Tumpik
#behind the candelabra gif
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providence-park · 2 years
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“I want to be everything to you, Scott. I want to be your father, brother, lover, best friend.”
Behind the Candelabra (2013)
Dir. Steven Soderbergh
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nanddor · 5 months
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MATT BERRY as LASZLO CRAVENSWORTH ⤷ 4.02 The Lamp️️
[image description: two gifs of laszlo sitting on a velvet armchair. behind him is a mural of nude figures in a forest, and various objects such as several victorian lamps, a candelabra, and a few old-timey electric shock therapy devices. in the first gif, he recounts, "i remember taking a steam bath with [freud], and my towel accidentally dropped." he winks cheekily at the camera before continuing, "and he caught sight of my rather generous john thomas." in the second gif, laszlo says, "he shrieked 'eureka,' and then came up with 'penis envy.'" /end id]
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dilemmaontwolegs · 4 months
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The Devil is in the Details
Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x f!demon!reader
Summary: When you are given a contract against the King of Dreams you knew what was expected of you. Unfortunately, you are a demon - an old one at that, so they should expect the unexpected. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex (piv), bisexual reader, choking WC: 3820
This is the first instalment of works in The Anthology of Asmodeus' Heir. Part One: The Devil is in the Details Part Two: Lightbringer's Champion Part Three: A Demon’s Work Is Never Done Part Four: Rise of the Fallen Part Five: Queen of the Damned
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Sickly sweet tendrils of smoke reached for the dark ceiling of the opium den, a headache already forming from inhaling as you stalked through the room. Dozens of flames flickered from twisted candelabras that cast shadows into the small booths filled with glassy-eyed customers. Limbs hung lazily over the stained velvet pillows, fingers twitching towards the pipe that would send them to another world.
Hidden in the very last booth where the smoke was strongest you found him, Abaddon. 
Crossing your arms and resting your hip against the booth, you gave a small kick to the demon’s chair. “Care to explain why I had to come to this cesspit and meet with your sorry ass?”
A slow grin split his face, a ghoulish baring of teeth before he sealed his lips around the pipe and inhaled deeply. “Take a seat, I have a contract for you.”
“I’d rather stand.” You didn’t try to hide the disgust as he let the smoke tumble from his lips and drew it up his nostrils. 
If he was offended he didn’t show it. Instead, he cosied down into the plush pillows and tucked his hands behind his head, the blood red robe he wore falling open across his chest. It was a power play, to show you that he held no fear for you, a game you were well adept at playing. 
“What is the contract?” you asked, wishing to hurry up and be back above ground where the air was fresh from the dizzying opiates. 
“It came straight from the boss,” Abaddon drawled, the high of the opium flushing across his skin until he felt the need to shuck the robe completely. “Old Lucifer’s finally decided it’s time to put Dream of the Endless back in his place.”
“Please,” you said with a snort at both the statement and the body he had bared by discarding the robe, “Lucifer is just pissed he bested her on her own soil. She will get over it.”
“Lord Azazel and the Dukes of Hell have united for the cause, something she does not take lightly.” Abaddon’s eyes sharpened on your face, enjoying the slight shock that rippled over your before you could conceal it. “She calls on you, the Lightbringer’s Champion, to bring Dream to his knees.”
A smirk grew on your face at the challenge and a small laugh bubbled from your parted lips. “Tell my sweet Morningstar that I accept.”
You turned on your heel and swept across the splintered floorboards and out of the den without a farewell or even a glance over your shoulder. Your mind was set on the contract and just how much you were going to enjoy fulfilling it. 
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“How the fuck did you get out so quick?” Johanna spat as she opened the door to her apartment. You looked over her shoulder at the mess strewn on her floor and cocked an eyebrow. “I was looking for something. Keep the judgemental eyes to yourself demon-bitch, before you find yourself without them.”
You grinned at the endearment and pushed off the wall you had been leaning across, waiting for her to answer. “You know you wouldn’t have to look for things if you actually organised yourself a little better, love.”
“I don’t need another lecture, thank you very much,” the necromancer huffed, burying her hands in her pockets and taking a step back. 
You crossed the threshold and shivered at the wards she had inscribed beneath the Welcome Home doormat. “Trying to trap me again? I’ll try not to be too offended.”
Johanna waved you off with an eye roll and crossed the room to the liquor cabinet that was always fully stocked. “If you are weak enough to be caught in that spell, that’s your problem not mine. To what do I owe this displeasure?”
“Come now, darling, you love my visits,” you teased, accepting the glass of whiskey as you draped yourself over the small clear space on her couch. “Your namesake loved them too. Oh, you should have seen the fun we had.”
“You never did say why she started hunting demons,” Johanna probed as she pushed a pile of clothes to the floor so there was room for her to tuck her legs up when she cosied up alongside you. 
You ignored her narrowing eyes as you swirled the amber liquid around the crystal tumbler. “No. I didn’t. Put it down to a bad case of the blues.”
“You broke her heart.” She stated coolly. 
You tipped your head back with a laugh. “I break everyone’s heart, I am a demon.”
Johanna sighed and took a gulp of her drink, igniting the burn of the alcohol with a deep breath. “Why did you come here?”
“Have you seen Dream of the Endless recently?”
Her eyes flickered to her office and you swiftly rose from the couch to duck inside the even messier space. Your nostrils caught his scent lingering in the small room but it wasn’t fresh, at least a week old. 
“What do you want with Morpheus?” Johanna asked from the doorway, her body language deceivingly relaxed considering the concern her voice held. 
“Morpheus? How quaint to be on a first name basis with the King of Dreams.” The words were bitter on your tongue as you brushed past the necromancer. “I very rarely give warnings, Constantine, but steer clear of your friend if you don’t want your already short mortal life to become even shorter.”
“Is that a threat?” Johanna asked as she rolled her shoulders in anticipation. “Because I have no problem sending you right back to hell where you belong, bitch.”
Flames flickered in your eyes as your power began to burn to the surface, the air thickening as it drew closer. “There is a war coming that is long overdue, and he will not win. I don’t want to see you die, Johanna.”
“It almost sounds like you care,” she said with a scoff and turned her back on you, pointing to the door as she wandered further into her apartment. “Just fuck off.”
“She broke me first,” you whispered, her spine stiffening for a moment before she continued on her way. You slipped out the front door, shutting it silently behind you before putting your own wards across the door. She may banish you back to hell at least once a year but you cared for her, as much as a demon supposedly could. 
With Dream’s scent catalogued in your memory, you took to the dark and dreary London streets. There was nothing to be done until you picked up a fresh trail to track so you walked all night and let the rain wash away the memories that had wormed their way to the surface. Memories of Lady Johanna Constantine and the nights spent in Fawney Rig.
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It took two months before you caught the scent of the elusive Lord of Dreams, but you wouldn’t call the time wandering the Waking a complete waste. There seemed to be more mortals willing to barter their souls than ever before, and your calendar was suddenly full of collection dates - in ten years time. It would pass in the blink of an eye for you. 
Dream’s scent had become a fixation, you had spent long nights dissecting it, studying the layers and notes that made it complete. You had determined it was unlike any other scent you had tracked. There was a musk that reminded you of an ancient book in a long forgotten library but also a floral hint of a blossoming flower bud, contradicting old and new. Then there was the deep richness that could only be found in the heart of the mountains, a purely masculine scent that one could almost bathe in. 
Now you were tracking that scent in Covent Garden, through the markets that were bustling with shoppers and past the buskers singing for loose change. A string of curses built on your tongue as a pungent waft of garlic from a gyros stand left your nostrils numb, Dream’s scent lost with it.
