#sash curtain

[vintagehomecollection]

100 Designers' Favorite Rooms, 1994

[loveletterworm]

“Fun Fact”: official deltarune merchandise made around the release of the first chapter consistently depicts susie with a yellow sash/weird diagonal belt(?)

this is consistent across work by different artists, but is nowhere to be seen on her actual in-game sprite.

this also doesn’t appear to be the case on the chapter 2 poster, which is the only item depicting susie to be made after the release of chapter 2 (as it was around that time decided light world characters could not be the main focus of merchandise, not counting group shots like said poster) while her torso is largely obscured the sash seems to be gone here

so this all together would appear to suggest that rather than the artists all having had a similar interpretation of the sprite that adds this entirely nonexistent item, it seems instead that during the development of chapter 1 susie possibly DID have this yellow sash/belt thing on her sprite, and that it was removed presumably quite shortly before before the demo’s release. (alternatively it may have appeared in concept art that could have been given to the artists as reference.) (fangamer’s first deltarune items were made only a week or two after the first demo released, so production on them had to have started some time before that, which is why i can be so certain this is the case)

[aneverydaything]

Day 1874, 10 August 2023

[kbwrites]

The Lord's Favorite CH.2

synopsis: "He was both a monstrous force of vengeance and your savior, intertwined in a tempest of passion and fury.."

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⚝content: trueform!Sukuna x fem! reader, slightly suggestive, mentions of blood and gore

⚝wc: 1.5k

⚝a/n: I'm still shocked this got as much attention as it did! Thank you for reading, I hope this next part pleases you.

“Please, do your best to remain still,” Uraume chides gently. They press the cotton swab soaked in alcohol to your face, the stinging sensation causing you to wince as it penetrates the cuts on your cheek. Uraume offers a sympathetic glance. “I apologize for this…”

“You don’t need to-“

“Please.” They say firmly “I was aware of the tension between the servants, I... never thought they would do something to harm one of their own.” Uraume’s voice wavers slightly. They move to the wounds on your arms.

The door to the chamber swings open, and Sukuna stands in the threshold, leaning one arm nonchalantly against the doorframe. He surveys your battered form sitting on the edge of the bed—a trace of annoyance etched on his face. Uraume rises swiftly to bow before the king, but he dismisses the gesture with a casual wave.

“My lord, I’ve treated her as best as I can.” Uraume reports.

Sukuna’s gaze shifts to your face, his demeanor cold yet betraying a hint of concern.

“Are you in any pain?”

“No.. my lord and I’m sorry-“

“You are not at fault.” He interrupts you, his voice firm as he strides over, his heavy footsteps echoing through the room. Clad in a black robe with a purple sash tied around the waist, his rippling muscles are visible through the cascading fabric. Uraume steps back, offering a brief bow before exiting, leaving you alone with him.

He scans your face with a piercing gaze, lowering himself to your level. His eyes drift to your empty wrist, narrowing with a mix of concern and intensity.

“Where. is it.” He demands. Your eyes widen as you realize the bracelet you were given today was missing.

“I… it must have fallen off when they attacked me” You piece together aloud. 

“So they would harm you as well as steal…” Ryomen’s voice grows taut with anger he clenches his fist, body tensing up. He rises from his kneeling position, figure looming over you.

“Are you able to stand?” He questions lowly. You nod.

“Good. We will be going now.”

You look up at your king, his expression is unreadable, but there’s an unmistakable intensity in his eyes—a silent promise of retribution. 

You lag behind him as he strides purposefully down the dimly lit  hallway. The evening light leaks through the dark red curtains of the hall, casting long shadows that dance along the walls. Each step of his echoes with a menacing authority. He stops abruptly at the entrance to the servants quarters. Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you, his gaze intense and unwavering.

“Do you wish to watch?” He inquires, voice low and steady.

“W…watch?” 

“Yes, do you wish to watch as I kill the ones who hurt you.”

“I—“ your heart races, Was this really happening? “No… my lord I do not.” You speak quietly. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond, opening the door to the room.

The servants look upon him in reverence… or fear. Ryomen Sukuna did not bother himself with his servants, so seeing him generally meant bad news. He scans the room at the trembling help who shrink under his scrutiny, ‘utterly pathetic..’ he thinks. Their eyes drift to you, standing behind him. Ryomen shoots you a sidelong glance, awaiting you to point out your offenders. 

You look up at him, conflicted. Do you really wish for them to die? He scoffs as if reading your mind.

“You would protect them, even after what they did to you?” He sneers.

 He directs his attention back to the line of servants, all bowing their heads in fear. His gaze lands on one woman, and he notices the bracelet on her wrist—identical to the one he had painstakingly crafted for you.

At the sight of the bracelet, his demeanor changes abruptly. His expression darkens with a fierce intensity. With a swift motion, two of his arms encircle you, gently but firmly covering your eyes.

“Do not open them, until the screaming stops.”

Screams of horror reverberate through the room. You hear slashes mingling with the sound of Sukuna chuckling darkly. All the while two of his arms remains protectively around you, shielding you from the brutality he’s inflicting upon the ones who dared to harm you.

The screaming fades, his breathing slows, upper left arm lowers from your eyes.

“It is done.” And as your eyes slowly open, the sight before you is gut-wrenching. Blood and carnage litter the servant’s chambers. You clasp your hand  over your mouth as you fight back a gag. 

Ryomen looks at you, a hint of annoyance for your lack of appreciation. You gaze upon his bloodied form, he was covered in it. He wipes face, turning his back on the lifeless bodies.

“Let’s go; I require a bath and new clothes.”

You sit on the edge of the porcelain tub, adding oils and dried petals. The act of bathing Lord Sukuna had become quite routine. And yet every time he entered the room your heart would skip a beat. He stood at over six feet tall, his four muscular arms and broad, chiseled chest commanding attention. The tattoos that adorned his toned body only added to his already imposing presence.

He strides confidently over to the bath, crimson eyes never leaving yours. The scent of lavender and roses wafting through the tiled room. He lowers himself into the water, groaning as the hot water enveloped his powerful frame.

You grab a sponge, wiping the dried blood from his chest. Ryomen leans his head back against the edge of the tub, sighing in relief under your touch. He’s quiet for a moment, only the sound of the water sloshing around echoes throughout the room. One eye opens slightly to observe you, your gentle hands erasing the evidence of his carnage. Massaging away his stress and tension. He speaks in a low, commanding voice.

“Join me.”

You abruptly cease your movements, looking at him in disbelief.

“You mean—“

“In the tub, yes.” You hesitate, glancing nervously between him and the water. Knowing it was not wise to disobey your king, you begin to shed your clothing, covering yourself modestly as you allow the bathwater to cloak you. You settle on the opposite side of the tub, his eyebrow quirks in mild annoyance.

“I will not harm you.” His voice almost… gentle.

You move closer to him. Albeit too slow for his taste, one arm pulls you towards his chest, settling on the small of your back. The unprecedented position of intimacy with your lord both thrilling and unsettling.

“Are you… unhappy with my actions today?”

"No… my lord." It was partly true. You were still reeling from the events that had transpired. The king to whom you had dutifully bowed had unleashed his fury... for you? The man you willingly served, had been so enraged by your injuries that he had taken the lives of those who wronged you. He was both a monstrous force of vengeance and your savior, intertwined in a tempest of passion and fury..

“Good.” Another hand reaches to stroke your hair, a touch so feather light you wondered if he thought you’d break. “I… do not wish for you to be unhappy.” He speaks softly. His finger traces your jawline. You shiver under his touch, but don’t pull away. If your heart were to beat any faster you feared it might give out altogether.  His hand trails down to your chest, placing his palm flat against the valley between your breasts.

“Your heart is racing…Are you frightened of me?” He questioned, feeling the rhythm quicken beneath his touch.

“F…frightened?” You try to keep your voice from shaking, but it betrays you quivering with uncertainty.

“It is understandable; I could kill you right now.” He grins as his words make your heart beat even faster. “I am merely stating a fact. Do not think of it.” His gaze travels from your face to your chest, lingering at the point where the water begins.

He stands up, water dripping down his body, your gaze travels down his abs to his v-line. He only grins as he sees your curious eyes widen at his lower half. It was quite hard not to look when he was so… big. The screams from his bedroom made sense after you were called to his bath the first time. 

“You are permitted to touch.” He declares, snapping your out of your daze, a shaky hand comes up to feel his abs. He groans softly under your nimble fingers, feeling his muscles tighten in response. He was a work of art, as if the gods themselves sculpted his figure.

You knew that after his bath, Lord Sukuna would typically summon one of his concubines to his chambers. This would inevitably result in several hours of indecorous moans and pained screams, audible through the door connecting your room to his. As his servant, you wanted to adhere to your place, but a part of you couldn't help but wonder... what it would be like to bask in your lord’s presence in such an intimate way.

“My lord, shall I summon someone to… attend to your needs?” 

He only chuckles darkly, one arm reaching down to gentle cup your face. His crimson eyes feasting upon your wet, naked form committing this scene to memory.

“No need,” He murmurs, his voice deep and resonant.

 “I believe your presence is precisely what I crave.”

taglist! (I know a lot a people in the previous post asked for a part two but idk if that meant you wanted to be tagged, lmk!) @haruchi-slit @gg-trini @pastelbunnelby @cauqhtz @shadava

[francophilesuniverse]

Transitional Bedroom - Master

[dilfl0v3rss]

Tattoo artist Connie and ony??? This is y/n first tattoo and they’re real nervous so con and ony gotta help them relax 🤭

might end up tattooing their name on that pus- nvm…

i love love love thisssss😩

first ink

cw: needles, smuttt

word count: 2.4k

never in your life did you plan on getting a tattoo. it was too scary and you absolutely hated needles. if your mom didn’t get it done when you were a baby, you doubt you would’ve even had your ears pierced. you were getting older though, and the sight of the pretty art of your friend’s bodies swayed your judgement. you became very infatuated with them, always running your fingers along them when they were with you.

“girl just go get one. tired of you caressing my stomach like i’m pregnant or sum” sasha sighed, rolling her eyes as you laughed. “sorryyyy. it’s just so pretty” your friend put her hand on top of yours, squeezing it as she looked deep into your eyes. “i love you so ima touch your hand as i say this. you need to stop being pussy and get some ink. you look like a child.” you rolled your eyes, yanking your hand from under hers as she laughed at you. that was your last straw. you told her that day that you will finally get a tattoo, making her jump for joy as she called up two of the best artists she knew.

as the two of you walked in the shop your eyes instantly met the light brown orbs of a tall man. “buenos tardes ladies. what can i do f’yo-…oh hey sash” the man came across the counter he was standing at, giving sasha a side hug before outreaching his hand towards you. “hola mami, my name’s connie. you must be y/n” he gave you a kind smile, his gold grills shining in the light before he gave you a light peck on your hand. “boy move she here for some ink, not a pregnancy scare” connie rolled his eyes, lifting his hands in surrender before walking deeper into the shop. thats when another man came out from the curtain in the back.

“wasgood sash” the man said as he walked towards his booth before sitting in the spacious chair. “this her?” he mumbled. sasha pushed you up towards them. you haven’t said a word since you got here. too in awe at the beauty of these too men. “don’t talk much do she?” connie chuckled as him and ony continued to look you over. sasha knew how you got when you met new people so she didn’t try to push you to speak. instead she wrapped her arm around you while she did the talking. “this my girl right here. she never got any shit done before other than the piercings in her ears and that was when she was a baby so i need y’all t’be real delicate with her ‘kay?”

ony and connie shared a look, eyes widening as they realized that sasha was telling the truth. there wasn’t a single thing on your body other than your small stud earrings in your ears. “yea we gotchu. come sit while i set up.” ony said, getting up from the chair to let you sit down. the sound of sasha’s phone ringing brought your attention to her. “what….girl call your mother….ughhh why i gotta do it?…whatever whatever bye” you gave her a confused look as she carried an annoyed look her her face. “i gotta get my cousin from summer school, her bad ass. i’ll be back right after i take her home ‘kay?” you gave her a wide eyed look, her cousin lived almost an hour and a half from where you were. your fear was clearly showing on your face. you couldn’t get a tattoo alone.

as if reading your mind sasha gave you a tight hug whispering in your ear. “girl i’ll be right backkkk. don’t be scared. jus breathe and focus on something else, you’ll be fine” with that she gave the two men behind you stern looks, pointing her acrylic finger at them as she spoke. “behave yourselves. it’s her first time” ony and connie both gave her quick nods before she went out the door. as ony set up his stuff you slowly sat down in the chair waiting for him. “so it’s your first time huh ma?” he said, noticing your nervousness as he looked up at your pretty face. “mhm”. your response made him chuckle as he got up from his seat next to you. “what you gettin and where you want it”

you showed him your desired tattoo, making his eyes widen as he looked at the photo. “you sure?” sasha told you that this was an easy spot so you listened to her, nodding your head quickly as a reply. ony gave you a small smile before turning towards connie, who was in one of the other chairs scrolling on his phone. “baby turn some music on. it’s quiet at hell in here”.

baby? you turned your head towards ony’s face, your quizzical look making him chuckle. “sasha ain’t tell you?” you shook your head. “of course she didn’t” before ony could speak again, the sound of psa by kay flock started to play. making ony and connie rap along to the lyrics as they continued on with what they were doing. “so what you getting mami? a butterfly?” connie asked, inked hand rubbing on his boyfriends durag covered head. “she getting a thigh tat, cute lil sun” connie nodded his head as he listened, looking at your legging covered thighs. “well y’know you gotta lose those right?” he said, pointing to the fabric. you had totally forgot, eyes widening as you internally sighed. today was not your day.

“i mean…we don’t mind, could close up the blinds and lock the doors so it can seem like we closed right now. since sasha won’t be back for awhile and ion want you just sitting here waiting f’her” you thought about his words. they seemed like nice, respectful guys. and if sasha trusts them then you knew they wouldn’t do you wrong. “okay” your soft voice made the both of their heads turn to you, making you shy away and put your gaze on your lap. “so she does speak” they both say.

~about an hour later~

“listen mama, if you don’t calm down i can’t get started. i can’t tattoo you while you shaking like this” ony said softly as he watched you twitch away from the needle for the fifth time. you had no problem taking your pants off and letting them put the stencil on you, but as soon as you heard the machine start you couldn’t get it together. “he’s right mami, y’gotta relax for us ‘kay. we not gon hurt you”

you were trying, you really were, but your body just wouldn’t relax. and you weren’t helping them either, ony was ready to pass out from the sight of your ass making your thong practically disappear. and connie was trying his hardest to make his hard on as least noticeable as possible at the sight of your teary eyes staring up at him. your pretty hands gripping his tightly as you tried your best to be calm.

“what we gotta do t’help you relax huh? you want a snack?” connie asked, smiling softly at you as you nodded your head eagerly. ony got up from his seat behind you, walking towards the back to grab you some fruit snacks. “sit up and eat em. ion want you choking or nun” he said as he passed you the packet and walked back behind the curtains. you sat up on your knees as you tried your best to open it, but your hands were too sweaty from how nervous you were. connie saw you struggling so he helped, looking down at your pretty eyes as he slowly opened it. you didn’t even notice, too focused on his pretty light brown eyes as he slowly took a fruit snack from the packet.

on instinct you opened your mouth, not knowing what came over you as you slowly sucked on his finger after he put the small miniature orange in your mouth. “you want sum else t’help you relax mami?” you couldn’t help but nod your head yes. these men were fine, and you were desperate to relax. “pa c’mere! she said she need our help to relax” ony made his was to his boyfriends side, smirking down at you as he realized what he meant. “oh we can help you with that real good”

before you knew it you were laid back in the chair, this time with your back on the end of it as connie eagerly ate your pussy on one side, and ony fed you his long dick in your mouth on the other. “that’s right ma, keep suckin it jus like that. don’t you feel better? no more shakin and cryin” ony’s words went straight to your core, making your arousal increase as you began to leak onto connie’s face. “taste so good mama, you like when he talks t’you like that huh? talks to me like that too at home. y’wanna come home wit us baby?” you instantly replied with a “mhm”. the vibrations of your voice sending ony over the edge as he shot his thick ropes down your throat.

“shittt you suck me so well mama. you gon let connie make you feel good, gon let him fuck you?” as he spoke connie began lining himself up with your entrance, rubbing his inked hands all over your stomach as he waited for you to reply. “y-yes” you said in a small voice, turning the both of them on more as connie slowly sunk into you. the stinging stretch of his dick making you whine as you tightly gripped ony’s arm. “we know mama, s’okay we here” ony coo’d at you, helping you relax as he gave connie the signal to speed up. before then he was pounding you into the chair, long light brown dick pulling loud moans and cries from you as ony stood behind him, whispering dirty words in his ear as he’d occasionally kiss up and down his boyfriends neck. his eyes never left yours as he did this, controlling the tempo of connie’s thrusts without having to lift a finger.

