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marvelmusing · 4 days

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My thought process when reading the warnings:

CNC - absolutely yes please - knife play (he fucks her with the hilt of his knife) - hello?? yes please - bondage, threats, chasing, creepy phonecalls, mild mirror sex, somnophilia - all the good stuff, sign me up - angst, cliffhanger - excuse me? What is this?

There are too many moments here that push me further into insanity, but I would like to highlight the gloves - big big fan of the idea of removing a man’s gloves with my teeth

To Love and To Cherish (II)

Part 10 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series!

Warnings: CNC, oral (f), knife play (he fucks her with the hilt of his knife), bondage, threats, chasing, creepy phonecalls, mild mirror sex, somnophilia, anxiety, fear, angst, cliffhanger.

A/N: Please keep in mind that though this is dark play, everything has been discussed and even practised in advance and is fully consensual.

Hehe

@icannotbetrustedalone 😘

A late lunch is brought to your door after you wake up. You have no idea how Sam knew you were awake, perhaps she'd timed your jet lag that well.

She tells you to enjoy, that her team will be here around dusk to get you dressed for your date.

You smile at that word, knowing that she had no real clue what your husband was really up to.

Later in the day, there’s a knock on your door.

You open it to Sam, with her binder, looking eager.

“Are you ready?” She asks with a smile.

When you nod and open the door wider, she turns her head and nods too, and you blink in surprise when four other women follow her into your room with a lot of different things in hand.

You spot a garment bag, and a makeup kit, another bag has a hair curler sticking out.

They introduce themselves, their specialties are in hairstyles, makeup and nails.

You're out of your depth and you say so, glancing over at Sam for some kind of help.

“Don't worry, we already know what to do based off your preferences.” She explains, “You just have to sit back and enjoy being pampered.”

You guess you could try.

When they're done, you're surprised to see so much of yourself there.

There's a lovely little tiara on your head, your hair in a delicate updo with strands framing your face. The dress- is beyond beautiful, white shimmering fabric, an off shoulder design that makes you feel like a princess.

Your fingers and toes are freshly done in a dark red like you'd requested, so that they can match the red on your lips.

There's a small heel on your silver shoes- safe to run in while still being pretty.

“You guys are amazing.” You say in wonder as you fully assess yourself.

They laugh, happy that you're satisfied.

Sam presents one final thing to you, the one odd thing you'd asked for that wasn't in your binder.

You grin at her, ducking into the ensuite bathroom and tugging the garter out of the box, sliding it on.

There's a small knife attached to it, and you make sure it's concealed, and easily reachable through the slit in your dress before you step out again.

When they’re finished with some last minute makeup retouches, Sam smiles proudly, and wishes you a very good night, letting you know that they’ll all be leaving you soon, here alone with your husband.

You can’t help the excited pulse your nether regions give at the reminder, dressed pristinely from head to toe, all for Billy to tear off.

You grin at Sam, walking the small group of women to the door, listening quietly to their plans for the night, encouraging and enjoying their banter, sending them off with a wave into a car waiting for them.

The heavy wooden door closes with a dull sound that echoes through the castle, emphasising your desolation.

You turn, leaning against the door in your shimmery dress, taking in the quiet silence of the place.

There’s a little bit of fear tingling down your spine, the feeling of being truly alone in such a big place, not really knowing where you are, with no means of escape.

You find that it turns you on.

All dressed up, all for him, and you can’t even really leave, a headiness to the realisation, your fear is an aphrodisiac all on its own.

You bite down on the corner of your lip, smiling, pushing yourself away from the door, and decidedly picking a direction to begin your exploration.

You touch everything you see, trailing your freshly done fingertips over every item, examining the feel, appreciating the textures.

The curtains, the lighting fixtures, you examine all of it, a crown on your head that makes you almost feel like you own it all.

You get into the fantasy he’s weaved, becoming the role of the princess he’s cast you in.

You find the throne room first, a flourish of plum and golds, a large red carpet leading to the thrones in question- two- sitting side by side, beckoning you closer.

You squint, looking up at the massive chandelier that sits in the middle of the room, with little pieces of glass that if cleaned properly, would probably reflect little shards of light.

You pick the chair on the right, and settle yourself onto it, sighing happily at how comfortable it is, relaxing for a moment, before standing to continue your exploration.

You’re passing the dining room when a phone begins to ring in the distance.

It sends a shiver of fear over you, the dated sound echoing through the halls. You begin searching for it, following the rings of what you assume is an old era phone.

You find the phone on a table at the bottom of the staircase, ruby red, sitting beside a marble statue of a woman, posed with her hand in the air as if to block the light from her eyes.

It keeps ringing until you tentatively pick it up, bringing it to your ear.

“Hello?” You say softly into it.

There’s a voice on the other end, modulated to be unrecognizeable to you, but even that sends a shiver of excitement through you.

“Princess.” The voice says calmly.

You swallow.

“Who is this?”

The voice is deep, each grovel is a tremor in your body.

“I’m just a nightmare, sweetheart. I hope you’re ready for me.”

You shudder, shaking your head.

“Ready for what?”

He doesn’t answer your question.

“You look gorgeous. Prettier than I expected. It’s making me… want.”

You stiffen, taking a breath and looking around, searching the shadows for some sign of a man, lurking in the darkness.

“You can see me?” You ask in a soft whisper, laying the fear on thickly.

“Of course, princess. I’ll be inside soon, we’ll get a nice, long introduction to each other.”

You gasp in surprise, dropping the phone and moving quickly to the doors you passed during your exploration, making sure that they’re locked.

Your hand is on the door separating the kitchen from the gardens- when the lights go out.

You hear your own breath of surprise, your heart pattering in your chest, real fear being awakened inside of you when you realise that this is actually happening.

Everything is still, you’re afraid to move, the darkness becoming honey thick all around you.

Eventually, being still is too much, and you have to force your body to break the stillness around you.

There’s barely a sliver of light, the moon, casting pale streams through the windows. Instinct tells you to stay where you can see, your body backed against the window, eyes peering into the darkness as if it’s alive and coming for you.

You glance down when something shimmery catches your eye, gasping, you realise that the moonlight makes you a bigger target, your dress reflecting its beams in every direction.

It leaves you no choice but to step into the darkness.

You wonder where he is, if hands will just reach out and grab you at any given moment.

It makes your stomach tight, that what you’ve been yearning for is almost within reach.

“Hello?” You call out shyly, voice shaking just a little. You walk softly out of the kitchen, one hand against the wall to guide you, unsure of exactly where you’re going.

Suddenly, a chill runs over the back of your neck, like a soft breath from someone standing just behind you. You turn, waving your hand into the darkness, and finding nothing but air.

You feel so much like prey in that moment, searching for a predator with hunting skills beyond your comprehension.

You’re passing the dining room when your heart freezes in your chest. In the corner of your eye, you can see the silhouette of a dark figure, standing in the moonlit window.

Your breath halts in your throat, turning to face him, the swishing of your dress is louder in your ears.

The mask is- terrifying- white, with the appearance of fractured glass across it, some pieces missing over the cheek area, his real face peeking through.

He raises a hand, and presses a gloved finger to the mouth of the mask.

You turn, and run.

Fuck, this was it, it was really happening. He was here, and he was going to do all the things he promised he would, all the things you’d practised together so that he was sure you were always one hundred percent safe and comfortable.

You’re not very fast, the dress and heels slowing you down

He grabs you at the very moment the lights flick on.

It takes a moment for your eyes to get adjusted, and then you gasp when your back is slammed to a wooden wall behind you, the intricate carvings pressing uncomfortably to your spine.

His hands are on your shoulders, keeping you in place as you look up at him with fear in your eyes.

You finally get a chance to see him fully, all masked up, covered from head to toe in what can only be the most mouth watering look on the planet.

Sure, his suits were divine, but seeing him dressed down like this was a cherry on top of a malevolent cake.

It clings to his skin, the cut of his chest and arms showing through the tight, long- sleeved shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of navy combat pants, and further into boots.

It’s much easier to note where you can see his skin- on his wrists between the sleeve and the glove, his neck, and parts of his face that show through the fractured pieces of his mask.

He’s a work of devastating art, lust incarnate, bringing forth so much delight that you struggle to hide it.

“Please,” you whisper shakily, getting into character, feeling it spark arousal, “Don't hurt me.”

You watch the darkness clouds his eyes, a predator, hidden beneath layers of humanity, finally being set free.

“Oh, princess,” he whispers, leaning in, trailing his gloved thumb over your jaw and cheekbone lovingly, “I am definitely going to hurt you.”

You gasp at his words, reaching for the weapon strapped to your thigh. It was your turn to give him a surprise.

The dagger is sharp, you made sure of it, wanted it to be real, you wanted to see a genuine look of surprise in his eyes when you finally pressed it to his neck.

Except, he doesn't look surprised at all.

“Leave.” You say, with so much command in your voice that you almost believe you have the power to say something like that to him.

He studies you for a lengthy moment, before he tilts his head back and lets out a deep laugh, and even that, works to seduce you.

His hold is an iron grip on your wrist, and it was a mistake letting him grab you, he’s too strong, and no matter how hard you struggle, you can’t get your hand back.

“This knife is pathetic, princess.” He grabs the hilt, twisting it so that you’re forced to release it or have your wrist twisted too, it clatters loudly in the empty space.

“Is that all you have to fight me off with? No wonder this is so easy.”

You exhale angrily, trying to push him away, your freshly done nails digging into his arms.

He grips your hands, pulling them above your head and pinning them there with one of his.

A soft sound of distress leaves your lips, struggling to get away but your dress is too much of a hindrance, keeping your legs pressed in one place when he moves closer.

“Here, why don’t I show you mine?” He murmurs, reaching with his free hand to pull a significantly larger knife out of his boot.

You gulp, eyeing it wearily as he rubs the handle roughly against your cheek, the hilt is coated in a rubber, with indents to help with grip. He slides it around till it’s pressed to your lips, smearing your lipstick, you angle your head away to avoid it.

“I’m going to fuck you with this,” He promises, leaning in till the mouth of his mask is on your ear, “Gonna use it to get you ready for my cock.”

“No.” you murmur weakly.

“No?” He teases, “Well why don’t you try stopping me then?” He murmurs, pulling back a little to free you from his hold.

You’re surprised to be free, knowing that it’s just a trick, knowing that he wants to chase you.

You keep your eyes on his form, watching him observe you as you slowly back away.

“Go on, princess,” He says in such a condescending tone that your knees wobble, “Run away from me.”

When you're far enough away that you know he won't grab you, you turn, pulling your skirts up a little so that you can run.

Heart pounding in your chest you have no idea where you're going or what your plan is beyond running away. You couldn't very well hide in a dress that glimmers when you breathe, you couldn't fight- all you really had in your arsenal was your capacity to get him angrier.

With that in mind, you grab the first heavy thing you can find- the telephone directory- turning and chucking it in his approximate vicinity.

It doesn't slow him down at all, because he grabs your wrist in the next second, pulling you into him.

“No!” You exclaim, swiping your nails across his mask, knocking it askew so that he can't see.

You’re not proud of how hard you stomp his foot next, watching him double over with a low grunt, allowing you to get some distance.

The phone, you decide, angling your run to get you to the base of the main stairs.

You just make it to the phone- grabbing the glossy handset and raising it to your ear- before he grabs it roughly from you, reaching behind to rip all the important wires out of the back.

You almost can’t do it, wanting to drop to your knees right there and beg him to take you- but you know that deep down you had to see this fantasy fully play out.

He’s angry now, and he shows it by grabbing the entire phone and slamming it to the floor while you watch, backing away in horror, his sleek boot slamming the broken pieces until it’s nothing but ruby shards.

“Who were you going to call, princess? You don’t even know where you are.”

Jesus, you think, helplessly aroused.

The next time you turn away, he wraps an arm around your waist and picks you up.

You kick your feet in protest, scratching at his arms, trying to pry his iron grip off of you but it’s no help, you grunt, and you kick and you wriggle and still he drags your body wherever.

He drops you below the chandelier of the throne room.

It glitters in your eyes as you try to catch your bearings, sitting up you watch him grab a length of rope from his belt.

You try to scramble back but your dress catches under your feet, making you slip, falling back even more.

He grips one of your wrists while you’re disoriented, and you feel the rope wrap tightly around it. You try to push him off, but he just catches your other hand, wrapping them securely in front of you, knotting them easily.

He stands, and with a strong arm, throws the other end of the rope through a support rung of the chandelier, catching it as it swings toward him.

Then, he pulls, forcing you up onto your knees, your hands suspended in the air, as he moves to secure the rope to the throne nearby.

You struggle, trying to tug your way out, your legs tangled in your dress, stopping you from standing.

“I wouldn’t.” He warns softly, “Pull too hard and it might fall, carving up that pretty body before I’m done.”

He kneels beside you, brushing some of your hair out of your face.

“That would make me, real upset.” He breathes through the mask.

“P-lease.” You beg, turning your head to look at him, relaxing when you realise there was no escaping without hurting yourself.

“God, you're so pretty.” He trails a gloved hand over your cheek, down your chest, the leather is smooth on your skin, you shiver when his hand reaches the top of your dress.

“I almost don't want to hurt you.” his hand smooths over the front of the dress, slipping lower to gently untangle the skirts from your legs, you adjust to let him do so, thinking that it will allow you to stand up.

You turn your head to look at him, examining his eyes through the mask, the way they linger on your body, you don’t even realise what’s been done until you feel his gloved hand slip under your panties and press right to your clit.

The friction is delicious, the smooth leather providing an interesting feel between your thighs. You look down, realising he’s used the high slit of your dress to get under your skirts easily.

“Don’t.” You beg, trying to inch away, “Please.”

“I don’t fucking care what you want, princess.” He grits out harshly, his finger pressing down more firmly, slipping from side to side, the pleasure, trying to force you to shut down your resistance.

“I’m here to steal from you, and I’m going to take everything I want.”

Your breaths become shallow when his finger starts circling your aching bud, you’ve been denying yourself for so long that you feel the sweet burn of pleasure the longer he does it.

You can even feel how wet you are, in the fluidness of his movements. He breathes into your ear, and you find yourself leaning into him to take the weight off of your knees.

“Don’t do this,” You murmur weakly, “Please I’ll do anything.”

He laughs in your ear, slowing his movements to torment you.

“I’m doing you a favour, sweetheart, you should be grateful. At least I have the decency to let you cum before I fuck you with my knife.”

You make a sound of protest, angling away from him.

“No!” You cry.

He doesn’t let you move far, gripping the back of your head, till it’s tilted back, hands suspended above you, his fingers resume their fast movement on your clit.

He’s dextrous, even with gloves on, you can feel the micromovements that succeed in bringing you right up to that edge even faster.