“Give me a fucking break,” you complained as you fought the urge to stomp your foot and send a flame into the stall that had disrupted your hunt. You knew it was no act of God that blew a gust a wind through the market, he would never give a demon assistance, but something or someone was on your side. A fresh hit of that delectable scent slapped you in the face and you shivered in anticipation of the renewed hunt.
It appeared Dream had no direction as you traced his steps out of the market and to the River Thames. The crowd thinned as you reached the river's edge and found him staring out across the water, his forearms resting on the railing. Utterly alone.
You had to give him credit where it was due, he didn’t even flinch as you mirrored his pose. “Hello, Majesty. Shouldn’t you have your raven?” 
“Sometimes I do things I shouldn’t,” he replied quietly, breaking away from staring at the murky water to glance at you. “You are brave to spend your time in this city, or stupid. There’s a rather dangerous occultist that doesn't take kindly to demons roaming her streets.”
“How do you think I found you?” you snickered, his eyebrows pinching in concern but not enough to question her wellbeing. “You really should mask your scent, Morpheus. You never know what malevolent beings might stumble upon it.”
“Is that what you are? Malevolent?” There was no fear in his deep, soothing voice, just curiosity and mild boredom.
You shrugged and looked down the river to the bright lights of the London Eye. “I am what I am.” 
“But you dream of being something more.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
When he turned, it took a lot of effort to stop yourself from taking a step back. His presence was a being unto itself, making him larger than just his physical body alone as it towered over you. His irises were almost iridescent in the fading light and his stare felt perverse, as if he were burrowing into the hellfire core where a soul should have been. 
“Not demons.”
“That’s very small minded of you, Dream,” you tutted. “I thought you of all people would understand how much time can change a person.”
“You are not a person, you are a demon. You can walk this plane in a beautiful, stolen skin but it does not change what you are.”
Your lips curled up into a dark smile as you reached out and ran your hand slowly up his arm. “You think I’m beautiful.” 
Your hand came to rest at the hollow of his throat and his body stilled as he waited for the attack that was sure to come. You should have, could have ended it in that moment but his fearlessness intrigued you - it was what had drawn you to Lady Johanna Constintine and then her great-great-great-great granddaughter. Instead, you went against your nature and ignored the burning letters of the contract written on your skin as you let your flames flare in your eyes.
His eyebrows rose ever so slightly and his lips parted with a silent question.
“No mortal body could contain me, and you don’t know nearly as much about demons as you like to think you do.” You dropped your hand to your side as a raven landed on the railing between you and barked a laugh at the sight. “Sweet Matthew, I wondered what happened to you. What a clever little bird you are, escaping my collection.”
The raven bowed his head before hopping along the rail closer to Dream. “I leave you for five minutes and this is what happens. What does Asmodeus’ heir want with you?”
You fought the urge to curl your lip back at the title. Ruling a domain in hell was a prison sentence for you, trapped in Lucifer’s realm to keep the lackeys in line. It was a future where you would do anything to escape, especially when Asmodeus’ line fed on lust. There was nothing attractive about the demons that resided in Hell, you would starve. 
“I have a contract.” The raven swooped at your face with a flurry of feathers and claws but a burst of flame from your hand sent him reeling back to hide behind Dream. “You never had this much nobility when you were mortal, Matthew. Don’t you think if I wanted Dream dead he would already be drifting on the ether?”
“She could have killed me a dozen times over,” Dream said to the raven as he let him perch on his shoulder. “I am still trying to understand why she hasn’t.”
“You’ll give yourself an aneurysm trying to understand me,” you chuckled, poking the hard planes of his chest through his shirt. “Perhaps I have spent too long with the rabble and grown a conscience.”
“She dreams of being more,” Dream said to Matthew, his beak opening in a way that was reminiscent of how his jaw had dropped when you had first appeared to him over ten years ago.
“I dream of freedom,” you corrected, “something you can give me, Dream.”
“If you don’t complete the contract another will be sent in your place. Why should I give you anything?”
“Well, you do think I am beautiful.” You teased him with a wink. “And, the fool who gave me the contract was very loose with his wording. I have no intention of letting the contract lapse but I also don’t want to see you dead.”
“Why not?” 
Matthew was still gaping as he swivelled his head to his Lord. His beady eyes were wider than you thought possible and you could see his little brain wondering if the King of Dreams had a death wish. 
“The century with you imprisoned was absolutely shit for my sleep, why the fuck would I want to live an eternity like that?” 
“So selfless.” Dream drawled sarcastically before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a leather pouch. “This conversation is better continued in private.”
“You can’t surely mean to bring a lust demon to The Dreaming, Lord?”
You waved the bird from Dream’s shoulder before hooking your arm in his with a grin he almost seemed tempted to reciprocate. “I’ll only bite if you ask me nicely.”
You swore a small, dark chuckle warmed the air as he blew a handful of sand into the street, before his hand came to rest on yours and the world disappeared.
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Cramps wracked your body and threatened to send you to your knees as you roamed the empty halls of the palace. The hunger was torturous and never ending. Without Morpheus you hadn’t been able to walk through lust-filled dreams and feed, and you had no idea when he would return. 
Last week you had been bathing in the revellers of a sex club in Soho, drunk from the heady pheromones you had inhaled. Now you were starving to taste just a kiss. 
Another wave of pain left you stumbling and the ground welcomed you as a shadow glided across the stone. 
A warm richness enveloped you as your head swayed and the walls blurred. “Dream?”
His arms cradled you gently as he lifted you from the cold floor and the sound of his heart beating thumped against your head that came to rest over it. “You should have called for me.” 
“I’m not a heartsick mortal,” you growled weakly. “I would rather starve than abase myself.”
“Stubborn demon.”
You could feel his eyes on you as he navigated the halls and a flicker of decadence teased your power until your stomach grumbled in response. Peeking out, you expended some reserves of energy to tip your head back and found Dream indeed staring at you.
That sweet taste filled your senses again, growing stronger with each moment he memorised your features. 
“Either you have a kink for being a saviour or you have been learning to mask your scent.”
His deep laugh grew with the taste of his lust and your eyes fluttered shut as you breathed it in. “Why can’t it be both?”
Your strength was returning as he passed through an arch, large doors slamming shut behind him so you were smothered in his essence. The air was thick with his power and you gasped as a surge of your own ignited against it, his room, his sanctuary. 
Unable to resist the offering, you reached for him, savage in your need that was rivalled by his. Your hand grasped his nape and pulled him closer until his breath warmed your lips and he closed the distance.
The kiss was a fight for dominance, a taste of what was to come, and you yielded to his touch as he backed you to the wall. Your body was hot and cold, fire and ice, as the cool stone bit at your back and his body heat licked at your front. 
Dream moaned as you grazed your teeth over his rapid pulse, “What is this spell…” 
“I have no need of spells,” you promised as you tipped your head back with a soft cry, his fingers dancing across your skin, up beneath your shirt.
“That, I believe,” he murmured, tugging your shirt over your head and stepping back to drink in the sight before him, the words of the contract still burned into your skin. “So beautiful.”
“No more talking,” you said as you stepped closer, inching him back to the canopy bed that was waiting. “I could waste away listening to you say that.”
The back of his knees hit the edge of the sheets and he caught your waist with a small smirk that took delight in your words. 
One second you were standing, the next he had turned and tossed you on your back among the silken sheets. Your lips parted to unleash your thoughts but they were stolen by the weight of his body above yours and his tongue leaving you witless. Those full pink lips of his left scorching heat in his wake as he kissed the thrumming pulse at your neck, across the hollow of your neck and between the swell of your breasts. 
