing more than a little speck in Priscilla's grand life.

"I guess so," she whispered.

Flicking his gaze from the statue back to where she stood beside him, he offered his name in a low voice: "'M Harry, by the way. Realized I never introduced myself even after I creepily guessed your name."

The loud laugh that bubbled out of her chest had little to do with the joke he tacked on the edge of his introduction, and more to do with the fact Harry Styles had just offered out his name as if she was one of the point-two percent of people in the world who wouldn't already know who he was. He was just as polite as all the twitter threads and articles suggested.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," she reciprocated, trying her best to keep her face from warming the longer she looked at him. His nose really was just as perfect in person as she'd seen in photos.

If she looked at him long enough, pretty features on a broad body hidden under soft tufts of clothing, (Y/N) could see him blending in with the perfect statues around them. Fluffed spikes of marble would emulate the curls on the top of his head, hard corners carved from the stone would be the only thing could could accurately display the quiet strength in his form. Even the length of his pink shoelaces wound through his worn Vans could be perfectly carved from small strips of marble. He would blend right in with Cupid himself, only missing a pair of fair wings drawing from his back.

Before their conversation could go any further, (Y/N) was broken out of her stupor at the sound of the accented English of their gallery guide calling for everyone to reconvene at the other end of the hall. She swore Harry's gaze lingered over her for just one extra moment before he followed her eye towards where that same little flag that was being waved over their guide's head as their group was directed "this way! this way, s'il vous plaît!".

It was an unspoken moment as they fell into step with one another going towards the threshold to whatever was next on the agenda, (Y/N)'s strides much slower as to match Harry's that was lingering despite the length of his legs.

"Bummer, right?" he offered in a quiet tone as they were still steps behind the last stragglers of their group.

"Hm?"

"I was hoping he'd let us stay in here a little while longer. I was having fun," he told her, the curl on his lips just as secret as his muted tone.

"Maybe he'll let us roam around on our own at the end, and you can come back," she told him, trying to rein in her hammering pulse from the way he seemed to be sharing something secret with her.

"And, you'll come with me, right?"

(Y/N) didn't have a hope in the world to stop her rattling heart and stunted lungs at his request.

"Of course," she said in a pitched tone, heart racing too fast to listen to anything their guide was saying as their group was directed towards the next room, "I wasn't done looking at them, anyway."

Harry ignored the hooked thumb she threw over her shoulder in the direction of the couple of myths suspended in marble they had spend their time in front of. Instead he had his gaze pinned on hers, seemingly ignoring everything else.

"Me neither."

—————

(Y/N) was relieved as she stood behind the line of the camera, watching as Priscilla posed and primped in front of the lens. The Eiffel Tower stood in the background, large and just as romantic as Priscilla had gushed over the second she pitched the idea of a bridal shoot in front of the landmark. With the right editing, the phots were going to look dreamy and worthy of being splayed across bridal magazines for the next decade, at least.

Plus, when she was busy being pampered over, Priscilla didn't have time to continue the inquisition she had started the second (Y/N) climbed into the taxi that morning.

Somehow, word had gotten back to Priscilla that Harry Styles and her assistant had spent almost all of the tour of the Louvre together, giggling and whispering over quiet jokes and fonding over the same art pieces. And according to Priscilla, that meant they were in love and had been keeping the secret from her.

That's why (Y/N) treasured this reprieve behind the scenes, stepping back whenever a makeup artist came by to touch up the powder under her boss's eyes or a hairstylist perfected the waves that rippled her dark hair. She didn't need Priscilla feeding into the crush that was beginning to take ahold of (Y/N)'s heartstrings every time she thought of how she spent her time the day before.

That is until her name was shouted across the set. A flash of Priscilla's dark hair was all could be scene as she disappeared into the impromptu changing stall that had been set up by the team hired to perfect the shoot.

(Y/N) sighed before resigning herself to standing outside the stall while Priscilla shouted to her through the sheet, asking for more details of the 'date' she had been on the day before.