“there you go pretty boy. makin her feel so good” connie’s eyes were closed as he focused on the words of the man behind him. “i wanna cum in her” he whined as ony gave you a small smirk. he knew the sight of them was driving you crazy so to pleasure you further he slowly gripped connie’s neck, turning his head towards his to give him a sloppy kiss. your pussy clenched at the sight, making connie whimper into ony’s mouth as he picked up the pace of his thrusts. “m’finna cum, you want papi t’cum in you mami?” his deep voice rang in your ears, pushing your release closer as you moaned out at loud “yes”

with that connie spilled his seed deep into you, his thrusts halting to a stop as he made sure to keep you full of him. you watched ony whisper something in his here, making connie slowly pull out of you before ony took his place. “gonna make me feel good too now, that okay baby?” you quickly nodded your head yes, but he wanted more. ony teased you, rubbing his tip all over your wet clit to make you whine. “let daddy hear that pretty voice. want y’to talk me through it like i did connie” connie helped you up as ony spoke, kissing your neck as his boyfriend waited patiently in between your legs. “listen t’him mami. or he won’t give you what you want” your brain was clouded with pure lust right now as you finally replied to the man in front of you. “want you t-to fuck me”

“that’s a good girl”

~a couple hours later~

“alright all done pretty girl” ony chirped as he began to wipe the last bit of ink off your freshly done tattoo. “she’s still asleep” connie chuckled out as he sat in the chair with your pantsless body on his chest. as soon as they finished fucking you, you fell asleep so they woke you up to ask you if you still wanted the tattoo and you said yes, and who were they to deny a pretty thing like you especially after you were so good for them.

as you stirred awake you noticed you were still in the chair, a warm blanket draped over your body. you went to get up, but were stopped by a little stinging pain in your leg. “she’s up pa” connie said as he watched you from one of the couches in the waiting area, a bag of chips in his hand as he watched his show. “heyy pretty girl, we ain’t wanna wake you so we just put the blanket on t'keep you from getting cold. want some water?” you eagerly nodded your head yes as you reached for the water bottle in ony’s hand. before you got to grab it he pulled it back towards him. “lemme hear that pretty voice baby” a shy smile planted onto your face as you looked up at him. “can i have some?” a smile spread to ony’s face as well, his big inked hand transferring the bottle into your much smaller one. “good girl”

as you drank the water, connie made his way towards the two of you, a small smirk on his lips as he looked down at you next to ony. “you not gon look at your new ink?” he said. you had honestly forgot, but excitement bloomed in your stomach as you slowly moved the blanket from your thigh. there sat the beautiful sun you asked for, prettily wrapped up along with something else you didn’t see in the picture. there sat an infinity symbol in the middle of the sun with two letters in the spaces. an o and a c.

“you said you wanted t’come home wit us right? if you gon be ours you gotta rep us.” connie said before him and ony pulled up their shirts, the same infinity symbol showing on their sides with each others initials and yours in the spaces. your mouth dropped to the floor at the sight of the pretty tattoos, stomach doing flips in excitement as you realized what you had gotten yourself into.

“you ours now mama”

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Let the Light In

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Fingering, male masturbation, smut. Word count: ~1.6k

Summary: Having stumbled back too late from the pub, Tom finds Lois and Douglas have locked him out for the night. Thankfully, the girl across the road takes pity on him.

Author's note: Day ten of the Smuffmas prompts - "bed sharing and accidental stimulation". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

“Lois! Lois! Come on, let me up, don’t be tight!”

The shouting filters through to her subconscious, and she grumbles, slowly blinking her eyes open, mind foggy with sleep.

“Lois! It’s freezing out here!”

She flicks on the lamp on the bedside table, lifting her watch to look at the time.

Almost 1am. Bloody pillock.

She has lived opposite the Bennett family her entire life, and though she doesn’t know them well, they’re neighbourly, exchanging polite “hellos” when they pass in the street. Though Tom’s is usually accompanied by a wink that makes her skin feel too hot.

Over the last year or so, she’s grown used to being woken up by Tom stumbling back home at some ungodly hour, waking her up as he shouts for his sister, Lois, to open the window and let him up into their shared bedroom. He knows he’ll cop an earful from their dad, Douglas, if he comes in through the front door. It’s usually double locked anyway, so his key wouldn’t work even if he were to try.

Lois has never left him out on the street for this long though, but she can’t blame her, she’s probably sick of it by now.

“Lois!”

Fuck’s sake.

There’s no point in leaving him out there, his shouting will wake up half the street. She considers it a good job that her own dad works nights, and that her mum has taken to wearing earplugs to bed so that he doesn’t wake her when he returns in the early hours of the morning.

She sighs, throwing off the duvet and stepping out of bed. She parts the curtains, lifting the sash window and shivers as the coldness of the air outside chills her skin through her nightdress as she leans out.

Tom stands outside of his house, leaning back with a lit cigarette between his lips as he stares up at his bedroom window. He’s about to shout again, when she interrupts.

“You’re gonna wake the whole bloody street if you keep on!” She hisses.

He turns, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and exhales a tight line of smoke through pursed lips.

“She won’t let me up,” he calls back. “don’t s’pose there’s any room at your inn? It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, after all.”

“It’s Christmas Eve right now. Have you got any idea what the time is?!”

“Tomorrow doesn’t start ‘til I wake up, sweetheart.”

He flashes a lopsided grin up at her, and she has to fight the urge to smile back as she feels familiar flutters in her stomach.

Cheeky git.

“Wait there,” she sighs, sliding the window closed.

She wraps herself in her dressing gown, picking her way carefully down the stairs, before switching on the hallway light and opening the front door.

Tom is there already, leaning against the doorframe, the crushed butt of his cigarette inches away from his feet.

“You’re a star. Shall I take the sofa then?” He asks, crowding the small space in which her family hangs their coats as she closes the door behind him.

“Absolutely not. Last thing I need is dad coming back from work and seeing you sprawled out in the living room, he’ll throw a fit. Shoes off.”

Tom bends down, unlacing and kicking off his shoes. “Where you putting me?”

“You can kip in my room. Bring those with you.”

“Oh,” he smirks, “if you insist.”

She rolls her eyes, making her way back upstairs, with Tom following close behind.

“You can sleep on the floor,” she tells him, chucking him the knitted blanket from the end of her bed, and the extra pillow she sleeps with.

“Thanks,” he sounds almost disappointed as he catches them, setting them down and busying himself with shrugging out of his jacket and leaving it on a heap on the floor with his shoes.

She had expected him to sleep fully clothed, so she is shocked when she hears the metallic clink of him opening his belt as he lowers his trousers. Feeling her skin prickle with heat, and her heartbeat begin to race, she quickly turns away, shedding her dressing gown and climbing into bed.

She pulls the duvet up around herself, remaining facing away as she listens to the rustle of clothing as he pulls off his jumper, and arranges his bedding.

When it finally grows quiet, she leans over to turn the lamp off and lays back down.

“Night then,” Tom says quietly.

“Night.”

She lays there in the darkness, eyes closed, willing herself to fall asleep and yet it won’t seem to pull her under. It isn’t helped by the relentless shifting around and sighing she can hear coming from the floor beside the bed.

After five minutes of listening to Tom toss and turn, and grumble to himself, she groans and finally switches the lamp back on, leaning down to look at him.

“Can you not just go to sleep?!” She whispers in frustration.

He pulls himself to sit up, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s uncomfortable down here. And I’m cold.”

She presses her lips into a tight line, before exhaling loudly through her nose. “Fine. Come on then.”

Shuffling to the far side of the mattress, she throws the duvet back for Tom and he climbs in eagerly.

“Smashing,” he says with a wink, before turning the lamp off.

They lay back to back and, in her tiny single bed, the angle pushes both of them to the far edges of the mattress, neither one of them comfortably having enough space to stretch out and go to sleep.

“This is awful,” she complains quietly.

“Mmm,” he agrees. “Let me just…”

Tom rolls over and her breath catches in her throat as she feels his chest press against her back, his body slotting itself against hers.

Admittedly, it’s comfier like this, they both have more room, and yet she is certain she won’t sleep a wink with the heat of his body so close to hers. He must be able to feel the way her heart thuds in her ribcage.

He shifts slightly and she feels the press of a bulge against her backside, she knows precisely what it is, and it sets her pulse racing. Instinctively, without thinking, she presses back and his breath shudders hotly against the shell of her ear, his nose pressed into her hair.

Tentatively, his fingertips spread out over her hip, pulling her back against him as he rolls his hips forward, and she feels sticky heat pool between her legs as he hardens against her.

She’s not entirely sure why she’s allowing this, just knows that it feels good and she doesn’t want it to stop as they move rhythmically together, both chasing a friction that neither can quite achieve.

“Have…have you ever…” he whispers, trailing off.

She swallows thickly, afraid to disappoint him, but wanting to be honest. “No.”

“Can I touch you?” 

His hand tightens on her hip and she nods. “Yes.”

Slowly, his fingers trail down her thigh, until he reaches the hem of her nightgown. His hand travels the same path again, only this time upwards and against her bare skin.

She whimpers as he cups her mound through the cotton of her knickers, the pads of his fingers pressing against the dampness of the gusset.

“Christ, you’re soaked,” he breathes shakily.

“Sorry,” she whispers back, feeling her cheeks grow warm.

“Not a bad thing, darlin’,” she can hear the smile in his voice, “nothin’ to be sorry for at all.”

His hand slides upwards, pressing flat against her lower abdomen, and then slides down again, creeping beneath the waistband of her underwear.

“Fuck,” Tom grits out, as his index finger slides between her folds, gathering her wetness before circling her pearl.

She buries her face into the pillow, to stifle the moan that leaves her. She has touched herself before, but it has always been hesitant, secretive, just enough to feel nice. This makes her feel as though her body is on fire.

Tom shuffles behind her, and for a moment she wonders what he is up to, until she feels the brush of his knuckles against her back. She doesn’t need to look to know that he’s pulled his cock out and is stroking himself. The idea makes her throat run dry.

His breaths come in hot puffs, the slick sound of him pleasuring himself, coupled with the squelch of his fingers as they slide and circle against her is lewd, and she knows she ought to feel ashamed, but she is desperate to fall from the edge that he’s eagerly pushing her towards.

She screws her eyes shut when his digit slides inside of her, her walls clenching around him as he curls his finger upwards, dragging against her and making her thighs shake.

“So tight,” he groans, before withdrawing, circling faster against her sensitive bundle of nerves with newly applied arousal.

She whines, arching against him and she feels the movement of the hand he has on himself speed up, as quiet grunts escape him.

“You’re close, aren’t ya?”

“Please…”

“Let go. Come for me.”

She bites down on the pillow, muffling the squeal that bursts out of her as her thighs clamp around Tom’s wrist, and her entire body shudders with the force of her peak. She feels like a bottle of pop that someone has shaken too hard, every part of her body coming apart in tiny bubbles.

Tom presses his face harder into her hair, his nose touching her scalp as he groans low in relief, his hips stuttering against hers as he finds his own release.

Slowly she turns to face him. His blue eyes shine in the moonlight, his full lips slightly parted as he breathes raggedly. He leans in, brushing his lips against hers, but not quite kissing her as they lay there together in blissful, tired silence.

“You’ll let me in next time, won’t you?” He rasps.

The double meaning is not lost on her, and yet it does nothing to affect her answer.

“Yes.”

[lokisgoodgirl]

Secretive Santa: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (8) Seasons may have changed, but some hearts still need soothed. And what better time than Christmas for some well-intentioned mischief? Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Usual Lakes fare. Established relationship. Theve (?) Soft smut , mild angst, humour, fluff and cunning plans throughout. (w/c 7.3k)

You would never forget the look on Thor’s face as the Fiat had drawn up the loose stone drive to the cottage. The glow of his smile was visible through the windshield at 100 paces.

As he and Rogers had exited the car with a spring in their step, you were starting to think the last two days had been just what everyone had needed.

The air was crisp this morning, winter’s first biting chill stinging your cheeks.

Steve’s face was glossy and fresh with the flushed sheen of recent spa treatments. His forehead shone. He strode towards you with a nod, extending his hand to shake Loki’s with a quiet ‘howdy’ as Thor brought up the rear.

‘Do you really think they slept together?’ you’d gaped to Loki as you’d lain in bed after dinner last night, thoroughly sated with food and sex. Loki had laughed gently, making your chin bounce on his bare chest. ‘There were twelve condoms in the pack I bought to get a rise from Rogers,’ he’d replied. An eyebrow had risen as you stared vacantly. ‘How many times have we had sex, darling?’ Loki had continued.

A smirk had played at the corner of his perfect mouth, still glistening with your arousal. It was burned into your memory. The soft mischief in every line.

You had bit your lip, the look of intense concentration on your face making Loki chuckle again. ‘Full, or just oral?’ you’d replied wilfully. ‘Ten,’ Loki had mouthed, raking a hand through his hair as he arched his back. One of his legs draped over the side of the single bed. ‘There were ten in the box when they left. So either-’ ‘It’s happened, or it’s going to!’ you’d gasped. Loki had shrugged. Maybe, his silence had said - but he was still smiling. Now, you tilted your chin as Thor stood beside Steve.

The captain hooked an arm around the blonde god’s shoulder, the pep of the men’s familiar pleasantries filling the air like birdsong. Thor’s followed suit, giving each other an affectionate pat before breaking apart. “You guys ready to blow off?” Steve asked, gesturing to the Fiat.

Loki’s nose wrinkled. “I humbly petition to sit in the front passenger seat this time.” he muttered, making his suitcase disappear in a flash of green. “We can take turns,” Thor offered. A relevation.

Startled, Loki’s eyebrows rose. You looked between them, smiling as the men nodded agreement in sage trifecta.

Although you’d been lumbered driving for the next seven hours back to the Essex compound, it would be another world than the trip up had been. And besides, none of these particular Earth's Mightiest Heroes could drive stick.

“Let’s go home,” you murmured, meeting Loki’s eyes as his hand slid into yours with a squeeze. “Home,” he smiled.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. The seasons changed again. But thankfully, Loki had not.

Frost adorned trees lining Central Park were visible from the god’s bedroom window. Like cake toppers, you mused as you pulled the curtains behind a sash, dusted with icing sugar. A pair of strong hands slid around your waist, slippers nipping at your heels as he moulded his stomach against your back.

Long fingers tugged against the loose sash of your robe.

“Come back to bed,” he murmured against the muss of your morning hair. His breath was warm in the shell of your ear, the heat of his skin sinking from his bare chest through your gown.

You could feel the bulge in his loose pyjama pants pulse against your ass. “They need me,” you whined, tilting your chin to meet his pleading eyes. He knew you couldn’t resist those eyes. Christmas lights on the tree in the corner lit up the golden veins of his irises. “I need you,” he retorted. The wounded tone of his voice tugged your heartstrings.

You rolled your eyes.

Loki tutted. “Agent?” he warned playfully. Playful, but no less devastating. It made your core flush with ill-timed desire. “We don’t do that anymore.” It had become a mantra. An amber light which snuffed out behaviours that no longer had a place in your relationship. And expectation of equality, you conceded, worked both ways. “Come back to bed,” he husked again, deeper this time.

Loki’s forefinger looped around the sash of your robe, stepping back slowly. Two steps, then three. You followed, falling to his lap as he sat back on the mattress. “It’s cold outside. Rogers will understand.” You scoffed, curling the mess of his hair behind one perfectly formed ear. Whatever happened, it needed to sound believable. Just a normal mission. A normal mission. “It’s not Steve I’m worried about,” you said.

Loki frowned, urging you to continue as his fingers danced dangerously up your leg. They began to massage the curve of your ass beneath the silk. “It’s your brother – he’s been antsy all week. All month, actually. Chewed Scott out the other day for being late – even Steve was embarrassed.” Loki’s hand paused. “Will he be there? On this ‘very important mission’?” he muttered, staring at your breasts with a faraway look in his eyes. “My brother, I mean…” You swallowed, the oath of utter secrecy bubbling behind your teeth, willing itself to be broken.

You managed a half-hearted shrug. Loki’s pinched fingers slid down the opening of your robe, before raising his gaze with a wolfish glint.

“Perhaps Rogers is rubbing off on him,” he quipped, lips stretching in a smirk. You slapped his shoulder lightly, trying to stand before Loki pulled you back in. His lips traced your own, inhaling against your breath. “Or on him,” he finished smugly.

You slapped his shoulder again.

“It’s been ages since the lakes, and neither of them have said a word,” you huffed, standing and shrugging your robe to the floor.

Taking a moment to enjoy the awed slant of Loki’s brows, you turned and made your way to the small selection of clothes you kept in his rooms. “If they were a thing, we’d know by now. They barely speak to each other these days.” You unhooked a combat suit, feeling the weight of Loki’s stare on your naked ass. “Has Thor said anything to you?” you asked innocently, glancing back over your shoulder. The god’s eyes snapped from your rear to your face.

“What?” he coughed. He was hard. “Has Thor said anything to you?” you repeated, trying to hold in a satisfied smile. “About him and Steve?” Loki crossed his legs, trying to dampen the arousal pumping through his veins. “No,” he sniffed. “But he is acting particularly meat-headishness of late. I should speak to him.” “You should-” you said, pulling the suit over your shoulders and sliding the zip upwards. Loki’s crestfallen eyes lingered as your cleavage disappeared from view. “I should-” he muttered absent-mindedly as you drew closer and leant down to give him a kiss. His train of thought dissipated in the air.

You paused, feeling his breath cloud around your mouth. As much as you wanted to stay, this was important. The secrecy that surrounded Steve’s message had made that clear.

Loki kissed you. First soft, then firm. A promise.

And the warmth of it lingered as you made your reluctant way down the Tower elevators and into the crisp New York December day.

You checked the top right corner of the screen nestled in your thick gloves. Nine seventeen. Shit. The dot on the GPS moved up East 50th street. Skies had darkened, clouds threatening snow. Wreaths and lightbulb-adorned foliage hung against shop windows, festive displays catching your eye.

That jacket would look incredible on Loki, you thought fleetingly; before the shade of a skyscraper loomed above. Making a mental note to come back and get it, you paused; taking a moment at the railing. It overlooked the golden statue in Rockefeller Plaza. Even at this time in the morning, skaters made their way around the rink with various displays of aptitude. A man who reminded you very much of Colin Robertson hung stiffly onto the side as his other half skated backwards, encouraging him enthusiastically. You smiled. “Thanks for coming,” a voice murmured over your shoulder.

You clutched your chest. “Steve!” you gasped.

Ever since the lakes, the relationship with your superior had become a lot more familiar. An unexpected bonus. The captain wore a thick hat low on his brow. And sunglasses, of course. A navy blue jacket was zipped up under his chin. He looked stiff, hands jammed in his pockets. He glanced anxiously over his shoulder while you leant against the railing. “You going to tell me what this is about, now?” you said quietly.

Steve nodded curtly, clearing his throat. It fogged the air. “Seems I drew Odinson in the secretive santa and I need your advice.” You arched a brow, ‘secretive santa’ making your lip twitch with laughter which would be entirely inappropriate.

“Go on,” you mustered warily. Steve cleared his throat again, removing his sunglasses. He produced a small microfibre flannel from his pocket, beginning to polish them. “You know him better than I do, see” he mumbled, meeting your sceptical gaze. You titled your head. Steve’s cheeks were pink. And not from cold. Not just from cold, anyway.