“Morpheus,” you moaned as his tongue flicked your nipple and sent your back arching off the bed in response. Your fingers laced into his hair and held him there, willing him to do it again. His chuckle was barely audible but you felt the vibrations of it through every bone in your body and when he sealed his lips around the supple skin and his tongue swirled you saw stars. “Oh, hell.”
You could have come from that alone, especially when his thumb and forefinger teased the other nipple in time to his tongue. He had you panting for more. 
Maybe you had said that aloud because he broke away from your flesh with eyes sparkling like a million stars and reached for your pants. The taste of his kiss lingered on your tongue but it was his lust that you swallowed down, drinking your fill as he discarded the last piece of material that covered your body. 
He drew in a ragged breath and his hands shook as he touched you. His fingertips teased your skin as he brushed them over your ankles, along the line of your shin and circling your knees before he grabbed your thighs and pulled you down the bed. He pulled you right to the edge and stood tall between your spread legs, baring every inch of you to him - unafraid. 
“You are far too clothed for what I had in mind.”
His smirk grew and his thumbs caressed little circles against your inner thigh, each circle bringing him closer to where you needed his touch most. “Patience is a virtue.”
“Not to a demon,” you reminded him as a knuckle lightly passed over your sex and a hiss of air pulled through your teeth. 
You could see the length of his cock straining against his pants but he seemed oblivious to it as he toyed with you, basking in the sounds he could elicit with the smallest of touches. 
“You want your release, then take it,” he ordered as he ran two fingers through your folds, the evidence of your readiness slick on them before he curled them inside your core and stopped. “Take it.” 
You rolled your hips and moaned as it pressed his palm to your clit. Those eyes of his seemed to glow brighter as you rolled your hips against and palmed your breasts, taking your pleasure from him.
Your wanton cries filled the room as your core tightened around his fingers but before you could combust he pulled his hand away and dropped to his knees. His lips sealed over your clit and you screamed as he sucked the sensitive nub, tipping you over the knife's edge and into an orgasm that set the room on fire. Your power exploded as the well that had been empty was refilled and then overflowed. 
The contract written across your skin flared and dissolved as it was fulfilled, exhaustion of a different kind setting in as you lay amid the ash that fell like snowflakes.
Dream rose from the floor, his lips glistening, and quirked an eyebrow at the destruction of his room but with a wave of his hand the lingering flames were doused and the room was back as it was. With the distraction of the mess gone he immediately noticed the contract missing from your skin and knelt over you to trace his fingers over the empty space. 
“Abaddon really should have been more specific when he placed the contract on Lucifer’s behalf.” You laughed, imagining the fit the demon would throw when he realised Dream was still alive but the contract had been completed. “Bring him to his knees has a very different connotation to a lust demon.”
Smouldering eyes met yours as he cupped your face, a devilish smile playing at his lips. “You are one clever demon.”
Pride swelled in your chest and you bit your lip at the feel of him pressed between your legs. “And you are one overdressed lord.” 
He rolled onto his back, pulling you with him and as you rose above you found the cloak and every other scrap of clothing gone. His eyes were a sparkling abyss you were happy to get lost in as you lowered yourself upon him, gasping at the delicious burn of your body stretching to accommodate him, moaning at his fullness when your skin was flush with his. 
“Go on,” he dared as he cupped your breasts and pinched the hard peaks of your nipples, “take what you want. Feast.”
Rising to his challenge, you rolled your hips and took his pleasure, his lust. You took it all, over and over.
Click here to read the next instalment in The Anthology of Asmodeus' Heir: Lightbringer's Champion
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michelleleewise · 4 months
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Tale as Old as Time
Pairing: Jotun Loki x plus-size reader
Warnings: forced imprisonment, swearing, panic, Thor being a creep,
Summary: Slepnir returns without your father, you ride into the woods to find him......
Part three-
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You woke to a knock on the door, stretching you got up grabbing your dress "one minute." You called, slipping it over your head, you pulled your hair back as you walked to the door. Looking through the peep hole you cringed seeing Thor, trying to look through from the other side with a huge smile on his face. You rolled your eyes opening the door "morning y/n, how are you?" He asked pushing a bouquet of flowers into your hands. "Hello Thor. I'm fine thank you." You said keeping your foot behind the door.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" He asked "I actually have alot to do today Thor, so.." you started as he barged through the door. "Tell me y/n, why do you refuse me?" He asked walking around the room, his large stature making the space seem smaller "I have told you Thor, you can't give me what I want." You said. "Oh y/n, your a woman, women don't know what they want." He laughed "i beg your pardon?" You asked "I can give you stability, a home, children.." he said reaching for your stomach as you slapped his hand away. "Get Out Thor, now!" You yelled as he put his hands up in innocence "you know there are no others y/n, no one else will have you with your....figure." He snided as you shoved him out slamming the door.
"God he's a pig." You sighed slipping your shoes on heading out back. "Father. Are you in here?" You called out opening the shed, seeing it empty. "What the.." you thought heading back to the house, running to his room to see the bed still made. "Did he not come home?" You thought to yourself, grabbing your cloak, wrapping it around your shoulders pulling the hood over your head as you headed to the market. Stepping out the door you were met by Slepnir running towards the house...alone.
"Woah boy, where's father?" You asked, grabbing the reigns rubbing his head as he neighed loudly, bucking his head up and down. "Where is he boy?" You asked again as the horse turned towards the forest. "Take me to him." You said, jumping in the saddle as he took off in a sprint, making you hold on for dear life. You weren't sure how long you rode as the sky darkened, snow falling as you came to the wreck of the wagon. "Father! Are you here?" You cried out jumping off Slepnir running towards the wreckage. Searching you see no sign of life before hearing the loud neigh behind you, Slepnir stomping his hoof on your ground.
You ran back over, climbing into the saddle as he took off again, wildly running down the winding path as you came upon the gates of a castle. Pulling the reins you looked up at the dark castle, not seeing any sign of life "are you sure he's here?" You asked the horse hearing him neigh. You snapped the reigns heading towards the front of the castle. You slid down, looking around at the dead trees, the snow everywhere. Looking up at the imposing structure sending a chill up your spine. You walked up the steps, slowly pushing Open the main door as you slowly walked inside.
"Hello, is anyone home?" You called out looking around. You saw a fire lit in the living area, the sconces going up the stairs lit but no one around. You pushed your hood back, slowly walking through the foyer. "Look Anthony, it's a girl." James whispered as Anthony rolled his eyes "I'm not stupid, of course its a girl." He said watching her "do you think she could break the curse?" James whispered as watched you timidly walk towards the steps. "I don't know, the master is...not himself." Anthony whispered as you turned "Hello, are you there? I mean no harm I'm only looking for my father." You called out.
You walked towards the fire, seeing a clock and candelabra sitting in the table. "That's odd." You thought, running your hand over the clock. You leaned down getting a better look as you heard a yell come from somewhere in the castle. "Father! Is that you!" You yelled out, grabbing the candelabra as you heard your named called out. "I'm coming father!" You yelled, trying to follow his voice "no y/n, you need to leave!" You heard as you came across a winding staircase "no, I'm coming to get you!" You yelled back, running up the steps "y/n, no! Leave now, please!" You heard, but continued undeterred.