"Yes?" she called to her boss once she was on the other side of the familiar stall while Priscilla was helped into her second wedding dress (she had three looks all together that would be shown during the big day, and she wanted to make sure she had wonderful pictures of each of her gowns).

"Tell me what happened in the sculpture room again," Pricilla demanded, "I want to know exactly what he said. And how he said it. And where he was looking when he said it."

Remembering the way Harry had stood beside her, admiring Cupid and his love (which she later found ironic considering he had a role acting as his own version of the god) brought a shiver to her heart. The sound of his voice dropping next to her ear was vivid enough in her memory that she couldn't believe Priscilla hadn't already heard it with the way it echoed in her head.

Still, even with her hammering heart and uneven filling of her lungs, (Y/N) shrugged. "I've already told you everything he said. We talked about the sculpture and then how I knew you and Nate."

"And that was what had him following you through the rest of the museum?" Her tone was incredulous, (Y/N) not needing to see Priscilla's face to know how scrunched and petulant her features probably were. The spitting image of Nora when she was having a tantrum.

"I guess so."

A loud groan could be heard alongside the sound of a zipper lacing together. "C'mon, (Y/N)! Give me something fun!" she called, "It's my wedding week, and this is how you treat me? Not giving me even a little crumb of what it was like flirting with him in the middle of Paris?"

"That's because we didn't flirt, Pris. We talked about paintings."

Drawing the curtain aside in a harsh pull, Priscilla was unveiled in her second dress of the day, this one large and tulle filled with sheer panels on the bodice. Despite being dressed like an angel, the grump on her face was the perfect juxtaposition that described her boss.

"Then why did Nate tell me his cousin saw you two huddled away while everyone else was looking at the Mona Lisa?"

(Y/N) tried to recall when they had even visited the Mona Lisa, but every memory after the sculpture hall was more focused on Harry than anything else. She couldn't help but see him in every billowing piece of art, abstract or realistic.

"Oh my god," her boss chirped, features lighting up at something (Y/N) must have missed.

"What?" (Y/N) asked, about to look over her shoulder. Maybe the Tower had sparkled to life early?

"You made a face!" Priscilla bubbled, reaching for (Y/N)'s shoulders before giving her a little shake, "That's what I was looking for! You don't even remember seeing the Mona Lisa, do you? You were too distracted by your new boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend—I don't even have his number, or anything."

"But you were distracted with him, weren't you?" The silence (Y/N) offered was enough to have Priscilla rocketing with glee. "I knew it!" she beamed, clasping her hands together with her manicured nails gleaming in the French sunset, "Are you going to dance with him tomorrow? I can change the seating chart with Adelina and make it so you're seated together for dinner if you want. Oh my god, I cannot wait to tell Nate 'I told him so' when he finds out you're seeing Harry."

(Y/N) couldn't help but laugh at the miles and miles ahead of herself Priscilla was getting. "I don't think you can tell Nate anything considering the only place I'm 'seeing' Harry is at your wedding tomorrow."

"Exactly," she cemented, trailing over to where the photographer was calling to his muse to resume her posing, "You should be thanking me for getting you a date to the wedding. So last minute, too."

Before (Y/N) could offer any kind of retort, Priscilla slipped into the same thing that had earned her her fortune in the first place—modeling. (Y/N) could only stand behind the photographer and the line of lighting equipment, stewing in the heat that reached her cheeks at the idea Pricilla put in her head of dancing with Harry tomorrow at the reception.

Sure, maybe he would say hi at the ceremony tomorrow, but she couldn't see herself as being more than someone to spend the tour of the Louvre with, to him. Even if the idea of knocking elbows with him on accident while they ate dinner got her heart bubbling with a rush of blood through her body.

Paris was perfect for dreams, lovely romantic ones especially, but there was no reason to think Harry Styles was going to be anything more than a perfect addition to those dreams.

—————

"Why aren't you in your white dress?"