“I don’t know about that,” you replied softly. The captain’s eyes narrowed, searching for any hint of ulterior meaning.

“You spent a lot of time together before the cabin,” you explained, seeing his face soften. “- which I appreciate, by the way. We both do.” You squeezed his hand. “I think together we can find the perfect gift – don’t you?” Steve exhaled loudly. It was relief. “Well, I did have one idea I wanted to run by you…” he smiled shyly.

Your eyebrows rose.

In response, Steve nudged his head towards a store on the other side of the plaza. A smile stretched across your face.

“Perfect!” you cried, making Steve cringe. “Keep your voice down,” he hushed, wincing as a passer by jostled his shoulder. “I don’t want that Heimdall character ruining the surprise.” You laughed playfully. “If you’re on his radar then-” you started, before thinking better of it. Thankfully, Steve was too busy putting his sunglasses on and tugging the woolly hat down to notice.

FAO Schwarz was heaving with shoppers. Crowds bustled around elaborate displays of every toy imaginable. Normal-looking businessmen and women clutched large paper bags with boxes slotted in expert precision making their way quickly past you to the entrance. Trying to fit in what they could before work, you reckoned. The superheroes of the everyday. New York’s iconic toy-store was a Christmas wonderland, wreaths adorning pillars and large glittering snowflakes hanging from tall ceilings. Paul McCartney’s chirpy vocals rang from concealed speakers, heralding the season. Steve paused beside one of the perfectly coiffured trees lining the walkway through the store, glancing shiftily over his shoulder. “Maybe you should lose the sunglasses?” you suggested. He nodded reluctantly, slipping them into his pocket. “It’s over here,” he murmured.

He was frowning lightly, concern in those famously blue eyes. His Captain face. If you weren’t acutely aware of the context, you might be forgiven for thinking that this was a super-serious mission.

But, you reminded yourself, for him...maybe it is. You decided not to make light of it.

The two of you slipped around several hordes of shoppers towards a wall at the back of the store. Rows of plush animal faces stared vacantly in immaculate lines. Steve stopped. He folded his arms, spreading his feet in a stoic stance.

“There,” he said firmly, nodding towards a modest circular display. “Oh my god,” you whispered, eyes widening.

Out the corner of your vision, you saw Steve’s chin snap towards you; the feeling of his anxious stare beating into your profile. A grin spread on your lips. “It’s perfect,” you squealed, turning to him. You gripped his shoulders, shaking him lightly. “You’re a genius. He’ll love it.” Steve blushed, looking down. He scuffed his foot on the polished floor. It squeaked. “Golly,” he muttered, smiling bashfully. “You really think?”

You nodded, meaning it with your whole heart. “Perfect.”

Loki pursed his lips. He could hear the neolithic grunting of his brother doing some manner of inane task in the kitchen up ahead. It echoed.

Apparently, Thor had not been called to whatever mission had stolen you from his bed after all.

He rounded the corner, immediately tensing. The God of Thunder stood hunched over a toaster, miniscule in one meaty hand. In the other, he had a knife jammed deep in the contraption, wiggling it around. “You should turn that off at the wall, you know-” Loki drawled. Thor looked up, smiling.

“My breakfast is entrapped, brother. There is no other way.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “I thought you weren’t doing that anymore,” Thor muttered, demeanour hardening. "The rolly-eye-thing."

Loki bristled. “For some things there is no alternate or adequate lexicology to express oneself, brother.” Thor humphed, rattling the knife deeper.

A blackened pop-tart fell to the counter amid a cascade of crumbs. With silent vindication, he raised it in his grasp and shook it in Loki’s direction. A triumphant grin spread across his face as Loki slid onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “So?” Loki said smoothly, tilting his head. It was a loaded syllable. Thor’s brow scrunched. Loki wasn’t sure if it was the bitterness of his ill-gotten prize or the vagueness of his opening gambit which caused it. “What?” Thor crunched. Flecks of burnt fell with abandon to his scruffy beard and a white muscle vest stretched tight on his chest. It was stained with what looked like mustard, and chocolate - one hoped.

This is not that garment's first dawn, Loki thought. He sighed pointedly. “Look, we’ve been dancing around this for weeks. Your increase in short-temperedness and decrease in both affinity and hygiene has been noted.” The blonde pressed his fingers sarcastically to his chest, eyes wide. “You talk of me?” he exclaimed incredulously before chuckling, shaking his head.

Without warning, Thor released a thundering fart. It tapered to a whining toot before he spoke again. “You must be mistaken brother.” Loki didn't flinch. Not even a millimetre.

“I am not,” was Loki’s curt response. He clasped his hands on the counter-top, now marred with specks of charred pop-tart. They looked like ants. His disapproving eyes rose to meet his brother, now looking shifty. He was chewing, avoiding Loki’s analytical stare.

Thor flicked his hair back. It had a crispness to it. Some kind of resolve settled over his features, and there was a sharp glint in his eye Loki didn’t like.

“Have you told her you love her yet?” his elder brother quipped bitterly. Sarcasm seeped from him like steam. Or maybe that was the lingering stench of flatulence. “Again?” Loki tensed, resisting the bait. “That is none of your concern.”

He straightened, making space as Thor leant on the counter opposite, fist propped beneath his chin. The blonde batted his eyelashes innocently. Loki wanted to punch him. “Oh but it is, brother-” Thor smarmed, lip curling in a smirk that Loki would recognise in a mirror. “I am most concerned about it indeed.”

The two of them sat in silence, unspoken asgardian curses curling the air. “A truth for a truth?” Loki postured coldly, circling his fingertip on the counter. The question hung in the air. An old compromise last involked in their youth, in the days of the cabin-with-no-place.

It had become such a staple of breaking their stubborn stalemates that Frigga had commissioned the Asgardian Crones to weave a token.

‘To solidify the sentiment, for harmony’ she had said.

Millions of silken threads created the finest handkerchief in Asgard, an ombre of green and red which softened in silken waves to the centre; melding to one. Harmony.

On it, hand-stitched in the truest gold were the words. The only words which could provoke amnesty between the heirs. The symbol exchanged between them at times of familial discord. Whoever held it, must forfeit one admission for another or face the consequences.

En sannhet byttet mot en sannhet, A truth exchanged for a truth, Loki mulled as he traced a dark vein of the marbled counter-top.

It was not an accord invoked lightly. The ceremonial handkerchief itself may be lost to places known only to few, but once uttered, the oath must be fulfilled. He followed the winding tendril to the edge before meeting his brother’s eyes. Thor snorted, slapping the hand beneath his chin to the surface. “Fine” he gruffed.

“You and Rogers-” Loki cut in, seizing the moment. He watched his brother’s brow crease, short-lived victory turning to regret. “Is he the cause of the foul mood which has plagued you these past weeks?” Thor shuffled his feet, pushing himself upright against the counter. “I see not business that is of-” he began to parrot, but Loki waved a dismissive hand. “Brother, please-” he snapped sharply. “Even adorned with our lifespans, this banal rhetoric could last us to the gates of Valhalla.” He watched as his brother’s features relented, a quiet sigh rising in his chest. Thor swallowed. “He will not speak of it,” he muttered.

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Of what?” Thor’s jaw set, looking at his brother with exasperation. “Our amorous union, short-lived as it was.” A small smile played at Loki’s lips.

Vindication, he thought. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

He summoned the willpower that had become so familiar from his newly-trained approach to your relationship, reminding himself that vulnerability was to be encouraged, not exploited. Carefully, he re-adjusted himself on the stool. He made sure he looked sympathetic. “I wasn’t sure if-” “Yes, yes…” Thor mumbled dismissively, glancing around the walls. Pink had risen in his cheeks.

“Rogers asked me not to say anything. But methinks it’s all for nought now regardless.”

“So the two of you...at the cottage?” Loki probed.

Thor nodded. “It started as a ruse, a part of the plan should it be required to stay you in the correct location but-” he swallowed.

“When the moment arose, the moment took me...us, and- our kinship, such as it was, had changed somehow. The nights we spent setting things in motion for the two of you, we grew closer. I cannot place it, brother. I just…”

“That sounds familiar,” Loki said softly. Without realising it, he had reached for his brother’s hand.

Thor squeezed it, staring down as he continued. “The love of a male is not unfamiliar to either of us-” Thor said, glancing up briefly. “But to Rogers…” he trailed off. “-It is all unfamiliar.” Loki finished. His brother nodded. “At the spa...we talked about what the future could look like. Many plans were made, but-” Thor swallowed thickly. “-when we returned, things were different?” Loki murmured tentatively.

Thor nodded again.

Loki knew that fear all too well. He would be lying if he said that his heart hadn’t pounded the whole flight home, wondering if a return to reality outside of the bubble created in the cottage would return you to your senses too. The thought of losing you again had been almost too much to bear. “I know not if it is his values. His image. Whether his feelings have changed or whether the intrigue was more of an allure than reality- he has barely spoken two words of warmth since our return. And when he does speak – I find myself behaving most unbefitting my feelings. Pushing him further, like you did.” Tears welled in the blonde’s eyes.

“Or perhaps it is I, brother,” Thor continued, smiling in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. It twisted Loki’s heart. His elder brother released a mirthless chuckle of resignation before continuing, fingertip circling on the marble anxiously. “Perhaps it is I.”

In seconds, Loki stood and rounded the counter.

He drew his brother close, feeling the strength of Thor’s grip tentatively curl around his shoulders. The god’s chest heaved, shallow breaths ricocheting against Loki’s neck. He found himself pressing his brother’s head into his hold, trying to steady the silent sobs swallowed with every gulp of air.

Had they ever embraced like this? Loki didn’t think so. Not that he could recall. But, strangely, he found he didn’t care.

“It’s alright, brother” he heard himself murmur, not knowing what else to say.

Thor choked back a shuddering sigh as Loki continued to stroke his hair. He rested his chin on his brother’s head, closing his eyes. “It’s alright.”

A paper bag adorned with toy soldiers rustled by your feet below the table.

Steve had given strict instructions to keep it in your sight while he bought coffee. You peeked inside again, smiling.

Somehow, you’d managed to convince him to while away a little more time before heading back to the Tower, citing Loki’s suspicions. But really, you just wanted to spend time with him.

Ever since the lakes, Steve had softened – which wasn’t a bad thing. In some ways you felt much closer, but in others; from others – he seemed to be pulling away. “Careful, it’s hot” he quipped, nudging the wooden chair out with his foot.

He squeezed to sit at the world’s smallest table that you had commandeered in the corner of the café. You mouthed thanks, pulling the mug over. “Reminds me of the cottage,” you smiled; looking up innocently. Steve’s eyebrows peaked, before he frowned lightly. “I guess,” he muttered. Festive jazz played over the bustle of mid-morning conversation and clinking plates. The milk steamer spluttered endlessly behind the bar. You scooped a blob of cappuccino foam onto your finger, sucking it off. It was now or never. After all, it was Christmas.

“Are you alright, Cap?” you started deferentially, hoping that the softness you felt in your heart shone through. Steve looked up, blue eyes deep in thought.

“Can I trust you, Agent?” he asked warily as his gaze glanced over your shoulder. Your features softened further, tension easing. You reached across the space between you, fingers curling over his forearm. “Steve,” you whispered. “I owe you so much. So much. I care about you, and Loki does too.” Steve’s brow arched sceptically. “He does,” you smiled, squeezing his arm. The smile fell gradually as you studied his face. “You can trust me,” you said quietly. Seriously. The captain nodded, taking a deep breath. “I…” he started.

Your brow twitched, an uneasy feeling spreading under your skin as Steve readjusted his feet beneath the table. His fingernails scratched at the wood, tapping as he glanced out the window and back again. “I…” he pursed his lips, avoiding your eyes. “-fucked up,” he hissed. Your stare widened. “Steve!” you gasped. He looked at you sheepishly. “Apologies,” he muttered. Clearly, your look of abject confusion was enough to spur him on. He leant forwards, urging you to do the same. A woman stood at the next table. Both of you watched her leave. Steve turned back to you, his eyes trained on the coffee cup nestled between his palms. “Our...mutual friend. The blonde,” he said quietly. You squeezed his arm again to signal understanding. “Well...as it turns out, I enjoy his company a bunch.” Steve’s eyelashes fluttered upwards, bashful gaze swimming above pink cheeks. He bit his lip. “A bunch. You see?” “I see,” you replied gently. Steve released a wistful sigh.

He licked his lips, fingers playing with the mug handle. “Things happened at the lakes that I didn’t expect. That I never woulda...that I-” he sighed, hanging his head.

“I told him it was a mistake.” He blew out a puff of air. “What a ninny,” he chided himself under his breath. You tilted your head. It was breaking your heart. “Do you think it was a mistake?” Steve shook his head, sighing again. “No,” said quietly. “But now he won’t talk to me. Not like before– as though he’s realised it was a mistake. He’s done with ol’ chum over here. I can’t blame him. I guess it’s not a big deal for a god and whatnot but for me-” Steve swallowed, words drying up. “Trust me, I know how it feels” you whispered.

Steve’s eyes met yours. They were glassy with tears, darting from your own to the pictures hanging on the wall and back again.

“I fucked up,” he breathed again. His voice trembled on the swear.

“It’s alright,” you cooed sadly as your thumb stroked Steve’s palm. You squeezed again. "It's gonna be alright."

Loki paced back and forth across the rug in his living room.

He’d tried buzzing your apartment four times at thirty minute intervals. Each time, he had been left more enthused than the previous.

His mind was alight with the thrill of the plot.

Through an entirely subtle process of elimination over the past hours, he had deduced that there was only one member of the team you could be with on this auspicious morning. Rogers. And after his conversation with his brother – he needed the intel you had most certainly gathered – whether intentionally or no.

There was more to this ‘mission’ of yours than met the eye, of this he was certain. He was certain, because he had planted the seeds himself.

There was a knock at the door. Loki’s feet skidded back against the rug in his haste to the handle, throwing it wide and bustling you inside.

“-Loki-” you gasped while he glanced to either side of the hallway before spinning you against the wall with a ravishing kiss.

His senses came alive beneath your touch. The bright cool of your skin, the scent of coffee and spiced gingerbread clinging to your hair; an almost imperceptible tacky patch on your cheekbone where some soul had left a passing kiss. Lipbalm. Rogers.

“What have you been up to my secretive elf?” he purred against your parted lips. Your coat hung open, the avengers uniform you had donned this morning for his benefit, he was sure; on half-display.

“I...uh-” Loki smirked as your palms steadied against the wall. You were panting, face flushed from the onslaught of his affections. Fingers raked through your hair as you met his eyes, blinking several times.

“You tied your hair back,” you noted, dazed.

Loki scoffed at the attempt at subterfuge, grabbing your hand.

“Come,” he said as he pulled you towards the sofa. You landed with a soft bounce as the god took centre stage in the living room. He pressed his fingertips together, hands peaked in a triangle. It touched his lips briefly. “Brace thyself, darling” he drawled. Unbuttoning your coat, Loki felt his gaze fall down the black material tight to your arms. It clung to your chest, the zip far too low for any official business. His stare lingered on the curve of your waist, how it taunted and teased him as you shuffled back on the sprawling sofa.

“Consider me braced,” you said pointedly. He cleared his throat. “My brother,” he started, pausing for effect. You stared at him expectantly.

Loki admitted to himself that he was a little disappointed you did not seem more intrigued by the fatted bounty of gossip he was about to spill forth. But he decided to maintain the theatre it deserved regardless. “-is in love with…” he paused again, smirking mischievously- “Rogers.” Your head fell back, landing in the cushions as your hands covered your face. “Oh thank fuck for that!” you gasped, beginning to laugh despite yourself. Loki frowned. This was not the response he had expected.

Between sighs of relief, you peered through your fingers at the bemused god. He was standing with his hands on his hips, the irritation palpable. The foot began to tap.

“Come here,” you placated. Patting the cushion beside you, his face softened; but an eyebrow remained raised.

“I would have thought my most excellent investigations would yield a smidgeon more praise from you my dear,” he said with feigned annoyance as he sat. “Nonetheless, I imagine your response means welcome news?” You nodded. “Steve feels the same. At least – I think he does.” Loki’s face scrunched. “You think? Please. Rogers should be on his hands and knees thanking the norns for my brother’s affections.” It was your turn to frown. “But Steve doesn’t know how Thor feels – your brother’s been palming him off.” Loki smirked.

“Not like that,” you sighed as you fell back again against the cushions. “We have to do something Loki...they’re mad about each other. They both think the other isn’t interested for one reason or another. They just need-” “-a little nudge?” Loki purred.

You met his stare. Those beautiful eyes swirled with the warm glow of the treelights, sparking mischief in golden flecks buried in deepest blue. Shadows cast by candlelight danced in the carve of his cheekbones.

“A little nudge,” you repeated, tilting your head with a knowing smile.

“After all, it would be rude not to return the favour. Don’t you agree?” the god murmured as his fingers danced up your suit.

They fastened around the zip at your chest, pulling slowly down. In seconds, Loki had gracefully shifted and buried his face in your cleavage. Hot kisses worked against the skin, breath warming any hint of chill still lingering in your bones.

Your hands slid past his temples as he made it to your neck, fingers winding in the lengths of his ponytail before pulling it free.

“Minx,” he slurred against the curve.

You could feel the sharp of his teeth against your collarbone as he smiled. Hands sliding over his broad shoulders, you took a moment to appreciate the tight knit of the camel sweater he wore at the meat of his biceps. Camel, he’d insisted. Not beige. And in the heady afterglow of lovemaking amidst a sea of sparkling Christmas lights, a cunning plan began to form.

You made your way to the common room, gift-bag swinging.

The presents that you and Loki had procured for your team-mates sat nestled inside – one for Scott, one for Wanda.

The tradition was a fairly new one, but a highlight of the festive calendar. On Christmas Eve, before outsider guests for Tony’s annual party began to arrive- the Avengers gathered and exchanged all manner of tat and risque shit. You often wondered how much the picture on your phone of Bruce holding up the dinner-plate sized cock ring Tony had made for him would fetch on the open market. But you had decided long ago that it was priceless. “Brother!” you imitated in a deep, accented growl.