Your eyes roll back in your head, surprised that he’s got you right on edge so soon, though you know you shouldn’t be, this is your husband after all, he knows exactly how to get you off.

The weeks of denial burn, your body not accustomed to orgasm needs an extra push getting there, he presses down even firmer, speeding up.

You groan, unable to stop it, or resist it, your stomach clenched tight with nothing in sight but the precipice of orgasm.

Don’t stop, you beg internally, please don’t stop.

It’s a hollow thing, but strong nonetheless. You breathe shallowly through gritted teeth as you reach your peak, thighs trembling, as you rut yourself helplessly on his gloved fingers.

Too good, needing just a little bit more, thighs sticky with your orgasm, his fingers growing even more messy as you come.

Your vision whites out for a moment, senses evaporating temporarily, you come back to the sound of your own panting, heavy in the room.

You don’t get a chance to look over at him with desperate eyes, he pulls his hand from between your thighs and promptly shoves his drenched fingers into your mouth.

You hum in protest, trying to pull away, but he’s still got that iron grip on the back of your head.

“Taste that slutty little cunt, princess. Remember how wet you get for me when you’re begging me to stop later.”

You can only grunt your denial, with his fingers in your mouth, the taste of leather and your arousal making its point on your tongue.

When he draws his hand back, they come out with heavy strings of saliva that cling to your bottom lip.

“You’ll pay for this.” You whisper hoarsely, your head hanging low. Your arms start to ache a little from the way they’re held above your head.

It’s the wrong thing to say, he grips your hair once more, tugging your head back to an almost uncomfortable position.

“What was that?”

You make a little sound at the way he manhandles you, tilting your head, you look him in the face.

“I said, ‘You'll pay for this.”

He studies you slowly, you watch his eyes flicker as he studies your face. You curl your hands into fists, hoping he lets you down soon.

His laughter doesn't surprise you, but it does make your stomach twist.

“Yeah? Who’s gonna make me pay? You?” He says between small sounds of amusement, reaching back, he pulls the knife from before out of his pocket.

You eye it warily, as he brings the blade up to your line of sight, you swallow, trying to breathe as you examine the wicked edge of the serrated blade.

You go perfectly still when the cool metal of the blade touches your cheek.

“You might be a pretty little thing, but you have no power to make me pay. You’re all mine to do what I want. You can’t stop me.”

You whine pitifully, knowing that his words were true.

He reaches up, cutting the rope and guiding your hands into your lap. By now, they tingle, almost numb but not quite, you sigh in relief, watching him quietly squeeze your arms.

“Don’t be scared,” He says, surprisingly soft for someone who was just running the sharp edge of a knife over your cheek, “I'm sure you'll learn to love taking my cock. Maybe with time, you'll beg me for it.”

“Go to hell.” You utter with as much venom as you can muster.

Behind the mask, you hear his laugh, watching the way he lowers his hand, flipping the knife around so that the hilt points toward you.

You lean away, your dress glittering as you move, feeble bound arms raising to push his hand back as he draws closer.

You don’t get far in stopping him, and in the next moment, you feel the hilt of his blade pressed between your thighs.

Fuck, this was too good.

Your head tips back in bliss, torn between fighting him and begging him to just take you in any way he wanted.

Your husband, the man you loved with almost every atom in your body.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You whisper on a shaky breath, turning to look at him.

Behind the mask, he huffs, the hand in your hair wraps neatly around your throat.

Pulling you close, looking into your eyes, you can hear his angry breaths behind his mask.

He wriggles the hilt of his knife against your cunt, pleasure swelling in your head at the very touch.

He stands suddenly, sheathing his knife, grips your arm to haul you up. Your legs wobble, almost giving out beneath you before he’s wrapping his hands around your hips to lift you.

With your hands tied together, there’s nothing more you can do than wiggle, shifting your body this way and that, but he doesn’t say a word, dropping you onto one of the thrones in the next moment.

He grabs the rope that's tied to the throne- the one that had been used to pull you onto your knees just moments before- and uses it to secure each hand to either side of you.

You kick your foot out at him, and he simply grabs your ankle, gloved hand trailing up to your thigh for a moment before he bends your knee, pulling your leg over the arm of the throne, and securing your ankle to a point somewhere between the base and the foot that you can't really see.

From there, it's over for you, your other foot is caught just as swiftly, and the next thing you know, you’re tied securely to the throne with your legs opened wide, draped across the arms of the intricately carved seat.

He's silent for a moment, appreciating his work, you tug at the restraints to further reinforce his satisfaction that you can't move.

“Damn. You look like a work of art.”

You frown up at him.

He leans over you, and you finally understand the versatility he has with you in this position. He could fuck your cunt, or your mouth, or even your breasts if he so wanted and you couldn't do a damn thing.

He grips your jaw with one hand, tilting your head up, coming closer, pressing a knee into the open space between your thighs for balance. When he gets close enough, he covers your eyes, and the next thing you feel is his mouth on yours.

It gives you butterflies, the way he presses in firmly, taking with his mouth, his beard scratching softly at your chin and lips. You hum against his mouth, feeling his hold on your jaw tighten for a second before he's shoving his tongue past your lips.

Like he owns you, his kiss consumes your senses, your bound fingers curling into little fists as you enjoy kissing him for a few moments more.

Before you bite down harshly on his tongue.

He pulls away in a split second, back to you as he presses his hand to his mouth. You grin in victory as he tugs the mask sitting on his head back down to his face before turning to face you angrily.

He's slow when he approaches, predatory with his long legs and his cocky attitude.

He drops to one knee in front of you, tilts his head, leaning in.

You hear the loud thud of his hand slamming into the space beside your head long before you've registered what's happened.

It makes you flinch in surprise, despite the fact that he'd practised it with you before. It seems way more sinister now, with his masked persona feeling like a different person altogether.

Naturally, the fear spinning inside of you, only succeeds in making you more aroused.

“You're such a brat, I almost want to fuck you right now with no prep.” He presses his thumb between your spread legs, ambling slowly over your clothed clit, “I bet I'd make that little cunt cry with how much I stretch her.”

You suck in a slow breath.

“Please don't.”

He pulls his knife out again.

“You don’t really have a choice.” He answers, carefully angling the cool blade between the seam of your panties.

“Don’t move, little girl, or I might accidentally hurt you- on purpose.” He teases, tugging the knife toward him so that your panties are cut through with zero effort.

You sigh in relief when your cunt is finally exposed to the cool air, sticky with arousal, you groan when he tugs your undergarment free.

“Look at that weepy little hole princess- fuck- she’s so empty, isn’t she?”

“Noo” You hum softly, clenching around nothing as he studies your most delicate area.

He moves slowly, almost reverent in his actions, notching the tip of his hilt against your entrance, you feel your lungs seize as the pleasure hits you.

You hiss when he presses in, the ridged hilt stretching you open, not as big as his cock, but certainly larger than his fingers.

You take it as best as you can, relaxing, eyes watering with an abundance of pleasure.

He tilts his head, makes a single click of his tongue.

“She’s so greedy,” He says breathlessly, “Look at that.” He sinks more of the hilt in.

You bite your lip, moaning when he pulls slowly out, pushing in again.

He starts slow, moving softly until you can take all of the hilt. He grips the blade, you wonder if the glove protects him from the sharp edge.

You want to say his name, but he hasn’t given it, so you settle for sniffling, your bottom lip wobbling wetly as he takes his time.

“Stop.” You mewl, trying to stay in character, looking at his masked face, watching his dark eyes look back.

“No, sweetheart,” He says evenly, “I’m going to play with you, until I’m done.”

You suck in a deep breath, holding it.

He quickens his pace just a little, and before you know it, your cunt has locked tight around the hilt of his knife, every blunted ridge of it being imprinted into your head as you see stars.

It’s unexpected, you hadn’t meant to cum, your body jerking helplessly against the restraints, you pant, unable to see straight for a few moments.

You gulp in air, coming back to your senses. He waits patiently for your orgasm to subside, your body to relax before he works the hilt out of your eager cunt.

“You’re so pretty when you do that.” He says, tucking his knife back into his belt, studying you for a moment before reaching up to shove two of his fingers past your lips.

You can’t go anywhere, simply forced to feel him carefully push and pull his fingers in and out of your mouth, the weight on your tongue encouraging your brain to surrender to him.

When he determines his fingers are wet enough, he glides them down your chest, and tugs at the front of your dress.

It takes a little work before his thumb and index find your pert nipple.

A breath of air leaves you, and your back arches involuntarily, begging for more of his touch.

“You like it, huh? Kinda pathetic.”

“Rot in- f- hell.” You grunt, eyes rolling back as pleasure swims in your head from the way he takes his time to play with your nipples.

You feel his hand, drag over your stomach as he chuckles, the rushing sound as he disturbs the fabric of your skirts. Deft fingers rub circles into your inner thigh before a lone finger slips under the silky elastic garter that was holding your little knife.

You watch him assess you, bound arms and spread thighs and his masked face tilts as his eyes meet your centre.

“So pretty.” He mumbles, before he leans in, lifts his mask to the top of his head and lays a gentle lick to the seam of your cunt.

You gasp in surprise, unable to see his face with the mask atop his head, all you can do is feel- the way he licks gently at you, softly, the need burning white hot with each moment he teases. His tongue trails up to your clit, offers you a preview of the pleasure he can give, before placing slow swipes of his tongue over you.

You sigh, the fight leaves your limbs, you feel like jelly above him, with a tongue that can only be described as godly.

There’s no way you can continue fighting past this, his tongue pulls obedience from you, compliance, it makes you willing and eager to let him do whatever he wanted, helpless for your perfect husband.

You let out a slow moan, head tipping back, thighs trembling with the way his tongue moves, gliding over your clit, showing you exactly what he was capable of without ever actually giving you anything.

“Please,” You simper, unable to resist, with the tongue of such a dextrous man working on you.

If he wants to ask you about where your fight went, he doesn’t bother, merely laughing into your heated cunt, the fractures of his pale mask staring back at you.

Almost there, your fingers curl tight, nails pressed to the flesh of your palms as your breathing hastens.

There’s a rushing in your head, pressure all over, threatening to make you burst apart.

You’re not sure if he knows or cares, his mask moving slightly when his head does, when his tongue, the raving appendage it is, delves through you.

Faster and yet faster, slippery tongue gliding over you, aimed at your oversensitive bundle of nerves, delicate movements of his tongue that are going to unravel you.

His beard rough against your thighs, a wet smacking sound, warm air brushing over you as he exhales, the reminder that he's there, enjoying his time on his knees, unwilling to stop until you've hit that peak.

He presses in closer, his grip on your thighs tightening, firm in their reminder that he’s there- as if you could forget. Your body shakes, soft whines leave your throat, his tongue harsher on your clit.

“I-” You try to say, but your body decides that you’ve spoken enough, you bite down on your bottom lip, every muscle in your body pulled tight.

The first thing you do when your orgasm hits, is tremble.

A sweet fire erupts inside of you, an insurmountable amount of pleasure spreading over you. Your breathing is harsh, heaving, his soft tongue licks you through it, gentle now and soothing between your thighs, no doubt drinking deep of your orgasm.

You press your hips into his face, unable to stop yourself, and he rewards the movement with more careful touches of his tongue.

The rope holding your arms and legs down chafes slightly, protesting your movement, and after a minute, you slump into the chair, boneless and sated.

Your breathing remains harsh, lips wet from being trapped between your teeth, your face is hot, you can feel each time the blood reaches your cheeks, each time your heart contracts in your chest.

You can't hold yourself up and you know it. If you weren't tied up you'd be in a boneless pile.

“Not bad, princess.” He says, warm breath on your thighs. He raises his body to be in your line of sight, the mask still covering his face.

You feel your nipples tingle, excitement stiffening them as he hovers above you.

He tilts his head to study you, his gloved finger tapping the tip of your nose, sliding down to your parted lips.

“You look real pretty when you come. Your mouth opens and your eyes roll back sometimes- makes me want to do it again and again so I can memorise the way you look.”

It's hard to respond, brain hazy with post-orgasmic bliss, but you have to- you need to.

“Please,” You whisper, “You're not the first man to make me come, and you won't be the last.”

You know you're in real trouble when his hand wraps around your throat.

Your eyes widen, he squeezes hard for a moment, which only succeeds in filling your brain with mindless pleasure. You don't bother trying to breathe, waiting till his grip loosens to take a small breath.

“If you think,” He grunts angrily, leaning in till he hovers over you, “that another man is ever going to touch you, you're more delusional than I thought, princess.”

You can only make a small grunt of protest, gazing angrily up at him.

“And maybe I can't control who touched you before I met you, but I can still gift you their heads.”

It makes your breath stutter in shock.

He releases your throat, pressing the tip of his gloved finger to your bottom lip.

“Tug this off. I want to really touch you now.”

You hold his eyes while your teeth sink into the tip of his glove, biting down on his finger too. He pulls down, dislodging his finger from the glove. You release it, and repeat the process with all five of his fingers, and finally, when they're all loose, you clamp your teeth down on the middle finger of his glove and he pulls his hand free easily.

It smears your lipstick no doubt, and you probably look quite messy by now, no doubt your hair is askew as well.

He reaches down after he makes you help with his other glove, and you hear the slow drag of his zipper. Nothing has ever sounded so euphoric.

You look up at him with wide eyes to find that he's already looking at you.

His eyes terrify you, so much darkness in them, you wonder how you'd never seen it before.

“Don't do this.” You beg, startling when you feel his hot cock brush your inner thigh.

At the same time, the main lights flicker off, only the small auxiliary lights on the walls glow softly.

The darkness in his eyes grow, until it becomes an extension of the room.

“Just breathe, princess, this is going to hurt.”

It does at first.

Even though you've come three times so far, and he's used the hilt of his knife on you, and also his tongue to help further your wetness, his size still pinches.

It's been a while, and you feel it in the way he stretches you open, going slow because he knows he's not an easy man to take.

But God, he feels so good.

The pain comes with double the pleasure, that makes your eyes roll back in your head, bound hands curling into fists, nails digging into your palm in an attempt to process the feeling.

He pushes the tip of his cock in, works carefully to fill you, slows down when he encounters resistance.

You take a shallow breath, coming back to your senses a little, looking up at him as he works himself into you.

He rocks his hips, encouraging your body to feel him, to welcome him in, and you have no control over it, surrendering to him easily.

He's so deep you feel it in your throat, a shuddering mess as he bottoms out, you feel tears spring to your eyes, a fullness you've been craving.

Your lips tremble, watery vision glued to the mask, you couldn't look away if you wanted to.

“Should I stop?” He asks, a minuscule tremor of his voice that gives away that he's not as unaffected as he seems.

You can't say the words, the lie too big to be voiced, but you want to keep playing despite how desperately you need him.