(Y/N) tucked Nora in front of her as staff from the venue rushed passed them through the hall, arms laden with bouquets of flowers Priscilla was sure to through a fit over if she saw they still weren't set up. In front of her, Nora almost tripped over herself as she looked over her shoulder at (Y/N), a fluffy lavender dress on her toddling form.

"Your mom is the only one who gets to wear white today, remember?" (Y/N) prompted, pulling Nora to walk again at her side with her hand outstretched for the little girl to wrap her palm around her fingers, "She's the one getting married, so she gets the special dress."

"Oh," Nora sounded, bright blue eyes shuttered by an owlish blink. "When are you getting married, then? Are you going to wear white, too?"

Despite having started coming around just when Nora was getting into her curious phase, non-stop questions flooding from her mouth with little filter, (Y/N) never tired of her prodding. Drawing her into one of the many private rooms attached to the venue where Nate's and Priscilla's families were gathering before joining the main hall before the ceremony, (Y/N) tried to figure out how to explain to the toddler there wasn't a wedding of hers that needed to be worried about.

"I'd have to trick someone into marrying me first before I have those answers for you, sweetie," (Y/N) joked with a soft laugh, a tease that went right over Nora's head as she looked up at her with her Bambi eyes.

"Why would you trick someone like that?"

(Y/N) stammered, mouth dropping into a guppy gape as she tried to talk her way out of a bad joke to tell to a toddler. "I—It was..... You're right, Nori," she relented, walking to where the little girl's maternal grandmother was waiting with a bright smile on her face at the sight of her granddaughter, "That would be mean of me."

"Yeah. My mommy told me you have a boyfriend too, so it would be mean to trick someone else into marrying you when I'm sure he would want to marry you."

Priscilla was lucky she wasn't here, otherwise she could be getting a glare full of daggers for telling Lenore something as silly as that, especially knowing who Priscilla was telling the toddler was the boyfriend in question.

Before (Y/N) could say anything to dispute the case, she passed Nora off to her grandma. As she fielded questions about Priscilla's state the morning of the big day, (Y/N) decided she would have to wait on gently scolding her boss until after the ceremony at the very least.

—————

(Y/N) did her best to keep her tears at bay as she watched Priscilla and Nate exchange vows, Nora sat in her lap with her eyes pinned to her mom and dad finally marrying after hearing about this impending wedding for two years (though (Y/N) was sure she could only really recall the last year's worth of memories with Priscilla running around frantic and Nate following in an apologetic wake). Vials of sand that represented each family member were now swirled together in a jar beside the officiant, symbolizing the union of their entire family through this marriage, one that couldn't be separated. The weather was perfect out in the vineyard Priscilla snagged a year and a half in advance of the date, just warm enough so she could blame the heat covering her skin on the sun and not the lump forming in her throat.

As hard of a time as she gave Priscilla and the chaos that had filled her work for the last year, her boss was one of the closest people in her life. Seeing Priscilla so happy with someone like Nate—her perfect counterpart—, being married in the most beautiful place, her dream wedding come to life, was enough to have (Y/N)'s eyes sopping with unshed tears.

Watching them be announced husband and wife, Nora joining them on their descent back down the flower petal studded aisle, (Y/N) finally allowed her tears to fall. Her eyes followed them along with the rest of the guests as the little family disappeared inside the winery. Gentle instrumental music struck up before ushers made their appearance and began herding the guests to the east side of the rustically French building, ivy and lavender sprigs clinging to the siding that would be the backdrop for the cocktail hour that would commence while Priscilla and Nate reveled in the newly married bliss and took a few photos before the reception started.

These moments were the hardest part about going to family events with Priscilla: the mingling. As familiar as she became with certain figures in her boss's life, it wasn't like these were her family and friends. Her closest friends in this whole ordeal were tucked away in the bridal suite while (Y/N) was left to snack on cucumber sandwiches and tiny flutes of wine, lingering by the side of the winery while pretending to clack away on her phone. Here and there, familiar faces greeted her, chatting about the beautiful ceremony and how cute it was for her to keep ahold of Nora while her parents were busy otherwise. (Y/N) of course thanked everyone, reiterating that the ceremony was very beautiful, yes, Priscilla's dress was gorgeous, wasn't it?, and the menu for dinner sounded better and better the longer they stood out in the Parisian countryside. As soon as the dead air appeared, they would share goodbyes and chat with you later! before heading off to another group of people to share the time with.