Thor spun on the common room sofa, his wary look melting to a wide smile. You ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck. He spun, making you squeal. A whining mash of faint tunefulness emitted from his chest as the god lowered you to the ground. Jingle Bells. “Ah, you pressed the penguin’s nose” he hummed, booping the knitted beakish blob. “He sings,” he explained, pleased with himself. “I can see that,” you said as you made your way to the tree. “But turn around – you can’t see which presents are ours...” Thor obliged, smiling as he busied himself fluffing a garland by the fireplace. "Perhaps we should invite my Penguin friend to the carol concert at Stark's festive jamboree tomorrow," he boomed across the room. You watched him, remembering the feeling of acting normally while tendrils of heartache wrapped around your insides.

"-Certainly, he can hold a tune better than I" Thor continued, chuckling to himself. A pang of sadness mellowed as you turned back to the pile beneath the tree. Scanning, you tried to look for one that could be Steve’s – but none fit the bill. “Okay I’m done,” you said casually as you stood. Thor continued fluffing the garland. You sidled over, trying to act casual. “Have you um...added yours yet?” Thor shook his head regretfully. “Having a little trouble with my assigned giftee” he muttered. His eyes flickered to yours guiltily. “There is something I wish to give them, but I am unsure it would be welcome.” A small smile played on your lips. “Something tells me any gift of yours would be welcome,” you said, watching his bottom lip roll beneath the top with a sceptical grunt. “Is it something I can help with?” you probed, “maybe a second opinion would ease your mind.” “No,” Thor mumbled. He sighed. “I fear this is something I must endeavour alone, sister.” You frowned. How the fuck did Thor manage one of these cunning plans, you wondered as Michael Buble crooned in the background. “I wished to speak to you as it happens,” he murmured. Your lips pursed. The tone of his voice, the tension in his shoulders. Flashing lights interwoven in the fireplace garland illuminated a newly crimson hue to his skin. “Did my brother...mention anything to you of late?” You snorted. “You’ll have to be more specific when it comes to Loki. He never shuts up,” you smiled, feigning ignorance. Thor chuckled. “Indeed,” he said as he picked at a ribbon. “Well then...more specifically about, me.” You shook your head. You hated lying to him, but in this case – it was for the greater good. The god nodded softly, still inspecting the ribbon between his fingers. “Good. Well. That wasn’t what I wished to speak to you about anyway.” You swallowed. Cryptic Thor was never a welcome guest at any gathering. “My brother,” he continued cautiously, eyeing you before moving his fingers to another strand of greenery hanging over the side of the mahogany mantel. “-He intends to declare his love for you this Yuletide.”

Your jaw dropped, neck craning forwards. “Oh,” was all you could manage.

The side of Thor’s mouth twitched in an apologetic smile. “I am aware that your relationship has been, what is the parlance...taken ‘back to basics’ in some respects-” “Yeah,” you mumbled. Suddenly the ribbons decorating the garland looked very interesting. You and he stood in silence, straightening Pepper’s ornamentation.

Thor cleared his throat. “Knowing you the way I do sister,” he said softly, “I thought that forearmed would be forewarned.” “It’s the other way around,” you snipped. "Forewarned is forearmed." Out the corner of your eye, you saw Thor’s face fall. “Sorry,” you added quietly. The god’s hand curled around your shoulder, pulling you to him in a brief sidehug before releasing it.

“It’s just...we agreed not to rush things,” you explained under your breath.

You knew that he knew this, but verbalisation was needed. The cogs of your mind whirled.

“We haven’t moved back in together, we just keep a few things at each others places...go on a lot of dates, we’re working on ourselves, you know? Avoiding the mistakes we made last time. Like...well, like rushing things.” Thor turned towards you, bicep leaning against the mantle-piece as he listened diligently. You could feel the track of his gaze over your face.

Unable to take it anymore, you turned to look at him. “He’s doing so well, Thor. We’re doing so well. I’m happy. Really happy,” The words sounded panicked. You hated that. Thor reached out, cupping your hand in his. “I just...I don’t want it to ruin anything,” you finished. Looking up, the god’s concerned stare was waiting like you knew it would be.

“Do you love him?” was all Thor said.

Heat rose in your cheeks.

The truth was that you did. That you always had, and probably always would. But in hindsight, those three little words had heralded the beginning of the end last time. When his rose-tinted effort to contain the smarm and arrogance had well and truly gone absent without leave.

In some ways, the old Loki had taken your love to mean your unending loyalty. Unconditionally, in the truest sense of the word. Your unquestioning support and adulation no matter his behaviour, however many times you tried to stand your ground. And while his actions these past months had gone a long way to assuage those lingering doubts – the fear that it could flare up his old habits made your blood run cold.

Seconds ticked on while Thor’s question hung in the air.

“I thought it best you have time to consider it before the moment was upon you,” he said quietly. “My apologies if I have overstepped.”

You shook your head, linking your fingers through his. Without realising, tears had begun to prick your eyes. He raised a palm to your cheek, wiping away a droplet which had spilled over the rim. “No tears, sis” he rumbled lovingly. “It’s Christmas.” You felt a weak smile grow as Thor extended his forefinger. It lingered in the air between you. He paused, raising his eyebrows.

He moved the finger slowly to the penguin’s beak.

It pressed against the jumper. Against the lumpy misshapen knob of black knit, Thor's eyes never leaving yours.

And as the squeaking whine of electronic Jingle Bells filled the air, it dissolved the scent of sadness into a waft of cinnamon candlesmoke. You and the god of Thunder began to laugh.

Loki leant against the counter of your kitchenette.

He watched as you waited for the kettle to finish boiling, staring at it intently. Something was off. Your fingertip ran around the rim of a glass teapot sitting on the side. Loki could smell the spiced chai leaves from here. “Are you alright, darling?” he ventured cautiously. You offered a weak smile as the kettle clicked off the boil. Steam billowed around your jawline as you poured.

Loki was careful not to let his face betray the nerves bubbling in his stomach. If he was honest with himself, he’d been waiting for something to crop up that would throw the fine-sailing vessel of your relationship off-course.

It’s only a matter of time until she changes her mind, he’d think with twisting sadness as he watched you sleep. With me, it’s always just a matter of time.

He absorbed the purse of your lips, the absent-minded wipe of a droplet of tea from the counter-top before you blew the steam gently. Its motion sent a wave of rich tea and spices in his direction.

Your slipper socks rustled against the tiles as you made your way over to him, still resting against the counter’s lip. You set the mug down to his side, hands sliding over his hips. They clasped behind his back at the base of his spine.

“I have to talk to you about something, and it’s not easy-” you murmured softly.

Your eyes were wide and vulnerable, a slight tremble of your lip making his heart race. The scent of your festive perfume filled his nostrils, like ginger biscuits.

“Go on,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure he could manage much more.

You swallowed thickly, fingers toying with the back of his sweater. Black, today. Loki hoped it was not an ensemble of foreshadowing. “I ran into your brother in the common room."

Loki exhaled a sigh of relief. “Oh,” he breathed, a small smile breaking. But your expression didn’t change. The god felt your fingers pull nervously against his sweater. Bad for the knit. “He um-now, don’t be mad at him-” Loki began to frown. “He uh, mentioned that you were maybe thinking about...um, saying something soon. To me.” Realisation blossomed, vines of anger and embarrassment twisting around the thought as he cursed his brother’s loose lips. He should have known. Loki swallowed, feeling his features harden but being unable to stop it.

Your gaze fell, the trace of your fingertips around his middle as you brought them together in front of you; pulling nervously at the ends.

“That devious, two-faced buffoon” Loki muttered bitterly, concerned eyes darting back to your face. “I told him that in confidence.” You looked up at him incredulously. “Well, he told you about Steve in confidence.” “That’s different,” he snipped, noting the immediate rise of your eyebrow. “It’s you.” he finished, glancing to the floor as he felt his cheeks begin to flush. “Loki…” he heard you begin softly, curling a rogue strand of hair behind his ear. He couldn’t look. “Loki,” you repeated, firmer this time. Your forefinger nudged beneath his chin, tilting his face up. He wondered if he looked as wilted as he felt. From the look in your eyes, he suspected he did.

“I understand,” he heard himself say. It was petulant. It was cold and detached in a way that scared him. The warm hit of your lips meeting his unexpectedly made his knees buckle, hands bracing against the counter-top. Your palms slid up his chest, over the tensed ropes of shoulder muscle, over the curve of his neck. Everything was in that kiss. The heat, the longing, the need. “Loki,” you breathed softly into his open mouth. “Mmm,” he mewled, eyes closed. “I love that you feel that way, I’m just…I’m scared that-” Loki opened his eyes. He saw a swirl of tears threatening the beautiful hues of your irises. There would be no tears of sadness this Christmas, he had decided. Not on his account. “Afraid, of things that may change?” he probed quietly. You nodded.

Loki sighed, cupping your jaw. He ran a thumb back and forth across your lips, moist from the kiss. “Change be not always a harbinger of doom, I hope the last few months have reassured you of that.” You nodded again. “I know that it's different now, it just...took me by surprise. I hadn’t expected...I just-not yet...” you trailed off. Loki smiled softly. The way your body was pressed against him, as close as you could be. The way your fingers gripped and grasped against each dip of muscle it encountered as though he would turn to dust if you did not.

Loki realised in that moment that if this scenario had occurred years before, he would have been insulted. He would have been childish. Enraged, perhaps, at the audacity of the woman he adored doubting him. But now, all he felt was closeness. The bravery of your admission that he felt his soul. That you trusted him again.

Words, he pondered as he placed a lingering kiss on your forehead. What wounds have I inflicted on this woman with words.

Action must once more be paramount. The words can heal, he realised as he memorised the softness of your skin beneath his lips. But words can wait. “Perhaps we can agree” he began, measuring every syllable with the rise and fall of your chest against his own, “that, should you feel comfortable in doing so...you could, say it first- when it is right for you. When it is right for us.”

His voice was deep and melodic, a rumbling lullaby of devotion he willed would still your thundering heart. He hoped you could feel the love simmering in those words. He had never hoped anything more. You tilted your head into the curve of his neck, kissing the exposed skin. “-and be safe in the knowledge the sentiment will be returned, when you are ready” he added quietly.

Your hands slipped once more around his hips, pulling him tightly against you with your head buried in his neck. Loki held you like that, letting the waft perfume from your hair fill his nostrils.

I love you, he mouthed silently.

The soundless click of his tongue over mute syllables wound its way through strands of your hair.

He felt your fingers begin toying with the waistband of his trousers. A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “Darling,” he purred as your head left his shoulder. You tilted your face to meet his gaze, alight with the comfortable joy he knew so well.

“You’re amazing,” you whispered. A smile had spread across your face that made Loki’s heart burst. The first button on his chinos popped. “Well, quite-” he smouldered playfully. Loki felt his hips rock upwards into your waiting palm, a low groan bubbling in his throat while you stroked the arousal growing beneath cotton. “You fixed the secret Santa, didn’t you?” you coaxed. Changing the subject, Loki noticed. But he let it pass. It was hardly a question.

Loki rolled his lips, pondering. “I may have ensured that my brother and Rogers drew each others names, yes.” He let out another moan as you squeezed the thick root of his cock through the chinos. “Good boy,” you hummed. It sent a shudder of need up his spine.

“How long have you been planning this?” you said, beginning to walk backwards with Loki’s sweater firmly in your grip. He chuckled, curls tapping against his jaw. “A while,” Loki smouldered. “Seeds that I have planted have sprouted most elegantly. Although there were a few pieces of the puzzle which remained unclear until the last few days.”

You paused, making the god’s stomach collide with yours. He released an exaggerated ooft.

“Final pieces of the puzzle? Like the fact they actually have feelings for each other?” you giggled. Loki shrugged non-nonchalantly. You were playing. “A minor detail,” he drawled. “Everything needed to be in place, just in case.��� Your mouth hung open, stunned into silence. “It’s Christmas,” he added with mock-incredulity – as though it explained everything. “Miraculous things happen at Christmas in this realm, do they not?”

His fingers curled around your shoulders, switching your positions and lowering himself to the sofa. He widened his legs, hips flexing upwards. Fairy lights gleamed and sparked their warmth in a halo, golden spills rolling over your skin as you pulled the jumper you wore over your head. Firelight flickered, casting dancing shadows against the walls.

He would never understand the beauty of you. And perhaps, Loki surmised, he did not have to. It was his fortune to appreciate it, not question it.

A finger twirled in the air, evaporating his clothes in a seasonal golden and scarlet shimmer. Yours followed. Loki’s thighs widened further as you manoeuvred onto his lap, covering his mouth in a hungry kiss. His fingers raked through your hair, hips bucking up as he sought the sweetest harbour his body had ever known.

“Say it again,” he pleaded darkly as you slipped a hand between your bodies, guiding his throbbing cock to your entrance. Twin gasps cut the air as you seated yourself on the thick tip, slow motions rocking down into shallow moans. “Good boy,” you murmured lovingly in his ear.

Loki let his head fall back against the cushions, fingertips sinking into the soft rounds of your ass as he bottomed out. He let you work against his body, feeling your pleasure spill and slip against the taut veins of his cock. Every little gasp, every breathy groan of his name. Your god. Each slow roll of your hips met the gentle buck from a clench of his ass. Your god. He was yours, completely.

You knew that now for certain. He was sure of it. And all the while, a few floors below, his brother was wrapping a gift for Steve Rogers.

As the final strip of crinkled sellotape was placed firmly against the paper, and as the ribbon he had smuggled from the common room garland was retied- one might have been forgiven for thinking a green light glowed within it; leaking from loose edges.

Thor had frowned, doing a double take.

The package seemed to tingle in his hold. The blonde put the strange feeling down to nerves.

But as his younger brother lost himself in pleasure, spilling his seed and his devotion within the arms of his beloved; the gift had been made whole in Thor’s oblivious hands.

A gift that would change everything.

Continued in Comfort and Joy (Final)

Tags

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[neveragainfools]

"We've been in this town since before the brain existed."

Based on this photo of Carole Lombard.

[Photo ID: A digital drawing of Imelda Pulse, a pink woman with a floating head, and glowing, bubbly hair that's slicked back. She wears a floor length pink gown with a long sash draped from over her shoulder to the floor, detailed with more glowing bubbles. She pushes bead curtains to either side of her. "IMELDA PULSE" is written in an art deco font around her. end ID]

[adore-laur]

RENDEZVOUS

— a steamy flashback from the dadrry universe about harry as your fiancé 💍

——

After another shot of vodka went down the hatch, you still didn't qualify yourself as drunk. Tipsy was the more accurate feeling since every shot you had taken in the last ten minutes hadn't quite affected your bloodstream yet. The fifth one was being poured already. Or maybe the sixth. It didn't really matter since letting loose was what bachelorette parties were made for.

The event was being held in a small theater in downtown San Francisco, occupied by you and your friends, to celebrate the last few weeks before you officially became a married woman. A drag show was the extravaganza for the evening, and it was currently the intermission, so everyone was out of their seats drinking and catching up with each other.

You and Harry had needed a getaway amid the final phase of wedding planning. The both of you were staying at the Ritz-Carlton for the weekend, and it was nice to take a breather from the stress of the big day coming up. In the weeks leading up to the mini vacation, you had decided it would be perfect to have your bachelorette party in the scenic city. Most of your friends lived in surrounding areas, so you sent the invites out and hoped everything worked out. It clearly did because everyone was buzzed and having the time of their lives. 

Your throat hurt from loudly cheering on the drag queens who had just performed. The tiara on your head with a tiny veil attached was slipping off, and the bride-to-be sash across your body was getting wrinkled, but you couldn't care less. Happiness and love exuded from your friends who had come to carouse with you.

Harry had proposed a little over a year ago after he cooked a fancy New Year's Eve dinner and led you to the backyard at midnight to get down on one knee, popping the question with shaky hands and watery eyes. You were incredibly thankful it hadn't been a grand display in public. It had been just you and him at home under the string lights, with butterflies breaking loose in your stomach.

In planning the wedding, you had vowed to him that you wouldn't be a bridezilla. You'd allow him to have equal insight and let him completely take the reins regarding the food that will be served since it's his forte. Overall, the process hadn't been too draining. You worked well as a team, and he was always open to suggestions and last-minute changes of plans. The final touches would be put together once you came home from the trip. Then, it would finally be time to marry him.

"Did you leave Harry alone in the hotel room?" asked your friend, pulling you from your thoughts.

"Yeah, but I'm sure he'll find something to do," you said. "He can never sit still for too long."

She carefully fixed your tiara. "When's his bachelor party?"

"Next weekend. He's having it at the restaurant he works at."

"Not at the strip club?" she teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

You laughed. "He's mature enough to understand that I find it suspicious when guys go there for their bachelor party. Some call it their last night of freedom. How weird is that?"

You had nothing against strippers, but you thought it was reasonable that you'd rather have Harry spend his night somewhere else to celebrate his, you know, commitment to you.

"You're marrying such a gentleman. It makes me jealous," she said with a playful nudge. She wasn't wrong, so you just shrugged smugly and sipped your fruity cocktail.

Gasps and excited clapping suddenly stole your attention. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at the stage, watching the red velvet curtains draw back once again. Shuffling to your table, you smoothed down the back of your dress and sat.

The lights dimmed as people who worked at the venue began rolling a black piano onto the stage. You wondered what it would be used for since the drag queens earlier had strictly danced and lip-synced to music booming from the speakers. Other instruments were also being brought out—guitars, drums, and even a saxophone.

Growing more confused by the second, you turned around and stared at your friends around the room to see if they knew what was happening. All you received were mischievous smiles.

Before you could ask questions, you were abruptly pulled out of your seat and led to the front of the stage as people situated themselves by their respective instruments. You leaned into your friend and asked, "What's going on? This doesn't look like a drag show is about to happen."

She smirked and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Let's find out."

