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dresshistorynerd · 7 months ago

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The Morrisian case against fast fashion

Today I discovered that H&M made a William Morris collection some years ago. The heath death of the universe can't come quickly enough. We can stop now. Satire is dead and we killed her.

It's not just the whole concept of H&M using William Morris' designs for their fast fashion which is insanity inducing, but also the critical response it garnered. Like sure, people did realize this is insane and there was a lot of think pieces about it at the time, but I read several of them and they all seem to still miss the point in spectacular way.

The basic premise of these think pieces go along the lines of: "Would William Morris spin in his grave with a speed of light because of the H&M collection of his designs? A difficult question indeed. William Morris was a complicated man. He wanted art to be affordable to everyone. Isn't H&M affordable? That kinda fits. Though probably he would have some concerns about H&M's practices."

On the surface - yes - but like in reality - fuck no. There's no nuance in this particular issue. He talked about many times what he though of the H&Ms of his time, the retailers selling poor quality industrially produced "fashionable" bullshit. We know exactly what he would have thought of H&M. Here's couple of quotes from his 1884 lecture "Art and Socialism", which makes it very clear.

"It would be an instructive day's work for any one of us who is strong enough to walk through two or three of the principal streets of London on a week-day, and take accurate note of everything in the shop windows which is embarrassing or superfluous to the daily life of a serious man. Nay, the most of these things no one, serious or unserious, wants at all; only a foolish habit makes even the lightest-minded of us suppose that he wants them, and to many people even of those who buy them they are obvious encumbrances to real work, thought and pleasure. But I beg you to think of the enormous mass of men who are occupied with this miserable trumpery, from the engineers who have had to make the machines for making them, down to the hapless clerks who sit day-long year after year in the horrible dens wherein the wholesale exchange of them is transacted, and the shopmen, who not daring to call their souls their own, retail them amidst numberless insults which they must not resent, to the idle public which doesn't want them but buys them to be bored by them and sick to death of them."

He is describing the birth of consumerism, which was taking form during his lifetime in the late Victorian Era, which fast fashion is the extreme logical conclusion of, and he fucking hated it. He specifically railed against endless consumerist products, which H&M is the perfect representation of. It was definitely not the art and beauty he believed everyone required and deserved. He makes the distinction often.

"Now if we are to have popular Art, or indeed Art of any kind, we must at once and for all be done with this luxury; it is the supplanter, the changeling of Art; so much so that by those who know of nothing better it has even been taken for Art, the divine solace of human labour, the romance of each day's hard practice of the difficult art of living."

"And here furthermore is at least a little sign whereby to distinguish between a rag of fashion and a work of Art: whereas the toys of fashion when the first gloss is worn off them do become obviously worthless even to the frivolous—a work of Art, be it ever so humble, is long lived; we never tire of it; as long as a scrap hangs together it is valuable and instructive to each new generation. All works of Art in short have the property of becoming venerable amidst decay: and reason good, for from the first there was a soul in them, the thought of man, which will be visible in them so long as the body exists in which they were implanted."

When he thought of popular Art he thought of the craftsmanship of the common people. The art people have made from useful everyday objects with skillful handicrafts. This is what he means by "divine solace of human labour". It's not reverence of Puritanical work ethic, on the contrary, it's the reverence of creation, of the earnest joy people feel when they get to express themselves through their creative pursuits. He certainly didn't believe in work for work's sake, work needed to be worthwhile and enjoyable. He summarized his own position on what labour should be thusly:

"It is right and necessary that all men should have work to do which shall be worth doing, and be of itself pleasant to do; and which should he done under such conditions as would make it neither over-wearisome nor over-anxious."

He urged his middle class audience to reject consumerism (the lecture was for a very much middle class atheist society):

"For I say again that in buying these things: 'Tis the lives of men you buy! Will you from mere folly and thoughtlessness make yourselves partakers of the guilt of those who compel their fellow men to labour uselessly?"

I think it's glaringly obvious H&M and fast fashion in general is what he would consider luxury. Rags of fashion that are just churned out and discarded without thought and produced by compelling people to labour uselessly. It's not popular art that's made by workers and craftsmen, who are able to express themselves through it. There's no agency for the abused workers in H&M's sweatshops, they are not expressing their joy of creation, they are simply labouring uselessly.

Morris didn't shame workers for buying affortable things even if they weren't Art with big A, because that's the problem he despised the whole economic system for, for taking away the popular Art from people, making it inaccessible, and selling back mass produced products with very little practical or aesthetic value. So I don't think he would have problem with people who can only afford fast fashion today. They are the victims of capitalism too, because Art has been taken away from them. But the idea that some of these think pieces had that perhaps the H&M's Morris collection can be good actually if you squint, that H&M has the capacity to bring the art and beauty Morris advocated for for the people, is level of stupidity that's hard to express in words.

Morris didn't believe anything made with exploited labour could be truly beautiful, truly art. In his 1879 lecture "The Art of the People" he put it like this:

"That thing which I understand by real art is the expression by man of his pleasure in labour."

The way I understand this, is that art is communication. Through it we communicate feelings, ideas and thoughts, that is it's purpose. So for that communication to work, for it to be imbued with message, the person making it needs to feel passion and love for it's creation. How can there be love and passion if the hands making the garment belong to a tired exploited worker who has no agency what so ever in their work and can only think about survival to the next day?

Beyond the fundamental exploitativeness of H&M and fast fashion, this collection would still get zero points on aesthetic values from Morris even with his own designs. Because the work itself was such an important part of art for Morris, good design was nothing without good craftsmanship. Good design in his mind was always relative and dependent on it's purpose.

"For everything made by man’s hands has a form, which must be either beautiful or ugly; beautiful if it is in accord with Nature, and helps her; ugly if it is discordant with Nature, and thwarts her; it cannot be indifferent." (The Lesser Arts, 1877)

Here when he says nature, he means the nature of the thing that is made - basically it's purpose and function - and the nature of the materials it's made from. Basically, the design must always be made to bring out the function of the art and the qualities of the material it's made from, not fight against them. This is because he believed handicrafts were uniquely suitable for expressing the love of creation, therefore superior labour, and to really bring out the qualities of the craftsmanship and enjoy the creative process, the design should be suitable for that craft. The other side, which was the joy of using and experiencing art, required the craft to be selected for the suitable purpose. Using poorly functioning furniture for example is not very enjoyable, nor is using clothing that's made from materials that are not suitable for the climactic conditions it's supposed to be used in.

H&M of course utterly fails in this. They use Morris' designs in fully unsuitable ways. They print patterns made for example for wall papers on poor quality fabrics with synthetics dyes they weren't made for. This line from one blog post I came across really got me: "Therefore, without cheapening the artistic value of Morris’ designs, H&M’s collection offers an unparalleled potential for accessibility to them." No. Fuck no. They do in fact cheapen Morris' designs in every single way possible. Literally this is atrocious.

Despite the popular depiction, Morris wasn't in fact against industrial machinery or industrial art even, or at least he wasn't once his views on art and politics matured. He did think technology was useful, but he thought the people should use industrial methods for the benefit of all, not be enslaved by the industrial machine.

"I have spoken of machinery being used freely for releasing people from the more mechanical and repulsive part of necessary labour; and I know that to some cultivated people, people of the artistic turn of mind, machinery is particularly distasteful, and they will be apt to say you will never get your surroundings pleasant so long as you are surrounded by machinery. I don't quite admit that; it is the allowing machines to be our masters and not our servants that so injures the beauty of life nowadays. In other words, it is the token of the terrible crime we have fallen into of using our control of the powers of Nature for the purpose of enslaving people, we care less meantime of how much happiness we rob their lives of." ("How we live and how we might live", 1887)

However, he thought that the designer should approach it the way they approached any craft, by designing for the strengths of the machine work.