You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding softly.

He blinks behind the mask, a tilt of his head to study you.

Arms braced on either side of you, he leans in till the mask touches your cheek.

“That's too bad.” He murmurs.

Then, he draws out, before pressing into you once more.

You make a small sound, and then another when he does it again, the slow drag of his cock is torture, but that's the best part.

You whine, unable to speak, or voice your frustrations, but he chuckles above you, already knowing that he's not giving you what you need.

It's slow, so fucking slow and yet deep enough to create spots of black in your vision.

He grunts above you, and the sound goes right down to your cunt, clamping around him for a second before releasing.

“Fuck.” He growls, “You're so tight. I'm going to love coming in you.”

This was it, time to be the best actress possible.

“N-no, you can't! I'm- I'm not-”

His laugh is so dark it sends shivers down your spine.

Deep and low, devastatingly malicious.

“I can’t?” He teases.

You shake your head no quickly, eyes wide in shock and fear.

He pauses his slow movements to look down at you, too enraptured to focus on two things at once.

“Who’s going to stop me, princess? You?”

You struggle against your bindings helplessly.

“It's okay, we both know you'll learn to like it.”

With those words, he resumes his slow pace.

It's not fair, barely realistic you've never had an orgasm creep up on you like this.

You don't understand, his cock is moving slow, and yet all your pleasure spots are sparking. Is it his size? Or maybe he just knows your body so well that he can force an orgasm so sweet out of you that it almost hurts.

But you can feel every spark, every short circuit of your brain, your toes curl, and your back stiffens, and the dangerous man above you draws it out, wringing each drop of pleasure before moving to the next.

“Perfect.” He whispers, almost sounding out of breath, and when your chest begins to burn, he delivers one harsh thrust of his cock that makes you topple like a house of cards.

A moan leaves your mouth on every other breath, unable to control your vocalisations, or even your breathing, clamped so tightly around him that he makes a low grunt before you feel him spill inside of you. It makes it that much better, knowing that he's hit his peak at the same time you have.

You come back to your senses slowly, his mask coming into focus.

Each breath eases the burning pleasure, replacing it with sweet euphoria, a drug like never before.

He’s panting too, trembling a little, no doubt struggling to stay upright after his first orgasm in six weeks.

And here you are, about to taunt him for it.

“Is that it?” You ask softly.

You’re a little unprepared for the way his eyes scald you.

“Is my cunt that good?” You continue to tease.

He closes his eyes, takes a slow breath to calm himself.

When he looks at you again, you know you're in a lot of trouble.

He leans away, reaches for his knife before slowly cutting the ropes free from around your ankles.

You hiss when he frees your arms, noticing that there's the impression of the rope on your wrists, you rub them as you right your legs, moving them from their previously spread state.

He watches you, and you do the same warily.

“Stand up.”

You gulp, pushing yourself onto wobbly legs, you sway for a moment, before looking over at him expectantly.

He’s still wearing the mask, but by now you’re aching to see his face, you wanted to see your husband while he did these wicked things to you.

He tilts his head toward the door, and your eyes follow the motion, not understanding until he speaks.

“Get out.”

Your head swivels back to him.

“Go, before I change my mind.”

This was another game, you realise, you’d made him mad, and he was going to show you exactly how helpless you were.

You back away, like always, keeping your eyes on his. You can feel his cum, smearing the inside of your thighs as you move. It only makes you more aroused.

You smooth your dress out anxiously, looking down at the shimmery material, and then back up at him, slowly backing away until you’re far enough that he won’t grab you from behind.

When you make it to the door, he’s still standing where he was, looking at you in the dimly lit room.

You can feel your heart in your throat with the fear of everything around you, a sinister ambience, the thrill of being chased.

Outside is dim as well.

The main lights are off. All you have to go on are the smaller lights along the walls.

You don’t get too far from the throne room before all the auxiliary lights flicker off as well.

The darkness squeezes at your heart, a shiver going down your spine. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the distinct nothingness.

The room is still, quiet around you but you can feel him everywhere. It’s like he’s the darkness surrounding you, touching your skin, depriving you of everything except himself.

It’s why you’re not surprised when you feel him at your back.

His hand reaches around, grips your throat and uses the leverage to pull you back. He isn’t gentle, squeezing at the sides harshly to ensure you’re paying attention to him, as if you could ever be distracted.

His bare hand, warm, coarse, thumb and middle finger pressed to either side of your neck. You go lightheaded at the sensation.

You feel his nose press into your hair, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear and you realise he’s taken his mask off.

“I change my mind.” He whispers darkly, laughs when you struggle.

You pull out of his grip, and you run as fast as your legs can take you.

He doesn’t chase, and you make it a good distance away, tucking your body behind a wall to catch your breath. You don’t know where you are, but you assume it’s somewhere near the front doors. The pins in your hair are uncomfortable, and you take your time tugging the little tiara out of your hair, dropping it to the floor.

You can feel his cum, making an even bigger mess, and the implications of that only succeed in heightening your arousal.

The sound of his knife, dragging against the wooden panels on the walls catch your attention. You lift your head, a tug of desire pulls below your navel.

“You know, the first time I met you, really met you, I couldn't believe you were real.” He says, his voice carrying through the quiet hallway.

“You looked at me, and you listened, and all I could think about was how to get you alone, away from that useless boyfriend of yours.”

Your lips part, head pressed to the wall, eager to hear his words, your heart drumming in your chest.

“And when you left me that night, I went back to my lonely apartment, and I found out everything I could about you. I didn’t sleep. I needed to find something to hate- something that would help me stop obsessing over a girl I’d met one time.”

His voice gets closer and you know you have to move, or else he was going to find you.

Quietly, you kick your shoes off, abandoning them so that your steps can be quieter, you lift your skirts slowly, trying to stop the swishing sound it makes.

“You know what I found? Nothing. Nothing could make me hate you, nothing could stop what you started when you smiled at me, all of it made me want you.”

Your heart hammers even more with his words.

“And while I was trying to come up with a plan to make you mine, I’d been yours for ages.”

You stop, turning to his voice as he says that last part, wanting to go to him, to hold him, to tell him the secret you’d been keeping for weeks- that you were his too.

“Don’t fret too much about it though, princess. There’s no need to worry, I’ll feel all better once you come on my cock.”

You gasp, backing away, one hand behind you to stop you from bumping into anything. He was absolutely insane in the best way.

You can’t see a damn thing, feeling your way around to find the entrance you’d come through, your breathing is loud in your ears, you’re sure he can hear you.

You were conflicted. You wanted to run towards the scary man hiding in the darkness, though you know it would be worth your while to run away.

“You want me so bad?” You taunt into the darkness, “You’ll have to catch me first.”

Skirts in hand, you follow the first light you see- the moonlight streaming through the kitchen windows, the feel of the carpet runner helps you move in a straight line, and the next thing you know is that you’re at the foot of the stairs.

You look back, trying to make shapes out of the darkness, but there’s nothing there, you turn and begin your ascent.

You don’t know where he is, he could be two feet or two inches behind you and you wouldn’t know.

Your body is warm from the adrenaline, the dress constricts your breathing.

You stop for a second time when you find what you think is a tea room.

There’s a large wooden table sitting in front of an equally large window, the moonlight streaming in allows you to see that there’s a wall of mirrors on one side of the room. On the other side, is a smaller round table with a porcelain teapot, and other matching dishes.

“Surprise.” He says from right behind you, and you swear your heart jumps right out of your chest.

Before you can turn to look at him, your cheek is pressed to the large table, one hand behind your neck, the other pulls your skirts up.

When he has your ass exposed, his hand comes down hard on your soft flesh. You cry out.

“That’s for all your mouthing back.” He grunts, before spanking you again.

It hurts, stings so sweetly, you try to rise but his hand is firm on the spot between your neck and shoulder.

When he’s satisfied, he reaches down between your legs.

He clicks his tongue, his fingers swiping through the mess between your thighs.

“Look at the mess you made. Don't you have any kind of consideration for how hard I worked to put my cum in you?”

You feel him move, you assume to take his cock out. Your suspicions are confirmed when you feel him kick your legs wider, pressing his tip to your entrance.

You mewl helplessly when he enters you.

Stretched once more, he feels bigger in this position, his pace is harsh, fucking into you meaningfully, your eyes roll back in your head, spit slipping from past your lips as your face is kept pressed to the table.

You feel a sharp tug and your dress loosens, too pleasure drunk to figure out why.

The glide of his cock quells your urge to fight, your body sparking, electrified at the feeling of him.

He pulls you upwards, and the front of the dress sags, exposing your front to the air.

“Look at us.” He growls into your ear, turning your head to the mirror, you see your bodies reflecting back. Him, in his tight shirt and open pants, you with your beautiful shimmering dress caught between your bodies and hanging off your shoulders. It’s the first time for the night that you see his face, and your eyes are locked on how handsome he looks, hair askew, filling you with his magnificent erection.

He’d cut the back of your dress, you realise absentmindedly, your full breasts on display for him because of that, a small sound leaving your chest as he enters you again.

“We’re perfect together.” He acknowledges, you internally agree.

He presses his lips to your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the mirror, his teeth flashing for a second before he bites you.

You cry out, the sweet burn of it only succeeds in making you want him more and more.

He doesn’t stop when you come, only slows for a moment to help you catch your breath before he continues.

“All mine now, princess.” He affirms, his hips slapping against yours, filling you till your vision blurs.

Deeper than ever, you feel his cock press securely to your cervix, eager to have him fill you with his cum.

You take a shuddering breath, so close to another orgasm, unable to think about anything with the way he feels.

Your nails claw at the table, willing your body to take him, your perfect husband, giving you just what you need. He groans above you, enjoying you almost as much as you enjoy him.

The pleasure builds, swimming in your head, worsening with each move of his cock inside of you. He holds nothing back, all of his energy is focused on filling you as hard and as fast as he can, leaving nothing behind but hot, near blistering, rapture.

You cry out when you come, body shuddering, a loud roaring in your head. He grunts loudly, following you over the edge, filling you with even more of his hot cum.

After a moment, he draws out of you, helping you stand, he gently pulls your dress off, discarding it on the ground, he reaches to scoop your swaying body into his arms.

You’re sated, unable to lift your head. You feel him rest you gently on a soft, cool bed.

The sheets are amazing on your overstimulated skin, and you peek your eyes open to watch him pull his tight fitting shirt over his head.

In the low light, your eyes find his tattoo, you smile softly as it ripples, watching him kick his shoes and pants off too, until he’s hovering above you, naked.

“You’re so gorgeous.” You whisper dreamily, raising a hand to press it to his cheek.

He lets out an air of amusement, he reaches around, gripping one of your legs to wrap it around his hip.

“Only the best for you, princess.” He hums, before you feel him push his cock into you once more.

You fall asleep to him fucking you, your adrenaline crashes after countless orgasms, and before you know it you’re out. You wake a few hours later to find him inside you once more.

You moan his name, your body still eager and receptive to him, having craved this side of him for so long.

“Messy pile of wife.” He grunts into your ear mid-thrust, “Just like I promised.”

There’s so much of his cum slipping out, you can feel it, you can’t wait for him to top you up with more.

He kisses your cheek, licks a stripe through the tears slipping from the corner of your eyes.

“Cum for me. One more time, baby.”

You gasp, nodding, head filled with cotton, floating in the clouds, lost in his essence.

You blink hazily after you feel the smooth metal plug slip in, soothing you with its coolness, arousing you with the reminder that he’s filled you to the brim.

You’re pressed against him, his hand wrapped securely around you. He stretches to reach something on the bedside table.

You’re almost asleep when you feel him slip your ring back onto your finger.

It makes you complete, eases any lingering worry.

“I love you, Billy.” You murmur, before you finally let sleep take you.

It wakes him up.

He blinks in shock, turning to look at you.

You’ve already fallen asleep, breaths even with your left hand pressed to his chest.

Had you really just said what he thinks you just said?

He considers shaking you awake, desperate to hear you say it again. To tell him what he’s been dreaming of for years.

What if it was a mistake? His mind asks.

His stomach drops.

What if you didn’t really mean it?

He swears he breaks his own heart in the moments after you say those four words.

He stays awake for a while, trying to memorise your words, the way you said them, the way they made him feel. He tries to learn the hour and the minute and the position of the moon in the sky at the very moment the words left your mouth.

He wonders if he’ll ever hear them again, wonders if this would be the only time in his life that you say these words to him.

If this is all he gets, he decides he’s going to cherish it.

“I love you too.” He whispers, with everything he has.

You’re curled up against him the next morning having breakfast when you finally take the time to examine your ring.

Your body is sore, having been fucked thoroughly, but you were a little proud to see the litany of scratches over the expanse of Billy’s back. You weren’t the only one marked last night.

You raise your hand to offer him a piece of your buttered croissant, he eagerly takes a bite.

“My ring looks the same. What did you change?” You ask, reaching for more jam.

“The inside.” He says with his mouth full.

You smile, pulling it off your finger to see what’s there. On the silver surface on the inside, you can see something engraved. At first you think it’s words, but as you bring the ring closer to your face you realise it’s numbers.

“I’m still confused.” You state.

He makes a little hum, having just swallowed his food.

“If you go to my bank, and show them this ring, and give them your fingerprint, you can withdraw from any of my personal accounts.”

You blink, your eyebrows drawing together.

After a moment you give him a confused look.

He chuckles, reaching up to cup your face, his thumbs smoothing over your tense eyebrows, encouraging them to relax.

“Any amount, little wife, any time.” He elaborates.

You blink in shock.

He was… giving you access to his money?

“Is that safe?” You ask warily.

“Planning to take all my money?” He teases.

“No! But- what if someone steals the ring… or… kidnaps me and forces me to take it?”

“That will never happen.” He promises, his fingers tightening on your cheek to reinforce his words, “As long as I’m breathing, and even if I’m not, you will always be safe.”

“You can’t stop breathing,” You fight back, leaning in to wrap your arms around him, “I won’t let you.” The words are muffled against his shirt.

He laughs.

“Noted.”

He grunts, his fingers curling over yours as they grip the back of the soft couch.

“Hold on.” He commands, just as he slides his amazing cock into your body.

You make a soft sound of delight, tipping your head back to rest on his chest. He groans into your ear, fucking up into you slowly and thoroughly.

His skin is hot, having spent the morning of the second day exploring the gardens outside, only to come back in and ravish you on the sitting room couch.

His left hand drops down, thick fingers find your swollen clit.

“Sing for me. Let me hear you, wife.”

You whine, the sensation of his fingers rolling over your clit makes your legs shake.

“Gonna take my cum like a good girl?” He grovels in your ear.

You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding, seeing stars as he rubs your clit with more fervour.

“Fucking perfect.” He moans, and the words go right to your cunt, setting you off.