You didn't reply because the band started playing jazzy music as the stage lights turned on, revealing quite a modern setup for what you knew was definitely not a drag performance. A spotlight shone, and it began to move toward the left wings, where a silhouette of someone was waiting.

"Please give a warm welcome to Harry Styles!" introduced the saxophonist.

You just about choked on your Mai Tai.

Your vision finally focused on Harry as he strutted out wearing yellow trousers and a button-up under a suit jacket. A tiny microphone was clipped to his collar, and you couldn't even begin to guess what he had planned tonight. He gave you no inclination that he'd be here. No subtle hints had been dropped in conversations with him, and no sneaky clues had been given by your friends. It was actually shocking, considering he was usually awful at keeping secrets.

Everyone cheered for him; whistles and encouraging hollers were thrown his way as he held his arms out and walked toward center stage. You were too taken aback to join in as you watched him cut the band off with a gesture before facing the room with his hands behind his back.

Was his hair parted down the middle?

"Thank you, thank you," Harry said with a bow, his deep voice echoing throughout the theater. "It is so great to be here hosting a bachelorette party for the first time."

Wow. He had jokes up his sleeve, apparently. Was he about to do a stand-up routine?

The applause and praise continued as you shook your head in disbelief, letting a huge smile take over your face at the unexpected surprise.

"This is new territory for me," he said. I'm very excited to step back from my chef duties and do some comedy tonight."

There was no way he was going to do a comedy bit. You couldn't believe he crashed your party with a fancy suit and a routine ready to go. He was talking to your friend group in the audience like he was giving a Saturday Night Live monologue. You were going to lose it if he started playing the piano.

"You see, my fiancée and I go way back. We met about three years ago at a bar." He finally looked at you. "I ordered a lemon drop martini, and she ordered a strawberry margarita."

A stagehand brought out a clear martini and set it on the piano, and another one came down the stairs and placed a pink-colored margarita on your table. Your face heated at the simple yet thoughtful act.

"We talked for hours until I drunkenly asked her on a date. You know what she told me?" A plethora of whats were screamed from the crowd. "She said, 'Ask me again when you're sober!'"

Everyone laughed, and you hid your face in your hands. That wasn't even a joke; you had genuinely said that to him. You were blown away that he remembered such a tiny detail.

"Ultimately, I'm a very serious partner," Harry continued as he began sauntering toward the piano, "and nothing says serious partner like learning how to play the piano to impress my fiancée."

Taking a sip of your margarita, you glanced behind you. Some of your friends were recording him with their phones, and you were glad this could be something you could watch repeatedly.

Harry sat on the bench and exhaled. "Ooh, that feels good."

You had to wave one of the fans the drag queens gave out to cool down. He looked unfairly handsome, he was playing the goddamn piano, and he kept giving you secret looks that made you sweat.

"Now... I don't know if you've heard, but I'm not a boyfriend anymore." He stared straight at you. "I'm a fiancé now." Whistles from your friends caused him to proudly smile. "I'm also going to be dad," he casually blurted. "We're going to have a baby."

The entire room gasped, and you gaped at him with wide eyes. "We're not," Harry added after a short pause. "Wouldn't it be crazy if we were, though?" Your friends were now shaking you and battering you with questions. Harry smiled before his face dropped comically. "We're not."

He teasingly raised eyebrows and smirked at you as if to signify that you were actually pregnant, although you were drinking alcohol. Hopefully, everyone knew that you'd never be that stupid. 

The girls were gawking at you, but Harry rolled his lips in and shook his head to remove the confusion. He continued playing the piano, and your cheeks hurt from laughing so much. He was doing such a great job, and you were genuinely trying to figure out how he had pulled all of this off.

"I love my fiancée; she's my best friend," he said smoothly. "She's hilarious, honest, caring, fuckin' beautiful"—he trailed off and furrowed his eyebrows—"and, uh... good in bed." You rolled your eyes as he puckered his lips at you, more cheers filling the room.

"Yeah, that's right." He blew out a relieved breath. "I'm so grateful she doesn't live with her mother anymore."

"Oh my God, Harry!" you yelled with a surprised laugh.

It was a more private joke that no one understood fully, but it was funny nonetheless. You had used to live with your mother when you started dating Harry, and you always had to be quiet when he'd come over because, in his early twenties, testosterone needed to be having sex with you at the most inconvenient of times.

He winked at you before resuming. "However, for me, it's not about how my fiancée is in bed, even though I'd consider myself very lucky in that department. It's about her soul and her heart. And in all seriousness," he added as the laughter died, "I truly believe her soul is my love language."

Coos and squeals echoed at his statement, and you shyly smiled. You were the one who had taught him about all the different love languages; he had told you once that he thought your entire soul was what his was.

"Maybe some of you aren't convinced I'm a serious partner. You may be asking yourself: Did he really take secret piano lessons to do this? Well, if in doubt, just ask the maid of honor."

Your head whipped toward your maid of honor, sitting at a table behind you. She waved with a proud smile, and you gasped when you realized he must've done piano lessons with her since you knew she had played the instrument for several years.

Harry hummed loudly while closing his eyes, bringing your attention back to him. "I love being here in San Francisco. So much history."

The band behind him cheered as Harry dramatically sipped his martini. You'd never seen him so in his element with something besides his job. The confidence in the delivery of his jokes, the comedic timing, the professional stage setup—it was something you'd never forget.

"I've learned so much this week. Here's a few secrets about the hotel we're staying at," he said gaily. "Did you know they gave us the haunted room because of how pale I am?" He shook his head with a boyish smile. "That is funny."

You chuckled at the awful joke because he was actually paler than usual. It was the end of January, and he hadn't gone outside much since it'd been cold and gloomy by the coast where both of you lived.

"The bed in there is so creaky that it sounded like that one night in Mexico!" 

Shocked gasps and bursts of laughter rippled throughout your friends in the audience. It was a harmless joke about how you had all gone on a couples trip a while ago, and your friends had heard you and Harry getting down with it in the hotel room. It had been terribly embarrassing.

Harry laughed. "Everybody thinks we're a couple that has a lot of sex. We don't; that's why she sleeps in a different bed than me at home."

Okay, now that wasn't true.

"Except tonight!" he shouted cheekily while pointing at you. "I mean, I think I'm just about ready to take her home with how she looks right now."

The girls at your table nudged you, and you began to get flustered. He was giving you that look again.

Harry cleared his throat and stopped playing the piano. "All jokes aside, thank you so much to everyone for celebrating with her tonight. You've all been wonderful friends over the years, and I can't wait to see you all at the wedding. It'll be terrifying, but I'm so ready. Also, thank you for bearing with my terrible jokes. Have a good rest of the night!"

You applauded along with your friends, some of them throwing leftover confetti from the drag performance earlier toward him. He brought his hands together and bowed politely as the band played a closing song.

Harry's cheeks were as pink as your strawberry margarita when he walked down the stairs with one hand behind his back and the other adjusting his suit jacket. He locked eyes with you and pursed his lips, trying to hold back a smile. Everyone stood from their seats to greet him, and the band came down holding bouquets of white iris flowers, passing them out to each of your friends.

You met Harry halfway and instantly wrapped your arms around his waist as he tilted your head up for a messy kiss on the lips. He coaxed and smacked kiss after kiss out of you until your friends started making fake gagging noises from behind. He eventually pulled away and removed his hand behind his back to hold out a bountiful bouquet of red roses that matched the color of your dress.

"For my lovely fiancée." He gave you the bouquet and then turned your head so his mouth was by your ear. "I've got a taxi picking you up after this is done."

You nodded and ran your fingers across his stomach. "Sounds perfect. That was so incredible, Harry. And the piano? I'm impressed."

"It wasn't too much?" he asked, shyly rubbing a knuckle under his eyebrow. "I didn't know if you'd appreciate me crashing your girls night."

"Are you kidding? That was the best thing I've ever seen. I'm so proud of you."

Harry blushed, and you lovingly pinched his cheek. "Thanks. I was nervous because your friends always make fun of my jokes. I thought they wouldn't laugh."

"We were cracking up. You did so good," you complimented. "How did you keep it a secret from me? I had no idea."

"I'll never tell," he said with a cute shrug.

You lightly slapped his chest. "I'll get it out of you one day. Are you staying for the rest of the show?"

"It's your night, baby. Go enjoy it with your friends," he said. "I'll be waiting in the hotel room. You should stop by for a little rendezvous."

Your tipsy mind missed his attempt at a joke entirely. "We're staying in the same room, though."

"Bloody hell," he said with a laugh. "How much alcohol have you had?"

"Excuse me, not even a lot. Mind your business. I'm having a great time."

"I'm glad you're having fun. That makes me happy." Harry adjusted your tiara and then softly pecked the corner of your mouth three times. "I'll see you back in the room, okay?"

"For our rendezvous?"

"Our top secret rendezvous," he murmured against your temple. "Don't go around telling anyone, all right?"

"Sure thing," you replied while squeezing his sides. "You can go now."

An offended scoff escaped him, and he cradled the back of your head and leaned in. "Watch your mouth. I expect you to behave when you get back."

You puckered your lips and hummed contemplatively. "But it's my special day; you said so yourself. I can say whatever I—"

Harry cut you off by pressing his lips to your bottom one, biting it with his teeth before pulling back. "I love you so much, but that attitude isn't going to fly with me tonight."

You rolled your eyes. "Okay, dad."

"I'm leaving before this gets weird," he said with a smile. "Be safe, have fun, and call me if you need anything."

"Now you literally sound like a dad."

"Shush," he said. "I love you. I'll see you soon."

You pecked his lips one last time, tasting the sour lemon residue from his martini. "Love you."

"Have fun, ladies," he called out to your friends. "Take care of her, yeah?"

They all nodded, and Harry hugged you before heading to the stage to shake hands with the band. Soon after he was gone, the lights in the theater dimmed again, and the curtains opened for the final portion of the show. You headed back to your seat, feeling exceptionally giddy.

The rest of the party went by in a flash. Wigs, pop songs, and glitter invaded your brain, and now you were ready to return to the hotel. The tone he'd used earlier had made a shiver run down your spine. Low, insinuative, and almost impatient.

It was a tone that suggested you were in for a treat when you got back.

——

The key card swiftly slid into the slot. Two chirp-like beeps sounded, indicating that it was unlocked. Opening the heavy door, you stumbled inside the hotel room in the black heels you had already started to unclasp in the back of the taxi. There was confetti stuck to the bottom of them, and it nearly made you slip on the hardwood floors. That, and there was also a trail of rose petals and tea light candles weaving throughout the presidential suite that you didn't remember seeing when you had left earlier. 

You giggled to yourself as you followed the trail to the bedroom. Oh, Harry. You had almost forgotten he was here.

When you walked through the doorway, the king-size bed came into view. So did your fiancé. Harry was sitting pretty on the silk sheets with a flute of champagne in his left hand as he looked out the window at the San Francisco skyline. He was wearing the same outfit from his surprise act not too long ago, but his hair had become messier, and his eyes were glassy from the bubbly liquid you noticed was already half gone from the bottle on the nightstand.

You crawled toward him on the bed, setting your bouquet down. "Hi. I'm back."

His gaze was focused on you. He granted no response as his lips took a sip of the pale and fizzy drink he held so delicately, the gold engagement band on his ring finger gleaming from the moonlight illuminating the room. A low groan escaped his mouth when you straddled his thighs and applied pressure to his already hard cock. He wasn't saying anything, but you knew exactly what would get him to speak.

"What's got you so hard, baby?" you asked softly, tutting. "Were you thinking about me?"

His lips twitched as he finished the champagne and set it on the ground beside the bed. "Like you don't fuckin' know. Look at yourself, darling. It's honestly a shock that I wasn't on my knees for you at the theater."

Your hands rubbed up and down his thighs. "I had a feeling you'd like this little number."

It had been a struggle to get through the door to leave since his touch had been all over you the second you put on the red satin slip dress.

"What about me? Do you like my outfit?"

Such a narcissist, you thought to yourself. You ground against him, and he let out a breathy moan. "I do. Apparently, no boxers are part of the get-up."

Harry closed his eyes and smirked. "I might have no boxers on, but there's something else you might find. I went and did some quick shopping while you were gone."

Your slowed thoughts tried to catch up to what he could have been hinting at. "Shopping, huh? What did you buy?"

His large hands kneaded your ass. "Take a look."

He leaned forward and guided your hand to the button of his trousers. You quickly flicked it undone as he removed his suit jacket and began undoing the button-up. His body lifted on the bed so you could slide the garment off easier, and he hissed when it brushed past his cock.

Slowly but surely, his legs underneath were revealed, and your face heated to a thousand degrees. Fishnet tights. His leg hair and tiger tattoo peeked out from under the crosshatch material stretched tight against his skin. The redness of his cock looked painful from its restraint under them.

"I might've bought a little something too," you admitted as you scratched his skin through the thin fabric.

"Yeah?" He jerked his hips when your fingers grazed the head of his cock. "Show me, then. Go on."

You sat on your knees and lifted your dress to reveal the baby pink garter around your upper thigh. "It's your favorite color."

Harry licked his lips as his fingers delicately rubbed the lace. "I see that, sweetheart. Anyone particular on your mind when you bought it?"

"Was there anyone on your mind"—you snapped the waistband of his fishnets—"when you bought these?"

He bit his lip. "You're the only one I think of. The only one I would wear these for. I would crawl on my knees to you wearing them if that's what you wanted."

"Is that so? Quite the visual."

"I'll do it if you want me to." He paused, a smile slowly creeping across his face. "We can practice the garter toss for our wedding."

You made a noise of protest. "We are absolutely not doing that in front of our families. It'll be so humiliating."

"Don't have to, because we can do it right now," he suggested. A nip was given to your neck before he climbed off the bed and grabbed a chair.

Your eyebrows arched. "What are you doing?"

"We're doing this the traditional way," he explained with a nonchalant shrug. "I have to go under your dress and take it off."

"Will you be nice, or will you tease me?"

"Which do you prefer?"

You swung your legs over the bed and sat in the chair. "I prefer the way that gets you inside me as soon as possible."

"Well, I'll let you know once I'm between your thighs," he said, kneeling on the carpeted floor and waving his hands for you to spread open for him.

"No tickling, or I'm staying in another room," you warned as you slid off your heels and parted your legs.

Harry started crawling toward you with his tousled hair and day-old stubble, only wearing his fishnets and unbuttoned dress shirt. He never broke eye contact with you until he reached where you were sitting.

Your satin dress was then lifted over his head. You could instantly feel his hot breath against your legs, his lips grazing every patch of skin he could find. He left an open-mouthed kiss over your underwear that was already damp, and you moaned when his facial hair rubbed against your inner thigh.

You suddenly felt his teeth grab the garter as he pulled it down to your ankle. He took it off the rest of the way with his hand, bringing it over your shoe and moving out from under your dress. He stuck it between his teeth again and removed his button-up. Green eyes stared at you, and you clenched your legs under his intense stare. His tattooed torso was on full display. He was so, so beautiful.

Harry grabbed the garter and slid it on his bicep before saying, "Stand up."

You got up and switched spots with him, standing in front of him while he sat in the chair. He crossed his legs, his thighs thickening even more under the fishnets. You walked over and parted them so you could straddle him. The chair was thankfully wide enough to fit both of your knees on either side of him. You could almost feel his cock throb as you started desperately grinding against him to offer relief.

"Baby, slow down. Shit, slow down," he said quickly, his hands gripping your waist. "I need to last. You'll make me come right now if you keep doing that."

Slowing down, you took your time with each grind on his thigh. The pressure of the muscle felt like heaven as your core clenched around nothing. "Is that better?" you asked, raising your dress to see how his body reacted underneath you.

"Yes," he choked out, his neck straining. "I need to be inside you so bad."

"How bad?"

"So bad. I'm fuckin' throbbing for you. Please get on the bed."

You squeezed one of his balls through the fishnets, his hips bucking. "Where does it ache? Tell me how to make it better."

"Get on the bed," he gritted. "I'm not going to ask again."

There was the dominance you wanted. You nipped his earlobe and crawled off his legs. He immediately stood, hissing as he palmed himself through his tights. You helped him take them off.

"Top or bottom?" he asked while closing the curtains. "My fiancée's choice."

"Neither. I want it from behind."

"Say less." He turned around, gripping his cock and squeezing it once. "On the bed. Now."

You quickly slipped your dress and underwear off and knelt on the bed, facing the headboard. Harry got in position behind you, his cock resting on your lower back. He moved your hair to one side and whispered, "On all fours."

You placed your forearms on the bed and arched your back so he had a good angle. "Open your mouth," he commanded. You tilted your head up and to the side as he leaned in to spit in your awaiting mouth. His saliva pooled on your tongue, and you swallowed it down willingly. "Good girl."

Harry then reached his arm out to hold onto the headboard. The engagement ring on his finger caught your eye, as did his veiny hand that tightly gripped the burgundy wood.

The first thrust was divine. Searing pressure filled your walls, and Harry whimpered into your neck at your instant clench around his cock. He continued deeply thrusting into you as he took the garter off his arm and put it around your wrists so that they were restrained in front of you. Your hips burned. Harry's other hand squeezed your breast.

"Go faster," you said as his hand trailed down to your stomach, his long middle finger lightly grazing your clit.

He pounded harder, his skin slapping as the headboard creaked from the force. He was hitting all the deep spots, his pelvis meeting your ass each time. Your hands gripped the sheets when he glided his fingers up and down your dripping core. His head was nestled in your neck, muffled groans and pants leaving him when you pushed up your hips with each new thrust.

He removed his fingers that were coated with your arousal and spread his palm on your lower stomach. "Can you feel me there?"

You nodded fervently, crying out when a deep trust had you literally feeling him in your stomach. "Holy shit, Harry. I feel you. Please don't stop."

He pressed down and rubbed your stomach, the knot from your orgasm growing and bubbling up quickly. In one swift movement, he brought you to a sitting position as his cock continued stretching your wet walls. His thighs were touching yours, and you could feel them tense and tremble as you got closer, clenching hard around him.

"I'm going to get your name tattooed on my thigh right here," he said, taking the garter off your wrists and moving one of your hands to touch his right thigh. 