"But if you have to design for machine-work, at least let your design show clearly what it is. Make it mechanical with a vengeance, at the same time as simple at possible. Don't try, for instance, to make a printed plate look like a hand-painted one: make it something which no one would try to do if he were painting by hand..." ("Art and the Beauty of the Earth", 1881)

He did use some machinery for fabric and wall paper printing, but he was very intentional about their use. Still his designs weren't made for the type of methods these modern H&M machinery uses and he did for example use natural dyes. Particularly insulting is that some of the H&M clothes are made from viscose, rayon made with viscose method. Viscose method is extremely toxic and is known to cause long term health consequences for the workers and the people in surrounding areas. This has been well proven knowledge for ages. William Morris' wall paper factory in the beginning used the typical method used at the time which involved arsenic, but once he learned this could pose risks for the workers, he changed the method. Many of the new synthetic dyes were toxic at the time, which is the major reason he so favoured natural dyes, known to not cause health issues for workers or pollute the environment.

The question many of these think pieces about the H&M Morris collection posed was, would Morris disapprove and should we care? The first part of that is very easy to answer. Yes. Of course Morris would disapprove. He is currently powering the whole of British Isles with purely the kinetic energy his grave-spinning produces. Should we care though? If you care about Morris' art, if you want to see more of that kind of art in this world, you should care. Morris' art is not about the superficial qualities. Copying his designs and aesthetics and styles, will only lead to hollow imitations, that are exactly what he described the rags of fashion to be; as the shininess of novelty wears off they will reveal themselves to be soulless, useless and utterly empty. This collection is just that. To see more of the kind of art that makes you feel like his art makes you feel, not just something that reminds you of that feeling, you should focus more on the way the art is made and less on the specific aesthetics. If his vision of labour and art was realised, all art produced of course wouldn't be loved by every person, but all of it would be loved by someone, even if that someone was just the maker. And that would be more worthwhile than every single rag of fast fashion.

I will stop William-Morris-posting now and return to my thesis.

The full texts I quoted here:

Art and Socialism The Art of the People The Lesser Arts How We Live and How We Might Live Art and the Beauty of the Earth

#william-morris-posting #fashion #fast fashion #william morris #a&c #arts and crafts movement #fashion history #history #textiles #textile history #sustainability

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sillyswriting · 5 months ago

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: ̗̀➛ sergeant johnny 'soap' mactavish

cw : sexual theme

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ collection

why did john have to get married so far away from the airport? it wouldn't have bothered you if you didn't have to spend the car trip stuck with mactavish. ever since you were part of the 141, there had always been something that bothered you about soap. you couldn't really explain what. it didn't help that something about you bothered him too.

unless you two were on a mission, you would always bicker with one another like five-year-olds. at first, your teammates had been amused by it, but now it was getting old. they couldn't understand why you couldn't get along. you had gotten along fine with everyone else, even ghost, but you had drawn the line at johnny? it didn't make sense.

your explanations were always the same: he was childish, borderline dumb, and most of all, a whore. you shared a wall with him back in base, and you had lost count of all the women, and men, he had brought back to his room. all of them worked at the base, and you still didn't understand how he hadn't fucked everyone yet.

you had tried everything to make him at least turn the noises down. you had asked nicely, you had knocked on his door during his fun, you had knocked on your shared wall, you had put on some crazy music, you even went as far as waking up your captain in the middle of the night. let's say neither john nor soap had been very happy with this. but you had slept like a baby for at least two weeks after that.

you had asked simon how he slept next to the brothel that was soap's room, and he just threw earplugs at your face. you hated earplugs; they made you feel way too vulnerable, but you didn't have a choice.

when they asked johnny why he hated you, he simply said: "dinnae hate her, but she's a right pain in ma arse." the rest of task force 141 had to give it to you, you had arguments, where johnny didn’t.

soft music was playing in the car while you looked outside the window. you loved your captain, but at this very moment, you wanted him dead. you had been erratic when he had announced his wedding, invited you all, as well as laswell. you had been more sceptical when he had told you where it was taking place, in the middle of nowhere, five hours away from london. and with your luck, you had missed the rest of 141 at the airport, leaving you with johnny.

you didn't understand what happened, normally, organisation was your thing. you'd asked kyle and simon about their flights, and the time they'd be landing in london to synchronize, but when you had landed, they texted you to tell you they were 30 minutes away from the venue, but soap was waiting for you. least to say, you hadn't been happy to see him, and his disinterest had angered you even more. you almost rented a car for yourself, but you didn't feel like driving five hours into god knows where.

you were snapped out of your daydreaming when the car stopped, in front of a bed and breakfast. what the hell? that was not the plan at all. you knew it was late, but it had only been an hour. soap couldn’t already be tired.

seeing your face, johnny let out a sigh, and before you could run your mouth, he said, "ah didnae have a day aff yesterday like someone," he said, emphasizing the 'someone' before he added, "an' it's near midnight 'cause o' yer flight, so if ye dinnae mind, ah'm gettin' a guid night's sleep."

and with that, he exited the car. he did leave the keys, tempting you to just abandon him here. you didn’t. john had insisted on you taking a late flight, he even went as far as booking it for you. you thought it meant your captain had a plan for you to reach the venue with the rest of the team. turned out, he hadn’t, and you were stuck with mactavish, who wanted to sleep. as if you weren’t trained to go days without an hour of sleep.

you took your bags, the keys, and made your way to the front desk. when you arrived, soap had his room key in his hands. passing you, he took your bag from your hand.

"dinnae bother, it's the last room they’ve got," he said, showing his key and gesturing for you to follow him.

looking back at the lady behind the desk, she gently shook her head, silently telling you he was telling the truth. it's not like you'd never shared a bed with any of the 141, but it was always in a very different context. what had you done to deserve this?

when you entered the room, soap was trying to push the very obvious queen-size bed. it wasn't two mattresses put together, that much was clear. sighing again, you sat down on the armchair, watching as he agitated himself for nothing.

"a'm no takin' the floor, juist sae ye know," he explained, once he understood the bed was not separated.

that's how you ended up awake at 4 a.m. because this man moved a lot. like the child he was. truth be told, you never had to endure his sleeping schedule, always begging your captain to be teamed with ghost or gaz. so you only heard soap move a lot during his sleep, but you had figured the boys were overdoing it. they hadn't.

you had gone to sleep each on one side of the bed, and you had been awoken by him grabbing you and yanking you toward him, quite aggressively. your first instinct had been to crawl out of his grip, but he was way stronger than you. you were sure you wouldn't make it without waking him up. and he was warm, so warm. it was almost lulling you back to sleep, certain he was going to let you go before he woke up.

and then he moaned, right in your ear, pressing his pelvis into your ass.

again, your instinct took over and your elbow jabbed into his stomach, waking him up in pain. that gave you the time to crawl back to your side of the bed.

coming to his senses, johnny looked back at you. he saw something in your eyes, something he had never seen when you usually looked at him: lust. fuck, what had he done? he had been having a very pleasant dream, and from the punch he had received, he must have cuddled you.

did that turn you on?

a small smile made its way onto his lips, and he crawled slowly toward you, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. when you didn't even flinch, he sat very close to you, grabbing your hips to hoist you into his lap. still, nothing came out of your mouth. your eyes were fixed on his lips.

"think i like ye better when ye're quiet, bonnie," and with that, he kissed you. a nasty kiss it was. all tongue and spit. his hands made their way under your shirt, massaging your breast gently, a contrast to the aggressive kiss.

your brain had stopped functioning the minute you felt his hard member against your ass. it was as if you had forgotten everything: who he was, how to breathe, how to work. your body had gone on autopilot, only seeking pleasure. with his hands on your hips encouraging you, you felt good.

you felt even better than with his hips against yours, and he let you lead. watching you move, his back on the bed, johnny felt things he had never felt with any of his past lovers. you made him moan just as much as he made you. he was hypnotized by you: your breasts moving just before his face, the way your hips were rubbing against his pelvis, your face twisted in a pleasure-filled gasp. you had never been more beautiful.

and as you lay together in your post-pleasure glory, somewhere far from here, your captain was smoking a cigar, not knowing his plan had worked better than he had expected.

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coucouatoi · 21 days ago

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you sunshine, you temptress | h.s.