Of course, this was the one hour during the entire week that Priscilla wasn't in dire need of her, leaving her to her own devices as she read the same three emails over and over to busy herself.

Until, of course, her name was called from one of the small cocktail tables a few feet over, a head of brown curls popping up over the crowd as she searched for her caller. A ringed hand waved to her just as one of Pricilla's college roommates moved out of the way, a giggling whisper shared with whoever it was that was at her side when the woman caught sight of who she was blocking.

Harry, clad in a creamy white suit (he was very lucky Priscilla hadn't caught him, otherwise that ensemble would have been stained red with wine or something even harder to get out of the fabric) with a bright smile on his face, dimples deep in his cheeks, as he called to her. At his side was Jeffery Azoff, who (Y/N) was almost as excited to see in person as she was when she met Harry himself. He beckoned her to him with a wave of his hand, green nails sparkling in the golden hour sunlight.

"Hey, you," he greeted her, a grin with his two front bunny-like teeth on display, "Been waiting for m'turn to talk to you since the ceremony ended."

(Y/N) couldn't contain the smile that spread over her lips at his words, his eyes pinned to her with the full of his attention, the same way everyone always described when meeting Harry Styles. No distraction could pull his attention from someone he deemed worthy of it. "Really?" she asked, hoping he didn't pick up on the dreamy quality of her tone.

"Yeah, was jus' telling Jeff all about all the fun we had with Jean-Pierre the other day," he teased, the green of his eyes glimmering with inside jokes they had tittered over in the marble halls.

"He hasn't shut up about it for the past forty-eight hours, actually," Jeff chuffed, mirth in his eyes as he glanced at his friend, sipping from his wine, "I was hoping you could take him off my hands. At least you'd get all the jokes he's telling."

"I don't know," (Y/N) shrugged, tension releasing from her muscles as she folded her arms over the surface of the table, "I don't get half the jokes he tells, either."

Feigned offense piqued on Harry's features as he looked between them, mouth dropping open though he couldn't quite erase the slight curl on the corner of his mouth. With the single strand of hair that fell over his forehead, he looked entirely too dreamy in the middle of the French countryside. Once again, (Y/N) found herself grateful over the fact Priscilla hadn't caught him in his ivory ensemble—having a deep red wine stain on his suit would surely ruin the effect.

"Heyyy," he whined, a pouting crease forming between his pinched brows, "That's mean."

"You've told the same jokes for the entire time I've known you, H," Jeff pressed, a fond smile on his face as he gazed at his friend though he didn't stop his teasing, "and every time you tell them, I still don't get it."

Before Harry could interject any more pouting, (Y/N) chirped up with a matching quirk to her lips. "Yeah, he did tell the same joke twice at the museum. A little bit of a repeater, he is."

"Oh, not you, too," Harry whined, dropping his head to be right in her line of sight. His smile was a little too bright, dimples a little too deep, eyes a little too clear to be convincingly offended. "You're supposed to be on m'side, (Y/N)."

The sound of her name wrapped in his voice was something that echoed in her head for the last forty-eight hours since she'd seen him. "I am, he just has some good points. Sorry, Harry," she told him, speaking low enough as if she was sharing a secret with only Harry.

Over the swirls of curls on the top of his head, (Y/N) could see the way Jeff was eyeing the interaction before adverting his eyes with a smirk on his lips before they were hidden by a cup of wine.

"Y'could make it up to me, you know," he murmured to her, his folded hands coming up to smush against his tanned cheek, altering the layout of the soft smattering of freckles on the center of his face.

"How?"

"Save a dance for me."

(Y/N) felt her lashes tickle her brow bone with the way her eyes widened, rounding and softening as she processed his request. She was sure that if someone showed her a recap of this moment, she would look like a moony teenager setting eyes on her crush for the first time.