You were too submerged in ecstasy to reply to his random confession. A couple more thrusts had you blindly reaching back to grab his hand so you could come. He held it tightly as you unraveled, arching against him from the pleasure leaving you.

"That's my girl," he said in your ear. "My love, my love, my love. So gorgeous, coming for me like this."

Your ears were ringing, and Harry eventually spilled inside you while you still clenched from your remaining orgasm. You felt his warm release shoot inside you, his hand still holding yours and his body falling on top of you as he groaned hotly against your cheek. Heavy breathing was coming from both of you. Harry finished coming but kept his cock inside you, with throbs and twitches happening every so often.

"If we weren't engaged already," he started, "I'd propose to you right now because that was the best I've ever felt. Wow. My body feels all tingly."

You groaned, his dead weight on top of you making it hard to breathe. "Get off me. You're sweaty."

Harry rolled over and stared at the ceiling with his hands clasped on his stomach. The dim light illuminating the room and the perspiration glistening on his skin accentuated the carved outline of his abs, and you couldn't help but trace them with your fingertips.

"Shower?" he asked.

"Please."

He got up and carried you toward the bathroom. Everything in there was white marble, and the brightness hurt your eyes. The shower was small but comfortable enough to fit both of you. You already took one in the morning, but it would feel nice after a long, eventful night. It would also help you sober up as much as possible so you don't suffer through a terrible hangover tomorrow.

After laying down a towel and setting you atop the sink, Harry turned on the shower. He took off both of your engagement rings and then stood in front of the mirror. He inspected his stubble while he waited for the water to heat up.

"Should I shave?"

"Why?" you asked with a sharp tone that had him immediately raising his hands in surrender.

"All right," he mumbled with a teasing smile. "Blimey, woman. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"What are you even saying?" you asked languidly. "I hate it when you speak old-timey British to me."

"Are you cheesed off at me now?"

"You're literally speaking gibberish." You hopped off the counter. "I'm getting in the shower. Goodbye."

Harry followed you and dove under the hot water, trapping you in a hug from behind. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" The soft skin of his stomach against your back had you melting into him.

"I don't want you to divorce me before we get married," he explained, kissing your jaw. "I'm just playing it safe."

"Harry, you're the only person who can annoy me and make me endeared at the same time."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Yes," you replied, picking up the shampoo bottle you brought and handing it to him. "It makes me want to marry you right now."

He spurted a dollop of shampoo into his palm and began massaging it into your scalp with gentle and soothing motions. "I can't wait to marry you, either. Gonna treat you like a gentleman."

You lulled your head back, resting it on his collarbone. "You already do."

"I'll do it even more when I'm your husband, though. Make dinner for you every night and take you out on the town." He gravitated one hand toward your stomach. "Give you so many babies."

"Not so fast," you interjected with a dreamlike smile. "No babies anytime soon."

Harry filled the shower cup with water and poured it over your sudsy hair. "I hear you. Just know that I'm ready whenever you are."

"Let's get married first. I want you all to myself for a while."

"You always have me. That'll never change."

You turned him around so you could wash his hair next, opting for the same shampoo since he liked to steal it for himself anyway. After a prolonged yet comfortable silence, you asked, "Were you serious about tattooing my name on your thigh?"

"I'm dead serious," he replied. "I might even do it at my bachelor party. I work with a guy who's coming, and he does tattoos in his free time."

"But why on your thigh? It seems like a risqué place for it."

Harry turned his head and gave you a blank stare. "Would you rather me get it in a corny place like over my heart?"

You laughed, lathering shampoo in his curly hair. "No, not really. I guess you're right. It's kind of a secret spot for only us to know."

"Not unless I wear shorts all the time."

"Yeah, but thankfully, you wear pants every day at work. I don't want your coworkers to see that."

"Why not? I can't show you off anymore?" he teased, reaching back to pinch your side. "Wow, you propose to a woman, and suddenly she wants to be anonymous."

"Shut up," you muttered through a smile. "I honestly don't care. Just please don't get it inked in an ugly font."

Harry moved under the shower head, closing his eyes and slicking his hair back. "Well, it's a good thing I was going to ask if you'd write it out for me."

"Seriously?"

"No," he said in a deadpan manner, spitting out some water that had gotten in his mouth. "I'm thinking Comic Sans."

Poking the soft skin under his belly button, you said, "You think you're so funny now because you did a five-minute comedy routine."

He didn't provide a retort, but you saw him grin as he washed the rest of the shampoo from his hair. His nose was scrunched while he scratched his scalp and cleaned the foamy residue off his face.

After a peaceful moment of nothing but the sound of the shower water beating down, Harry opened his arms and brought you in for a hug. "I love you. You know that?"

You kissed his collarbone. "Where did that come from?"

"Dunno." He shrugged and cradled your head with his hands. "It hit me that we're getting married in a month."

It had been hitting you as well. You'd been waiting so patiently for the special day to arrive. "I love you," you said quietly. Thank you for tonight and every night. You make life worth living."

"Are you trying to make me cry?"

"Yes."

"Cool."

It fell silent as you stared longingly at each other with growing smiles. Harry slowly started getting closer to your face, his dimples carving deeper until his eyes crossed from how near he was. His forehead dropped against yours, and you rolled your lips in when he attempted to steal a kiss from you.

"How about another rendezvous, but this time we get in bed and fall asleep?" you suggested, reaching around him and shutting the shower off. Sporadic drips and exiting warmth greeted you.

He pouted. "Only if you kiss me."

"We've done enough of that today."

"You're really not going to kiss your fiancé after I just told you I'd give you babies? That's dire."

You laughed and admired a water droplet cascading from his pointed nose. "If you blow dry my hair for me, I'll reconsider."

Flinging the shower curtain open, Harry yanked a fluffy towel from the hook on the wall, then gently wrapped it around your body before grabbing one for himself and tying it low on his hips. The blow dryer next to the mirror didn't have a long cord, so you sat on the counter for easier access and squeezed any remaining wetness from your hair into the sink. Meanwhile, Harry covered the top of his head with a towel. He looked like the Virgin Mary.

You gave him a comb, and he took the blow dryer with his other hand, turning it on and gesturing at you to ensure it wasn't too hot on your skin. For the next ten minutes, the sound of the loud dryer filled the space. It would have been a stressful sound in any other situation—trying to dry soaking wet hair from the pool before dinner reservations or untangling knots from yesterday's sleep. This time, it was relaxing. Domestic. A moment in time.

The soothing scratches Harry gave to your head as he combed through every citrus-scented strand could have put you to sleep. The hotel room's air conditioner was cold and crisp, but occasionally, he'd lower the dryer so it blew warm air on your arms.

Before you knew it, the dryer clicked off, and peaceful quietness surrounded you. Harry's hair dried much quicker than yours, so he took off the towel on his head and tied some of his damp curls up in a ponytail for the night.

His hands planted themselves on either side of your legs. "Kiss time," he whispered, his arms taut.

You slid off the counter, finding yourself trapped by his body—not that you minded. Grabbing his left hand, you raised it to your lips to kiss his ring finger, then put his gold engagement band back on.

"My mouth is up here."

You grinned. "And? What about it?" Harry annoyingly pushed his forehead into your cheek, grumbling something incoherently. You pushed it away and asked, "What did you say?"

"I said I think I'll die if you don't kiss me," he repeated dramatically.

"What kind of kiss do you want?"

He once told you that he had favorites for different situations: a nip, tug, peck, tongue, or the type where you both smile so big that the kisses become messy and mixed with giggles. The latter was your personal favorite.

He hummed, his nose wrinkling as he pondered. "The one where you do all the work."

You laughed softly. It wasn't necessarily a joke he was making; he genuinely enjoyed it when your lips moved against his. Sometimes, he just wanted to be kissed silly. It was never awkward, nor did it feel like a chore. He was the most kissable person to roam the earth, so resisting was hard.

"Okay," you said, draping your arms over his shoulders. "Only for a little bit, though. I'm exhausted."

Harry nodded and lifted you, setting you on the counter again. Your legs circled around his hips. "I'll return the favor tomorrow," he said.

The towel on his waist was hanging on for dear life. His eyelids were lazily drooping from tiredness, and his skin was flushed from the steam. How could someone look so pretty in hotel bathroom lighting?

Your hand on his cheek gently guided him to your mouth. His lips were damp and plush from the shower, parting naturally with each of your doting kisses. With his nose nudged against yours, pleased hums came from his throat as you alternated between his top and bottom lips. Kissing him never gets old. It could be soft or rough, long or short, brought about by love or annoyance. It was a cure all the same.

After a slow and innocent onslaught of kisses, you pulled away before you ended up making out with him until morning. Bruised, aching lips could wait.

Harry whined in protest. "That was only, like, five seconds."

"Guess what?" You trailed your fingertips along his neck. "You have the rest of your life to kiss me."

He yawned while shaking his head. "That's not enough time. Give me forever."

"I'll try," you said fondly, sliding your engagement ring back on.

You would until children of your own were born, which required you to share that love. Until your children's children withdrew even more of it. Yet, despite that, Harry would always be the first person you had given your heart to completely. He had never taken advantage of it. He had never made you doubt his love for you. It was the kind of love that was immortal. It would never die out and would remain the greatest feeling you'd ever felt in this life and the next.

If evermore was attainable, you liked to believe it was made possible by loving him.

——

[musekicker]

Ended up writing this because I couldn't sleep. Set in the Bill wins scenario au. And honestly, more written to try to iron out a look for decorated by Bill, Ford.

Ford's coat had been taken. Perhaps taken wasn't the correct word. More like snapped out of existence. Ford was sad to see it go. It had been a part of his wardrobe for so long. It felt weird to not have it. But Bill taking away something that was a part of Ford's "old" life was not a unusual thing for him to do. What was different was that somehow Bill had gotten it in his mind that Ford needed a new look.

His new clothes were in the shades of gold and black. Black pants, satin like material with embedded gold colored, metal shapes decorating the cuffs of the legs. A gold fabric sash around his waist. His shirt was a gold, sheer fabric. It was so light that it didn't even feel like it was there.

Instead of his boots he wore gold sandals, straps crossing over each other, a bit a past the ankles.

Jewelry took on the form of one earring on his right ear, a small curtain of tiny, gold triangles. The tag to his collar did have yet another presence of a triangle. Though with a difference. The triangle with formed out of bright blue jewels in the center of a gold, six fingered hand symbol.

The final thing that Bill had done was the presence of the markings. Ford would call them tattoos as they did not smear or rub off. But there was certainly no ink involved in the process. Just a finger snap and there were there.

The markings were all a bright blue color. In the same shade of blue that Bill's power sometimes took on.

Back of his neck and on both arms were lines one small triangles facing vertically. On the back of his hands were a single eye marking on each hand, the irises of the eyes bright gold. A bulk of the markings were located on his chest. A large triangle shape with a slew of eyes and tiny, tiny writing that from far away looked like mere squiggles According to Bill the writing simply said "If found, return to Bill Cipher.". A fail safe of sorts if Ford did manage to get out.

It made Ford feel like the pet that Bill was claiming him to be. Speaking of Bill, the triangle was still there, admiring his work.

"Oh look at you" Bill cooed. "You look perfect."

Ford scowled, not looking Bill in the eye.

He did not like how much he was exposed. Not to a lurid degree. But his scarred hands and chest were a part of himself he did not enjoy showing off. Bill did not mind though. Ford had never thought Bill to be someone to leer before. Yet here they were.

"But really. You're perfect." Bill said.

Bill took one of Ford's hands, and the fingers of Bill's right hand laced between some of Ford's fingers. A almost soft gesture. And it was for someone like Bill.

It brought up a memory of when he was much younger. The time he tried to hold someones hand. It had been part of a plan Stan had to help Ford get a date. Take the girls hand, offer a smooth line. It would work he promised.

Instead the girl had winced at the touch of his hand, staring at his fingers. These days Ford understood that her reaction most likely was more to the fact that he had made a unwanted move and not as much his fingers. But then.. he also couldn't help but feel like his fingers had been a part of the equation.

Bill had no such problems. No wincing at the sixth finger. As much as Bill would poke fun at the existence of Ford's six fingers on each hand, it was hardly the weirdest thing that Bill had seen. Not just in his experiences but in himself.

Ford was tempted to let Bill keep holding his hand. Then the disgust at both Bill and himself hit and he pulled his hand away. Ford could feel his face grow hot. Bill was smug, not missing the signs of embarrassment.

"You know, the offer to be equals still stands. No more chains, no more being locked up." Bill said. "You could even have your own little patch of land to rule over. Do whatever you want with it. Oh! You like that weird game with the dice and math right? You could play a game of it where your rolls and decisions affect actual people. Gives a little more interest to the game I think. Even I would give that game a try then." Bill said.

Ford was shocked that Bill had even remembered anything Ford had liked hobby wise. What wasn't surprise that Bill would find a way to twist it to be something that could be horrific and hurt people.

"I will tell you again Cipher. No." Ford said.

Bill seemed to scowl, even without a mouth. In the next moment the same hand that had been holding Ford's hand was gripping Ford's chin.Bill's grip was painful. For a moment Ford wondered if Bill was trying to break his jaw. It would not be the first time Bill had broken something, only to heal it when he had enough of the screaming that would follow. This time though that was not the case. Bill sensed that Ford's jaw would not hold up to this kind of pressure and his grip grew a bit less severe.

"I'll have your heart, Stanford Pines."

Ford expected something like Bill shoving his hand into his chest and pulling his heart out. In fact he braced himself for it. He would not know what Bill had planned to do in that moment as Bill's attention seemed to be elsewhere all of a sudden. As if he sensed something amiss.

"I'll be back soon. Don't go anywhere."

With a snap of his fingers, Bill was gone. Ford looked to the mirror he was still standing in front of. He stared at his reflection for a good while. Not at all feeling good about his look.

The line of triangle markings on Ford's left arm suddenly had a single eye in the middle of each one. A feature that had not been there a second ago. The markings blinked, or they winked. Ford couldn't help but think that winking was what they were doing.

In the span of time that the markings winked, the eyes disappeared. A sign to Ford that Bill was always watching him.

Always.

[fayes-fics]

Innocence Pt I

Innocence Series Masterpost

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgteron x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict teaches his intended what he can do with his mouth. First in a series following on from Temptation.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, innocence kink, dirty talk, sex education, nipple play, oral sex (m to f)

Word count: 4.0k

Authors note: welcome to this first in a new series of fics that follow on from Temptation! Thanks to @makaylan for beta read. I hope you all enjoy! <3

You wake to what sounds like hail. But it can’t be. There is silence again, then after a short while, a pitter-patter on glass.

Hail doesn’t sound like that.

You pad out of bed and go to the window, pushing aside the heavy silk drape to look out.

It’s not raining, in fact, it’s a clear night, and the moon is throwing stark shadows. Just as you’re wondering what the noise could have been, you spy some gravel on your windowsill and movement below. Stepping into a moonbeam is the face of your now-intended Benedict Bridgerton.

You quickly throw up the sash window.

“What are you doing here?” you hiss down at him, glancing around nervously to ensure he has not been seen.

“Do you share a room?” He calls up softly.

“No...” you frown, “why?”

“Excellent, I’m coming up,” is all he says before you startle at the physical prowess he displays, effortlessly scaling a thick drainpipe and swinging himself onto the mini balcony in the middle of your room. He is clad in a ruffled shirt and trousers on this warm summer evening.

You hurry over and push aside those curtains, yanking open the French doors and almost tumble against him. You breathe his name, and his lips capture yours in a searing passionate kiss—your insides fizzing from the illicit thrill that he has come to visit you in the dead of night.

“I had to see you again,” he explains, lips peppering across your face, his arms wrapped tight around your waist.

“But the ball only finished a few hours ago,” you point out, the last word dying off as he gently bites your earlobe, silently chastising yourself for stating the obvious.

“And I have been thinking about you ever since,” he rasps in your ear. “Your scent and taste on my fingers is too much to bear. I had to see you.” The tinge of desperation and passion in his voice catches your breath. “I need more of you; I need to teach you more things. Right now,” he says fiercely.

“Benedict,” you stutter and cling to him as he walks you back into your bedroom, his kiss hot and heavy again.

“Does your door lock?” he asks softly, ghosting over your lips as he manoeuvres you towards your bed.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Is it locked right now?“ his tone gets even lower.

“Yes,” it’s barely audible.

He cups your face in his hands. “Good.” He says the word languorous and decadently, and you feel something inside you catch fire. “Are you ready to learn some new things?” A finger traces the bow of your lips as he asks.

“Yes, husband,” it’s fervent and breathy.

“I’m not your husband yet,” he simpers. “If I were, you would be screaming my name about now.”

“Like… like that servant lady did... that I saw in the gardens?”

“Just like that,” a hand smears down your throat to rest on the expanse of skin above the neckline of your nightgown, “you would feel so good you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself.”

You feel your heart hammering against your chest right below his warm palm.

He moves you both slowly until he sits on the edge of your bed, pulling you to stand between his legs, him looking up at you with a knowing smile.

“Remember I said I’d teach you what we can do with our mouths?” His voice is silken as his fingers trail lightly over the top of your breast, along the edge of your white cotton nightgown.

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Well, tonight, you are going to find out what I can do with mine,” he states, as one blunt fingernail scrapes lightly over the fabric, snagging against your nipple.

Your breath catches, and you rock towards his touch.

“I love how responsive you are.” It's gravelly as his other hand mirrors the action, the thin layer of cotton doing little to dull the sensation.

Then his hands are gone, rounding your bum, his head pitches forward, and you moan as you feel wet heat on your left nipple as he opens his mouth around it, soaking the fabric with his saliva and flicking the point of his tongue against you. Your skin pulls taut, puckering hard against his questing movements. It’s a flash of pleasure that races to your core. His mouth closes up, sucking hard as he scrapes an edge of teeth around your hardened nub, clamping down just enough that you squirm against the firm hold he has on your bottom, your body bowed against him.

“Benedict,” you murmur, feeling drunken, the wet fabric dragging delightfully against your stiff peak.