You came out into a small room with two cells. Setting the candelabra down you ran to the far one "y/n, no no no you need to go, now! Go and don't look back." Hank begged "no, I'm getting you out of here." You said sternly as you tried to open the door. "Y/n, there is a beast here, he imprisoned me, and the house, i...it's alive." He said. "Father your delirious, we need to go." You said going back to the lock. You heard something behind you making you freeze "and who are you?" You heard in a low heavy voice, almost a growl. You cleared your throat turning around
"I am y/n, who are you." You said puffing your chest out. "The owner of this castle." He growled as he stalked further into the shadows. You couldn't see his face, but you could see how tall he was. "So you are the one who has imprisoned my father?" You asked sternly "he was trespassing." He growled "to look for help, are you so heartless as to not help a passerby?" You asked "you know nothing of me! I suggest you hold your tongue!" He growled moving forward again. "I demand you release him, now!" You yelled hearing him laugh.
"You are a silly woman to think you can demand anything." He snarled "He has been sentenced, he will spend the rest of his days here. If you do not leave now, you will do the same." He said crossing his arms. "Let him go! I.....I will take his place." You demanded "y/n, no! You need to go." Hank said grabbing your arm "You would sacrifice your life for his?." he snarked. "Come into the light." You demanded but he didn't move. You grabbed the candelabra, moving towards him seeing his features in the light as he squinted.
Your eyes went wide seeing his deep blue skin, the ridges lining his face traveling down his neck to his chest. Looking back up seeing a pair of horns under his obsidian hair, blood red eyes staring at you. You steeled yourself "yes or no?" You demanded as he stood there, rolling his shoulders. "Very well, you have two minutes" He snarled, opening the door to the cell stepping back as Hank came out latching onto you "no y/n, you have your whole life ahead of you, I'm an old man, leave me." He demanded as you hugged him "I love you father, I'll find a way to escape, I promise." You whispered as he was ripped out of your arms. "Times up." He said, grabbing your arm pushing you into the cell, the door slamming behind you.
"Wait, please!" You cried out as you watched your father being drug away. "Y/n....y/n!" You heard him yell as the door slammed shut. You fell to your knees, feeling a tear run down your cheek. You looked back, running to the window seeing Slepnir take off with your father. You sat on the small stool, pulling your cloak around you sighing. "Atleast he's free." You said to yourself wrapping your arms around yourself trying to keep warm.
You didn't know how but you needed to escape, and fast.....
💙❄💙❄💙❄💙❄💙❄💙❄💙❄💙❄💙❄💙
@vbecker10 @high-functioning-lokipath @buttercupbestie @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lonadane @mcufan72 @daggers-and-mischief @lily-sinclair-2006 @lokisninerealms @lokiprompts @limiworld @mochie85 @sinsandguilt @chickencouncilrep @lulubelle814 @midnights-ramblings @commanding-officer @xorpsbane @waiting-for-cas-to-save-me @stupidthoughtsinwriting @lokixryss @froggiecky @intoxicatinginsanity @huntress-artemiss @sekaishell @slpnbty2001 @your-taste-on-my-lips @usagishira @lokis-coffee221 @kats72 @lucylaufeyson3 @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @lokiprompts21 @sititran @lokisgoodgirl @babysharkcreator @lelliefant @el-zef @ijuststareatstuffhereok89
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starryeyedstories · 1 year
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Of Second Sons and First Loves
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x f!reader
Summary: There is no place like a ballroom to fall in love at first sight.
Word count: 2433
Warnings: Mentions of arranged marriages, reader has an unnamed sister and a mother who is A Lot
A/N: It’s time for romance in this house. This is my first time writing for this Bridgerton babe so comments would be lovely!
Read on AO3 here
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Lady Danbury’s society balls were always the event of the season. For weeks, rumours had been flying between members of the ton about how many bottles of champagne had been ordered for the occasion, or which young ladies had been spotted in the shops of the numerous seamstresses and tailors, or- as was the topic seemingly on the mind of everyone at every moment- which single gentlemen would be in attendance. 
The latter topic was one that had been throughly exhausted in your household in your opinion, although your mother was in staunch disagreement with you. Even in the carriage on the way to the Danbury residence, she continued to lecture your elder sister on the matter.
“-and remember, there is no use in you indulging any gentleman who is not the eldest son in his family in a dance,” she instructed her, “You are my firstborn daughter and I will not have you settling for a husband with no hope of inheriting a title. Leave the second sons for your sister.”
You fought the urge to roll your eyes and settled instead for watching the streets of London rolling by outside the unbearably stuffy carriage. Of all the ambitious mamas in society, yours was surely the most ruthless. All your life, she had made it clear that it was your sister who she hoped to have it all; a marriage to a duke or, at the very least, a viscount, a grand estate, and a life of riches and splendour at the very top of society. As the second born daughter, you were expected to be content to ride on her coattails and reap the benefits. 
In truth, you did not envy your sister the burdens of being the eldest, nor could you find it within yourself to resent her for the preference she received from your mother over you. Whilst the pressure and expectations fell on her shoulders, you could enjoy slightly more freedom; finding a husband for you would not be a priority whilst your sister remained single. 
Even if you had been paying attention to the conversation inside the carriage rather than contemplating throwing yourself from it, you would have known that you had arrived at Lady Danbury’s home. A chorus of string instruments could be heard even from the gravelled driveway, and the night air was alive with excitement and chatter as the ladies and gentlemen of the ton made their way inside. 
As always, your mother and sister preceded you out of the carriage and you followed a couple of steps behind them up the staircase, only after murmuring your thanks to the carriage driver- a courtesy in which your relatives rarely indulged. You carefully lifted your skirt a few inches, sufficient to climb the steps without breaking your neck and insufficient to reveal enough of your stockings to incite scandal. 
You suspected that your mother would be more upset by the latter than the former. 
The ballroom seemed to glow in the golden light of the crystal chandeliers overhead and the countless candelabras around the room. Muslin dresses in a rainbow of pastel shades created a moving work of art as dancing couples occupied the centre of the room, the outer edges packed with ambitious mamas scanning the crowds for eligible suitors for their daughters and young gentlemen attempting in vain to hide themselves from said mamas. Every ball was the same, but there was something about the ones hosted by Lady Danbury that was inexplicably fun. 
As you took in the general splendour of the room, your mother cast a critical eye over the faces in the throngs of people; the woman was like a bloodhound when it came to bachelors. Apparently having spotted one, she gripped your sister's wrist and dragged her off into the crowd without so much as a word in your direction. Your sister shot you a helpless look over her shoulder before she disappeared, and then you were alone.
Once again fighting the urge to roll your eyes in company, you decided to take yourself off for a turn of the room. You spotted a few familiar faces in the crowds, waved politely at girls you had known since childhood and carefully avoided men whom you knew to be rakes at best and hooligans at worst. You almost shuddered in embarrassment as you watched your mother all but flinging your sister at Anthony Bridgerton, the eldest son of the infamous family and therefore the perfect son-in-law in your mother’s eyes, and then ushering the couple onto the dance floor as the orchestra struck up a new tune. 
Embarrassment on your sister’s behalf was replaced by embarrassment of your own as, distracted by the events transpiring on the dance floor, you walked straight into a gentleman walking in the opposite direction to you. You would have stumbled backwards had it not been for his hands on your elbows; even through the long white gloves you wore and the short ones he wore, you felt the warmth of his touch.
“Forgive me, madam. I was not looking where I was...” You both finally looked up and met each other’s eyes, and he faltered in his sentence. “...going.”
He was quite possibly the most handsome man you had ever seen. Thick locks of hair, such a dark brown that they were nearly black, crowned his head in a wavy fashion just on the right side of unruly. Candlelight gleamed in his hair and caught on the contours of his face, a handsome nose and a strong jawline catching your attention and holding it. You refused to let your eyes linger on the way his lips were just barely parted and instead lifted your gaze up- goodness, he was tall- to his eyes. They were as dark as his hair and yet held an inexplicable warmth, framed by faint wrinkles created by years of smiling and thick brows as they were. 