Swallowing around her suddenly dry throat, (Y/N) nodded her head. "I-I can do that."

The way his grin stretched across his lips and the smallest dusting of pink coloring touched at the tip of his nose, could have had (Y/N) on a stretcher if not for the interruption that came in the form of one of the venue's staff tapping on her shoulder.

"Ms. (Y/N)," the staff member greeted her with a tight smile that did little to sully her accented English, "The new Mrs. Davies is requesting your presence very urgently up in the bridal suite. If you wouldn't mind excusing yourself, I can escort you up right away."

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, deflating some at the fact she was going to have to leave Harry so quickly, "Okay, yeah. Give me just a second."

The staff member gave her a strained smile, but nonetheless took a step back. She felt for the girl, really; Priscilla was a piece of work when she wanted to be and (Y/N) had a feeling she was walking into something gruesome in that bridal suite.

Turning back to Harry, (Y/N) jerked a half-hearted thumb over her shoulder. "It sounds like I'm needed, so..."

She trailed off, not wanting to be the one to say bye. Harry seemed to feel the same as he ducked his head, obscuring her view of him with the cover of his hair. "I'll see you later, though, right?" he prompted her once he matched her gaze again, the blushing green peeking through the length of his lashes.

"Definitely," she cemented, taking the first reluctant step away from the table. Though her eyes lingered on Harry, she made a point to divert her gaze to her new friend of the day. "It was nice to meet you, Jeff."

"Nice to meet you, too, (Y/N)," he offered politely, a sly smile stitched to his features she had a feeling wasn't going to dissipate.

With one final wave, (Y/N) was beckoned by the staffmember back to the winery, hasty steps having (Y/N) all but tripping over herself to keep up. Just before slipping through the doorway, she couldn't help but toss a glance over her shoulder, finding Harry with his arms crossed over the cocktail table, grapeleaf-green eyes pinned to her. It took a matching of his gaze and a punch to his shoulder from Jeff before Harry came to his senses. In the waning light, his already golden skin was amplified, but (Y/N) could still see the tint of pink that dotted his cheeks and touched at the tip of his nose.

—————

"Thank you," (Y/N) muttered as she left the kitchen with a lukewarm plate that held her dinner she should have eaten hours ago.

Trudging through the reception hall, music drifting through the room with the raucous laughter of both tipsy and sober guests clashing against the melody, (Y/N) couldn't decide if her head was going to pop first or if her feet would give out before then. She knew that wearing these heels gifted by Priscilla for her last birthday, red-bottom and all, wasn't going to be the most comfortable and arch-supporting idea, but that had been before she knew she was going to be more of a planner than a guest to this event.

While Priscilla was spending treasured moments with her husband, both behind the bridal suite doors prior to the reception and in the guest-filled banquet hall, (Y/N) was filling every role she could to help. Fussing over Priscilla was a given, so carting glasses of wine back and forth and directing the photographer on what shots her boss had specially requested be taken was something she had prepared to do. But, it was when Nora was passed off to her during Priscilla and Nate's first dance, and never quite passed back once the toddler started having too much fun at a grown-up's table, that (Y/N) knew she wasn't to have a moment to herself for the rest of the night. Just when she thought she was in for a slight reprieve when dinner was served, something she could enjoy while also taking care of Lenore, Adelina, the wedding planner, had pulled her to the side. (Apparently, there was something awry with the wedding cake, but Priscilla didn't need to know about it if everyone wanted to keep their heads). That was how she ended up passing Nora off to her grandparents and her first course back to the kitchen staff, asking them to keep it warm for her so she could have it later, after she dealt with the tiered spongecake that had melting buttercream and slouching fondant decorations.

It seemed that one favor she did, signed her up to be Adelina's assistant for the rest of the evening—or at least until everything settled down with only drinks and snacks being enjoyed among the guests. She was kept busy with every minute detail that began to run off the rails, things that didn't need to be shared with Priscilla but were much too important to leave alone. Even the photographer, the ever careful Frenchman who had the fear of God in his eyes every time he looked at Priscilla, had asked for her opinion more than once with (Y/N) practically directing the day's photos by the time ten-thirty rolled around.