He growls in your ear when you clench around him, it only makes your orgasm last that much longer, eager to have him cum, you roll your hips on his cock.

It succeeds in working him into a frenzy, and you’re face down, with your ass in the air in the next moment.

He licks your slit harshly before his cock slides right back in, moving faster, his hips set a brutal pace, your next orgasm is like a gunshot.

He falls beside you after he comes, out of breath with a dopey grin on his face.

“What is it?” You ask curiously.

“Nothing really,” He gasps, “I just feel really fucking good.”

You smile shyly, leaning up to kiss him.

You’re whisking eggs for french toast when his arms wrap around you.

He presses his nose into your hair, breathing in your soft smell.

“Morning.” He grovels into your ear, feels your body shiver.

“Hello Mister Russo. Sleep okay?’

He chuckles, remembering the feel of your lips around his cock as he came last night. Fuck, you were delightfully insatiable.

“Like a rock,” He confirms, “Join me for a bath?”

“Yeah,” You agree, “Let me finish this batch and I’ll be right there.”

“Don’t keep me waiting, little wife.” He whispers as he pulls back, reaches for an apple sitting in the basket nearby, taking a slow bite.

“I won’t. Love you.” You say absentmindedly.

Billy stops.

He turns to stare at your back in shock. You continue moving as if you haven’t said anything strange.

“What was that?” He asks.

You raise your head to glance at him.

“I’ll be right there.”

“No, the last part.”

You blink, a look of confusion on your face.

“I… love you?”

The room goes still, the only sound is the french toast as it sizzles.

“You love me?” He asks, his heart getting heavier and lighter at an alarming rate.

“Yeah? I-I said it to you on our first night. You- you said it back.”

He did remember saying it back.

“I thought you said it accidentally.”

You pause, reaching to turn the stove off, before facing him.

“You thought my tongue slipped and I told you I loved you without meaning it?”

Billy swallows.

“I thought the number of orgasms had gotten to your head and you were saying things that might not be totally true.”

Your eyebrows raise in realisation.

“It was true. I’ve been… feeling like that for a while.”

“Like you love me.” He says dumbly.

You nod your head.

“Like I love you.” You confirm.

This wasn’t an outcome Billy had ever seen coming. Sure, he’d been hoping for fondness, that he could give you a comfortable life and you could be content by his side.

But love?

Unthought of.

“Why the fuck would you love me?” He whispers, horrified.

He’d done so many bad things, ruined your life in so many ways.

You take a careful step in his direction.

“What’s not to love? You’re smart, and strong and you go after what you want-”

“-One of those things was you.” He argues.

You laugh. He wasn’t joking.

“Yeah, how I got here wasn’t the best, but, I’m glad I am, and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

He takes a step toward you, and then another, and then his arms are pulling you into a soul crushing hug.

“You love me.” He murmurs into the top of your head.

“Yes,” You reply, holding him just as tightly, “I do.”

“Where are we anyway?” You ask on the fourth night.

He raises his head from between your thighs.

“Europe.” He answers vaguely, before dropping his head to lap gently at your clit once more.

You smile happily, leaning back against the library desk.

“Billy?”

“Mmm?” He hums from between your thighs.

“I love you.”

You feel the breath he lets out before he pulls back.

He kisses you, lips wet with your arousal, a tart taste on your tongue that makes you smile when he pulls away.

“I’ll show you how much I love you.” He mumbles, dropping to his knees once more.

Coming back to his apartment after that had felt surreal.

Like it was all a dream, the fucking best dream you’d ever had.

You’d been given a letter from your mother at the front desk, and you’d happily dropped it to the floor the minute Billy had pulled you into his arms for a slow kiss.

It was… magical, your fingers glazing through his beard, gripping his hair, the next thing you know you’re being lifted and taken to his bedroom.

The fire hadn’t left either of you, burning, sizzling sparks each time you touched, each time you held his hand or kissed his cheek.

He was all over you, inside and out, claiming you in a way you knew deep down would never be done by another.

“My wife.” He groans into your ear when he comes.

You pant, reaching up to kiss him, legs wrapped tightly around his hips to keep him inside of you for as long as possible.

Your husband.

He leaves you in the early morning of the next day. It’s training day and he wants to get there early to get a jump on what he’s missed.

He kisses a path between the valley of your breasts down to your womb before he leaves, dressed in a crisp charcoal suit. You grin happily as you fall back asleep.

Later, when it’s time for you to leave for work, you find that manila envelope your mom had sent you sitting on the kitchen counter. Billy had probably picked it up from the floor where you had left it yesterday when he was leaving for work earlier.

You reach for it after you’re done hopping around to tug your heel on.

It’s unopened, so you take your time peeling it open, wondering what it was. Last time it had been a bunch of recoloured family photos, you assumed this was probably more of the same.

It’s not, it’s a stack of papers. At first, it’s odd things like flyers for bikes, and a bouncy castle rental ad. You flip through, a little concerned that your mother might be losing her mind.

Your face falls when you flip another page, and find what’s really been sent.

SUPREME COURT OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK

You could feel your heart turn to ice.

You see your name printed under Plaintiff, and under Defendant, is Billy’s. Most of your information has been filled out, including your fucking social security number. Most of Billy’s information is missing, only his real name is there.

Then you see it.

‘The grounds for dissolution of the marriage are as follows:’

Divorce papers.

These were divorce papers.

A/N: DON'T HURT ME THANKS

#fic recs #billy russo #billy russo x reader #don’t mind me just having a little chelsea fic marathon #I swear if reader doesn’t shred those papers immediately I’m going to have some words for her #she better not be leaving those around for Billy to find

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marvelmusing · 4 days

Text

ohmygodohmygodddddd

*giggling and kicking my feet in the air*

The Trust!!! The budding bond between them!!

If I wear a ring two days in a row, on day three I’ll feel bare without it on my finger (and I get emotionally attached to ordinary jewellery - let alone a wedding ring) so I would also appreciate a makeshift ring made from a pocket square

“Sometimes when you thought you were talking to Dominic, you were actually talking to me.” - throwback to one of my favourite scenes of all time

Of course this lovesick dork decides to book an entire castle for a week of debauchery with his wife

To Love and To Cherish (I)

Part 9 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series!

Warnings: Smut (18+), CNC Play, masturbation (f), practice of future CNC play.

A/N: Hoping to get To love and to cherish (II) out soon.

Something’s shifted.

It’s intoxicating being in the same room with him, you can barely think straight in his presence.

When he wakes up in the morning, to get dressed for work, you wake too, and you watch him.

It’s training day, and he has to go in extra early, but the time doesn’t stop you, you wake, and you watch him quietly, as he steps out of the shower with his torso bare, delicious snake tattoo on display for you.

He puts on a show for you, one towel snug around his hips and another smaller one for his hair. You don’t hesitate, propping your body on two pillows, tossing the covers off.

He pauses, glancing in the mirror to make eye contact with you when he sees the movement.

You hold his gaze, tugging your dress up to expose your lower half to the open air.

His eyes are dangerous, warning you not to push your luck.

But you want his anger, you want his rage, you want his darkness.

You slip your hand between your legs.

His throat bobs as he swallows, and after a moment, he resumes his routine while you massage your clit gently behind him.

You watch him easily, delicate fingers roaming over your swollen bud, gentle, featherlight, content to observe him and nothing more.

Your body burns, begging you to go faster to get yourself off, but you know, just like he knows, that it’s not going to happen until he can.

You watch him slide his boxers on, then his socks, pants next, and you hum delightfully at the way he looks, messy, with his white shirt open exposing a part of his chest and abdomen.

You want to lick the trail of hair below his navel, your fingers speeding up.

When you whine a second time, he turns his head, looking at you from the corner of his eye as you stare at him in the reflection of the floor length mirror.

You know what it means, you’re taking too many liberties, and you stop the motion of your fingers automatically.

He faces forward again, buttoning his shirt slowly.

When he’s done with that, he steps into his closet for a tie. He brings back two options, leaning against the bed as he holds them out for you. One is a dark mauve, and the other a slate grey, you tilt your head, observing the colour of his pants before you raise your hand, slick with the arousal from your cunt, and run your fingers on the back of the purple tie.

He drops the other tie on the bed beside you, sliding the tie you selected around his neck. Your fingers glide right back between your legs, tormenting your body for his pleasure.

He steps away again, grabs cufflinks and a watch, drops them on the bed and presents one wrist for your assistance.

You look him right in the eye when you reach for a cufflink, your fingers sticky with your arousal. Pressing them into his sleeve. They’re silver, and as you squint in the early hours of the morning, you notice a snake engraved onto it.

You look up at him, breath halting in your chest at his expression, his lips curled into a gentle smile, his eyes so dark you swear they take up all the light in the room.

You look down, reaching for the other cufflink, and then his watch.

His hands are… gorgeous, and you turn his palm upward so that you can press your cheek against it. A blissful sigh leaves your lips, his rough palm on your cheek and you delight in how whole you feel, your fingers going right back to that spot that craves him so desperately.

“Tell me something else that you know about me.” You beg, looking up at him.

His eyelids flutter for a moment.

“I've seen your porn preferences. I know what you touch yourself to the most.” Billy answers.

Your mouth parts in shock, but your fingers don't stop their glide on your clit, eager for the information.

When he reads your reaction, and determines it's not one of real fear, he decides to take it further.

He pulls his hand from your cheek, pushing you back until you hit the bed with a gasp, he hovers over you ominously, and the same hand that was just cupping your cheek gently, rises to grip your jaw firmly.

“You like hearing that? I know what dirty things you look at while you play with that little cunt. I know what no one else knows about you, I've read the porn you get wet to. Does that turn you on?”

You whine, fingers moving faster on your clit as you nod.

He releases your jaw, reaching down, he grabs your wrist to pull your fingers from between your thighs.

“Enough.” He growls lowly, and you feel a shiver of bliss traverse your spine.

After a few moments, you come to your senses just a little, looking up at him with desperate eyes.

You pant, watching his hands release your wrist, his fingers trailing down your forearm, and up to your shoulder.

He slips his fingers under the strap of your dress, sliding it down your shoulder, tugging at it, until your breast is almost exposed but not yet.

His hand presses to your shoulder next, thumb roving over the exposed skin.

“Do you like… bondage?” He whispers, the tips of his fingers dragging gently on your skin.

You shiver, tilting your head to the side to let his fingers explore you. You nod subtly.

His hand wraps around your throat.

“Words.”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper in a rush, “I like the idea of being tied up.”

“Why?” He pries.

“Helpless.” You stutter out, a little ashamed.

His eyes are dark, overwhelming in a way that makes you feel like you've been holding your breath. Your vision swims, hypnotized by him.

His mouth curves up into a devious smile.

“You wanna be helpless for your husband?”

Your body throbs as you whisper your affirmative.

Then he blinks, and the darkness in his eyes recede, he leans down, a quick kiss to your lips.

“Three more days.” He promises, before he straightens his body, leaving you in the next moment, dishevelled, and barely breathing.

He pulls your hands behind your back, keeping them locked together in his grip while he pushes your shoulder, forcing you to bend over his desk until your cheek presses against the cool wood.

You stay there for a second, trying to breathe through your arousal, your panties already ruined from a few minutes ago when he was asking your permission to do this.

“How was that?” He asks softly, loosening his grip on your wrists.

You make a little shake of your head.

“Harder.” You whisper.

“Sure?” He checks.

“Please.”

He grips your wrists once more, pulling you up, his other hand gripping the back of your hair to manipulate your body better, walks you over to his floor length windows, his movements a little more forceful, and doesn’t stop until your cheek is pressed securely to it.

“Better?” He asks.

“Uh-huh,” You mewl, cheekbone aching a little with the pressure, “Hit the glass.”

His hand slips from your hair, he spins you around, so easily manhandling you in a way that has your legs wobbling while you try to keep up.

You’re looking right into his eyes when his palm slams against the glass right beside your head. It makes a deep sound, you can feel the vibration of it against the glass. It makes you press your thighs together tightly in response, something tugging harshly inside of you.

He leans in, a stern expression on his face as he gets close.

“Did my little plaything like that?”

You close your eyes, nodding your head frantically.

“Two days.” He promises, a soft kiss pressed to your lips.

“One more day.” He whispers into your ear, standing behind you, he pulls your hair away so that he can place soft kisses on the nape of your neck.

You giggle, tilting your neck to give him better access.

“Someone is going to see us.” You warn him, as you stand in Anvil's rooftop restaurant, looking out the window at the skyline.

“I love how you think that would stop me.” He teases between kisses, “Anyway, what's one more day? I'm sure I'm well enough now. We can go back to my office and get rid of all this… frustration.”

You glance around to make sure that no one’s around, the late time of day helps with that.

“I wanna see a signed note from your doctor before you’re allowed to do anything. Besides,” You turn, wrapping your hands around his neck, watching his smile as he looks at you, “Wouldn’t it be a little sad if we waited this long, only for our first time to be in your office?”

“Oh, suddenly you don’t like my office? I can recall a lot of times you begged for me there.”

You scoff in amusement.

“I’m just saying, we should make the next time special.”

“It’s going to be.” He promises, with no elaboration.

His face takes on a serious expression, glancing away for a moment, deep in thought. You study him, waiting patiently for what you can see he’s building up the courage to say.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, softly.

Of course you did, more than anything, Billy knew you in a way that no one else did, he understood you, on levels that no other person could. Of course you trusted him.

Whether you should, was a different debate.

“I trust you.” You confirm.

“Sure? You know, we don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I know. I promise you I know that.”

“Mrs. Russo?” The barista interrupts, “Your order is ready.”

“I love when people call you that.” Billy murmurs when you pull your hands from around his neck to step away.

You loved it too.

Billy holds your body tightly to his as you finish up lunch. His arms are wound around you as you lean against him.

You sigh, tucked against his body, feeling so safe and cared for, his arm resting easily on your shoulder, your eyes slip shut to help you relax.

“So, I kind of have a question for you.” Billy hums, his voice close to your ear.

“Hmm?” You ask, reaching up to link your hand with his.

“Can I have your wedding ring back?”

Your eyes spring open.

Before you can even ask for clarification, he’s speaking again.

“Only temporarily, I want to add something to it.” He explains.

You raise your other hand, examining the ring, you feel him press closer.

“It’s beautiful on your hand.” He murmurs.

You smile, because you know he can’t see it, you let your emotions show on your face. His left hand moves, reaching so that your fingers can interlock. Your rings glitter together beside each other.

You love the way they look, the little star etchings, the small sapphires, the way your rings look like extensions of each other.

“You can’t leave my finger bare, I’ll miss the ring too much.”

He makes a little chuckle.

“So I should have bought a replacement?”

“Not necessarily, you just have to put something there to keep the spot warm- like a rubber band or something.”