He was undoubtedly beautiful, and he was undoubtedly a Bridgerton.
“I do not believe we have been introduced,” he said eventually, blinking as though awakening from a dream before bowing slightly, “Benedict Bridgerton, at your service.”
You smiled softly and told him your name. “I believe my sister is currently dancing with your elder brother, Mr Bridgerton.”
“That would not surprise me. I believe every ambitious mama in the ton is here tonight to push her daughters towards the heir to the Bridgerton estate.” His eyes widened as he seemed to realise how his words could have been interpreted. “Forgive me, I meant no disrespect towards your mother or sister.”
You chuckled, touching his arm lightly to put him at ease. “No, you’re quite right. My mama actually compiled a list of eligible men for my sister to approach this evening, and I believe your brother’s name was at the top.”
He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “How strange. My mama made a similar list for Anthony, and yet made no such list for me.”
“I did not receive one either. It must be our misfortune as second born children,” you said, a teasingly sarcastic note in your tone. He caught your meaning immediately, his eyes twinkling as he quickly replied:
“Or perhaps our luck.”
You cocked your head in agreement.
“Perhaps.”
A server carrying a tray of champagne flutes passed the two of you, and Benedict swiftly took a glass for each of you. You thanked him politely as he handed you yours, lifting it to your lips and letting the pale golden liquid fizz pleasantly on your tongue before speaking again. 
“I must admit that it is certainly more entertaining to watch my mama attempt to find me a brother-in-law than a husband. I can only pity your poor brother being caught in her scheming.”
He sighed as though exhausted, or perhaps burdened, with information.
“I am afraid that not even the most determined of mamas could persuade my brother to marry any young lady here tonight. He is quite helplessly in love with a penniless singer,” he confessed. You raised your eyebrows in amusement.
“I had no idea that I had the honour of being in the company of Lady Whistledown this evening,” you commented over the rim of your glass.
The burst of surprised laughter that Benedict let out at your words turned several heads in the direction of the pair of you, and your lips twitched upwards at the lovely sound. His laughter soon settled and he regarded you with a new admiration.
“I must confess to not being as prolific a writer as the mysterious Lady Whistledown. My preference is for drawing.”
“An equally admirable talent,” you replied honestly, “One that I have sadly not been blessed with.”
He smiled a lovely, soft smile as he leaned in to closer to you, never taking his eyes off of yours as he did.
“That can only be because you are destined to inspire masterpieces rather than to create them, Miss _____,” he told you earnestly.
Your lips parted in utter surprise at the boldness of his words, your heart speeding up at the compliment behind them. You knew that you were not an unattractive young lady by any means, but as the second born daughter the focus was never on you. All your life, your sister had had the most beautiful dresses, the most glowing introductions, and the most suitors falling at her feet.
No one had ever looked at you the way Benedict Bridgerton did before. 
You were saved from attempting to put together an eloquent response by the aforementioned gentleman’s eyes drifting to something over your shoulder.
“Don’t look now but there’s a rather fierce-looking lady coming this way and she appears to have you in her sights,” he told you.
You glanced quickly over your shoulder and your eyes widened in alarm.
“My mama,” you told him, “She’ll be furious that I’m talking to you rather than dancing.”
Benedict’s brow furrowed at the undesirable prospect of your conversation ending, and an idea came to him; his eyes sparkled as he took your glass and passed it along with his to a passing servant.
“Well, we wouldn’t want to let her down, would we?”
Before you could question him, he had your hand in his and was leading you onto the dance floor. Your breath hitched in your throat as he spun you expertly towards himself, his free hand settling onto the small of your back, before beginning to guide the two of you carefully through the other couples on the floor. His shoulder felt unbelievably strong beneath your hand and it was all you could do to allow yourself to be led around the floor, his proximity making you more dizzy than the dancing as your skirt fanned out with the movement. 
“I hope that was the right thing to do,” he said, looking down at you with a hint of worry in his lovely eyes, “Forgive me if I misunderstood but I assumed that you would rather have avoided your mother.”
You smiled up at him reassuringly, even daring to squeeze the hand that held yours. “You misunderstood nothing. In fact, I believe that you understand me more than anyone ever has, Mr Bridgerton.”
His eyes lit up at your words, and you were certain that he held you ever so slightly closer after that. 
The song was over far sooner than either of you would have liked, and you were delighted when he invited you to seek out refreshment with him. You barely made it off of the dance floor, however, before your mother appeared with your sister in tow. 
“Bid your farewells to those whom you must, for we are leaving,” she instructed you firmly. You raised your eyebrows in surprise, disappointment filling you at the evening being cut short.
“So early? Is something wrong?”
“Anthony Bridgerton has not asked your sister for another dance all evening, despite all attempts I have made to put her in his line of sight. I have never been so insulted in my life.”
You were very aware of Benedict standing behind you, and you opened your mouth to attempt to end your mother’s rant; your efforts were in vain as she continued doggedly.
“If Anthony Bridgerton thinks himself above your sister then there is no reason for us to stay any longer. Heaven knows there is no point in pursuing any of his brothers, for they haven't a title to share between them.”
Your eyes widened in mortification; you could feel Benedict shaking with barely suppressed laughter behind you and you wondered how your mother hadn't spotted him yet. She fixed you with a suspicious look.
“And where have you been all evening, might I ask?” she demanded.
Biting your lip, you stepped to the side to reveal your companion.
“Mama, might I introduce Mr Benedict Bridgerton?”
The rapid sequence of expressions- confusion, horror, and then utter panic- that flashed across your mother’s face upon hearing Benedict’s name might have been comedic if you weren't so embarrassed by her. Benedict, on the other hand, appeared to find the entire situation hilarious as he bowed deeply and straightened up with a wide grin on his face. 
“Charmed to make your acquaintance, madam.”
You prayed silently for your mother to say something- anything- to resolve the unbearable awkwardness of the situation. Unfortunately, she appeared to have decided to make it worse.
“Indeed,” she said primly, looking him up and down with distaste, “As I said, the company of a second born son is not sufficient to incite my daughters and I to remain at this gathering. I am sure you understand, Mr Bridgerton.”
You wanted the ground to swallow you up. Benedict, however, appeared unfazed.
“On the contrary, madam. I find second born children often grow up to be the most diverting of company.” He turned his eyes to you so that there could be no doubt about his meaning. “May I perhaps call on you tomorrow, Miss ____?”
Your eyes widened in surprise, and you barely managed to coax your brain into thinking of a response.
“You may.”
There was that lovely smile again as he reached for your hand and brought it oh-so-slowly to his lips; you felt their warmth through the thin material of your glove, and your heart raced as his eyes held yours fast. He winked so quickly that you could almost have imagined it had it not been for the sparkle in his eyes as he straightened up again, only releasing your hand at the very last moment. 
“Until tomorrow, then.”
A/N: I hope you enjoyed this because I loved writing it! If you did, please consider letting me know in my ask, a comment, or even a reblog (scandalous, I know)!
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psychosociogentleman · 6 months
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hi i literally found you while scrolling for mycroft fics so i have no idea who you are what you do etc etc but here's a fanfic idea: reader lives with sherlock (working together), one time when sherlock has a really difficult case he kicks reader out of the flat (insert a reason as to why idk) and then the first person reader thinks of is mycroft so boom bam reader spends a night at mycroft's because mycroft is kind!!!!!!!!!! ok bye thank you do what you will with that
haha i loved this request! hope you like it <3 feedback is appreciated :D edit: Omg 102 likes?!?! Love you guys ❤️
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Spending the Night with Mycroft After Sherlock Kicks You Out (Part One)
Parts: 1 2 3 Show: BBC Sherlock TW: swearing, being kicked out, mention of cocaine, mention of alcoholism, slight angst Character(s): Mycroft Holmes, Y/N (gender-neutral), Sherlock Holmes
"Fuck you, Sherlock!" you exclaimed as he shut the door behind you, locking you out into the freezing night.