That was something else that tugged her muscles down by the root and threatened to drop her through the floorboards if her exhaustion grew any heavier. One of the perks of this venue—and the hefty deposit Priscilla made on the space—was the lack of clear out time. Wine and food were just the things to persuade guests into lingering on the property, which is exactly what they did, especially when additional courses of finger foods and desserts were brought from the kitchen and the bottles of wine and champagne were endlessly supplied by the vineyard. Looking out onto the dance floor and the semi-full tables surrounding the space, (Y/N) didn't see an end in sight.

But, Nora had been taken back to the hotel and tucked into bed by Nate's parents, leaving at least one responsibility off her plate. The photographer seemed to find his footing the more he realized Priscilla preferred her left-side and would enjoy any photograph of she and Nate kissing. Adelina had calmed down the second most of the traditions of the wedding were filed through—the garter-toss was one of the most nerve-wracking moments for some reason—as guests began reclining and holding separate courts at all the tables and others dotted the dancefloor to indulge in wine-induced dance moves. Priscilla had even settled well as she slow-danced with Nate, especially after changing into her third and final dress for the event, the fringed hem dropping to the mid of her thigh and sparkling under the romantic lighting draped across the rafters. (Y/N) lingered, on-edge, for an extra half-an-hour before finally treating herself with the task of picking up her food from the kitchen and settling in one of the back tables that had been vacated as children's bedtime had approached.

With a barely filled glass of red wine and a lukewarm plate of pasta in front of her, (Y/N) dared to slip her shoes off under the table before folding her legs underneath herself.

She didn't even know how long she had been menially scooping up her food, not even tasting the fine ingredients and expensive spices or how well they paired with her given wine, too exhausted to really process much other than finally having some subsistence in her body. That was why she barely noticed the knock of someone's knees against the underside of the table as they slipped into the spot beside her, the gentle voice having to call her name twice before she perked up.

"Sorry, what did you need he—Oh, Harry," she smiled, pleased to see him when she had been expecting another person that needed her help.

"Hi," he greeted her, the word coming out breathy and merlot-tinted. That would explain his messy hair and glassy eyes. The flush that tinted his skin looked perfect with his suit.

"Hi," she reciprocated with a small smile, "Have you been enjoying the reception?" She had a feeling she knew the answer to that one.

Nonetheless, the floppy nod Harry gave her, curls skimming his forehead, still made her heart bounce. "A lot," he told her on a breathy laugh, before his expression turned sour with a downturn to his lips, "But, y'said y'would dance with me, and I've barely seen you. Had to dance with Nathan's great-aunt five different times just to feel something."

(Y/N) choked on the sip of wine she had tossed back while he spoke, clapping her hand over her mouth as she fought to keep from spitting it out. Once she recovered, a choked bunch of air filling her lungs, she shook her head at him. "I'm sure you did feel something," she teased, twirling a meaningless bite of pasta around her fork, "she's practically in love with you. I heard her talking to Priscilla's cousin all about you and how she was somehow going to fit you in her pocket and take you back to the hotel with her."

"I wouldn't put it past her," Harry started grimly, fully believing Aunt Rosie's besotted threat.

"And, I wouldn't blame her," (Y/N) muttered, the words falling out before she had any clarity of mind to stop them.

A brilliant smile woke up Harry's grapejuice softened features. "Really? Want to take me home in your pocket, too, then?"

Caught, (Y/N) didn't have it in her to pull her eyes from her plate of food though she shrugged in response. "I don't have any pockets, so I'll have to fit you in my tote if that's alright."

"I can work with that," Harry shot back immediately, sitting up in his chair before scooting closer to (Y/N), folded arms settling on the table. "Do y'have extra room at your hotel, or will I have to sleep on the floor?"