Pairing: Harry Styles X Reader

Warnings: smut, Harry likes you calling him by his title (kinky lil shit), misogyny, slutshamming, flufffff

A/N: the tags make this seem so much more intense than it is... but this is set in the regency era... have fun!

the bridgerton collection

Summary:

Dearest Reader, as you may know some unions begin with roses and others with thorns. It appears the Duke and Duchess have managed both. Whispers flow like chiffon in the gentle breeze, whether love or ambition binds them together... that is to be seen. Rest assured!

This author has her eyes, ears and ink pots open to every thread that may unravel from their gilded love.

Yours most attentively,

Lady Whistledown

The sun has finally reached that point in the day where everything it hits is perfectly golden. Just before it sets, letting the moon prepare to shine in its dark sky. Another day has passed, and your stay in London is getting shorter by the second. Your husband, the Duke of Redditch, had no interest in staying with the ton in London after your wedding, which has already passed. He knows how everyone views you and your nuptials so he's not keen on staying much longer. He's expressed his frustrations with the men at the club and told them all to correct their nosy wives and jealous daughters. His title aided in how seriously they took his demand but not all men are invited to the club and most women are utterly in love with Lady Whistledown's lies.

You can't win against her or her words. She's tainted your reputation as a pure lady with her previous accusations; that you threw yourself at the Duke to entrap him.

The one thing you do have and what everyone envies you for is a title, not just any title you're a Duchess. It's only a slight advantage that it comes with a very handsome husband, of course. A husband who is utterly obsessed with you. He adores ravishing you, your body, any chance he gets. He spares no expense when it comes to adorning you, opulent jewels around your limbs, expensive fabrics that he sews into the most beautiful gowns for you to wear.

Above all else, he loves to watch you. Much like he is currently; Harry's eyes don't leave your form as you are sitting at your vanity getting ready to join him in bed. Your maid is delicately undoing your hairdo and you wipe your face clean with a damp cloth.

"I'll help her finish up, you may go rest" Harry's soft voice breaks the previous silence. Your maid nods before curtsying and then walking out of your shared chambers.

"Doing a maid's work? How scandalous of you, Duke Styles" You smirk as you watch your husband walk towards you in the large mirror. He only shrugs as an answer as he gently starts to untangle the shiny jewels that were nestled in your updo.

You smile to yourself as you keep washing your face and neck. You like to feel fresh before sleeping... but you have a feeling your husband isn't going to restrain himself, not tonight.

His nightwear or lack thereof is distracting you. He only wears thin cotton trousers, his upper body exposed and oh so pleasant to look at. The sunset's golden rays make his skin glow, his toned arms and torso look carved out of stone - no, marble. You have spent hours deliberately tracing every dip and curve of his body. Memorizing every scar, every freckle, the veins that poke out of his skin... He's oh so gorgeous.

"Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?" You lock gazes with him through the mirror, the honey-yellow glow in the room not hiding the sudden flush that overtakes Harry's skin.

"No, I've never gotten that one" he mutters out quickly as he reaches for your hairbrush.

"What have you gotten then?"

"I usually get mysterious, handsome, dashing... compliments in that style" his more posh composure has taken over again, trying to distract from his original flustered expression.

"Mh... I need to call you pretty more often then, or beautiful, rather, because you are" You nod to yourself, making a mental note to remind him just how much you love his appearance.

"It's not just your physical beauty my lord, you are incredibly smart and kind. You've never treated me lesser than because of my previous title, god, Harry you sew me gowns! From your own hands! There's nothing more beautiful than you" You let out a big breath after speaking, having overthought what to say and letting it out quickly.

Harry's hands stop their careful detangling with your brush and he meets your gaze again. So many thoughts are going through his mind, his eyes soft but his face tight. His eyebrows are furrowed and his lips pursed.

"You are much more beautiful than I, my dear wife" he starts, "Your flattery only proves that..." He places your hairbrush back on the vanity in front of you and bends down to speak into your ear.

"I have yet to show you your newest gown, some of my best work yet" he gently kisses the back of your ear before pulling back.

"Another?" You spin your head around to look at him directly.

"For Lady Danbury's ball, my dear, I want you to shine the brightest", he places both of his hands on your cheeks, "you are my Diamond after all" he smirks in triumph. He never lets you forget that he managed to bag the Diamond of the season, no matter how your relationship began.

"When will you let me see it?" You grab onto his wrist, balancing yourself onto him as you swing the rest of your body around to face him fully.

"Only on the day of, I have not finished it yet" Harry bends down to peck your lips delicately as they form into a pout.

"Mh... don't you want me to try it on? What if it doesn't fit right?" he tsks at your statement.

"I know your measurements perfectly by now, love" he pecks you again before walking back to sit on your shared bed.

You huff in dissatisfaction, he's only recently begun making you wait to show off his works of art and it's infuriating! Your pout deepened making him laugh.

"Such theatrics, my love" he starts, "Tomorrow we will promenade together before going to the foreign stalls they've opened in town. Then, the day after, we will have you all dolled up and ready to dance the night away. In my arms, of course, straight after that will start our journey to our Redditch property" he pats the space next to him, beckoning you over to him.

"You won't even bring me back here to help me out of my gown?" you say in a disappointed tone as you join him.

The plush mattress and covers under you immediately have fatigue wash over you, ready to burrow yourself into them. Harry's very picky when it comes to comfort you've come to realize, not sparing one expense for a softer and fluffier comforter or pillows filled with the rarest feathers.

"If you think the carriage is small enough to prevent me from... enjoying our time together you've greatly underestimated me" he wraps an arm around your waist pulling you against him.

"Maybe I have..." you tease with a bite to your bottom lip.

You used to be shy about desiring him and his touch, having thought that these thoughts were shameful. You remember how embarrassed your mother was when she first spoke about coupling with you but she thought it important to warn you. Harry, however, has made sure to help you discover this part of you. To assure that there is no shame in wanting to touch, to be touched. It's been a grand time for self-discovery.

"I'll just have to keep showing you just how much joy we can bring each other" he smirks before placing a tender kiss on your lips. "What do you want tonight? Whether it be pleasure you however you desire or merely to soothe you into slumber, I am at your service"

You take a moment to look at his face. To take in the last few rays of golden sunlight glimmering in his eyes.

"What's going through your mind, my dear wife?" he trails his fingertips on your cheek, up and down to the back of your ear and to the tip of your chin.

"Will you let me try being on top of you again?" your lips form into a pout, preventing you from biting your lip in embarrassment.

"I would let you do anything to me, you should know that by now" He presses his lips to yours in an instant.

Your hands instinctively bury themselves in his hair, tugging at his curls, desperately pulling him closer to you. His hand leaves your face and grabs onto the back of your neck, somehow deepening the kiss further. His other hand tugs the hem of your sleepwear up, revealing your legs to the room and to his wandering hand. As soon as the fabric is tugged all the way up to your waist Harry wastes no time, immediately spreading you out.

A desperate whine leaves your lips when he makes contact with your core, already damp in anticipation. You break away from the kiss, your head dropping back in pleasure, he always knows exactly how to unravel you.

"Such a gorgeous sight you are my duchess" Harry's voice has deepened in arousal. His lips trail down your neck; gently biting and kissing at your skin.

You push down the fabric covering your breast inviting his attention to them. You feel him smirk against you as he moves down to give them the attention you want. Only placing his lips around your left areola to begin, teasing you as he always does.

"More Harry" you whine as his touch ghosts at your entrance, teasing you even further.

"Tsk, you've lost your manners" he scolds playfully as he moves back up to connect his lips to yours. His teeth grazing your bottom lip slowly, a shudder making its way down your spine.

"Please, My Lord" you manage to finish your plea in a way that pleases him, if the fingers breaching inside you are anything to go by.

One of your hands lets go of his hair and shoots down to grip his wrist. Not stopping him only holding, feeling the way his forearm flexes, the loving thrusts he paces perfectly to ready you properly. Never wanting to pain you, rushing is something foreign to both of you. Why rush this?

You do start to lose patience quickly tonight, ready to try your best once more on top. You know you won't be able to last very long, your legs are not used to holding yourself up as you take him. You softly push Harry back, laying him onto the silk sheets under both of your bodies. His fingers leave you. Trailing up your body slipping the thin fabric of your nightgown up to finally rid you of it.