After an increasingly difficult case (not that he'd ever admit, being so full of himself), Sherlock had the kicked you out of the flat because you were apparently 'sipping your tea like a bee on cocaine.' Heaven knows how he knew what bees on cocaine were like. But at least you had managed to grab your coat before you were ushered out. (Needless to say, you had brutally learned from previous experiences.)
Unfortunately, though, you had left your phone. And that meant you had no way of finding a place to stay for the night. Then, you had an idea! And that was how you found yourself on the doorstep of Mycroft Holmes' estate an hour later, soaked with rain and explaining your sudden appearance to a very disgruntled man in his PJs with a silk robe thrown on.
"And wherever was Dr Watson during this?" Mycroft asked for the sake of asking. Of course he already knew that the ex-army doctor was away, visiting his sister at the facility where she had admitted herself in for to get rid of her alcoholism.
You rolled your eyes. As if he didn't know. "Can I come in?" you asked instead, although he doesn't have much of a choice.
"I suppose," Mycroft sighed, moving aside to let you in.
"I can barely feel my hands. And I can't feel my nose. At all," you muttered, stepping into the warmth of his home as Mycroft closed the door.
"Ah, that would be the effects of the ungodly temperature, Miss/Mr/Mx L/N."
"I see that the grand powers of deduction have been blessed among both Holmes brothers," you mused sarcastically, taking in the rather pleasing aesthetic of his home. The corridors were lit with candelabra, oil paintings hung on the walls, decorated with patterned wallpaper, and several crystal chandeliers lined the ceiling, while the windows were draped with dark red velvet curtains. "You have good taste, Mycroft," you admitted.
He seemed to have not heard (but it could have just as easily been him ignoring you), instead focusing on your appalling state. "Try not to touch anything until you shower and get changed. You can take the en suite guest bedroom upstairs. Keep walking until you reach the end of the corridor, turn left, and it's two doors down."
"Is that the second door I see, or the third?" you questioned, never having never stayed at such a massive residence before.
"The third," Mycroft answered a little superciliously, looking at you like you're stupid. "I'll put some fresh clothes on your bed while you shower."
"Thanks, Mycroft," you smiled before proceeding up the stairs.
You really contemplated how long to shower for; you didn't want to make it seem like you were taking advantage of having a nice hot shower at someone else's expense, and you didn't want to make it seem like you were thinking too much about expenses at all. In the end, you had decided on four minutes and fifteen seconds.
Sure enough, when you came out of the shower wrapped in a towel, there was fresh PJs and fuzzy socks folded neatly on your bed. The PJs looked suspiciously like Mycroft's and you grinned at the thought of wearing his clothes.
Just as you finished putting clothes on, there was a knock at your door. "Come in," you called.
No doubt, it was Mycroft. "I see you've finished getting dress," he said.
"Mycroft, it's very unlike you to keep stating the obvious. Is everything okay?" you asked, half-jokingly.
"Of course." You could've sworn his cheeks were dusted in a delicate tinge of pink for a second. "I trust everything was to your satisfaction?"
"Yes, Mycroft," you sigh, laughing softly at his choice of wording. You could've sworn his lips twitched into a momentary smile. "Thanks for letting me stay here Mycroft," you say, walking up to him and placing a grateful hand on his arm. You could've sworn that the ice had melted and his eyes were softer.
"It was not as if I had much of a choice, Miss/Mr/Mx L/N," Mycroft replied, trying to keep his cold exterior. But you could see right through it.
That night, Mycroft wouldn't sleep, knowing that someone he regularly imagined to be sleeping beside him, in his own bed, his own room, would be just across the hallway from him, sleeping soundly with no idea that they had already managed to melt the ice that the Iceman protected himself under.
Bonus:
"No, Sherlock! No, we have not- How could you suggest such a thing? No, we slept in separate beds, in separate rooms. Oh, what, so you're just going to leave them here until something to your inclination happens between us? Is this another one of your wretched experiments? You just-" Mycroft looked at the telephone, and blinked. "Oh, he hung up."
"Mycroft, is everything okay?" you had heard him shouting in his office, and rushed to see what the matter was.
"Yes, everything is fine. I was just informed that you will be unable to go back to Baker Street for a rather large amount of time. I advise you to be mentally prepared to live here for the next week or so. Realistically, much longer. Although, I'm unable to confirm as of now."
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natalia-lafourcade · 10 months
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The Marías "All I Really Want Is You"
Image Description
Four GIFS of the María Zardoya of the band The Marías. She is white.
(1/4) GIF of María laying upright on a couch draped in a red sheet. She is in a room with walls that are painted dark red. Her body is in a twisted position with the top half of her body turning to face the camera. She is wearing a black-backless dress that is connected with two chains that intersect at her back, forming a cross shape. Her hair black and cut into a bob with bangs.
(2/4) GIF of Maria in an ornately decorated room. The room is darkly lit with three portraits hanging up on the far back wall. The painting in the center is the largest and most visible. It depicts four children dressed in red Tudor era clothes. There are two end tables underneath the paintings with candelabras on each. In front of those tables are two card tables with two chairs each. One table is mahogany with red chairs and the other is a dark green table with two yellow pinstripe chairs. María is in the foreground. She has the same hairstyle, but this time she is wearing a turquoise halter top and a brown leather jacket with yellow tulle trimmings on the cuffs and collar. She is reaching up towards a clear glass chandelier with blue details.
(3/4) GIF of María laying on a bed. She is wearing a black bralette with lace details. Her nails are painted black. She is hugging two furry throw blankets that are a dark mustard and teal color. There is an intricate headboard behind her with gold details.
(4/4) GIF of María in what appears to be the same room as the first GIF. She is also wearing the same outfit. However, in this GIF she is standing and we can see her through a large mirror. We can see a large bookcase in the reflection of the mirror. María is swaying side to side with her hands at her hips.
(5/5) Another GIF of María laying in the same bed as the third GIF. This time she is laying on her back and staring up at the camera. She is upside down and is caressing the teal and dark mustard throw blankets. She is looking intently at the camera.
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In This Haunted House
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Description: Stephen is certain he isn’t alone in the crumbling Sanctum that is his prison.
Type of trope: Suspense, angst
Pairing: Sinister!Strange x gn!reader
Warnings!-Blood, mentions of readers death
DO NOT: Claim, Repost, Copy, or Translate my stories anywhere else
Stephen knew he had long since lost his mind. Well, most of it. He still had some parts intact that reminded him of what he’d done. Of the things he’d lost and the people he’d killed. He was certain it was a punishment for his actions that led to the death of his world. A life sentence of remembering and suffering after all he had done. It seemed justified in his mind's eye, until he realized he was no longer alone.
At first he passed it off as his usual hallucinations. Hearing footsteps was nothing new to him. However these ones skittered across the floorboards. It was the unmistakable sound of someone moving quickly, as if attempting to hide. He’d found that part odd. Usually his hallucinations were faint and always seemed to be coming from somewhere in the distance. It wasn’t until the footsteps had come up behind him that he knew someone was in the Sanctum with him. And no matter how hard he tried or what spells he cast he could never quite catch whoever it was that roamed the halls. He’d caught glimpses of you out of the corner of his eyes. A flicker of movement here and a flutter of fabric there. You were taunting him at this point, keeping just out of sight. Driving him further over the edge of insanity as he questioned whether you were truly real or a ghost that had come to haunt him for his sins.