“I am not gonna wrap some shitty rubber band around your pretty finger.”

Glee fills you.

“So what then?”

“Umm..” He starts, pulling his hands away so that he can check his pockets for something, he glances at his desk, searching for ideas, before he tugs a little pocket knife out of his pants pocket and then tugs the small pocket square out of the breast pocket of his jacket that’s draped over the arm of the couch.

You sit up, watching him as he carefully slides the knife through the edge of the fabric and raises a small strip of silk cloth for you to see.

Your eyebrows lift in amusement, and you put your hand in his when he asks. His fingers wrap around the ring and you curl your fingers for a second, thinking about it for a moment, before relaxing.

He slips the ring from your finger so easily that you hate it. He makes it better by tying the strip of silk around your finger comfortably and cutting off the excess fabric.

It doesn't feel the same, your finger uncomfortably bare. You curl your hand into a fist, trying to force your familiarity.

He's studying you raptly when you look up at him, his head is tilted to the side in observation.

“What?” You ask quietly.

He shakes his head, a smile curling on his lips.

“I'm just admiring how sad you look without my ring.”

You give him a look of annoyance.

He grins.

“Come here.” He says, reaching for you, gripping your hips and tugging you onto his lap. You adjust your body accordingly so that you straddle his hips.

He grips the back of your head, pulling you down so that your lips meet.

He groans into your mouth, and you hum in response, your hands cupping his rough cheeks.

“My wife.” He hums between kisses, and you smile, deepening your kiss, Feeling his arms wrap tighter around you.

Your stomach tingles, hearing him say those words, you nod into your kiss, trying to tell him that yes, you were his wife, without having to say it.

More and more you were coming to understand how much you loved him, that every time you checked, you found it to be deeper than before.

He pulls back a little but you're not having it, kissing him harder, slipping your tongue past his lips.

Billy groans, feeling your urgency, responding to it with the tightening of his grip. He slides his hands over your body, admiring how good you feel above him.

He's hard, you can feel it, snug between your thighs and you don't hesitate to roll your hips against him.

He stiffens, gripping your hips to stop you. He laughs in the breath between kisses.

“Stop. Or I'll strip you bare and fuck you right here.”

Your fingers wrap around the knot of his tie, pulling him closer.

“Maybe your office wouldn't be so bad.”

“For what I have planned for you, I'll need more than an office.” He counters.

You sigh, releasing his tie and sliding off his lap. He lets you go easily, though his fingers still reach for you, twitching to hold himself back.

“Your loss.” You tease.

“Not at all, I'll make up for it later.” He responds, voice calm and casual.

You raise your eyebrows curiously.

“What exactly are you planning?”

He smirks in amusement.

“Just a little payback, Mrs. Russo, don't worry your pretty head.”

You’re holding his hand when you leave the building, but you draw up short when instead of one car waiting for you, there are two.

There’s a woman standing beside one car, a clipboard, or maybe a binder in hand. She stands straight, her bright red hair catching on the wind.

Billy says your name, and you turn to him curiously.

His eyes are on you, and he tilts his head, raising a hand to cup your cheek.

“You’re going to have to trust me now.” He says, his voice a little loud to compete with the din of New York.

You nod, trying to tell him that you understand without having to say it.

“Will I see you soon?” You ask, catching on to the idea that you'd be going to a different place than he was.

He smiles, nodding his head and leaning in to kiss the top of your head. As he lets you go, you reach for him, gripping his arm, a little afraid to be without him.

“Tell me something.” You plead, looking up at him.

He smiles in understanding, leaning down to press his lips to your ear.

“Sometimes, when you thought you were talking to Dominic, you were actually talking to me.”

Your mouth drops open in surprise, your body going warm in the cold, New York air.

You let out a soft sigh, squinting down at the open binder in your hands.

The redhead from earlier, had introduced herself as Sam, eager to get you into the car so that you could begin your journey to wherever you were going. She wouldn’t tell you, only giving you a soft smile before informing you that it was kind of a surprise.

She’d opened the binder, explaining that she planned special events and that Billy had contacted her for something very special. You assumed, with the way she was speaking, that she thought this was something of a date, and not what you guessed it really was- Billy’s attempt at taking six weeks’ worth of sexual frustration out on you.

The binder itself had contained pictures of a variety of different things. From dresses to food to flowers, she wanted an idea of the things you really liked.

You were stuck on dresses currently, flipping through, searching for something that really stood out. Sam had explained that these were already narrowed down by Billy, and whichever you chose would come along with you.

You were still curious about where you could possibly be going.

There was an obvious theme to the dresses, ball gown-esque in their design, not over the top because he knew you didn’t like that, but nothing overly simple as well. Some were covered in rhinestones, some were layered with delicate tulle fabrics, one had a keyhole neckline that could be seen as very inappropriate in a formal setting.

You scanned the pages, knowing that whatever dress you picked would most likely be torn from you before the night was over, and if you picked the right one- for example one with a high slit- you may have the opportunity to wear it just a little longer than the others.

When your eyes settle on one of the more shimmery materials, you blink, tilting your head. It wasn’t too extravagant, and yet something about the way the fabric looked kept drawing your eyes. The best part was the high slit, that you could assume would come up to the middle of your thigh, which would make it easier for you to run if necessary.

“This one.” You angle the book so that Sam can see. She nods eagerly, reassuring you of your selection.

“That one can be off shoulder, or with straps. What are you feeling?”

You hum, deep in thought for a moment.

“Off shoulder.” You decide, smiling at the thought of it.

“And, I also want something else, but you can’t ask any follow up questions.”

She tilts her head, and you explain it to her.

Your mouth drops open when the car comes to a stop, and there’s a jet waiting for you.

“Where on earth am I going?” You ask in disbelief, tuning to Sam in shock.

She smiles apologetically, shakes her head.

“You’re supposed to trust him, he said.”

Billy could be really outrageous at times.

The pilot introduces himself, and when you ask him about the plane’s destination, he angles his body to Sam, who simply shrugs.

By now, it’s well into the night, and as the plane takes off, the stewardess provides options for your dinner.

Billy’s methodology was madness, and you, equally mad for going along with it. Here you were, on a plane with people you didn’t know, going to an unknown place and all you had to go on was your trust in him, the man who’d trapped you in a marriage.

You didn’t even know where your passport was- how did you even get this far in the first place? You had no clothes, nothing to change into, not even a toothbrush-

Your thinking halts when Sam presents a small leather bag to you. You look up at her, taking it into your hands, the hum of the engine loud in your ears.

You look down, unzipping the top and peering inside.

Billy Russo, your magnificent husband, had packed you a bag of essentials.

You knew it was him, who else would know all your product preferences, you even find a pair of silk pyjamas, with your initials embroidered onto the breast pocket.

There was no one like him, and you knew, deep down, there’d never be another.

You smile to yourself, wanting to spill over with words of adoration, aching to grab the next person you could find and tell them how much you loved your husband.

“There's a bedroom in the back,” Sam says, “You can sleep there, we should arrive in the morning.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise that the flight would be that long.

You study Sam for a moment, she gives you a shy smile, and you roll your eyes, already knowing that she wasn't going to tell you where you were going.

Dinner is delicious, beans, potatoes, chicken, and you really enjoy it, though you find yourself missing the warmth of your husband at your side. You realise that you've been around him constantly for a long time, and although you're still on his plane with his staff, you've never been physically farther since you woke up married to him.

Halfway through dinner, you get a text from him. You smile as you open the message, seeing that it's just a single photo of a document clearing him for work and physical activity as well.

Your mind goes wild with your imagination of what you're going to get up to, so of course, after you've settled into bed later, you unbutton the shirt of your pyjama top a little to send him a tasteful photo of your chest, your embroidered initials just barely covering your nipple.

You see the read receipt activate and you grin, watching him begin typing and stop repeatedly for five minutes before a message actually comes though.

I was in a handover meeting with Frank when I opened that. I groaned out loud and he kicked me out of his office.

You giggle.

I hope you're happy, he adds.

Your only response is to send him another picture, this time, you have your breasts on full display for him.

You're in so much trouble, is his only reply.

You wake when there’s a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” You ask, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Sorry to wake you,” She says through the door, “But you should get dressed, we’re landing soon.”

You glance at your phone to check the time, 10 am. You squint in confusion, knowing that you hadn’t been flying for that long.

You manage to pull yourself up, with a little grumble and get showered and dressed, Billy having supplied another item of clothing- a sundress- at the bottom of the bag.

You're seated and buckled in when the plane lands, and on the way out, the stewardess presents you with a cup of coffee and a breakfast bagel.

You take a look at your surroundings, studying the airplane hangar that you'd docked into, looking for any flags or language differences.

All the signs are in English, but you don't see any flags. You don't have a chance to look outside, being guided into an awaiting limo.

When you get settled, another text comes in.

Stop trying to figure out where you are, just go with it.

You roll your eyes in mild annoyance.

Did you just roll your eyes at me?

You blink in shock, raising your head and looking around. Sam pays you no mind as she studies the area outside while the limo drives. You figure there must be a concealed camera somewhere, allowing him to look at you.

Creep, you think affectionately.

Another message comes in, with an attached picture that makes your eyes widen and your core heat up.

It's a photo of his lap, fully clothed, Except he's gripping his cock through the fabric tight enough that you can see how hard he is.

You grit your teeth. Billy was such a fucking tease.

I'm going to have to apologize to that poor pussy for how hard she's about to be punished.

You clench, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to bite down, feeling the pain center you.

You take a moment, turning your phone down to let the emotions run through you. Your heart was pounding in your chest you could feel the buzz of anticipation in your veins. Soon he'd have you, manipulate you into submission, make you his very own plaything.

You could barely contain yourself, desperate for it, the thoughts of riding his cock till you couldn't breathe, the feeling of his hands on your skin, the way his tongue knew exactly how to glide across your clit.

You smile, turning your phone over, sending a message to him, a challenge.

You'll have to catch me first.

The shift in timezones makes you a little groggy, and you’re almost half asleep when you see it.

You blink, trying to wrap your head around what you're seeing through the window of the limousine.

With tall, pointed spires, soft beige brick, the castle stands at the centre of a large piece of land, extending out as far as you can see.

It's not obscenely large, a flair of something ancient and baroque in its style, spanning the size of maybe a football field, or perhaps, a little smaller.

However dark the castle seems, is offset by the brilliance of the surrounding gardens.

And it takes you, it spins your mind, weaves intricate webs of fantasy and lust, makes you consider, just for a moment, the things Billy would do with you here, the ways it could make you feel.

“Gorgeous.” You hum, deep in your own wonder.

“It is.” Sam agrees, “When Mister Russo told me he'd gotten it all to himself for a week- well it blew my mind. This castle is super exclusive, they only rent a few rooms, to get the entire place, I can't even imagine.”

You want to stop her so many times. He'd rented the entire place? For a whole week?

Your cunt was definitely in trouble.

“Hmmm.” Is the only thing you can say, heart tugging in your chest at the implications, stomach fluttering in excitement.

There's a small welcoming party at the entrance door where the car comes to a stop on a circular driveway. You step out first, smiling politely and shaking hands with the people that introduce themselves. There's a house manager and groundskeeper and so many titles get tossed your way that you almost forget them all.

The tour of the castle is thankfully brief, because despite your night of sleep, the travel has made you exhausted. You smile politely, amazed at the beautiful interior, eager to explore it more on your own time later. You do take note of the dining room, with its large windows and the throne room that holds an impressive chandelier. You try to remember one important detail about each room as they begin to blur together.

Your room is on the second floor, a magnificently large space with an obscenely decorated four poster bed. It's gorgeous with intricate wooden carvings on the walls and on the columns of the bed.

You feel like royalty when you flop onto the bed, simmering with excitement as you let the effect of your surroundings sink in.

Your stomach flutters, you gaze up at the soft pink canopy, studying the intricate designs on the ceiling, letting the looping patterns calm you.

As you relax, sleep takes over, the fatigues of travel finally taking its toll.

#the anticipation oh god #just characters planning out cnc is one of my favourite things #billy russo #fic recs #billy russo x reader #my mutuals (affectionate)#don’t mind me just having a little chelsea fic marathon

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marvelmusing · 4 days

Text

Accidentally on Purpose Masterlist

Dark!Billy Russo x Female Reader

An accidental marriage in Vegas type scenario, toxic relationship.

I made a playlist!!! 😁

To Have and to Hold

For Better or Worse

Something old, Something new

Something borrowed, Something blue

For Richer or Poorer

In Sickness and in Health

With all that I am

And all that I have

To Love and To Cherish Part I // Part II

Forsaking All Others

1K notes · View notes

marvelmusing · 4 days

Text

chelsea chelsea CHELSEA

I too am riddled with anxiety and relate to this reader a lot, but I agree with Billy - point me towards the alphas I have to fight

I’m so glad he was persistent but not overly pushy, even when the reader was hesitant

They both deserve good things!!!

Objects in Motion

Part 2

Alpha!Billy Russo x Omega! Reader

Part 1 here

You’re deep in sleep when a loud bang wakes you.

Bolting up with a gasp, your heart pounds in your chest for a few minutes. You’re not sure what the noise was- a door slamming shut, or maybe something falling in the apartment above you, but the echo of it in your head keeps you awake for a while, hating that your anxiety doesn’t let you sleep.

You go to another dry cleaners, you do your best to avoid going out. You go to work, and back home for a couple of weeks, worried that someone will find you and scold you for what you’ve done.

You think about being scolded by him, you doubt you’d be able to last a moment in his presence.

After you’d ensured the safe delivery of the coat, did you finally research the owner.

William Russo, his stoic, borderline angry expression staring back at you through your computer screen had only made you aroused all over again.

This, this was the Alpha with a scent so magnetic, you couldn’t resist it.

He was rich, a CEO, and you could only look around your threadbare apartment and sigh sadly, there was nothing you could offer him that would interest him.

So, you try to move on with your life, work hard so you can afford to buy alleviators for your next heat, and stay away from alphas that would no doubt hurt you.

The art museum was a big comfort. On a Friday evening, when it was at its emptiest, you’d go in, and stare at all the paintings. You’d study the brushstrokes till your eyes burned, items like Starry Night, and Street Light were beautiful works that always made you dare to dream of a life better than the one you were in. Today however, The Lovers was the one that kept you most occupied.

Two people, with white cloths over their heads as they lean into each other, kissing. Hidden from each other’s sight, you wonder if the painting only holds its romance because of the seemingly anonymity of the subjects. If the mystery was removed, would there be more love, or less?

It was kind of how you felt right now, pained, searching for something that you weren’t familiar with. An alpha, to call your own.

None of the alphas you’d met had ever been right for you. There was an entitlement written into them, the belief that your station was lesser, so you were supposed to submit. Alphas constantly lived with that air of superiority surrounding them, and they were easily upset when you did not give them what they wanted.