“Mmm, do you like what my mouth can do to you, my love?”

“Yesssss,” you hiss as he moves across to your other nipple to treat it the same.

“I feel funny again,” you whisper.

“Tell me in detail, darling,” he tutors, pulling away from you a fraction to speak, the warmth of his breath over the wet fabric making you break out into goosebumps.

“My lips feel hot, my nipples feel tingly, and I have an ache between my legs,” you catalogue honestly.

He lets out a resonant sound, the vibration of which skitters across your skin.

“That is desire, my love,” he says quietly, “your body telling you it wants me.”

“I want you very much,” you confirm quickly.

“I know you do. I will give you what you need,” his voice rich and low.

“What will you do to me this time?” you pant, anticipation burning.

“Remember how I touched you between your legs? How I put my fingers inside you?”

“Yes.”

“I'm going to kiss you there,” his tone is dark and glittery.

“With… with your mouth?” you swallow audibly.

“Oh yes,” he chuckles.

“But… but I didn't see the servants do that,” you stumble, trying to understand why he would do such a thing.

“What you saw is only a fraction, my love,” he smirks. “There are so many, many things we can do together. And one of them is me kissing you between your legs.” He smiles at you and tenderly brushes a lock of hair over your shoulder. “You will enjoy it very much, I promise. Do you enjoy it when I run my tongue into your mouth when we kiss?”

“Yes, it feels wonderful,” you breathe, curling your fingers around his broad shoulders, the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt.

“Well, it will feel even better when I run my tongue inside you… down here.” His voice drops almost an octave as one hand slides from your bottom to the front of your gown, where your thighs meet.

“You want to do that?” your voice incredulous.

“Very much so. I can run my tongue in places you may have never seen yet. But don't worry. Before we are married, you will see all of your body in a mirror. When I teach you exactly how to touch yourself,” it's whispered hotly against your skin, fingers swirling over your pubic hair through your nightgown.

“Will that be tonight?” you ask quickly, eager to know everything he is willing to share.

“I think when I am done kissing between your legs, you will want to sleep.” he smiles smugly, “and it gives me an excuse to return another night. Would you like that? For me to sneak back to you in the middle of the night?”

“Yes, please,” you sway in his grip.

“Mmm, I thought so. Now, let's take off your nightgown,” he says silkily, a hand tugging gently on the hem, bringing it up over your knees.

“I'm not wearing anything else,” you chew your lip gently.

“That's precisely what I want to hear,” he sighs unevenly. “Now take it off for me,” he encourages.

You cross your arms and whip the nightgown up and over your head, sailing onto the bed beside him.

He inhales sharply as you stand utterly naked before him.

“Do I look acceptable to you, husband-to-be?” you inquire nervously, biting your lips and watching his eyes slowly perusing your body.

You can almost feel the weight of his heated gaze. Perhaps subconsciously, he peeks his tongue out and licks his lower lip.

“Oh my love, you are so perfect for me,” his voice soft, fingers wrapping around your waist, then mapping the flare of your hips.

His lips return to your breasts; this time no cotton to separate, just the heat and suction of his mouth. You keen loudly at the extra sensation, and his fingers dig into the back of your thighs, pulling you closer against him. One of your knees nudges up to a bulge in his trousers, and he surges against your leg as his tongue swirls around your nipple.

“Your skin tastes sweet,” he moans, suckling hard, pulling you into a tighter embrace, enveloping your body.

There is now a fire in your core, molten hot, and you feel a drip onto your inside thigh.

“Benedict,” you call softly, “my thighs are sticky again.”

He groans, and his teeth graze you.

“I’ll never tire of you telling me that,” he gusts. You feel fingers sink into your public hair and then down further. “But tell me you are wet for me instead, darling.”

“I am wet for you, Benedict,”

“God, yes you are,” he growls, parting your folds.

He rubs an achingly slow circle around your clit as he bites down on each nipple in turn, not quite to the point of pain but dancing near it, your knees wanting to buckle. You hiss and run your hands into his hair, gripping it in your fist.

You squeak as he suddenly lets go and bands his arms around your thighs, picking you off the ground and collapsing back onto the bed, so you lay atop him, something hard and insistent pushing against your abdomen. He captures your lips with his, rolling until you are under him, diagonal on the bed.

“Oh…”

It's all you can muster at the potent sensation of being so surrounded, his warm weight pinning you down onto the mattress. He pulls your legs open and either side of his.

“How does this feel, my darling?” he asks, kissing your cheek and slowly thrusting his clothed body against the apex of your thighs.

“You feel so… so overwhelming,” you answer candidly, fingertips exploring the muscles on his back and biting your lip.

“Mmmm, good. Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Now. Here is where you learn what else my mouth can do,” Benedict’s voice is sinful, a crooked smile spreading over his face.

His lips slide down onto your neck and over your collarbone, dropping hot little kisses that make your skin feel afire. He maps the length of your breastbone with his tongue, achingly slow, leaving a trail of wetness that cools on your skin and makes you shiver, your hands now fisting the sheets around you, flexing with the sensations coursing through your body.

Your breath quickens as he gently nibbles down along your lowest rib, biting the flesh of your side at the dip of your waist, making you writhe at the strange, not quite ticklish, not quite painful sensation. Large warm hands press your hipbones down into the mattress, keeping you still as that tongue swirls patterns over the soft swell of your belly, pausing at your belly button to look up at you.

“How does it feel to have my mouth on your body, fiancée?” He looks up at you with pupils blown; his voice is low and dangerous, pitched to buzz all the way to your core.

“Wonderful,” you sigh in a heavy breath; your nipples crave to be touched again, the ache between your legs flaring hard as the frill of his shirt tickles against your clit.

With his chin resting on your belly, he reaches over to release your vice-like grip on the bedding and brings your right hand to his mouth, suddenly enveloping your pointer and ring finger. You stutter at the sucking on your skin and the swirling of his tongue. He pulls off them with a lascivious wet noise, then guides them to your nipples.

“Touch yourself, darling,” he murmurs, “I can tell you need it.”

You do as asked, and he makes a prideful sound as you gasp and your body flexes under him.

“Mmm, that’s just a preview of what you’ll learn when I teach you how to pleasure yourself,”

“It feels so good, Benedict,” you sigh, “but not as good as your mouth,” you add as a cheeky retort.

His deep chuckle into your skin makes you clench as he inches lower, his mouth feeling so hot. His nose trails into the patch of hair between your legs, and he inhales loudly, almost lewd.

“There it is,” he rumbles, “that delicious smell that has haunted me all evening. I can’t wait to have a real taste.”

You are breathing in short puffs as his knees slide off the bed, and he drags you bodily by the hips to the edge, your shoulders catching slightly on the rucked sheets. He splays your thighs wide apart, your feet resting on his shoulders.

“Look at me,” he demands softly, waiting until you meet his gaze framed by your thighs. “Grab a pillow, darling; I want you to watch me do this to you.”

You do as asked, enjoying the little smile twitching on his lips as you obey his instructions.

“Good girl,” he intones, and something hot and liquid races down your spine at the way he says it.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He smirks. “I just saw your nostrils flare and your pupils dilate; it seems you like it when I call you a…. good girl” you inhale sharply as the last two words are muffled against your flesh as he then envelopes your clitoral hood and sucks hard.

“Oh my god,” you cry out unbidden.

“Shhh, darling, we mustn’t wake the house remember?” He menaces against your warm wet folds, his expression so cocky.

“What are you doing to me?” you query in a loud whisper.

“Do you remember how I touched you here with my thumb earlier? Well, this little nub here…” he pauses to spear the tip of his tongue lightly against your clit, and you stutter even at that feather-light touch. “...It’s the most sensitive spot on your whole body, my love, and it responds to many sensations.” You breathe gustily out of your nose and bite your lip.

“I can lick…” he flattens his tongue and licks a wide strip against it as you keen, your teeth digging into your lip almost painfully.

“Swirl…” the tongue rotates around the spot hitting from the sides as well, a curl of desire unfurling heavy inside.

“Suck…” again, he pulls your flesh between his lips and sucks the bud; you cry quietly, your back arching.

“Even gently bite….” You have no warning as he replaces his lips, holding your swollen nub between his top and bottom teeth; all the while, he stares into your eyes.

You pant heavily at the heavy pulse you feel right at that spot.

“... All to make you feel good. Do you feel good?” He asks, releasing you from his mouth.

“God, yes,” you rush out, desperate for more.

“Now that is just your little pleasure button,” his lecture continues, and you watch his face sink lower, “I can also do this.”

You gasp loudly as he part your folds, and then something warm and wet spears inside your body where his fingers had been earlier tonight—it can only be his tongue.

“This, my love, is your cunt. Say it for me,” he tutors.

“Cunt,” you repeat, and he seems to delight in making you say it.

“It is the source of all this wonderful juicy wetness dripping down your thighs,” he explains before pressing into you again, going deeper, swirling against all your walls.

“I can’t believe you are doing this,” your voice shocked.

“Oh, I could do this all night. You taste delicious,” he assures.

He swirls a finger around your opening, then reaches up to your mouth with a long toned arm.

“Open up darling, taste yourself,” he commands softly. And you do, letting his fingers slip between your lips, a tart-sweet taste blooming on your tongue. “Do you like it?” he asks duskily.

“It’s okay,” you respond truthfully. “Will you taste the same?”

He huffs a laugh at your question. “No, my sweet. A lady tastes different to a man—you will find out very soon.”

“Do all ladies taste the same?” you inquire, curious.

“No,” he admits, “but all that matters is that you taste wonderful to me,” he assures, kissing your inner thigh with soft, warm lips “do you have any more questions? I want to ensure you ask everything you want to know.”

“Will you run your tongue anywhere else?” you wonder aloud.

“Every single place—from the tips of your fingers to the end of your toes and everywhere in between,” he promises huskily.

A finger traces lower, between your bum cheeks.

“Not tonight, but sometime in the future, I will run my tongue back here too, and you will love it,” he says quietly in a way that tells you it’s more taboo.

You shiver at the thought, knowing you will let him do anything to you.

“Once we are married, we can do other wonderful things with your little bottom. I know you love every single one. But tonight, let’s make sure you enjoy my mouth, my love.”

Those are his last words before strong arms encircle your thighs, holding you open in a firm grip. He ploughs his tongue heavily up from your cunt, as he called it, back up to your clit again.

You call out loudly at the heady wash of sensation.

“Shhhh darling, please, I don’t want us to get caught,” he reminds.

Your hand scrabbles across the bed until you find your discarded nightgown. You bring it to your mouth and ball it up slightly and shove one corner into your mouth.

He stops and looks up the plane of your body, surprised. “Did you just gag yourself?” There’s an undercurrent in his voice that makes your cheeks blush.

You nod slowly.

“Oh, we will have so much fun once we are married,” he growls, “well done on that, my clever girl. Now you can scream all you want.”

His tongue spears wet and questing against your clit, swirling narrow circles. You can't think of anything but the movement of his talented face against you, the slight stubble on his face tickling the soft sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

Without thought, your hands run into his luscious hair, gripping around his head, directing his movements as your legs fall further apart, pushing yourself against his mouth, his nose, wanting him to be buried inside you.

“Mmm, see, you are already an expert at asking for what you want.” he chuckles deeply, the hum of his voice making you cry against the material in your mouth.

He ploughs lower, spearing into your channel, his nose nudging your clit. You breathe laboriously through your nose and hear him panting against you as he furrows on, rhythmically plunging his tongue into your cunt, lapping everything up.

Behind your gag, you are chanting his name, scarcely believing that something like this is possible. Nothing you have ever experienced feels as heady as this. The heat of his mouth, the noises he is making, the visceral strength and size of his tongue inside you. If this is just his mouth, you are uncertain you will be able to handle the cock that you saw earlier entering you.

The gag feels slightly uncomfortable in your mouth, which heightens the thrill. Benedict is doing this to you in your parent's home, your mother sleeping just down the hallway, taking your innocence and giving you pleasure before they have even been formally introduced. You told them you had received a proposal, but they are not due to meet until the Smythson Ball in two days when your father returns from a business trip.

He moves back to sucking your clit hard between his lips, swirling, teasing, varying the pressure and speed of his tongue, then using a little edge of his teeth to nip at the tip. You cry against your gag, and he holds your hips firmly as you thrash against the white-hot spike of desire that hits you.

He intensifies his efforts, making debauched encouraging noises as he pulls your swollen bud hard into his mouth.

“Don't stop, please just don't stop,” you sob, chasing something even more intense than you experienced earlier from his fingers, but it's just a whining noise around the material, soaking up all your saliva.

“You are so close, aren't you, come on, my love,” he encourages, “let me feel it, give me more of you to taste.” his little soft plea pushing you closer.

You grip his hair, every muscle in your body tenses, dangling over a precipice, every fibre of your being taut and shaking.

Then with one pass of his teeth over your clit you are breaking. Your world contracting and exploding all at once. Heartbeat wild in your throat, a rush of blood in your ears, eyes clamped shut. Your hips cant up high, and he lets you, his movements matching yours, so his mouth never leaves your body. You know you are leaking onto his face, your inside clenching powerfully, wanting the feeling of something filling you as his fingers did. The burning pulsing ache around your clit makes you scream, yell and convulse, all of it muffled to barely a sound being emitted.

You collapse onto the mattress panting hard, and pull the gag from your mouth, dimly aware he is crawling up your body, laying down softly next to you. You stare at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity, returning slowly to your body, to the moment.

“Did you enjoy my mouth, darling?” he smirks, knowing the answer, licking his lips lasciviously.

“You know I did,” you giggle, flipping onto your side to face him. “Is it not your turn, fiancé?” You whisper, running your hands down his clothed body, desperate to feel his skin, touch and explore the way he has to you.

“My clothes stay on tonight,” he insists with a gentle head shake.

“Let me touch you,” you implore, your hand running over the prominent bulge in his trousers. He groans hungrily but grabs your wrist away.

“You will learn exactly what to do with my cock very soon,” he promises, “but not tonight, darling.”

“But does it not hurt if it’s…” you look at him expectantly for the correct adjective.

“Hard…” he prompts.

“…If it’s hard and you don’t touch it?” you reason.

He smiles. “Sort of. But I will deal with it later.”

“What will you do?” wanting to know everything, your mind filled with images of his hand on his cock earlier, spilling his seed onto your body.

“What you saw me do before,” he says softly, caressing your cheek.

“I want to watch again,” you pout playfully, hoping for a repeat performance.

“You are so wanton. I love that.” He tilts his forehead against yours, and you smell yourself on his face.

“Can I help you with my mouth on your cock?” you whisper boldly.

He makes a strangled noise, and his whole body seems to flex involuntarily, making you relish the thought. “Yes. Soon.”

“If not tonight, when? When will that be?” your tone is bright and determined.

“The night of the Smythson ball. In two days. Until then, my sweet, I shall take my leave. Stay here in bed and sleep well.”

He kisses you deeply, your taste still potent on his lips and tongue. He keeps kissing until your mind goes fuzzy, then springs to his feet quickly, disappearing out the French doors and, you assume, shimmying down the drainpipe. You don't see; you just lie on the bed staring at the ceiling in a daze, knowing you will never be the same again.

Two days will feel like an eternity.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell

[cookybananas]

The Aftermath - (Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker x Deceased!Reader)

author's note: Vaderkin x Deceased!Senator!Reader (yes, another angsty fic because I'm tired of the lack thereof and I'm in an angsty phase)

summary: The Former Ruler of Naboo is visited by a familiar figure

"Would you like to know more about Naboo's former glorious excellency, Queen Y/N L/N, sir?" The protocol droid spoke up, trailing behind the dark figure attempting to assist him.

"No..." The Sith Lord paused. "I have heard it before." his tone sounding defeated.

"If you have any questions or require any further assistance, I will be right here. Carry on then." The droid responded before returning to his previous position outside the temple, keeping an eye for any other visitors that might enter the mausoleum.

Outside the structure was a statue of you in your coronation dress. At age 14, you were the youngest Queen the Naboolians had elected. You were considered a beacon of hope and prosperity to the people of Naboo during the Clone Wars and your reign. The mausoleum was built just shortly after your untimely death that occurred over five years ago.

The rainy night, had a cold breeze that blew through the dark lord's heavy black cape as he made his way inside the structure.

The dark lord took his time, slowly walking through the large structure, admiring every little detail along the way. It was as if it was his first time here, but it wasn't, he wanted to soak up every moment that reminded him of you at any given chance. Sound of the rain, his heavy footsteps, and his mechanical breathing accompanied the atmosphere.

Tall pillars held the inside of the structure where your tomb was. There were dark red curtains draped from the high ceilings that were neatly tied to the pillars with a gold sash. At the base of pillars, were large pots of the Naboo native (and your favorite flower): the red millaflower.

There were numerous amounts of your personal belongings exhibited in enclosed, locked display cases. These items ranged from the gowns and jewelry you wore, to the beauty items you had used daily, and to the items that were personally gifted to you to preserve them.

The Sith Lord sighed to himself, looking down at his gloved hands. If he were to close his eyes and rest his head against the glass of your personal belongings, he can faintly remember the memories of you attached to the item.

It had only been five years since your passing. Five years since he had wrongfully killed you in an act of desperation. He should have listened to you in that moment and time, but fear drove him off the edge. He wanted, needed to save you. The nightmares of you dying haunted him at the time and needed a way to resolve them quickly.

He strongly believed that if he turned to the dark side, he would be able to learn the power to heal you from any sickness, even death itself.

But he was wrong. He force choked you, depriving you of oxygen as a way to get you to listen to him, but killed you in the process.

"Anakin...I wanted was you...your love." you whispered out to him, before fluttering your eyes shut, slipping into an eternal slumber in his arms.

Your words echoed in the back of his mind as he remembered the painful memory. Soon after, he had become this revering machine that everyone feared, a monster, a dark lord.

A glint of an object out of the corner of his eye captured his attention. The Sith Lord made his way over to the display case that had a light shining down on the japor snippet that was neatly displayed on a velvet pillow. The very japor snippet he had made for you many moons ago.