"So gorgeous" he praises you as his eyes stay locked onto your figure. Your body now straddling his waist, you ache with anticipation as he is still covered by his linen trousers.

"You always look at me so intensely" you gasp out as you gently start rocking your hips, only gently humping him for now.

"How could I not? You are a true blessing from above, an angel sent down for my keeping only" his hands grip your waist as he speaks. As his praises seep into your skin, carving into your heart and soul. His hands don't guide or try to help he knows that you want to truly try, he simply holds you. Holds to steady himself through his own pleasure.

You tug at his trousers, desperately needing to feel him inside you, your neediness only multiplying with every single word that he speaks, with every single touch on your skin. Harry helps you pull them off of him to then carelessly toss them to the floor.

"I want to make you feel good my Lord" you moan as you start rocking on him again. Your bare skin touching his, the maddening feeling only amplifying now that nothing is keeping you from him.

"You always do, I've never been left unsatisfied by you" Harry grabs one of your hands, the one that was grabbing onto his pectoral, and brings it to his lips. Soft kisses, delicate swipes of his tongue on your fingers, on your palm. Hypnotic, arousing, intoxicating.

You lift yourself to, finally, slip him inside of you. Breaching yourself in your most favourite of ways. Allowing yourself to succumb to your deepest desires; the deepest ones you've ever felt. Your hips seem to take control with no regard to your mental pause. The haze that's has installed in your mind as you take in the feeling of your husband. Him fully inside you, around you; his scent through your nose, his mouth still worshiping your hand, his deep breaths and noises slipping from deep within him.

"I beg of you, don't stop" he pleads. His voice is desperate and it only encourages you.

Your thighs strain quickly as you start lifting yourself, bouncing back down with your own desperation. Harry sits up wrapping his strong arms around your waist, only aiding you up when he feels your thoughts shake around his. You don't have time to scold him for his help, you can already feel yourself unravelling.

"My lord, Harry, it feels so good" you mewl out as you bring yourself down rapidly. Your left hand, the one adorned with an impressive shimmering white jewel, tangles into his curls. Your right falls to his shoulder. The strong muscle beneath your fingers is tensing with each bounce.

"Let go for me, please my Lady" Harry's voice sends an instant surge of pleasure through your body. Bringing you that much closer to your climax. What unfurls you is the feeling of his tongue on the tips of our breast. A quick sensation that completely takes over you, your legs lock and your head falls forward onto his. You can barely breathe through the last humps Harry guides you through to finish himself off.

He gently guides your body down onto the silk sheets of your shared bed. He's gone only momentarily from you to find your nightgown and his trousers.

"I did better this time didn't I?" Your voice is soft as you're already slipping into slumber.

"You were perfect my love. Always are" he kisses your forehead as he brings your body into his.

Promenading is one of your favourite pastimes among the London ton. Your arm is linked with your husband's, a small satchel of coins at both of your waists and a parasol held in Harry's free hand, ever the gentleman. As you stroll, you take in the gorgeous grounds beyond the markets and shops. A small pond at the center is home to two swans, their graceful necks curved towards each other in a perfect heart. You smile, imagining the two of you just like them; deeply in love and unfazed by the public's scrutiny. Soon, all the whispers and worry will be behind you, once you reach Redditch. Only a few days remain.

Many people surround you but you pay them no attention, it is not worth your energy. You merely offer polite smiles and exchange greetings when needed. You always turn your head back towards Harry and start a new conversation. Are there any willow trees at the Redditch estate? What do you think they have at the foreign stalls? Should we circle back to watch the children fly their kites?

You know these people aren't fond of you, that they see a scandal before they see anything else while looking at you. You truly hoped that after the marriage the whispers would die down or move to someone else but alas... you're still the talk of the town.

"Excuse me, My Lord and Lady Styles" you turn your head towards the voice that's called out to you. A young girl, seemingly around your age, is standing next to you. You see her chaperone gracefully rushing towards her, probably not having expected this interaction.

"Ah! Miss Bridgerton, how are you?" Your husband politely bows his head to her in greeting. You do the same waiting to be introduced, still not confident in your knowledge of the ton.

"I am fantastic, quite literally perfect" You sense a hint of sarcasm in her words, an edge that has a subtle smile grow on your face.

"My lady, this is Miss Eloise Bridgerton. Miss Bridgerton, this is my wife; Y/N Styles Duchess of Redditch" Your husband's voice is clear and polite, a clear sign that she is not one of the least kind members of the London ton.

Her name brings back a conversation you once had with Harry. That she has been shamed and humiliated by Lady Whistledown last year. That she had not left her estate, ignoring all chances to find a proper husband to make her doting mother proud. After all, her older sister has married as well as her eldest brother.

"It is grand to finally make your acquaintance, my Lady" Her smile is genuine but the tone stays the same; cheeky. A bubbly quirk to her words that you welcome, you could use a friend amongst the kill or be killed spirit in the debutante world. You don't quite fit in with the wives yet and you're too high status for the blushing singles.

"And I you Miss Bridgerton" you answer, "I'm assuming you aren't here for small talk. Your chaperonne looks panicked that you're here even just speaking with us" You're already putting walls of defence up, scared that she might turn out to be fooling you. That the other jealous women of the ton put her up to this, humiliation getting ready to strike.

If she dares to do so in front of your husband and not as sly well well-timed whispers with you alone then you might have to pat her on the back. No one has been that ballsy... yet...

"I only wish to sincerely congratulate you both" she nods to herself, "I know how... pitiful the ton can be once that scandal-loving snake writes about you" she adds as she reaches out to grab your free hand. You see her chaperone tense at the physical contact, you may not be a potential suitor but you are a lady of higher status. A quick glance at her chaperone and you see that her eyes are wide like a hawk in her tight bonnet, looking ready to drag Eloise away but the strings of her corset. The physical contact doesn't bother you, rather you welcome her kind touch.

"I have learned quickly that her word is as powerful as the Queens amongst these nobles" you sign out, content to vent to Miss Bridgerton. What's the worst that could happen? Be called a conniving whore? Check. She must find new insults soon, you'll start to think she lacks originality if you're called that again.

"A quick learner! We definitely need more of those" your arm is shaken lightly as Miss Bridgerton answers you.

"I'm glad that you came to speak to us, Miss Bridgerton," you tell her sincerely. Finally finding a friend through the crowds of foes feels better than you could have anticipated.

"Please, my Lady, our tarnished reputations have bonded us! Call me Eloise, it suits me better than a title" she scoffs comically, "believe me" she drags on her last word. You chuckle and nod to her.

"Then please call me Y/N, Eloise. My title has only been mine for a sunset or two" you squeeze her hand in reassurance. Friendship, alliance. Before either of you can keep the conversation going, your husband (still carefully holding the parasol over your head) clears his throat to grab your attention.

"Your title has been yours much longer than that, beloved" he smirks when your face reddens in surprise, "It always has been even before we met on that terrasse" Swoon! This man and his way with words, hypnotizing.

"We were having a moment, my Lord" Eloise playfully rolls her eyes. Already comfortable around you both. Titles be damned.

"Yes, my lord, keep the flattery for when we are only accompanied by the sunlight" You smile at him, already loving the playful expression that grows on his face. Teasing him is your second favourite thing. Only bested by complimenting him to your heart's desire.

"I will leave you now, Mama will lose her head if she learns I've kept you any longer" Eloise straightens herself and nods to her still uncomfortable chaperone.

"Will you be at the ball tonight?" you ask before she goes back to her family.

"Unfortunately" she cringes, "Save a dance for me! It is my duty to show the Duchess a great time" she teases one last time before gracefully excusing herself.

You watch her leave with a smile still on your face. Finally, someone who seems to want to know you. To know more about the diamond that has been locked away so quickly, the untouchable jewel. You want more people to know about your true self not the one on paper and about how adoring your husband is. Why must you only be seen as a polished and sacred diamond?

"That went well" Harry gently kissed the crown of your head. You turn your head towards him, a content expression overtaking your face.