Her face felt hot as she couldn't help but take his intoxicated flirting right to her heart. "I don't have lots of space, but I'm sure I could figure something out for you."

He seemed all too pleased with her response, bunny-teeth trapping his bottom lip between his teeth. Unable to draw her gaze away from his mouth, the very middle of the pillows tinted plum from the wine, (Y/N) draped her eyes over the faint freckles dotting the pink skin. Cute.

"If you're not too busy still, maybe I could redeem m'promised dance once things slow down again?" Harry's voice was only a whisper that hung in the air between them, almost drowned out by the loud laugh that originated somewhere on the dance floor.

"Yeah, yeah," she rushed out on a breath, hoping Harry wouldn't notice how eager she was to agree incase it was just as embarrassing as it sounded, "I would really like that."

She would think she would be used to the look of his bright smile by now, with the amount of times she'd been granted the sight throughout this week, but it still threaten to knock the breath out of her to have it directed at her.

"I'll keep an ear out, then," Harry told her, leaning back in his chair with his gaze going to the dance floor, staying true to his word of keeping watch, "Y'finish eating, though, before someone has a chance to steal y'away again, saying they need help with the music again or something. Barely had a chance to eat tonight."

A pinch collected between her brows as she canted her head to the side. "How did you know I had to help with the music?"

Another heart-stopping smile worked its way on Harry's lips though he kept his gaze attached to the dance floor. "I've been paying attention to you all night, (Y/N)."

—————

(Y/N) perked up at the change in tempo that sounded from the front of the banquet hall, a handful of couples still occupying the space while others were retiring to tables as the night drew on. Priscilla and Nate seemed to be in their own world wrapped in each others arms with no sense of time. But, for the first time in the last twenty minutes, their slowdancing finally matched the song that filtered through the speakers.

Dropping her fourth glass of wine onto the table, the alcohol sloshing dangerously close to the rim as she clumsily stood up. "Harry, Harry, hurry," she bubbled off as she fumbled to put her shoes back on her feet, "We can't miss this one."

"Miss what?" he asked lamely from where he sat, mouth dropping to a gape as he looked up at her.

"The song—listen! We missed the last, like, three slow songs I think. We can't leave until I make it up to you for teasing you earlier."

Harry's memory seemed to come back together at the mention of the song, his ears all but physically perking up for the time since he dropped the ball on his job of keeping an ear out for a suitable song to pull (Y/N) to the floor with. "Oh, yeah," he blinked, standing up with his knees knocking the table in his haste, "Get your shoes on. Hurry."

"I am, I am," (Y/N) badgered him, squishing her toes into the silk covered shoes.

As soon as she was upright on the stilts of her heels, she grabbed for Harry's hand and tugged him to the dance floor. The other couples made a small space for them to join, even if they were clunky on their feet while others had sobered some through the night. (Y/N) tried to recall everything she remembered about slow dancing with a boy as best she could, middle-school rules coming to mind first as she placed her hands on the broad of his shoulders. A breathy laugh fell from her partner's lips as he tugged her closer, setting a gentle grip on her waist.

"This alright?" he asked her, looking down at her with glassy eyes though that didn't fog the crystal green of his iris.

"Yeah, thank you," she peeped, enjoying the press of his rings through her dress. "I should probably tell you I don't know how to do this, so I'm going to step on your feet at least twice."

Harry didn't seem at all bothered by the shortcomings of his partner, instead dropping his head with a brush of his forehead against hers as he laughed. "I don't even think I'll notice."

It was with that, Harry started swaying her off-beat, going against the grain of the rhythm the couples around them had curated. Neither of them paid it any mind, (Y/N) honestly not even noticing until she caught sight of Priscilla and Nate twirling out in a completely different flourish than what Harry had her doing.

"I think we're going the wrong way," (Y/N) whispered with a giggle, using her grip on Harry's shoulders to tug him down to her level.

"Are we?" he beamed at her, not even daring to look around the floor, his eyes pinned her with no sign of removal.

"Mhm," she hummed, biting back her smile despite the way it still stretched across her cheeks.