The alphas you dated were wrong to think that submission was something freely given, in reality, it had to be earned.

You wondered if the alpha on your mind would ask nicely.

Probably not. It was a good thing he existed only in your fantasies.

Your omega privilege means you get to stay a little after closing. You smile gratefully in the security guard’s direction when he comes to escort you out.

“We’ve got a new piece coming in tomorrow. You won’t be able to stay late anymore, but I’m sure you’ll like it.”

You smile in delight.

“Do you know which one it is?” You ask.

“Not really, not much of an art guy, but it’s a big deal, really expensive.”

You nod, enthusiastically.

“Well, I can’t wait.” You reply, wishing the beta a good night when you finally reach the exit, pulling your jacket tighter around you to protect from the cold.

Not for the first time in his life, he feels the loneliness.

It’s only that he’s never felt it quite like this. Usually, people just didn’t want him, his mother gave him up when he was a baby, and he’d never really understood why. Through his life, people had assumed he’d present as a beta, because he’d been a scrawny kid. Things had only gotten worse when at ten, his alpha denomination had shown through.

Then, everyone had wanted a piece of him, an opportunity to say that they’d fought an alpha and won, uncaring of his age and size- the world had forced him to become ruthless very quickly.

He’d let the world’s rejection shape him, and he’d only realised that when he’d met Frank.

Frank had made him understand, that alphas were not supposed to be cruel, but rather the very definition of safety and security.

He'd tried his best to ignore the hollow feeling inside of him, and that had worked.

At least, it had, up until he'd smelled that stupid coat.

Now, it was like someone had taken a piece of him and ran off with it, ripped a carefully placed bandage off and left him with an open wound. He could feel the absence, like if it was a whole other person in the room.

He wanted his omega.

It was all he’d thought about now, as he pressed the coat to his nose every night, struggling to catch her fading scent, he wondered if he’d ever be able to sleep again when the scent fully faded.

He keeps going, maybe he even pushes himself harder, his work distracts him, helps him keep a clear head.

He’d even accepted a job to secure artwork for the museum, even though his specialty was protecting people, and Frank was usually the man that handled asset protection.

He’s following closely behind The Scream when he stops dead in his tracks.

One of his employees tosses him a confused glance, but he ignores it as he takes a deep inhale.

He’d know that vanilla scent anywhere, the smell of apples mixed in and his heart gives an eager kick.

Surely not-

He turns his head, sees a painting of two lovers hiding from each other, kissing through a shroud of white cloth. He studies it for a moment, his mind racing at speeds he can’t fathom.

When the painting gets too far ahead, he turns and resumes his stride, thinking about all the ways he can do his best to get what he wants.

He gets permission to access the security footage of the museum.

Who’s really going to deny an alpha anyway?

Billy finds her, or at least the back of her head, and he can’t help the excitement that after weeks of searching, he’s managed to get lucky and obtain a lead on her.

He talks to the security guard that walked her out. With a sleepy voice over the phone, the man tells him that she’s a frequent visitor to the museum on Fridays, and she doesn’t cause any trouble so he lets her stay a little after closing.

“She just likes looking at the pieces, and I can’t be mean to an omega as shy as her.”

Billy’s mouth twitches upward, amused at the biological imprint inside everyone to protect omegas. The men who’d done her a favour to deliver his coat had said near the same thing.

It had made him fond, of a sweet girl, that would no doubt be spooked if he showed up at her home unannounced. Even if he now had the means to trace her back to her home, he couldn’t take the risk. He had to play this right.

When you hear Edvard Munch’s The Scream is on display, you vibrate with excitement. Instead of going the opening week, you wait till your usual time the next Friday, when hopefully there’s much less of a crowd to contend with.

It’s not completely empty, but you’re okay with the sparse crowd, you smile, tiptoeing to peek over shoulders so that you can catch a sight of it before you’re at the front.

You love everything about it, the colour and the expressionism of it, you wonder how much the paint has faded over time. The little paragraph beside the painting describes an infinite scream, a universal anxiety, and you think you can almost feel that as you stare at it, the idea that you’re being watched sending a nervous thrill down your spine.

When you move away from the painting however, the feeling lingers. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes to shake the feeling, you don’t understand how a painting can have such an effect.

To clear your head, you find an impressionist nearby, Monet’s reflections of clouds on a lily pond, and you stand in front of it, letting out a long sigh.

When the distinct smell of bergamot hits you, you stiffen.

Your heart squeezes into your throat, and you try to look around as casually as possible, betas turn to look at you as they scent your distress in the air.

Did you feel like you were being watched- because you were actually being watched?

You take in another breath, and this time, you’re sure.

Cracked pepper, citrus-

The alpha was here.

Someone says your name behind you, and you turn in fright.

There he was. Dressed down in casual clothes, trying to blend in with the people around him- as if an alpha as handsome as him ever could.

Billy Russo was devastatingly gorgeous up close.

But you were fucked.

Your eyes widen and you take a step back, knowing that this was definitely about stealing his coat. He would no doubt try to make you pay for cleaning- or worse yet- a new coat entirely.

Your body flushes with fear as you back away from him on shaky legs.

His head tilts as he watches you go, dark eyes caught on your retreating form.

“Don’t run, omega.” He says easily, taking a single stride as you back away, his presence looming over you, igniting something in your stomach like a match being struck.

You make a small sound in the back of your throat, and you do exactly what he says not to.

You run.

Well, not exactly.

More like a quick walk, looking back to see if he follows, you beeline for the bathroom, hoping to hide in there for a moment.

You groan, splashing your face with water, internally grumbling over what you've gotten yourself into.

You should have never grabbed that stupid coat with your stupid omega senses always searching for the right alpha. What did you think? That just because he’d had an amazing scent meant that he wanted to take care of you?

No, he was probably going to scold you, and force you to pay him back, and you couldn’t afford three thousand for a coat.

Your throat tightens in panic, your body flushes with fear.

You couldn’t think too much on what he would do if he caught you, all you needed to focus on right now, was getting away.

So you take a deep breath and you shed your jacket, tucking it under your arm and stepping out of the bathroom behind someone.

There’s not a lot of people, but luckily you know the museum, and you take the most secluded paths that you doubt anyone unfamiliar to the museum would know of.

You sigh happily when you see the exit door in sight, making large meaningful steps, looking back every now and then. Behind you is empty, and you think that you might have actually lost him.

It sends a pang of sadness through you, but you shake your head to shove it away.

You look back once more when you push your way through the exit doors, making sure the path behind you is clear of any six foot alphas.

And you walk right into him.

You’re not sure it is at first, but his size and smell give it away. Your face is pressed securely to his chest, and his hands come up to grip your upper arms firmly.

You raise your head in panic, trying to wrench back from him.

“Relax omega, you’re not in any trouble, I promise.” He says, something in his voice that makes his words sound believable.

You whine in distress.

“Please, I’m sorry, I can’t afford to replace your coat. I shouldn’t have taken it.” You plead, voice wobbling with the struggle to speak under duress.

“Shh, little one, I’m not here to ask you for money.”

His words don’t register in your head, and you begin to cry. Thick swells of tears fall from the corners of your eyes.

“I can’t pay.” You struggle out in a tiny voice.

He grunts, his hands move to cup your face, your tears spilling onto his fingers instead.

“Omega.” He says meaningfully.

The command in his tone makes you look up at him, brain going quiet, the power of his voice catching your attention easily. His stern expression softens.

“I’m not here to make you pay for anything, and I promise you’re not in any trouble.”

You make a little sniffle.

“ ‘M not?” You ask weakly.

The corner of his mouth curves up.

“No, I just want to talk.”

“Talk?” You repeat dumbly.

His thumbs trace over your cheekbones gently, a soft tingling sensation swims in your head and settles at the top of your spine. Your eyelids flutter as you watch him nod.

“I’ve been searching for you for weeks, omega, since you left me that coat drenched in your sweet scent, I haven’t had a clear thought since.”

You gulp.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“Don’t be sorry just-” He squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s looking for the right words, “Have dinner with me. Tonight. My treat.”

You take a deep breath, eyes widening.

“I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”

He lets out a swift breath, you worry that you might be aggravating him.

“What aren’t you sure about? Your safety?”

You feel your heart pick up its pace beneath your ribcage, tormenting your body with the feeling of panic.

You reach up, cupping his hands in yours and peeling them off your cheeks.

“Alphas are… notorious for getting angry when they don’t get their way.” You reply anxiously, your hands uncurling from his, filled with so much trepidation.

“I understand, but give me a chance to prove myself. There’s something between us, omega, you just have to open yourself up to it.”

You blink, stomach flipping as you debate your options.

You eye him warily, too afraid to say no, too scared of how he would react.

You take another step back, and his face looks pained, his body tense.

You shake your head, scared, taking another cautious step away.

“Please don’t run.” He says softly, it makes you pause.

Maybe… maybe a chance wouldn’t be so bad.

“What about lunch tomorrow?” Somewhere bright and public that would make you feel safer about being around him.

He lets out a slow breath.

“Lunch is great. Where?”

You think for a moment.

“We can meet right here, there’s a place not far from here with nice sandwiches.”

He inclines his head.

“Sandwiches are great.”

You give him a soft smile of amusement, still a little unsure.

“Okay, we’ll meet here tomorrow? Around 12?”

He nods, digging into his pockets for a moment before pulling a card out and extending it to you.

You blink, a little cautious, reaching for the obsidian coloured paper in his hand. You study the raised silver lettering, his name, his job title, his company.

“The one on the left is my cell. Let me know when you get here. If you want, we can look around the museum too.”

Something flips in your chest at the thought. You wonder what he thought of The Scream.

“No,” You mumble, shaking your head, “The museum is packed on a Saturday. I hate crowds.”

He nods in understanding.

“No crowds then, maybe we can take a walk in the park.”

“Maybe.” You reply, still a little unsure of this entire scenario.

“You're safe, Omega, I promise.”

You offer a sad smile.

“That's what they all say.”

He was going to kill every Alpha that had ever made you feel unsafe.

He sits in his car, after you'd denied his offer to at least take you home.

Your scent fades where he'd touched you, his body demanding more. Apples, so fucking sweet his mouth waters.

Halfway to his home, a text comes in from you, shyly informing him that you'd made it home.

He'd asked, wanted to make sure that you were safe as the late evening had turned to night.

He keeps it simple, types out a small message to put you at ease.

Thank you. Sweet dreams

A/N: Pretty sure y'all are gonna hate this. Sorry.

Also, just asking for more without leaving any kind of feedback makes me feel kinda used 😅

#don’t mind me just having a little chelsea fic marathon #fic recs #billy russo #billy russo x reader #my mutuals (affectionate)#my mutuals are talented

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marvelmusing · 4 days

Text

Aleksander fusses over every issue of the magazine, even more so when he’s the cover star

#the darkling wears prada au #my edits #aleksander morozova x reader

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marvelmusing · 5 days

Note

“the albatross” by taylor swift gives me such your darklina x reader fic vibes and i LOVE IT

You’re right! It’s such a darklina coded song

#answered asks #thanks for the ask!

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marvelmusing · 5 days

Note

Oh my God I'm actually obsessed with your Devil Wears Prada AU

It's one of those fics I think abt multiple times a day, it's acc insane, I have recommended it to three people alone today what the helllll

anyways yeah, thank you for writing such beautiful stuff

Thank you!!! I’ve always wanted to add to that AU but never really had much more than just vibes until the other day. I’m so glad you like it!! The devil wears prada is one of my favourite films

#answered asks #thanks for the ask!#lovely people

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marvelmusing · 5 days

Text

A Fresh Start

part two of the Someone Special AU

Pairing: Vampire!Darklina x Vampire!Reader

Summary: Settling into life as a vampire isn’t what you expected, but Aleksander and Alina are more than happy to guide you.

Warnings [18+]: mentions of masturbation, nudity, soft dark vibes, similar warnings to part one, vampire themes, blood consumption, reader is reliant on Aleksander and Alina for everything

My Masterlist

The first day you spend with Aleksander and Alina appears to have been a fluke - the last of your human energy being used up - because by the next day you’re exhausted. Aleksander assures you it’s normal for a fledgling vampire to sleep for the majority of the day when they’re a newborn.

It doesn’t take long for your mind to melt into a hazy mess. All that you’re aware of is forehead kisses, the sweet taste of hot blood in your mouth, and the sticky mess of arousal between your thighs that they wipe away carefully with a damp cloth.

Sometime during the fourth or fifth day, Aleksander is carrying you to bed after feeding you his blood, only for you to tighten your grip, looping your arms around his neck when he attempts to let go of you.

“No,” you whine, pitifully high with distress as you cling to him. “I’m not tired.”

“Yes, you are, little one. You need your sleep.”

Aleksander settles you down on your mattress and helps you slip underneath the covers, tucking you in with care. For comfort, he gives you one of the plush animals from the collection Alina has lovingly assembled over the years of preparation for you - a fluffy brown bear with a cream bow around its neck - which you grasp onto, fidgeting with its ear in agitation.

When he turns away, heading for the doorway, you can no longer hold back your tears. The prospect of an empty bed, and falling asleep in the dark, has your throat constricting in fear.

“Aleksander,” you plead, sniffling as you press the bear tightly against your chest to ease the discomfort there. “Please don’t leave me alone.” He stops immediately. “I know it’s silly, but after what happened in the forest, I- I’m scared of the dark.”

He doesn’t say anything until he’s standing beside your bed, reaching over the bars to wipe your cheeks.

“Would you like me to stay with you until you fall asleep?” he suggests softly.

You nod.

Aleksander moves over towards one of the cabinets at the side of the room, lifting the lid of a little box and a tinkling melody begins to play.

He opens up the gate closest to him, climbing easily onto your bed. Almost instantly, you scramble to lie beside him. The stuffed bear stays pressed against your chest as you drape your legs over Aleksander’s, grasping onto his shirt tightly.

He smiles as you bury your head into the crook of his neck and the tension leaks from your body the moment he begins petting your hair.

“There we go,” he breathes out softly. His voice is gentle as he continues doting on you. “Deep breaths. Just relax.” His hand strokes down your body, encouraging you to nestle further into him. “That’s better, isn’t it, sweet girl?” The hand that isn’t in your hair rubs your thigh, the bare skin exposed as your nightgown shifts upwards. “You’ve been so brave for us.” A kiss is pressed to your forehead. “Such a good girl, sleeping and feeding when we tell you to.”

It hasn’t really been a conscious choice - adhering to the routine they’ve crafted for you. Hunger and exhaustion have been the driving forces behind your obedience. It’s hard not feed on Alina - when she offers you her fingers, sticky with blood from the shallow cuts created by her own fangs. Especially when her blood makes you feel so full, and warm, and safe. It’s almost embarrassing, the amount of times you’ve fallen asleep while feeding on them.