"I think so," you nod "She seems sweet and very lively" You walk forward again, lighter in spirit, ready to face the market's crowds with Harry at your side and Eloise's warm spirit still lingering.

You tell yourself you'll stop caring what they say... and for the first time, you almost believe it.

The hustle and bustle of the market is extremely inviting. You want to stop at every shop, linger at each stall, and spend the coins you have too quickly. Silks imported from proud merchants, rare jewels that shimmer in the sunlight, spices so rich they make your mouth water they swirl around together to create an atmosphere perfectly unique to the foreign markets.

"Come, my love. I want you to pick the fabrics for your next gown" Harry speaks softly as he gently guides you with a hand on the small of your back to a particular stall.

"Another? Already, My Lord?" you ask in shock, "I have not yet worn your latest piece"

He smiles, tender and a little amused, "Is planning ahead forbidden? I would make your entire wardrobe if I had the time"

To conceal your embarrassingly smitten expression you turn to the stunning array of fabrics in front of you. You're looking at every colour, every shade with a meticulous eye. You know how serious Harry is about his claim so you want to make sure you pick a stunning fabric. A pale cream silk catches your eye; it's golden shimmer reflecting in the sun's rays that crept throw the makeshift cover above you. You carefully pull your glove off, draping it atop your other arm as you reach out to feel the fabric. It's soft under your fingertips a daydream about it being draped around your form quickly flashing in your mind.

As you turn to ask for Harry's opinion a small boy comes barrelling into the market, "New Whistledown article! 'A stylish fall' and 'How bright the moon' fresh off the prints" his high-pitched voice attracts the focus. Young women and chatty debutants rush to him golden coins handed to him at a rapid pace.

You turn back to the task at hand not interested in reading what the crude Lady has invented this time. You have no interest in lies and fabrication at anyone's expense and you won't support it. Especially after your pleasant chat with Eloise, she too personally understands your distaste.

"How about this one My Lord? It's practically glowing" You turn towards your husband, his focus is already on you.

He smiles, "I think it'll look even better on you, good choice my dear" he nods and waves the merchant over to pay her for the fabric.

An unusual hush takes over the crowd. You don't realize until you turn to look at what other stalls you want to stop at. An uncomfortable number of eyes are on you and Harry, not the usual glances, but strangely analytical eyes. You spot the Brigerton family ushering their youngest debutante, Francesca, away. Eloise stays back a few moments more seemingly undecided on whether she should stay or not. One of her brothers ends up tugging her arms and dragging her with them. She ends up dropping the article at her feet, only a few steps away from you. Curiosity wins.

A Stylish Fall

Every great house bears its secrets. Some are buried in vaults. Others in discreet deals in gentlemen's clubs. Some even wear theirs in velvet stitched with pearls.

The marriage between the Duke of Redditch and his bride (the ever discussed and often envied Duchess) was by all means a swift affair. A courtship practically skipped past for a royally endorsed wedding. Some wonder if affection truly blossomed or was there a connivence to it all? For whom, you ask?

Let us consider: His grace, an undeniably handsome man, has been observed indulging in rather a unusual pastime. Not fencing. Not horse riding. Not even hunting. But, prepare yourselves, gentle readers, fashion design. You may think of tailoring but no, dressmaking. Yes, it is said that the duke sews gowns for his wife. Chooses fabrics. Embroiders lace and with alarming frequency, too. Might you find a glimpse of the Duchess make sure to look at stitches, our dear Madame Delacroix was not the maker.

One must ask... where is the Duke we once knew? The brooding heir, the proud bachelor who commanded attention when walking into any room? Why has he now reduced himself to threading silk and measuring waists?

And let us not forget: those who marry quickly often regret slowly.

Has the new Duchess thrown herself into a convenient position? Her family and title from modest means suddenly become worthy of such a meteoric rise. From a regular lady to a duchess draped in hand-stitched silk. Is she truly enamoured with our overtly abundant Duke, or was the acceptance pure strategy?

Whispers have begun in more exclusive circles, about His Grace. That a man so keen on burying his hands in needles and gemstones may not be entirely focused on matters more fitting for his status. Perhaps he's playing dress-up as a distraction for something deeper...

Time will tell if the stitches are loosening at the seams.

- Yours, Lady Whistledown

Your vision is blurry as you finish reading. The second part is forgotten when her signature stares at you. Provoking you. You want to rip it to shreds, spit on it and throw it in the writer's face. If only you knew who was writing these insulting words. Harry, keeping himself from his "fitting duties"? Ridiculous! He takes pride in his title and in his devotion to you. To have both questioned is blasphemy. Your hands are visibly shaking as you glance back up at the ton. The way they are waiting for a reaction out of you, for you to step out of line.

You can't break here, not now.

You square your shoulders and slip your glove back on. Without meaning to, you harshly stuff the article into your coin pouch. Harry noticed the movement as he handed over the coins to pay for the silk you had chosen. Gesturing for the footman to grab his purchase he turns his full attention to you.

"My love, what's got you so shaken? Are you getting hungry?" he asks gently, grabbing your hand in his.

You gesture to the crowd in front of you, "She's written about us again. about the dresses" you whisper to him. His eyes widen slightly, realizing that they are all scrutinizing. Judging. Not only whispering and laughing but fully unnerved by what's been written.

"Let's head home for the day, I can't wait any longer to see you in my newest piece" he tugs you back to where you walked into the market. Your heart squeezes at his words. He doesn't know it. He doesn't know that one of your favourite things is now being used against him. You follow him, readying yourself for when you'll have to hand him the article.

The second you enter Lady Danbury's ballroom, the hush is deafening.

The musicians don't stop but the guests do. The dances and the mingling halted. The glances you receive up and down, to your husband and to your tightly clasped hands make you stand straighter. Your parents, little brother and newborn sister won't be in attendance. They are taking care of your mother who's just given birth, the finale is complete. It feels like you're walking through water as you make your way down the few steps to the dance floor.

And then someone gasps.

Because of your gown, stitched in gold, it catches just perfectly the chandelier's light. You're practically glowing. No one looks away.

Harry is the picture of stoic beside you. His shoulders squared, stood tall and his expression sharp. You think of the sentences written trying to belittle his work. How his hands sewed this masterpiece of a dress. If only they knew how careful his hands were for you, how passionate.

Lady Danbury herself comes to greet you. Mischief and respect in her expression.

"Well, if it isn't London's most scandalous seamstress and his doting chef-d'œuvre" her voice is dry, as is most likely her glass of champagne, "You both wear scandal exceptionally well" There is a hint of teasing in her tone. Testing you both most likely.

"I hope it's enough to silence the fiction," you tell her, head held higher. She nods with a smile and gestures to the refreshments, putting an end to your short conversation.

You find Eloise pouring herself a glass of punch as you walk over. She lingers by you when she sees that you're next to her. She has a guilty expression on her face that you can't truly decipher. She turns to you, hesitantly.

"I didn't know she could... twist this the way she did," Eloise says, voice barely above a whisper. "That she would insult the Duke's, um, masculinity"

"I guess she'll hurt whoever the way she pleases..." you reply softly. "We can only control how we react to it"

Before she can answer you, a booming voice is heard.

"Her Majesty the Queen!"

Gasps ripple through the ton and the musicians come to a screeching halt. The Queen's appearance is definitely unexpected tonight. Especially not after the articles that have been published today.

The Queen steps in regal as ever, violet silk with a diamond collar that reflects light into her analyzing gaze. Her eyes scan the crowd and quickly settle on you.

Her descent is graceful, as she always is, she nods politely to Lady Danbury as she walks by her but doesn't stop until she is in front of you and your husband.

"Your Grace," she speaks to you directly (in a tone far louder than necessary) "Beautiful work this gown... French lace?" she speaks purposefully. She wants everyone to hear.

"English stitching, Your Majesty," Harry says, voice calm but clear, pride in his hold around your waist "Every inch"

"Ah, but of course" Her gaze shifts to him, "And what must one do for an exclusive piece?" she asks him. Her expression is unreadable, intimidating.

"It's an honour you ask, Your Majesty, however, I have but one muse" he nods politely and squeezes you against him. Your side now stuck to his.