He gifted it to you when he was just 9 and you were 14, right before he left for his Jedi training. He gifted it to you as a token of fortune and in hopes for you to remember him if your paths were to ever diverge.

There were moments where he would catch you wearing the necklace when he came over to your apartment after a long mission. At times, he couldn't help but tease you about it in private, but also feel proud of himself, as it meant that you were all his and only his.

Anakin stared at the gift he had given you all those years ago, wishing he could turn back time and be that little boy who was smitten for you. But he couldn't, the damage was already done.

He soon found his way over to your tomb. The Sith Lord used the force to brush off the fallen debris and dust that had coated the top of your sarcophagus. Incased in duracrete, the tomb was engraved in aurebesh that stated:

"Here Lies

Her Royal Highness

Queen Y/N L/N of Naboo

Beloved Queen, Senator, and Fighter for the People of Naboo."

Thunder rumbled in the distance. A flash of lightning flashed through the glass stained artwork of you that was just a couple of feet from your tomb.

With a hiss, Vader, Anakin took off his helmet. He looked up at the glass artwork of you in your red, royal gown and styled headdress. He remembered you had wore face paint and would often switch positions with your handmaidens to keep your identity and yourself protected from any assassination attempts.

Anakin choked out a sob, falling to his knees in the process. Feeling overwhelmed at the waves of emotions he felt at the situation. He tried to steady his breathing, as he grasped the edge of your sarcophagus to keep himself stable.

"I'm so sorry my angel...for all of it. Forgive me, alas.." Anakin choked out. Hoping that if you were a ghost or a spirit just somewhere in the room, hearing his cries, but you weren't.

You didn't possess any force abilities, you were just a human that was a Royal Member of Naboo Royal Family and leader to your people. You couldn't pass over to the next life and be seen by force-sensitive individuals, simply because you weren't one.

Anakin stayed there, quietly sobbing to himself. He had wished he listened to you and his old master, but didn't. This was one of the dire consequences that he had cause himself and most importantly, affected you.

But alas, the trail of blood Vader leaves continues. He had a new master to follow orders, an empire to rule. But deep down, he seeks retribution on your behalf and for his sake towards the Emperor.

[eddies-puppet]

Beautiful

(Eddie Munson x Plus Size Female Reader)

Summary: Jason and his friends target Y/N over her weight, so Eddie finds his own way to show her how beautiful she is.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Angst, reader ashamed of her weight, low self-esteem, Eddie being a sweetheart, smut (p in v sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk)

————————————————————

Snuggling down into my pillow, I wiped my eyes with the now damp tissue, my soft sniffles drowning out the music playing quietly. I could hear the rain pounding against the window frame, the storm outside having intensified since I got home from school. A sob drifted from my throat. I really fucking hate that place.

Hawkins High was a great place to be, if you were a jock or a cheerleader. Everyone else just suffered in varying degrees of misery, counting down the days until they graduated so they could get the hell out of this godforsaken town.

I only have a few months left left until that day finally arrived, and I couldn’t fucking wait! The day I snatch that diploma from Principal Higgins’ hand, me and my boyfriend were out of there. I honestly couldn’t care less where we end up, so long as we’re together and away from the assholes that make up the ‘cool crowd’.

A soft tapping snapped me from my thoughts, and I looked around, trying to figure out where it had come from. Tap tap. I sat up, trying to focus my hearing, and realised it was coming from the window, behind my drawn curtains. I made my way slowly across to the window and threw the curtains open.

“What are you doing out here? You’re going to break your neck, and get me grounded,” I said, opening the sash window as quickly and quietly as I could. Sliding through the window head first, Eddie landed heavily in a heap on the floor. “Eds, please be quiet!” I hissed.

He jumped swiftly to his feet, shaking his arms as he tried to rid his jacket of the raindrops that had settled on the leather. He moved closer to me, taking my face in his hands and gazing down at me, his dark eyes set with concern.

“I was worried, I thought you were meeting me after Hellfire, but you didn’t show.” His eyes wandered my face for a few seconds. “Love, why are you crying? What’s happened?” The last thing I needed right now was an angry Eddie, so I shook my head, shrugging his question away.

“I’m fine, it’s nothing.” I tried to smile, but I could tell he didn’t believe me. “How was Hellfire?”

“Don’t do that, don’t try and change the subject,” Eddie said sternly. “Talk to me.” I sighed, pulling away from him and sitting down on the edge of my bed.

“I just, I had,” I hesitated. “I had a little run in with Jason and his dumb ass friends.”

“What did they do?” Eddie’s voice was deeper now, darker.

“Eds, I promise you, I’m fine,” I tried to reassure him. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” Eddie sighed softly, taking a step forwards and knelt down in front of me, his hands holding mine in my lap as he looked up at me. He knew me well enough to realise that the only way they could upset me like this was to mention my weight.

“Y/N, they’re assholes. They have no idea what they’re talking about,” he said softly, his thumbs gently stroking the backs of my hands as a tear rolled down my cheek. “Baby, you’re the most beautiful girl in this town. Fuck their super skinny cheerleaders and…”

“Eddie, please stop,” I begged, a sob catching in my throat. “I have a mirror, ok? I know what I look like, that I’ll probably always be ‘the fat one’, you don’t need to bullshit me,” I snapped. Eddie’s eyes narrowed, a frown falling across his face.

“Y/N,” he hesitated, sighing sadly. “Is that really how you feel?” I shrugged.

“Sometimes, I just…” I hesitated, my eyes rising to meet his, although seeing him through my tears was a little more of a challenge. “I just don’t know why you’re with me, when you could have your pick of any girl in this town.” A small laugh escaped Eddie’s lips.

“Are you for real?! Y/N, I love you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Why the fuck would I want one of them? You think they could make me laugh like you do? That they could put up with all the shit that comes with being Eddie Munson’s girlfriend? Do you think any of them could compare with the way you make me feel?” I shrugged noncommittally, and Eddie sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“You know what? If you don’t believe me, I guess I’ll just have to prove to you how beautiful you are,” he smiled as he rose to his feet, pulling me up with him and placing my hands on his shoulders. “Hi,” he smiled softly, his hands moving to cradle my face as he lowered his lips to mine. I melted against him, his touch my god-given solace, as it had been since the day we met.

His soft lips moved slowly against mine, the faint taste of his cigarettes still lingering on his tongue as it swiped lazily against my lower lip. Eddie’s hands moved slowly to my hips, and he turned us around, him sitting down on my bed and pulling me into his lap, my knees either side of his body.

“Eddie, I’m gonna fall,” I whined.

“No you won’t,” he insisted. “Just trust me.” Reluctantly I lowered myself down into his lap, and his hands grabbed at the meat of my ass, pulling me tight against him.

“See? I’m not going to let you fall sweetheart,” he smiled as he leant forward, his lips ghosting against the tender skin of my neck. A contented sigh slipped from my lips, and I relaxed in his arms, lowering my head against his strong shoulder. I nuzzled my face into his neck, my arms unconsciously slipping around his shoulders as the soft scent of his apple shampoo invaded my senses.

Eddie’s hands brushed gently against my back where my shirt had slipped up slightly, his fingertips dancing delicately across my skin. Delicate wasn’t exactly the word that came to mind when people saw Eddie, but I knew better. The side of him that he allowed me to see was soft, caring. Yes, he absolutely had a cocky, loud, obnoxious side, but there was so much more to him once he finally let you in.

When he spoke, I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. “I wanna see you,” he breathed, his large hands flattening against my sides and sliding up, pushing my shirt up further. As his fingers reached the bottom of my bra, a sense of panic rushed through me, my hands snapping back to my body, grabbing desperately at the bottom of my shirt.

“Eds, please, I can’t…” I pleaded, my voice catching in my throat.

“Hey,” Eddie said softly, pulling his head away from my neck and looking up at me, his hands stilling. “Baby, it’s just me,” he whispered. I took a deep breath, hesitating before nodding, slowly raising my arms above my head.

Eddie’s hands slowly resumed their journey, his dark eyes gazing softly into mine as he pushed my shirt up my arms and dropped it to the ground before he took my still raised hands in his, lowering them and laying my palms against his chest.

His eyes fell from mine, gliding slowly down my body, taking in every inch of me, every freckle and stretchmark on my skin. Making me feel not just half undressed, but laid bare, vulnerable.

Eddie looked up at me through his lashes, his hands tight against my hips as he rolled his hips against me, causing a soft whimper to fall from my lips as I felt his cock hard beneath me. “You feel that? You feel what you do to me with nothing more than looking at you? Fuck Carver, and fuck his stupid fucking groupies. As far as I’m concerned you are the most beautiful creature to ever walk the face of this goddamn Earth Y/N,” Eddie said sincerely.

At that moment, something very rare happened. I was speechless, totally lost for words.

I’m not sure which one of us closed the gap between us but before I knew what was happening, his lips were on mine, kissing me like it might be the final time.

His hands moved from my hips, grabbing at the softness of my thighs as he flipped us, a soft giggle slipping from my lips as my back hit the mattress. “My second favourite sound,” he muttered between kisses, his hands now working at removing my pyjama pants.

“What’s your favourite?” I whispered as he tore his lips from mine. He chuckled deeply, biting his lower lip between his teeth.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said, sliding my pants down my legs as he stood up, his eyes hungrily roaming my body as he threw off his wet Hellfire shirt, his jeans and boxers following swiftly afterwards.

He stood over me for a few moments, the only sound coming from him his ragged breathing as his chest heaved, the look in his eyes reminiscent of an apex predator stalking its prey. “Baby, take that bra off for me. I want to see you,” he instructed me, and I did as he asked without question, my eyes wandering his body, committing every detail to memory. The chain hanging around his neck, the tattoos that peppered his body, the line of dark hair that descended to the base of his hard cock. Truth be told, I would do anything for Eddie, and him for me.

He stood silently for a few more seconds before he spoke, his eyes raking over my now naked body. “Fuck Y/N, I’m not a religious man but I swear I’ll worship you until the day I die.”

Without another word, he was back between my legs, his soft lips leaving a trail of hungry kisses up my stomach and through the valley between my breasts, his hands grabbing desperately at the soft flesh at my waist until his lips reached my neck, nipping gently at the soft skin there as he rolled his hips against mine, coating his cock in my wetness.

“Eddie, please,” I whimpered quietly, my fingers digging hard into his back. He chuckled against my throat. “I need you.”

“THAT’S my favourite noise, you begging for me. Sweetheart I haven’t warmed you up yet,” he said, a smugness to his voice.

“I don’t care. Baby please,” I begged, my body aching for him.

“Whatever you want m’lady,” he breathed as he lined himself up at my entrance, pushing slowly into me, a strangled gasp escaping from my lips as his cock filled me, my walls stretching around him. I swear I will never get used to that feeling, an exquisite combination of pleasure and pain as my body fought to accommodate his size.

“Fuck princess, she’s so tight for me,” he growled as he slowly pulled himself almost all the way out of me before slamming back in, his hips slamming against my inner thighs as he bottomed out inside me, a gutterall moan echoing deep in his throat. “Shit, you feel so good,” he moaned, his lips attaching to my neck and sucking hard, stopping only to admire his handiwork and lay a gentle kiss on top of it.

His hips snapped hard against me now, keeping a punishing pace that had the elastic band in my stomach tightening with each thrust, his name falling from my lips like a prayer.

“Nothing sounds as good as when you moan for me,” he groaned as his lips reconnected with mine, our tongues colliding desperately as he roughly lifted my legs so they lay across his shoulders, my loud moan echoing around the room, combining with the sound of skin against skin, with the gasps for breath, to create the most wonderful, and erotic, melody.

“Are you close baby?” He asked, panting for breath as I nodded eagerly. I could feel his pace growing sloppy, his hips stuttering as he threaded his hand between us to the spot where our bodies met, rubbing hard against my sensitive clit. “Cum for me baby, I want to feel you cum around my cock.”

He could feel my walls tightening around him, the coiled spring in my stomach tightening as his long fingers worked skilfully between my folds.

I felt Eddie’s hips stutter as he plummeted over the edge, his orgasm hitting him hard and fast, and the sensation of his cock twitching against my g spot sent me spiralling after him, the coiled spring finally snapping.

Eddie still didn’t let up, fucking me hard through my orgasm, blinding lights flashing before my eyes. As the waves of ecstacy eased, my aching legs slipped back to the mattress, drawing a groan from Eddie as he collapsed on top of me.

“Sorry,” I giggled.

“S’ok,” he whispered breathlessly as he rolled over to lie beside me. He smiled softly, pushing my hair back from my face. “Wait there,” he told me, jumping up and making his way unsteadily to my dresser, pulling a towel from the drawer. He made his way back to me, smiling tiredly as he crawled back into bed beside me, taking a few moments to clean me up. Eddie was the king of aftercare, always taking his time to look after me.

I took my bottom lip between my teeth, trying to hide lovesick smile that was working it’s way across my face. “What are you grinning at?” Eddie teased, throwing the towel into the basket at the foot of my bed and slipping his arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him.

“You,” I told him simply. “Thank you.” His brows furrowed, confused.

“For what?”

“For loving me for me. For accepting me,” I told him softly, my fingers gently tracing around the edge of his spider tattoo. “For making me feel beautiful.” A sob caught in my throat with the last words.

“Hey,” Eddie whispered, his free hand lifting my face to his, nudging my nose with his own. “You are beautiful sweetheart, and I love you more than you can even imagine,” he said, his voice soft, gentle. “So, can we agree that next time Carver and his fucking idiot friends upset you, you’ll try and remember the massive hard on you gave me just by looking at you?” I laughed quietly, reaching out and running my fingers through his hair.

“I love you Munson.”

[phantomrose96]

I have string-lights strung up around the perimeter of my room and at every 4 feet, a command hook, bearing the fishing wire weight. And each command hook is a sticky wall piece and a sticky hook piece, like for hanging coats, but not that strong.

And in one window I have an A/C unit because it's 90 degrees here, sometimes, and my room is on the third floor, sometimes, and so it's 90 degrees in here, sometimes, so the window A/C. Now with window A/Cs it's these accordion flaps, they're plastic, that stretch across both sides of the (window) A/C like a bath towel you've held up but haven't wrapped around yourself yet (maybe because it's 90 degrees and you're hot and being wet is nice).

Now with the accordion flaps, the thing is, they're not perfect and there are little gaps at the top, because they're zigzag and no window sash is zigzag. The thing with gaps is, they let some bugs in, not too many but a few, who like the lamplight.

Now the thing with bugs is, sometimes they're ladybugs. Which are perfectly nice little bugs to have but the thing is, with ladybugs, is they like the command hooks.

Specifically they like the little nook at the center of each hook where the sticky back wall tape surface is exposed. At first I worried this was an ant-trap situation with an unwitting ladybug plaster-sealed to my command hook (with the lights) but it seems she can move freely.

And now the thing with the ladybugs is there is not just one. There's 4 of her, at least, and they've all taken up residence on adjacent command hooks (4 feet apart) like townhouse neighbors, but with more space between them (4 feet). So I look up and there are 4 ladybugs nestled in the nooks of 4 adjacent command hooks holding my lights, and this was very confusing for me to stare up at and figure out (bad vision) but I've realized it's 4 ladybugs, and they just like it up there, I guess, and they like being neighbors because they could have spread out (10 total command hooks) but they didn't.

One will leave sometimes to hang out on the curtains but she always comes back to the command hook, and I hope they all like it up there because they're much too tall for me to reach. Because the thing with me is I'm short and all the way down here (set up lights with a borrowed ladder) so I can't really be anywhere else but down here and I can't be up there with the command hooks (with the lights) to intervene. So really, in the situation, I can only simply hope the ladybugs are having a nice time.

[eurydia]

Inferna Victoria (Portrait of the Archdevil and Archduchess Supreme of the Nine) a royal portrait of Raphael and Tav in the style of a Van Dyck for my fic, The Lover's Gambit. it's now my most popular fic, thank you so much for your support! you all have exquisite taste ❤️

Raphael's outfit was inspired by a beautiful gifset by @cherriesandsulphur

details, context below

[Solo Raph painting]

Baroque is one of my fave art movements. the in-game art looked inspired by it, and I wanted to do a piece that combined my love for it and royal portraiture. this was inspired by the works of Flemish Baroque master Anthony Van Dyck.

this is one of the most ambitious and detailed pieces I've done so far: the fullsize is 22 x 32in, and it took over 50+ hrs. royal portraiture usually has extensive detail, so I wanted to make it as detailed as possible. it was challenging and time consuming, but a lot of fun!

framed version (Cassetta frame from the Met website:)

process

spoiler details (for the game + fic)

- their ship came about because I wanted to give Raph a chaotic evil counterpart to his lawful evil. basically he’s the “mansplain, manipulate, malewife” to her “gaslight, (Baldur’s)gatekeep, girlboss” lol.

- I hc this Tav’s ending is the “In my name” one. though I hc she says “In our name” instead ;)

- visually, it looks like Raphael has more power but I hc it’s actually Tav for several reasons: many elements of the composition lead to her (Raph’s sash, arms, the curtains), she’s wearing her crown and is seated, and is also foremost while Raph is in the back.

- Raph’s crown is ceremonial/for vanity only while Tav’s tiara has enough fragments of the stone to be fully functional.

- The crown’s design is based on concept art, and if you look closely it kinda looks like it has hearts on the sides. I added the red gems.

I hc that Raph is a romantic and some of his lines seem to allude to this (code phrase of “my heart’s desire”, the Amulet of Greater Health, which Tav is wearing here, in a prominent place in his house, and his words to Hope in a transcript: “…serve me with your whole heart”)

- I hc they’re married at this point. Tav’s ring has two additional gems, and her outfit in general was inspired by the canon design of the Crown of Karsus.

- there’s a lot of red because according to Hope, Raph’s favorite color is “blood”. my hc for the painting overall is that it was done by his personal painter, maybe a debtor who has to paint for him for all eternity (not a bad deal right? /s) so it reflects his and Tav’s requests.

- I picture this hanging either above Raph’s fireplace in the dining room. or bedroom - much to Haarlep’s dismay 🤣