Just the thought of feeding makes you squirm slightly, a familiar heaviness growing between your legs. One morning, to your embarrassment, you had awoken with your hand tucked underneath your panties, fingers reaching for your leaking cunt. Aleksander had told you very firmly that he knew this instance was an accident, but you couldn’t touch yourself. Alina explained later on that it would overwhelm you.

Despite your frustration and arousal, you doubt your current capability to touch yourself efficiently enough to climax.

The scent of blood draws your attention back to the present, as Aleksander presses the pad of his thumb against your lips. Instantly, you open your mouth, allowing his thumb to press against your tongue. The tiny break in the skin there causes a casual flow of blood, just a taste. It’s the final nudge you need to fall asleep.

Aleksander would never let anything bad happen to you.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

As soon as you see Alina, a lightness fills your chest and your mouth waters. She smiles at you, casting the book she was reading aside.

“Good morning,” she says, gesturing for you to join her. “Come here, little one.” As soon as you’re within arms reach, she pulls you into her lap and you can’t stop yourself from smiling as you get comfortable. Her own smile widens. “That’s my girl.” She brushes some hair away from your face. “Did you sleep well?”

You nod. The conversations you’ve had with them both have been brief. Stolen moments between your naps and feeding sessions when your mind clears enough for you to focus on your words.

“How long will I be like this?” you ask her.

She frowns, her hands rubbing casually down your sides.

“What do you mean, sweet girl?”

“I’m always tired, and hungry.”

She laughs, petting your hair fondly.

“I’d say around another week.” That makes you frown slightly, trying to grasp the concept of time and whether a week is long. Thinking becomes more difficult, as your mind latches onto the sound of Alina’s heart beating. She seems to notice. “Are you hungry now, my darling?”

You nod, whining for her. She reaches over to the table beside her, picking up a fruit knife from the plate where a half sliced apple is sitting. With her other hand, she loosens the ribbons at the front of her dress.

Slowly, she drags the blade across the top of her breast, at the point where her chest begins to soften. The cut is shallow, but blood soon blooms brightly and the sight of it draws you in.

“Go ahead. Drink your fill.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

one week later

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

It’s strange being out in sunlight. All the stories you’ve heard about vampires paint the image of a monstrous creature that belongs to the night. But the sun is gentle on your skin, shining cheerfully down on you.

Basket in hand, you follow Alina obediently as she pulls up potatoes from the garden. Her hands are muddy, as is her dress, but her eyes are bright as she relishes in the work. She hums a soft tune, a melody you’re familiar with but can’t quite identify.

It feels as though you’re seeing the world for the first time, staring up at the clear blue sky and smelling the rich dirt as a cool gust of wind strokes your cheeks. Birdsong echoes in the distance. The scent of flowers and greenery dances along the breeze.

Suddenly, you realise Alina has moved further down the patch at some point while you were distracted by an orange butterfly. Aleksander will be able to tell you what kind it is later.

“Feeling alright, sweet girl?” she asks, concern crinkling at her features. Quickly, you nod and head back towards her. “If you’re getting tired, we can go back inside?”

Immediately, you shake your head.

“No. I like being outside.”

She smiles softly, sweeping a stray strand of hair back behind your ear.

“I do too.”

Aleksander is sitting beneath a tree in the corner of the garden, a book in his lap that he soon replaces with your head. He strokes your forehead gently, fingertips smoothing down the length of your nose as your eyes flutter closed, unused to the bright light of the sun.

Alina sits down beside him, retrieving a ripe berry which she holds against your lips and you bite eagerly into the morsel. Yesterday, they had begun your slow reintroduction to solid food, and strawberries from the garden are currently your absolute favourite. Everything tastes better now, though not as delicious as their blood.

Aleksander picks up his book, reading the story aloud. Alina turns the page for him, when needed, so that he doesn’t have to let go of you. The three of you sit there in the sun, while they provide you with all the affectionate touches and strawberries they can give you.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

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

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

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

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

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

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marvelmusing · 6 days

Text

The Issue With Skorts

a The Darkling Wears Prada drabble

Pairing: Aleksander Morozov x Fem!Reader (Modern AU)

Summary: As one of the most influential people in the fashion industry, Aleksander has lots of opinions when it comes to clothes. As your fiancé, he thinks you look incredible in anything.

Warnings [18+]: explicit references to sex

My Masterlist

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“What,” Aleksander says slowly, drawing out the words of his question in a low voice. “Are you wearing?”

He’s sitting at his desk, his eyes fixed on your form as you approach him with a small pile of papers.

“A skirt,” you inform him with a pleased smile as you walk around his desk to stand beside him. This morning you had struggled to assemble your outfit, but now you’re extremely proud of your decision. “Well, it’s actually a skort.”

“A skort?”

“Yes. Like a skirt, but with shorts underneath.”

“I know what a skort is.”

His curt remark makes your gaze lower to avoid his eyes, fidgeting shyly with the hem.

“You don’t like it?”

After years of working for Aleksander, you seem to forgotten what it felt like when you spent hours trying to create an outfit that he might like (or at the very least not dislike). He likes your style - you know that - but self consciousness sinks into you quickly.

He sighs, pushing his chair backwards as he grasps hold of your hips to steer you between his open thighs.

“I think you look exquiste,” he admits, hands slipping beneath the skirt. “I think this was practically made for you.” He squeezes each of your thighs over the top of the fabric of your shorts, and you breathe in sharply as you lean back against his desk. “But there is only one downside to a skort.”

“Which is?” you ask breathlessly.

“If this was a skirt, I could bend you over this desk-” He turns you around, draping the front of your body over the papers on his desk. “-pull your panties aside and sink my cock straight into you.”

His words make you writhe, the image painted so clearly in your mind as he lifts your skirt.

“But look at this!” he muses mockingly. “There’s a pair of shorts in my way.”

He releases his hold on the fabric, swatting your ass playfully as the material drops.

“Aleksander,” you scold him. He laughs, rubbing the hem delicately between his fingers. With a sigh, you turn around. “Alright, you’ve made your point.”

“I don’t think I have.”

That makes you frown. Then he begins to kiss your knees, mapping a pathway up underneath your skirt and you groan in frustration as you realise what he intends on doing.

“I don’t think you fully understand,” he continues, gradually using his tongue and teeth as he kisses between your thighs. “Just how frustrating it is to see you look so enticing, knowing I can’t fuck you.”

“You could,” you counter. He raises a brow at you.

“Could I?”

“Aleksander.”

He smiles mischievously, smoothing down the fabric of your skirt.

“Alina will be returning soon. We wouldn’t want her to walk in on anything untoward, now would we?”

That makes you sigh, grumbling a quiet,

“No.”

He takes your hands in his, tugging you closer as he stands so that he can press a gentle kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs quietly, brushing his nose against yours. Another sigh heaves at your shoulders, though you can only feign annoyance for a few seconds longer before you respond.

“I love you too, Sasha.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

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

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

#aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling au #the darkling x reader #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader #the darkling drabble

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marvelmusing · 6 days

Note

Hi friend.

Just a heads up I found one of your fics on wattpad.

@ laturrita_andy

Translated

Hey, thanks for letting me know, I’ve seen they’ve now taken down their works on wattpad

If anyone is ever interested in translating my fics then I’m more than happy to have a conversation about it - aside from that I’d appreciate my fics staying on my tumblr & ao3

#answered asks #thanks for the ask!#my writing

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marvelmusing · 8 days

Note

I have more thoughts I will share. So you said how both Aleks and Alina don’t know how to human very well anymore. So like he isn’t able to see how her comment on Zoya is less like actually dislike or such of her but more like the reader comparing herself and being like they have known Zoya for years and I am just a passing fancy.

Alina did get that feeling of being unwanted that reader experienced when learning more about the spell.

Aleks apology is gonna be more than just the one we saw where he was like I am not upset that you apologized to Alina right. I was like he needs to do a bit more. (In a good way)

A kitty cat

Yes! Aleksander sees the reader’s apprehension about Zoya as an insult, because Aleksander values the relationships he has had for centuries over the reader because they’ve only just met. The reader thinks he cares more about Zoya than her because in her mind there’s no comparison between her and Zoya

Alina isn’t as old as Aleksander, so she remembers a little bit of what her life was like before she met him (and discovered her power). She always felt like she was the second best in her life and seeing the reader feel the same shocked her a bit. Like - oh I remember feeling like that and I don’t want you to experience it, how do I fix this?

Aleksander is definitely going to apologise properly - and set some boundaries for the future to try and smoothen out the miscommunication between the three of them

#answered asks #thanks for the ask!#my writing

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marvelmusing · 8 days

Note

So your Statue AU when Alina was discussing how the spell made the statues love her and then her saying that the reader feel in love a lot faster/deeper my first thought was something real related to the soulmatism that they got going on. That those feeling are not fully formed from the spell.

I also wondered based on your response about pottery that it might also have an impact on the readers ability to break the spell whenever that might happen. Then you did how the third part of the series is about how reader navigates both the cruel and kind part of Darklina is that like possible they is able to balance out them. Just made me think of like how a character can be soft yet strong.

A kitty cat

That’s what makes it so difficult for the reader, she can’t tell if it’s the spell creating her feelings, or if it’s something genuine (Alina and Aleksander will both think it’s the spell, even if they hope that the reader is meant for them, whereas the reader wants to believe her feelings are real)

Knowing about statues is definitely important for breaking the spell and Alina is going to share everything she knows with the reader - in the hopes of helping her to break the spell

#answered asks #thanks for the ask!#my writing

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marvelmusing · 8 days

Text

Can I Ask You A Question?

Part of The Darkling Wears Prada AU

Pairing: Aleksander Morozov x Fem!Reader (Modern AU)

Summary: Alina has lots of questions about her new job and your boss. Meanwhile, Aleksander has an important question for you - it just takes him some time to realise it.

Warnings [18+]: brief smut, fingering, references to sex, CEO x assistant trope, praise kink

Read part one -> HERE

My Masterlist

“Why is he is nice to you?”

“Who?”

“Aleksander.” When you breathe out a soft laugh, shaking your head at Alina’s question, she leans closer, as if she’s willing you to understand. “Today, he obliterated a designer for picking out the wrong purse.”

“That wrong purse delayed the photoshoot by almost an hour,” you reason.

She tilts her head, clearly waiting for an explanation - why does the infamously fierce Aleksander Morozov have a soft spot for you?

Sighing quietly, you look down at your drink, fidgeting with the stem of your glass.

“I’ve worked for Aleksander for a long time.”

She waits for more.

“I started off in your position - his second assistant. Nina was his first assistant at the time, and I felt like I would never be able to impress him. The first time he really noticed me was the night before his and Luda’s third wedding anniversary.”

“He’s married?”

A frown creases at your brows.

“Not anymore. The divorce was years ago. It made the headlines for days. How do you not-” You shake your head. Just because you know everything that goes on in Aleksander’s life doesn’t mean everyone else does. “Never mind. Nina had taken the night off for a date. I’m sure you’ve noticed, there’s no such thing as a night off when you work for Aleksander.”

Alina nods in agreement.

“A storm came in while he was in Ketterdam, which stopped him from getting on his flight home. No planes were flying in or out of the city.”

“What did you do?”

“Everything I could. I called in a favour with Nikolai, to borrow one of his private jets. Paid for it to land at a private airfield in the Kerch countryside. They managed to charter his flight to Balakriev and I drove two hours to pick him up myself when his usual driver didn’t respond to my calls.”

“And?”

You smile softly.

“He made it home for their anniversary. The last anniversary they had before the divorce.”

“Why did they split up?”

“There was always love in their marriage, but they didn’t understand each other. Aleksander loves his job. He always will. If his partner can’t understand that, the relationship won’t last.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“What’s the Morozov rule?” The sound of Alina’s question draws your attention away from the email you’re in the midst of writing. She looks away shyly when you meet her eyes. “Some girls were talking about it in the bathroom earlier.”

Gaze skimming back over the screen of your laptop, you breathe out a quiet scoff.

“Let me guess, the heart-eyed interns?”

She nods.

“A lot of the fashion elites have a specific rule,” you explain. “It’s partially fashion advice, partially PR to make them more memorable.” You click send on your email, changing window to examine Aleksander’s schedule for tomorrow. “Like the Chanel rule - take a look at yourself before you leave the house and remove one item of your outfit.”

Alina listens intently.

“The Morozov rule is to always make sure your underwear matches your shoes. Because at the end of the day, when you take off your dress or your suit that’s all you’ll be wearing.”

A smirk twists at your lips.

“So, if you’re ever wondering what colour underwear Aleksander is wearing, just take a look at his shoes.”

Alina blushes.

“Really?”

“Of course. What kind of a man is he if he doesn’t follow his own rule?”

“How do you know he-”

The sound of Aleksander’s voice rings out from the door to his office, cutting through your conversation with Alina.

“Milaya.”

Responding immediately to your summons, you stand from your desk and make your way into his office. He glances up at you from his papers momentarily, a frown creasing between his brows as his gaze returns to the words in front of him.

“I don’t have anything to wear for my trip to Novyi Zem.” He holds out his credit card, balanced between two of his slim fingers. “I will need enough for six nights. Look at the itinerary for the trip and purchase anything you deem necessary. You know what I like.”

After taking the card from him, you nod.

“Yes, sir. I will be back before your meeting with Nikolai.”

Turning on your heel, you move back towards the door, only for his voice to stop you.

“And milaya?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Take Miss Starkova. If she’s going to gain any sense of style for herself she needs to see someone competent at work.”

“I’ll do my best,” you assure him. Like everyone in the fashion industry, you live for Aleksander’s praise.

The hint of a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“As you always do.”

His remark makes your stomach flip.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“What’s this?”

Alina peers into the black garment bag curiously.

“A dress. For you. It’s Valentino. One of Aleksander’s picks for the gala.”

She blinks at you in surprise.

“I’m going to the gala?”

You nod.

“Genya will help you get ready. We leave at seven.”

It isn’t long before Aleksander is settling his hand on your lower back, steering the two of you through the crowd at the entrance. Alina looks relieved at the sight of your arrival - you can only imagine how worried she was being surrounded by the flurry of photographers.

As the gala begins, Aleksander claims a corner of the room for himself, waiting for the designers and reporters and politicians to come to him.

Whenever someone approaches your group, you turn your face towards Aleksander, hiding your words in the crook of his neck as you inform him of the names of the people heading his way. His fingers play with the seam of your dress, dancing distractedly down your spine.