She looks at you both up and down once, twice before finally smiling.

"I understand now, a man with such talent is inspired by love and love only" She looks around the ballroom with a scrutinized face.

"It's a shame my gold can't inspire you as much" she squints her eyes playfully. "Now, if you'll allow me to have the Duchess's first dance this evening"

Harry nods, kisses the back of your gloved hand and transfers it to the Queen's hold. You curtsy as she takes your hand in hers, deep and respectful.

She gracefully guides you to the center of the dance floor, the musicians quickly start a new song. She guides you skilfully without a hint of hesitation.

"Has the Duke truly done all of this himself or was that simply a poetic branding?" Her voice is low, now wanting this conversation between you.

"Every stitch, Your Majesty" You're quick to defend him, "He pours himself into every inch" She studies you and the delicate embroidery at your neckline.

"Then you have something rare, Duchess. A man bold enough to follow only his own expectations is rare among these people" she sneers at some of the overtly curious onlookers. They flush in embarrassment and turn away.

The Queen's hands and commanding but not harsh. She gently guides you to the next steps, and you feel more like her equal than her subject.

"Lady Whistledown" she starts, her voice now barely above a whisper "is starting to go too far. She must have grown confident. Her pen is growing reckless"

You look around trying to see if she's singling anyone out.

"You must be wondering who she is" she adds. You blink up at her, nodding slightly.

"Would you like to help me find her?"

Your breath catches, she's not teasing or testing you. This is a true question. She is asking if you want to join her hunt for the author.

You see strategy and power in her eyes. She is determined, this woman before you is used to playing the long game and winning.

"I would" you answer her.

She offers you a satisfied hum and a smile in response.

"Your duke better have you dressed ready for the hunt next time" She twirls you effortlessly and curtsies as the last notes are played. Around you, the ton’s eyes watch every inch, every move, every breath you take as she walks away.

You return to Harry with a tight smile but it is not from nerves. From the knowledge that something bigger has shifted tonight. Something important.

Harry pulls you close and hands you a glass of punch. The cool liquid feels great, cooling your overheating body. So much attention does make you grow warm.

"Was anything scandalous discussed, beloved? Or was she asking about the jewels in your hair?" he teases you. You look up at him in a little daze but a smile grows on your face nonetheless.

"She wants to find Lady Whistledown, she's asked for my help" you tell him honestly. No lies needed between you.

Harry let's out a breath. Shocked? Proud? Aroused? You suddenly hold so much power. He looks impressed.

"Then we must find you a dress for battle" he brushed your cheek.

"In gold?" you tease.

"In armour" he answers proudly.

You haven't spoken much since leaving Lady Danbury's ball shortly after the Queen's appearance. Well, only after your husband twirled you around the dance floor a few times to show off your glowing gown.

The tons' eyes never left you, the gown bathed in candlelight made you glow more than the sun at full peak. Jealousy and envy rained but all well concealed behind fluttering fans.

"She asked for your first dance" Harry is the one to break the silence in the carriage. His hand clasped in yours, now bare without your golden gloves.

"She did" You turn to look at him. His profile is softly illuminated by the lantern swinging outside the carriage.

"She did it publicly, called my work beautiful" There's a smile in his voice. If you weren't looking at him so attentively you still would have known his smile was there. The smallest laugh escapes you, endeared by his joyful expression.

"She did more than that, My Lord!" You gently turn his face toward you with your free hand. "She silenced the whispers, for a short moment everyone bowed to us" You smiled wildly.

"We owe her our gratitude" he answers softly and leans his head back on the soft cushions behind you both. You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you want to break the light atmosphere. But you have to ask.

"Do you think it will last?"

"No, but now there might be something we can do to keep it" he sighs as he delicately rubs his thumb around your palm.

"Let them talk, let her write" his voice is firm, "So long as we stand together in the face of her scrutiny we will last longer than any scandal she stirs" he brings your hands up and kisses your knuckles.

Silence falls again. Your mind goes back to the dance you had with the Queen, the mission you joined, Eloise's friendship, the crowd parting for you even if just for a moment. You will fight for the man beside you, you will wear his creations born of love and you will win.

"I don't want to leave," you say, "Not yet"

Harry immediately knocks on the roof of the carriage halting it.

He turns to you and places a hand on your cheek, he waits for you to keep going.

"I want to stay, a little longer. This with the Queen is unfinished. I want to drown out the whispers entirely" you finish. He looks at you, scans yo ur expression.

"Then we will stay. I'll send word to Redditch first thing in the morning" he places a kiss on your forehead.

He slides the panel open and tells the footmen to head for your London property. You sign and lean against him when he closes it back up.

"I'm sorry your art, the gowns, are being used against you" you murmur, unsure if it means anything.

"They've never been for them, only for you" he leans his head against yours.

You close your eyes in satisfaction, squeezing his hand.

London can keep watching and whispering. You have no intention of letting them win.

#harry styles x y/n #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry x reader #harry edward styles #the b. collection

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multific · 6 months ago

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My Venus

Dmitri Kravinoff x Reader

Burlesque!AU

Summary: He was drawn to you.

From the moment his eyes locked with yours.

He knew he had to have you.

You loved to tease men.

It was what you were paid to do.

You had a show, quite popular, they called you Venus Sherry.

You worked in a bar as a burlesque performer.

Many people, men and women enjoyed your show to the fullest.

At the beginning of each, you would come out of a beautiful shell. Your routine was specifically designed to entertain all.

But it seemed like you had caught the eye of a young man more than anyone else's in the bar.

Not much younger than you, he always sat at the VIP table with a glass of whiskey in front of him.

Or could it be that he caught your eye?

For the last few months, he has been coming to see your shows. He never missed one.

"Frank? What's the name of the man at the VIP table?" the bouncer looked at you and shrugged his shoulders.

"Some Russian guy. I forgot his name... It was something with the letter D."

Mr D. You decided to call him.

He never gave you the vibes of other guests. They came to enjoy the show, some turned out to be full creeps but not him. He was mesmerized.

His eyes were filled with passion and admiration.

You liked that.

It wasn't only lust.

It was something new.

Something different.

Something exciting.

And it got more and more exciting as the days passed.

Each show you pretended there was no one else, only him and you.

You danced for him. You teased him.

And you smiled at him.

You never smiled like that at anyone else.

"Frank?" you asked as your door opened.

"Mr D wants to see you." Frank said as you got up from your chair.

You were fully dressed, ready for your show but you had better things to do now.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you approached his desk, he quickly stood up to greet you.

He was short.

Not like that mattered, but he was handsome, which did matter.

"Ms Venus Sherry, my name is Dmitri Kravinoff. It is a pleasure to meet you, I have been a huge fan of your... work." You handed your hand to him to shake but he kissed the back of it instead. "Please, take a seat."

And you did.

"So, Dmitri, nice to put a name to the face I have been seeing so often."

"May I know the real name of My Venus?"

You smiled at his request but you ended up telling him your name.

There was just something about him.

You needed to know more.

---

Dmitri Kravinoff is possibly the man of your dreams and desires.

He sent you flowers after all of your shows.

Red roses.

To show his love for you.

And you danced for him.

You feared he only liked you because of Venus. You feared he believed in your illusion too much.

But he didn't.

His eyes said it all.

His eyes looked beyond the costumes and make up.

And so, it didn't take you long to quit your career as Venus Sherry.

"I will take care of you. I promise." he whispered and he didn't lie.

Dimitri asked you to move in with him and quit your job. You could see the jealousy in his eyes.

He only wanted you for him.

"Others get Venus, but you have me as a woman, as Y/N." you told him.

You weren't sure if it was good to fall in love so quickly. But it was so easy to love him.

Not his name, not his business and not his money. But him, Dmitri.

You could tell he did everything to win you over with his money but in the end, it was he who captured your heart.

You stood out on his balcony, looking over London with a cup of tea in your hands. It was morning, people were going to work as you watched them.

The arms that wrapped around you made you jump and almost spill your tea.

"You scared me."

"What are you doing up so early?" he whispered into your neck.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Didn't I tire you out enough?" you smiled at him as he turned you to face him.