He’d done his best to ignore you and it had worked for a time, but then he had heard your voice. He’d fallen asleep at the desk in his study one day. The floorboards had creaked but he hadn’t stirred, his mind used to the sounds of the building settling. A chill had crept into the room before a hand brushed against his cheek, the touch featherlight.
“Wakey wakey, Stephen,” You murmured. He’d bolted to his feet, His heart pounding against his chest as he surveyed the empty room around him. No, there wasn’t any possible way it could be you. You were dead. He had lost you in the incursion. He shook his head to try and rid himself of the doubts that began to creep into his mind. No! You couldn’t be haunting him. He’d witnessed your death, as awful as it had been. There wasn’t a sliver of a possibility that your soul had survived. You’d been destroyed completely.
Yet he still found himself watching the shadows arounds him throughout the rest of the day. Half expecting you to appear from nowhere to scare him. He couldn’t believe he was actually afraid of this haunted house. He had been Master of it and he was the only one to currently inhabit it. He shouldn’t be jumping at every sound or movement. After all, he was the most powerful Dark Sorcerer in the multiverse. If anything your ghost should be afraid of him.
He had decided to move somewhere with more light. Making the excuse to himself that it was better for him to read by and not because he felt like the shadows were watching him. He had been making his way towards the music room when he heard music drifting down the hallway towards him. His footfalls had slowed as he approached the doorway to the room where he found the keys of the piano moving while the strings of the harp were plucked, as if being played by phantoms. The melody was dreary and muffled as they played out a song you had often sung when you’d kept busy. Dark stains began to appear across the wall and Stephen backed away as blood seeped through the wallpaper. It dripped down the wood paneling and onto the floor, slowly pooling at his feet.
“Stop this!” He shouted, his voice shaking despite his attempt to sound commanding.
“I know it’s you, so stop!” He said, pleading this time. The room fell silent and a chill began to fill the air. Stephens’s breaths came out in white puffs as frost crept across the window panes and metal candelabras. A pair of bloodied hands reached from behind him, covering his eyes and mouth.
“You were my nightmare, Stephen. It’s only fair I now get to be yours,” You whispered, your lips brushing against the shell of his air and stinging his skin from how frigid they were. He swung blindly, only to find the room once again normal and any evidence of your presence gone. He gripped his head in his hands as he collapsed to his knees. Pressing his forehead to the floor as he let out a choked sob. Your laughter echoing from within the very bones of the building.
This truly was a haunted house indeed.
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honeyynymphh · 1 month
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| there’s total depravity (standing right in front of me) |
(Dark)Papa IV x FemReader rating: E word count: 4.8k warnings: dom/sub, dubcon, master/servant, humiliation, degradation, abuse of authority, light sadism/masochism, orgasm denial, Copia is Not Nice, google translated italiano. please see ao3 for full list
As a maid, I tended to pass by unnoticed. Nobody really cared who made their beds or cleaned their clothes—as long as it was done. And I should have just done my job and left. But I didn't. And now I was stuck here at the mercy of the Fourth.
read on A03
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Please do not read this if you do not like dark Copia, he is not nice.
------------------------ The rooms in the west wing of the abbey were all decadent. The library, the chapterhouse, and the offices for all the senior clergy members. But the Papal suites were the most ornate and lavish. I fumbled with the large keys Sister Imperator had given me while I tried to balance the basket of fresh linen I was trying to hold under my other arm. I had only ever been in the previous Papa’s suite once, and that had been to help one of the senior maids, Gabriella, clean up after a particularly lavish celebration held by Emeritus the Third in his rooms because her usual assistant had been too busy elsewhere.
I finally managed to enter the room, the large wooden door closing with a soft click behind me. Unlike the previous Papa, the Fourth’s room was mostly tidy. There were a few errant stacks of books, empty bottles of wine and the stubbed-out ends of cigars in an ashtray. But apart from that, the room was clean. The Third’s room had taken me and Gabriella hours to tidy and clean—something Gabriella had assured me was perfectly normal for the Third. That man had somehow managed to get underwear on the chandelier and what appeared to be whipped cream on the high gilded ceilings. There had been multitudes of empty bottles, used glasses and crushed rose petals scattered everywhere.
All I had to do was neaten up the room, change the sheets and towels, and I would be done. It made me smile knowing I wasn't going to be on my hands and knees scrubbing tiles. I would then be free for the rest of the evening to do as I pleased. I placed the basket on a nearby table and slowly moved around the large space. Each papal suite comprised a sitting room, a small study and a bedroom with a large ensuite. I walked towards the bedroom, pushing the double doors open. The room was similar to the sitting area with its lack of mess, rumpled sheets and half-drawn drapes were the only evidence someone had been in here. I pulled the drapes all the way back, though the sun was already disappearing to the horizon in the distance, and tied them carefully. I pushed some errant strands of hair that had escaped my pins out of my face and turned to the large bed. The dark blue velvet that hung from the four-poster shimmered under the setting rays of the sun. Gabriella had told me most of the Papal suites had very few lamps as they were so old that they had barely any fittings for electric light. They were mostly lit by the high chandeliers and candelabras. She had told me the only suite that had proper electric lighting was the First because he kept a few prized plants in his rooms and they required special lamps.
While it made the rooms difficult to clean without proper lighting, I couldn’t deny how beautiful they were. All of the Papal suites were fitted with antique furniture and upholstered with exquisite fabrics in their own colour. The royal blues and gleaming teals of this room were so calm and inviting. The ocean hues melted with the gold filigree detailing and made me long for the sea. As I approached, I let my fingers trail over the silk sheets. The material was so soft and cool against my fingertips that I couldn’t help but grab a fist full of it and bring it to my cheek. It wasn’t that the rooms provided by the clergy in the south wing for the serving staff were terrible—they were very comfortable—but the worn and warm cotton on my bed paled in comparison to this luxury. I had never known anything so fine in my life.
But it had been a mistake to bring it to my face. The soft slide of silk was divine against my cheek but it was nothing compared to the smell. I was already turning my face and pressing my nose into it to inhale deeply. It smelt like the church after they had concluded their midnight mass. But there was also the memory of cigar smoke, something that might have been patchouli and another scent I couldn’t place. Whatever it was, it seemed to fill my mind and had me inhaling into the fabric as if I were starved and it was nourishment.
I had always tried to keep my distance from the members of the church. I had told myself it was like going to the zoo and getting to pat the tigers. As long as I followed the rules set out by Sister Imperator and did as I was instructed I would be fine. I had heard wild stories. Some of the things I had heard had been a little off-putting. I had dismissed it as nothing more than those strange siblings trying to scare me. They had said that the Papas would come in the night and suck my soul out for Lucifer if I didn’t keep the door locked. That they would sacrifice me if I didn’t make sure to arrange all the items in the sacristy the exact same way when I was returning freshly cleaned vestments and strange polished unholy objects.
I didn’t believe them. They were no different to those that worshipped God. I kept my head down and I did my job and I was thankful for it. It was only a joke, to try and test me I was sure. I had only been here six months, and albeit this place being such a strange one, it had quickly become my home.
However, I did lock my door at night. And I did keep everything exactly how it was expected to be in any room I entered. Those were the rules. That was all. I didn’t believe their taunting words about demons and magick and human sacrifices.
At least not really. Sometimes one of them would catch my eye and maybe I would believe it. But otherwise, I dismissed it.
I was late one evening when it had all changed. On nights I had to clear up after their midnight mass, I would have an afternoon shift and nap before completing the later half. I had slept in and when I had hurried to the huge cathedral I had not found it empty and dark as was usual at this time of night. The candles had been lit and there had been hundreds of them—thousands even. The whole building had been lit up and shadows upon shadows danced and kissed across the spiralling architecture.