The only movement of his eyes came as they dropped down the planes of her face, charting every dip and curve before settling on her lips for a lingering moment. "Should we change that?"

"Maybe."

Just like the placing of her feet (though she'd only stepped on his toes once so far, that she knew of), (Y/N) wasn't even aware as she tugged him down with her grip on his shoulders, making his face level with her's for a breath. A skim of the tip of her nose against his was the final touch before she was pressing her lips to his. The wine they had shared from her glass was now sipped from each other's kiss, plummy and warm. (Y/N) drank from his lips as she sealed a kiss against his lips, tipping her head just right to get a little more of him without getting too ahead of herself in the middle of her boss's wedding.

Harry's hands on her waist was the anchoring touch as they resorted to just soft sways out-of-time with the song picked by the DJ. Warm breaths that were exhaled out of his nose fanned across her skin, with every matching tilt of his head. He didn't want to pull away, that much she knew from the way he clung to her form and the shallowness of his breaths the longer they kissed.

If not for their location, (Y/N) would have tried to figure out what the wine tasted like from his tongue. Instead, she forced herself to draw back, Harry following after her though he only managed to touch his forehead to hers.

"My boss is over there, otherwise..." (Y/N) trailed off, her lashes threatening to tangle with his from the proximity.

Something a little too smug curled at his lips. "Otherwise? I can work with otherwise."

Just in time, the set changed, turning into something much more uptempo that had Harry dragging her from the dance floor. (Y/N) swore as they passed Priscilla and Nate that her boss gave her a raise of her brow and practically-staged glimmer in her eye.

The privacy of their little table in the back washed over them as Harry made a point to drag her original seat to sit right beside his, the legs getting crossed over one another. That made it all too easy for him to drape her leg over his knee, just where he settled the warm palm of his hand. Now that the wall was broken, the flirting having opened a gateway with the kiss being the perfect key to get through, Harry didn't hesitate to touch over her skin.

'When are you leaving Paris?" he asked her, his filter gone along with the boundary they had burned on the dancefloor.

Reorienting herself as she reached for her glass of wine, (Y/N) tried to remember what day it was. "I think I'll be here for another week or something. Pris and Nate want to have some of their honeymoon with Nora before I need to take her home and they can be newlyweds."

He hummed as he took in her words, his tongue peeking out as he swiped the tip of it along the plush of his now swollen bottom lip. "Then, I'll leave in a week or something, too."

(Y/N) blanched at his proposition, not quite following where he was going. "What?"

"Y'won't have Lenore all the time, right?" (Y/N) shook her head. "Maybe those days, I can keep y'company instead. There's a lot of Paris I haven't seen yet, and 'm sure you've been too busy to explore either."

Though she doubted that Harry Styles—world-touring recording artist who was known to slip away to foreign countries for weeks at a time without being spotted—had anywhere left in Paris to explore with her, the idea appealed to her nonetheless. It wasn't like the Louvre was the only art gallery and this winery the only vineyard.

"Really?"

Harry nodded his head with a set in his jaw. He was determined when he was tipsy. "'M sure we'd still see each other back home, but I don't think 'm ready to leave Paris if you're not going as well."

The implication that he would still reach out to her once they stepped back on home soil, that he was sure they would see each other then no matter what, was enough to have a warmth hitting her features that the wine could only dream of inducing from her.

"Ye-Yeah," she nodded, her heart bubbling in her chest, "I can let you know when Nora is with her parents and we can meet up. Maybe not tomorrow morning because I think I'm going to be a little hungover and exhausted, but everyday after that. If it's alright."

The way he leaned across her draped legs, hand cradling the hinge of her jaw, an intoxicating kiss to her lips was enough of an answer. (Y/N) didn't bother to ask again even after he pulled away.

Priscilla was going to have a field day with this.

—————

ive had so many feelings and ideas about weddingrry for so long so im super happy I got to get some of them out w this one! thank you sm for reading and sorry for any mistakes! if you have any requests or ideas of your own please send them in!

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