"You did. I just have too many thoughts."

"You and your clever mind, My Love. I told you to let them all go."

"I know. And I will." his hand was placed on your cheek before it moved to your temple, he closed his fist as if collecting your thoughts and threw them away.

"I love you so much." he said to you with a beautiful smile.

"I love you too Dimi."

Taglist:

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @mel-vaz

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL ANY OF MY WORKS/

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bdsmsub67 · 2 years ago

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E. Tautz Autumn/Winter 2015 collection for the London Collections: Men. New looks include double pocket shirts (ideal for stashing all your little essentials) and smart blazers. Overall, the collection feels a bit brooding, but also very comforting thanks to the sweaters. Photo: Krisztian Pinter

#mens style #menswear #wool #wool sweater #men in jumpers #jumper #wool jumper #london collections men #male model #male #male beauty #hot male #blue jeans #jeans #boots

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fairytaleendingss · 7 months ago

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Room For One More?

Chapter 1

Summary: After a sudden eviction from your home, your friend Mary puts you in contact with her high school friends, James, Sirius and Remus who just so happen to be in need of a roommate. However, living with a group of boys you’ve never met before proves to be more complicated than you expected; especially when they’re all so attractive.

CW: None I don’t think.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x fem!reader

——

To say that life had been crazy lately would be putting it lightly. You had only just moved to the city six months ago, in pursuit of a career you were still yet to achieve, got landed with an office job that you were only barely qualified for, and the eviction notice on the door of your shitty downtown apartment was just the icing on the cake.

For a good few days it seemed like your world was caving in around you as you tried to collect yourself and figure out the next steps. In a city like London, real estate was scarce, not to mention expensive, and you were still working to pay off your student loans.

It was only two days before you were set to be kicked out when your new friend, Mary stepped in and saved the day.

You met Mary at your new office job and she’d been somewhat of a saving grace from the beginning.

She had been a splash of colour in a sea of black suits and beige blouses. She’d been quick to introduce herself, inviting you to join her for lunch on your first day, during which she caught you up on all the ins and outs of office politics. The two of you had become fast friends, something you were extremely grateful for.

And you found yourself even more grateful for her, as her car pulled into the driveway of the apartment building you were about to call your new home.

“How do you know these guys again?” You asked, glancing up at the red brick structure through the passenger window.

“We all went to high school together,” She explained. “I know them really well, trust me they’re great guys.”

You believed her. She’d never given you a reason not to. But still, moving into a household with three strange men that you’ve never met, is bound to be daunting nonetheless.

“And you’re 100% sure they’re okay with me moving in? I mean, they don’t even know me!”

She only giggled. “Don’t be silly! They’re completely on board. They’ve been looking for a new roommate since their other friend Peter moved out a month ago to get a place with his girlfriend, Sybil. They were just about to put up an ad on Craigslist, for heavens sake. Trust me, you’re doing them a favour. If I love you, they’ll love you too.”

You nodded at her but your heart still hummed unsurely in your chest. You took a deep breath. It was now or never.

After a treacherous journey up the narrow staircase with boxes in hand, you arrived at the door to the apartment. Mary was behind you, lugging a suitcase full of your clothes. You wished, for a moment that her friends at least lived in a building that had an elevator. You erased that thought from your mind a moment later, when you remembered that these people were doing you a massive favour. Besides, you were hardly in a position to complain.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door. When it swung open you had to make a conscious effort to pick your jaw up off the floor.

Standing in front of you was the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. He was fair and lean with long strands of dark hair fanning his face. He was chiseled in a way that made him look delicate, almost doll-like but he also had tattoos lining his arms and chest, which you could see poking out from beneath his white t-shirt. He was leaning against the doorframe, effortlessly cool, looking down at you with a flirtatious smirk on his face.

“Hey there gorgeous. You must be the new roommate. I’m Sirius.”

You peered up at him in shock, not quite sure how to respond to this man who had the face of a Greek God. And did he just call you gorgeous? You weren’t sure what you were expecting but this definitely wasn’t it.

“Um, hi,” you stumbled awkwardly. Your hands felt clammy even just looking at this guy, how the hell are you supposed to live with him? “I’m y/n.”

His grin only widened “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

“Ugh, stop flirting with her Sirius! And move out of the way, this stuff we’re carrying is heavy you know.”

You’d almost forgotten Mary was there until she’s stepping forward, shoving past Sirius who was blocking the doorway, and entering the apartment.

“Sorry hun, just trying to make conversation,” Sirius teased, stepping aside gently to let you in.

The place was bigger than you expected. Not huge but definitely comfortable, and better decorated. The picture you’d created in your imagination could only be described as a “bro cave” with bean bags on the floor and minimal furnishings. However, you were pleasantly surprised to see that the place is rather nice and homey, with comfortable leather furniture and a few framed artworks on the walls.

“Well, welcome home,” Sirius said, following you into the living room. “I can’t take any credit for the interior design, unfortunately. That was all Remus. Speaking of, I’ll go get him. I’m sure he’ll be happy to meet you.”

Sirius padded off down the hall, making his way to one of the rooms and banging heavily on the door.

“Remus! The new roommate is here! Don’t be rude and come and meet her!”

The boy that emerged was equally as attractive as Sirius. He was taller than the first boy, with a mop of sandy hair and dark, piercing eyes. He wasn’t as effortlessly cool as Sirius, he was more lanky and hunched in posture, but he had a sort of nerdy charm about him that was very endearing. He was dressed in a thick woollen jumper and his hair was mattered. He blinked up at Sirius, like he hadn’t quite caught up with the situation yet.

“What’s going on?”

Sirius just rolled his eyes. “Our new roommate is here! Come and say hello!”

He peered out of the doorway. Looking in either direction before his eyes landed on you. Not quite sure what to do with yourself, you sent him an awkward wave.

“Hi,”

“Hi,” he replied in return, with a tight lipped smile. Then he turned back to Sirius.

“Could you go away now please? I was having a nap.”

“Fine. Sorry.”

There door was abruptly slammed in his face.

You stood in the living room, holding a box to your chest awkwardly, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly uncomfortable about the interaction. Sirius could apparently tell, and was quick to jump to your aid.

“Don’t worry about him,” he said dismissively. “He’s just in a mood. He’s a med student and all the studying is driving him wild at the moment. He’ll come good after he gets a bit of sleep. Now, how about I show you to your room?”

He directed you down the hallway to a door at the end. Inside, you could already see Mary hanging up your clothes in the wardrobe.

“So this is you,” Sirius muttered, gesturing to the space like a magician revealing his assistant had not, in fact, been sawed in half. Then he sent you another flirtatious smile, something you were quickly learning was a signature of his.

“I’ll leave you girls to it but just shout if there’s anything you need. Although, if you want someone to help carry boxes, I’d recommend waiting until James gets home later on. He’s the athletic one of the three of us. And let me tell you those stairs are a killer.”

You chuckled, a genuine smile overtaking your face for the first time in this whole experience.

“Thanks Sirius. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” he drawled, giving you a wink.

Mary rolled her eyes. “Okay Sirius. Thank you but you can go now. We have a lot of unpacking to do here.”

Once Sirius had departed, you and Mary got to work on unpacking your things. Luckily for you, Peter had left behind a bed frame and a few pieces of furniture in his move, a saving grace considering most of your stuff had come with the previous apartment. You still had a mattress strapped to the roof of Mary’s car that needed bringing in, but like Sirius had said, Mary insisted that you wait for the mysterious James to return from work to help you carry any of the heavier items inside (With the way the others talked about him, you could only imagine he must be a superhero). Instead you busied yourself with unpacking your random assortment of trinkets collected over the years.

“So how are you feeling about the place?” Mary pried, unpacking a few shoe boxes into the bottom of the closet.

“It seems alright,” you admitted. “To be honest, I was a little nervous going into this but Sirius seems nice. I think he and I will get along.”

Mary smiled. “Oh good! I knew you’d like it. And just wait until you get to know the other boys better too. You’ll fit right in! I’m sure of it.”

You have her an anxious smile. “I really hope you’re right.”

—

It was a few hours later, when the sound of the door clicking open caught your attention.