Occasionally, you find yourself adjusting the collar of his shirt, fixing the position of his tie, or smoothing down the lapels of his jacket. Just to keep your hands occupied. Unlike a usual gala, where you would be standing one pace behind him, Aleksander keeps you on his arm tonight. Deep down, you know it’s because he doesn’t have a plus one, but it makes you feel special nonetheless.

It’s only once you step out of the little bubble Aleksander always creates, that you stop enjoying yourself. As you place your drinks order at the bar, you attract the attention of Malyen Oretsev - a mediocre journalist - and his friends.

“There she is,” he remarks. “Morozov’s favourite pet.”

Mikhael smirks.

“I don’t know about that, Mal.” He jerks his head towards Aleksander. “Looks like he’s got a shiny new toy to play with.”

Glancing over, you see Alina looking at Aleksander rather bashfully as they seem to be engaged in a somewhat stilted conversation. The sight makes your stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Have a nice evening,” you state casually, collecting your drinks before you head back in the direction of Aleksander and Alina.

All night, you try your best to ignore Mikhael’s words, but it seems they’ve burrowed their way into your psyche.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Why can’t I give him the book?”

Alina peers curiously at the book, as you turn the pages slowly to show her the magazine mockups for next month’s issue.

“Aleksander is very selective about who he allows into his house.” Alina seems mildly offended and you decide to soften the blow slightly by adding, “Besides, he usually likes to do a final run through so that he can brief me on tomorrow’s agenda.”

Towards the end of the month, during the final stages of development for the next publication, you usually find yourself working late at Aleksander’s house. Over the years, there’s been countless times when you’ve helped him rework an entire issue in a matter of hours, pouring your ideas together over his kitchen table.

Luckily, this month has been somewhat smooth sailing. Though that doesn’t mean your to-do list isn’t still a mile long. When you’re alone with Aleksander like this, the persona he’s created for himself loosens and he’s patient as you ask him enough questions to be prepared for the day ahead of you tomorrow.

“Anything else?” he asks.

You shake your head, remarking as you bend your neck from side to side,

“All I need now is a hot bath.”

“Use mine,” he states, not even looking up at you as he finishes filing away the pages into the book. “Stay the night.”

“What?”

He raises a brow at you.

“You ought to know by now that I don’t like repeating myself.”

“I- Are you sure?” He gives you a firm look and heat rushes to your cheeks. “Sorry, stupid question. Thank you.”

He shows you into his personal bathroom, a lavish en-suite connected to his bedroom by a wooden folding door. He’s blasé about his toiletries, opening a cupboard to show you before he retreats back into his bedroom.

Once the bath is full of water and a copious amount of bubbles, you slip out of your clothing and into the tub with your hair and makeup still intact. The warmth makes you sigh softly, closing your eyes as you tilt your head back against the rim of the bath. It’s only the sound of the door opening that makes you open your eyes again.

Aleksander stands in the open doorway, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up haphazardly and the buttons undone down to the centre of his chest. His gaze is heated as his eyes remain locked on yours, and despite the intensity you don’t shy away from him.

He circles around the bath tub slowly, his knuckles tracing the curve of your neck when he finally stands behind you.

His thumbs press into the centre of your back, working on the tension in the muscles that no amount of stretching can ease. He moves his hands knowingly, finding the areas that give you the most discomfort after long hours at the office. When he presses the right spot, your back arches, your body pliant in his hold as you breathe out a soft moan.

He smirks, cocky in the fact that he knows only his touch can bring you this sort of relief. His smirk fades slightly, as his focus shifts and he traces his fingers up your back, stroking over your shoulders.

He presses his face against your cheek, his lips brushing over your skin as he breathes in the scent of his soap. Tantalisingly close to a kiss. Then he sinks onto his knees, his hands descending beneath the water.

Turning your head, you’re face to face with Aleksander, your nose brushing against his as he draws a slow line down your body, between the valley of your breasts before he circles your navel.

“May I?” he murmurs.

“Please, Aleksander.”

With one hand, he grasps the back of your neck to limit your squirming, while the other descends downwards to play with your cunt. It’s slow and deliberate, the way he works you up towards your orgasm. The only sound in the room is your breathy gasps and the subtle splash of bath water against the sides of the tub.

It would be a lie to say you haven’t imagined what Aleksander might be like in bed. You know you aren’t alone in that. The rumours all paint him in the same light. Dominant. Controlling. Mildly sadistic. That’s what makes the praises that fall from his lips all the more effective.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he murmurs directly into the crook of your neck. His voice is a soft and soothing rasp. “You’re doing so well for me.” He smiles when you gasp loudly, writhing with unabashed pleasure. “Utterly perfect.”

His words fade away, until all you can hear is the hurried beat of your heart hammering away in your chest as you come astonishingly close to your release.

“Please, Aleksander. I need it. Need you, oh, fuck-”

He rests his hand on the rim of the tub, palm upwards as he anticipates the sudden backwards motion of your head when you reach your climax. As pleasure courses through your body, his hand curls around to cradle the back of your head. He’s silent, eyeing you attentively as the aftereffects slowly wind down.

“Aleksander?” you whisper.

His thumb strokes down the sensitive skin behind your ear.

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

He regards you seriously, his eyes flickering over your features, then he nods. Before you can lean upwards to kiss him, he adds,

“If you do, I won’t be able to stop myself from climbing into this bath to take this further.”

“And if I don’t want you to stop yourself?”

He grips the nape of your neck, directing your mouth to meet his.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Do I have to?” Alina whines, hiding her face with her hands in embarrassment at the thought of heading a few floors down to the lingerie photoshoot to retrieve the file of images taken today.

“You’ll be fine,” you assure her. “Aleksander wants to look at the photos before the models go home for the day.”

“Can’t the photographers just email them to him?”

You shake your head.

“He likes to look at the printouts.”

She sighs.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

She returns with red cheeks, gripping the paper folder tightly in her hands. She doesn’t make eye contact with you as she walks by your desk to give the folder to Aleksander. Almost as soon as she sits down at her desk opposite you, Aleksander calls for you.

“Milaya.”

Alina busies herself with typing as you walk by her, into Aleksander’s office.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’d like your opinion on something.” He selects a page, turning it over in his hand so that he’s offering it to you. “What do you think of this?”

Taking the page in hand, you look down at the two images, side by side. The first is a close up of a model wearing an unbelievably expensive bralette.

Pale blue boning, covered in a soft mesh a few shades lighter. The entire garment has been decorated with intricate embroidery, adorned in pearls and tiny gems that create the illusion of flowers. The image beside it shows off the matching thong - a tiny triangle of fabric embellished with the same exquisite details.

“The photos?”

He shakes his head.

“The outfit. Would you wear something like this?”

Heat spreads over your cheeks at his question.

“I would. It’s very pretty.”

“Do you like the colour?” he asks, selecting another page to show you. “Or do you prefer the pink?”

After considering both pieces, you admit quietly,

“I like the blue.”

He hums.

“Very well.” He holds out his hand expectingly and you place the pages back in his palm. “Your measurements haven’t changed have they?”

His question makes your brows scrunch together in confusion.

“No, sir.”

“The designer is creating a custom piece as a gift for me. Offering it to anyone else in this building but you would be a waste.”

“A waste?”

He nods, not looking up at you.

“That’s all.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“What’s wrong?” Alina asks you.

She must have noticed your anxious fidgeting; you’ve straightened the same pen on your desk four times already. But you can’t tell her what is actually on your mind.

“Nothing. I’m just keeping an eye on the time. Aleksander’s driver should be arriving soon.”

Sure enough, your phone rings and Aleksander’s driver is on the line, informing you that he’s parked outside the building. Once you’ve retrieved Aleksander, you accompany him down in the elevator.

He lists a few tasks for you to complete while he is out at his meeting and you distractedly make a note of them all. It’s only once the two of you are out in the fresh air, that you’re able to speak.

“I need to talk to you.” He doesn’t turn, ignoring you until you grasp at his sleeve, just as he reaches his car. “Aleksander.”

He turns to face you.

“What is it?”

Instantly, the weight of his eyes makes you nervous. Of course, you’ve thought about what you want to say to him but now the words fail you. The Aleksander in front of you now is different from the one you were with the other night.

“It’s about that night at your house,” you clarify. “I don’t want any special treatment because of what happened between us.”

He raises a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

“Special treatment?” he repeats.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the set you offered me, but I don’t want anyone to think you’re favouring me.”

“Tell me about the designer of that piece.”

“She’s a Ravkan designer. All her work is couture, with hand stitched embroidery and embellishments. The pearls and gems are all sourced sustainably; she limits her collection to only forty pieces per style to minimise the environmental impact…”

When you realise how much you’re talking - about things that Aleksander most likely knows already - your words trail off into nothing. His mouth quirks into a half-smile that he quickly smoothes out into a more neutral expression.

“You are the one of the few people who understand the value of that design,” he says in a low voice. “And that is the only reason I wanted you to have it.”

“The only reason?” you repeat, hoping that he might have wanted you to have the lingerie because you would look good in it.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he glances down at the front of your top, eyeing the skin on show there briefly before he turns away, leaving you in shock as he climbs into his car. Did Aleksander just eye up your cleavage?

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Are those new?”

Alina’s question makes you peer down at your shoes - the object of her attention - and you smile.

“Yes. They are.”

The pale blue of your shoes are an almost perfect match to the lingerie set Aleksander had gifted to you - not to mention the heels are adorned in shimmering gems and pearls.

Alina takes the time to admire them, as the two of you stand beside the printer.

“Miss Starkova,” Aleksander calls out, standing in the doorway between his office and the one you share with Alina. “I need ten scarves from Gucci, and fetch my coffee on your way back in.”

Alina glances at you momentarily, wide eyed, before she nods resolutely.

“Yes, sir.”

There’s an anxious edge to her movements as she grabs her phone and bag, but she seems determined to adhere to Aleksander’s demands on her own this time. Both you and Aleksander watch her leave.

When you turn back to face him, Aleksander’s gaze is sweeping down your body, assessing your outfit as he always does, yet he lingers on your shoes for a moment. His throat bobs lightly as he swallows, his eyes darkening as they meet yours.

“A perfect match,” he observes.

Before you can respond, he turns and walks back into his office.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Where have you been?” Alina asks, shifting her weight anxiously on the pavement.

Cheeks flushing with warmth, you wipe at your lower lip with your thumb to ensure your makeup is still intact. The two of you head up the steps, into the entrance of Cartier.

“The car got caught in traffic.”

“Aleksander must have been furious.” You hum rather distractedly in agreement, smoothing down your skirt.

“He’s waiting in the car now, so we’ll have to make this quick.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Where are you going?” Alina asks, turning to watch as you back away down the pavement. “I thought we were celebrating.” The last night of fashion week, the pinnacle of all your hard work over the last year has been finally reached.

It’s been almost a year since Alina first started working alongside you, but you don’t yet trust her with the full truth when you answer.

“I’m going to head back to the hotel,” you tell her before adding, “I’m exhausted.”

“Do you want me to walk with you?”

Shaking your head, you tuck your coat tighter around your body.

“I’ll be fine, thanks. Go enjoy yourself.”

When you finally reach your hotel bed, you collapse onto the mattress, still wearing your coat and shoes. It’s completely unintentional, the way you fall asleep draped over the bed.

After an indeterminable amount of time passes, a kiss is pressed to your cheek, rousing you from your slumber as someone nestles themselves over your body.

“Hello there, sleeping beauty,” a familiar voice coos playfully. Blinking the drowsiness from your eyes, you murmur a mildly bemused response,

“Sasha?”

He laughs softly.

“Who else, milaya?” He presses another kiss to your cheek, his lips moving toward your ear. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I stuck my head in the study,” you explain sleepily. “You were working… didn’t want to disturb you.”

He slips your coat off your shoulders, lowering kisses across your neck and collarbones as he reaches for the zipper on the back of your dress.

“You should have. I would have come to bed hours ago had I known you were back.”

“I’m so tired,” you murmur as your eyelids droop. Aleksander smiles fondly, pulling your dress down your body.

“You outdid yourself this year.” A pleased smile lifts the corners of your mouth. Aleksander lifts himself off the bed, crossing the room towards the en-suite. “The Starkova girl has improved,” he states, wringing out a cloth. “You seem to like this one.”

“I do,” you confirm, kicking your shoes off onto the floor. “She’s nice, though she’s been asking a lot of questions lately.”

“About us?”

“About you, mostly. I think she has a crush.”

“Poor girl,” he remarks drily as he sits down beside you and begins to wipe the makeup from your face. “Have you told her about us?”

“I thought you wanted this to be a secret?”

He shakes his head.

“I want to keep you safe. From the press and the gossip that follows me. Besides, I know how much you love working for the magazine. I would hate to jeopardise that.”

“Well, I might find something that I enjoy more than working as your assistant.”

“Such as?”

The smile you give him is soft as you fidget with the creases in his trousers.

“Your wife.”

His own smile is boyish as he teases,

“That is quite the promotion you’re offering yourself.” Then his expression grows more serious. “Even as my wife, I wouldn’t expect you to give up your job - not unless you wanted to.”

That makes your smile widen, your cheeks warming at the casual tone his voice adopts when considering you as his wife.

“Besides,” he adds. “Where would I find someone as capable as you?”

“I could mentor Alina.”

He hums, unconvinced, and you laugh at the sight of his apprehension. It’s sweet, knowing you’ve taken such a root in Aleksander’s life. He trusts you, unconditionally.

“I’m not handing my notice in yet,” you tease him, before adding with a small laugh, “Unless you’re planning on proposing tonight.”

Aleksander doesn’t laugh.

“Sasha?”

The corner of his lips quirk with the hint of a laugh, embarrassment touching at his features.

“I-” He sighs, shaking his head as his smile widens. “You’ve ruined the surprise.”

“Sasha,” you repeat, thoroughly caught off guard. “You’re not serious.”

“Of course I am.”

“Aleksander, I’m not wearing any makeup. I’m in my underwear.”

He doesn’t look impressed by your protests.

“Milaya, if you’re finished making rather obvious statements, I’d like to propose to you.”

The look he gives you has your lips pressing closed, giving him the chance to speak. Almost immediately, your excitement spills over your expression - a giddy smile tugging at your lips. Aleksander smiles fondly, stroking your cheek with his thumb as he admires you.

“I can’t believe you used to hide this from me. My pretty girl.”

“Well, dating the Aleksander Morozov was rather daunting at first,” you admit bashfully. He tilts his head at you.

“And do you think you can marry the Aleksander Morozov?”

Being married to Aleksander will attract attention - the kind that you’re unused to. The entire world will have something to say about you - what you wear, how you act - it will all be scrutinised by the tabloids and the social media comments. But he’s worth it, a million times over.

“I will if he actually asks me,” you remark teasingly.

He breathes out a laugh, kissing your cheek.

“Let me fetch the ring.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

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

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

#aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling x reader #the darkling au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader

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