“Honey! I’m home!” A playful voice boomed down the doorway.

You slowly emerged from your room to greet your final roommate. The guy was visibly buff and wearing a mud-covered jersey. He had matted tuft of thick dark curls and round glasses that balanced on the edge of his nose.

You couldn’t help but admire him as he kicked his shoes off.

“Hi. I’m y/n. I’m your new roommate.”

He looked up curiously before his expression morphed into a dazzlingly charming smile. He began to approach you and you held out a hand for him to shake. He bypassed the gesture all together, instead choosing to engulf you in a bone-crushing hug.

You were caught a little off-guard at first but tentatively hugged him back, heat rising in your cheeks as you felt the muscles of his biceps flex against you.

Pull yourself together!! You thought.

As he pulled away, he looked down at you, a few stray curls falling in front of his eyes. He smiled widely, reminding you somewhat of a playful puppy.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” He exclaimed. “Mary’s told me so much about you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your own face as you looked up at him. You really liked James, you decided.

“How have you been settling in so far?” He continued.

“Pretty well, I suppose. I’ve done most of my unpacking now.”

He nodded. “That’s good. Well if you need help with anything, let me know. I’d be happy to assist.”

You grimaced. “Actually there is one thing you might be able to help me with?”

He raised a brow expectantly.

“How do you feel about mattress transportation?”

—

Manoeuvring a queen sized mattress up three floors of narrow stairs proved to be a challenging task. But somehow, between the two of you, you managed it.

By the time James actually wrestled the mattress on your bed-frame, you were just about ready to collapse on top of it.

Mary, unfortunately, had found the whole display hilarious, especially the moment where you’d lost your grip and send the mattress sliding down the stairs back to the first floor. So instead of offering to help, she’d taken the opportunity to film the entire ordeal on her phone. You expected it would be gracing social media by the end of the evening.

“Well, I’d say that’s a job well done!” James exclaimed as he finally dropped the material onto the bed-frame.

You chuckled. “Yeah! I mean it only took an hour and a half.”

James smiled and checked the watch on his wrist.

“It’s getting late and I really should shower. But how about we order pizza afterwards. We could have dinner and get to know each other a little better.”

“I’d like that.”

“Great! Mary, darling, you’re invited too of course.”

The girl looked between the two of you, smiling playfully. Then she shot you a look.

“Thanks for the offer Jamie but I actually have some stuff I need to get done back at home. You guys enjoy though.”

She sent you a wink as she went and your eyes widened.

“I’m going to go wash off, but there’s a take out menu on the fridge,” James said. “Pick out whatever you want. My shout.”

—

A short while later you found yourself sat on the loveseat, a plate of pizza in your lap while Sirius and James sat side by side on the couch, bickering about the most recent episode of the Bachelor. You couldn’t help but laugh as you watched on.

They argued in a way that was firm but affectionate. You could tell that they were particularly close and had clearly known each other a long time.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” Sirius exclaimed, waving his piece of pizza in the air for emphasis. “Jennifer was such a bitch! She totally deserved to be sent home.”

James gasped in mock offence. “No way! He should’ve kept her. They had a special connection.”

“Are you kidding?” Sirius blurted. “All she did was talk about herself. She barely even gave him the time of day.”

“I disagree! She was playing hard to get. Girls only do that when they like someone!” James stated matter-of-factly. You couldn’t contain your snort at the comment.

Sirius turned to you then, a smirk adorning his gorgeous face. “Well, lucky for us, we now have a girl here to settle agreements such as these. What do you think, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes affectionately at the nickname. “If I’m being honest, I have to agree with Sirius. Jennifer was kind of a bitch.”

Sirius cheered and James held a hand to his chest dramatically.

“Well you’re both wrong,” James joked. “We must have been watching two different shows.”

Sirius scoffed. “Nah, mate. You just have a terrible radar when it comes to girls. I mean, you’ve been chasing the same girl since you were fifteen and she’s still shown you no interest.”

Your eyebrows raised at that one. “Wait what? I feel like I’ve missed a chapter here.“

“She’s just a friend.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Yeah, a friend you’ve been in love with since third form.”

James sighed.

“There’s this girl, Lily, in our friend group,” he began to explain, looking rather bashful. “And I’ve kind of been into her for a while but she always turns me down.”

You grimaced, clicking your tongue in sympathy. “That sucks. But hey, If she’s managed to keep your interest for all these years then she must really be special. I’d love to meet her sometime.”

James smiled gently. “I’m sure you will soon. She and Mary are quite close.”

Sirius face lit up suddenly at that. “Actually guys, that reminds me. The band is playing a gig on Saturday and everyone’s coming. You should join us y/n!”

“Hold on, since when are you in a band?” You queried. “I thought you were a bartender.”

Sirius chuckled. “I’m a bit of both! Bartender by night and lead singer of ‘Snakes and Lions’ by… well also by night I guess.”

“Basically, he plays in a band on the weekends,” James clarified.

“Yeah, and soon, we’ll be world famous!”

“Well I’d love to come and see you play,” you uttered.

“Great, it’s a date then.”

“What’s a date?”

You all looked up to see that Remus had finally emerged from his room. He looked tired and a little disheveled. Although you supposed that was the only way you’d had a chance to see him so far.

“Rem, mate! Come join us! We got Italian sausage just for you!”

Sirius gestured to one of the pizza boxes on the table and Remus nodded, grabbing a plate to fill.

“We were just telling y/n about Sirius’ gig this weekend.”

Remus looked up at you for a moment, his tired eyes unreadable. Then he straightened himself up and came to stand before you awkwardly.

“You’re um… you’re in my seat.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh! I’m sorry.”

You shot up from the spot, feeling rather mortified by the interaction.

“It’s okay, you can come sit here!” James stated, sliding further towards the armrest of the sofa and patting the spot in between himself and Sirius.

You sat down tentatively, but Sirius threw an arm around your shoulder which helped a bit in easing the nerves.

You found yourself glancing over at Remus. He seemed quiet as he munched on his pizza. You couldn’t help but feel a tinge of frustration towards him. He’d been nothing but rude to you since you arrived and you had no clue why.

“So tell us, y/n. What brought you to London?”

Your thoughts were cut short by Sirius’ question.

“Well, I just finished my degree not too long ago and I decided I needed a change, I suppose. London has a lot of good opportunities.”

“What did you study?” James asked, leaning his head in his hand as he looked down at you.

“Literature actually. I want to be a writer.”

Sirius brows shot up. “Really? That’s great. You should talk about that with Remus. He loves books.”

“Hmm?” The boy looked up then, as if having been lost in his own world, before brought back by the sound of his name.

“Y/n studied literature at university.”

He glanced over at you, only looking mildly interested. “Oh, that’s good.”

Then he turned his wrist glancing down at the watch that he wore. “It’s getting late. If you all don’t mind, I think I will finish dinner in my room. I have a lot of work to do.”

You frowned at that. Had you done something to upset him? Why was he so eager to get away from you?

“Alright mate. We’ll see you in the morning,” James muttered, oblivious to the issue.

Remus nodded at him before getting up slowly and sauntering back into his room.

James continued munching on his pizza happily but Sirius clearly noticed the way you tensed at the boy’s exit. He leaned in closely, speaking in a low tone so only you could hear.

“Sorry about him. He really isn’t like this usually. I’ll have a talk with him.”

You sighed. “No no, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

You really didn’t want to be a point of contention between these boys.

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble-“

“No it’s fine,” you shook your head. “Actually, I’m feeling a little tired as well. I might turn in for the evening.”

James looked over at you with gentle eyes. “Okay. Sleep well.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, jumping up from the couch. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Once you got to your room, you lay back heavily against the door, sighing. You considered the events of the day. There had been few hiccups but you decided then and there that you’d do whatever you could to move past them.

You got along well with James and Sirius seemed friendly. It was just Remus who you were yet to win over.

As you got ready for bed, your mind ran over the interactions that you’d had so far and wondered what might be the root of his frustrations.

Maybe things will be different tomorrow, you thought, as you settled in for the night.

#marauders #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #marauders au

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