That hadn’t been what stopped me in my tracks. It had been the woman bare on the steps, her body bent in a mockery of prayer as His Dark Excellency, Papa Emeritus the Fourth, fucked her face right there in front of everyone. It had been obscene. The sound of him sliding down her throat, her desperate choking moans and his low growls of approval echoed through the building. It had shot down my spine and curled with a burning fire low in my stomach.
The entire scene before me had been mesmerising, I hadn’t been able to tear my eyes away. While I hadn’t been able to see much with the flickering candlelight, his face had been enough. The way he had looked down upon her, those leather gloves curling into her hair, had me nearly dropping my keys to the ground. When he’d finally emptied himself down her throat, the candles had all blown out. A gust of air had brushed against my face like a caress. Before my eyes, I watched as the air seemed to manifest itself into a shape—a ghoul. The shape of its face wisped like smoke—a being clearly not of solid form—before it was pulling one of those eerie masks over its face, the eyes glowing in the sockets.
I had hastily fled to the library then, not wanting to see what they would do next or for someone to notice me. The priest on duty in the library had given me a strange look as I hurried in with my flushed face. It wasn’t my night to clean there but I needed somewhere quiet. Somewhere where I wouldn’t be disturbed. As I lent against a bookshelf in the depths of the cavernous room, the sound of pages turning and the whisper of low voices, I tried to calm the pounding of my heart. I could still see the Fourth in my mind, I could still hear the sounds that had escaped his throat as he had ravaged hers. The heady pull of arousal has curled around me again, making me feel hot and feverish. The feel of my black uniform against my skin had itched. The all-consuming need to let that man take me had felt branded upon my very soul.
Eventually, I had been calm enough to continue with my duties. The feeling had passed. Perhaps it had been the herbs burning in the church that made me feel so feverish and wanting. It has not happened again, every subsequent visit to the cathedral had been met with the cool silence of extinguished candles and empty pews.
After that night I started to pay a little more attention than usual. As a maid, I tended to pass by unnoticed. Nobody really cared who made their beds or cleaned their clothes—as long as it was done. All of the Papas were intimidating, their painted faces were not something you wanted to run into while cleaning a dark hallway. Most of my duties were done at hours when most of the congregation was elsewhere and I had very little interaction with them. I kept odd hours but it didn’t bother me. I spent most of my time in the greenhouse helping the Earth Ghouls tend to the First’s garden and the plants in the conservatory. The ghouls were friendly, and I had witnessed more of their strange magick as they had helped seedlings to grow. I had felt a little safer. While the tales they had told me may have held some truth—the acceptance of true magick and demons was still a little baffling—it was clear they meant me no harm.
Being assigned to clean the Papal suites was usually reserved for the senior maids like Gabriella who had worked there for years. But the one who usually cleaned this room had fallen ill and I had been asked by Sister Imperator to cover. As pathetic as it was to admit, I had felt honoured that she trusted me enough to do so. I was also full of brimming curiosity and a sort of desperate want to see inside his personal chambers.
Now I was completely abusing that trust, lying there on that ornate bed. I rolled onto my stomach and pressed my face into one of the many pillows, my fingers gripping the sheet and pulling it with me. How would it feel to be in this bed with him? The thought sent my body alight with desire, the scent that clung to the sheets was too addictive. I felt like I was right back there in the church. And all I could see was the vision of him in the cathedral, his hips snapping with ferocious lust into that Sister’s eager mouth. I was like a cat, luxuriating on that bed like some heathen. My mind was a pleasant fog. I could feel how wet I was as I buried myself in it.
It was like I was drunk.
“And what are you doing in my bed, dolce?”
The quiet voice shocked me. It should have felt like I had been doused in cold water. But it didn’t shock me in such a way—it startled me—but the sound of that voice send the most delicious burning thrill down my spine and between my legs. I sat bolt upright. My face was surely flushed and now turning red with embarrassment. I hastily tried to remove myself but he was there, a terrifying vision in a neat black suit, as he placed a gloved hand on my shoulder stilling my movements. It left me sitting there precariously on the edge of the bed as he stood before me.
“I am so sorry, Your Dark Excellency,” I said in a breathless rush. How I hated how pathetic I sounded. My voice choked and I tried to clear it, attempting to sound less like some insane woman who had only moments ago been writhing on his bed like a possessed demon. “I don’t know what overcame me.” Was I going to lose my job? I couldn’t go back. The desperation hit, sobering me more than anything else. “Please don’t tell Sister Imperator, I can’t lose this job. Please, I promise I won’t come in here ever again. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“Si, it would be such a shame,” he said with a smile, his voice gentle as his hand still held my shoulder. “Imperator speaks so highly of you.”
She does? My brow furrowed. How would he even know what she said of me? How did he even know who I was?
“I will—”
“You will what?” He interrupted. The pleasantness of before was gone now. “You already clean this place. What could you offer me, hm?”
The words caught in my throat. I had nothing. What was I to offer? The hand on my shoulder suddenly slid up my throat and gripped tight. I could still breathe but the pressure was enough to send adrenaline rioting through my body. I wasn’t sure whether I should have been afraid or aroused and settled for both. There was a delicious feel to the warm leather around my neck, and I still felt strange. The smell of the leather rose up to my nose and mingled with the scent of him. I wanted to lean into it— but I ignored the mad thought. Delirious fantasies were one thing, the man being right there in my face with a grip on my neck was another.
“Let me go.” The words managed to work their way out of my lips, but his only smirked in response.
“I think perhaps not, pet,” the Fourth said. “You seemed to be enjoying my bed, it would only be fair if you let me enjoy you.”
I was stuck staring up at him and felt the fear drop in my gut like a stone. I could see every line on his handsome face. I was so close I could see the greying hairs at his temple and that he had a small scar underneath the right side of his jaw.
There was a tingle at the back of my mind as I stared into his mismatched eyes. I had felt it before in passing. “Don’t look into the white eye”, Gabriella had told me. The siblings and ghouls were not so easily entranced but I was not one of them. I was merely an outsider, not part of their kind—whatever kind that truly was.
“Are you going to bewitch me?” It sounded so ridiculous said aloud. But I was scared.
“I could.” The smirk returned. I felt the tingle again, it wasn’t how I imagined—like a weird hypnosis from some silly vampire film where I would have no memory of what happened after. I could still think quite clearly but I felt him there. His hand left my throat yet I didn't move.
Take off your dress and shoes.
I didn’t question the thought. I just did it. It was somehow more terrifying still being completely aware of what I was doing. I stood, my hands instantly reaching for the apron tied around my waist and untying the knot at the back as I toed off my shoes. It hadn't even hit the floor before I started to undo the buttons of my dress. I was left standing in my underwear and stockings in a matter of seconds. In a corner, there was a large baroque mirror on a wall and I could just make out my glazed blank expression. I tried to blink, to move my head, to frown—to do anything—but I couldn’t.
“However it is more fun if I don’t,” came his voice.
The fog in my mind instantly disappeared. I stumbled with my freedom returned as I was hit all at once with how cold I was.
Wrapping my arms around my middle I stared at him. His expression was smug as he stood there, hands clasped neatly in front of him. I knew he meant it was more fun for him. It would be humiliating for me this way. And that clearly seemed to delight him.
The Fourth took a step toward me, pointing at a circular ornate rug that decorated the floor before his bed.
“Kneel.”
I didn’t move—my eyes darted to the bed. I had thought he would merely fuck me and be done with it.
“You have to earn the bed,” he said, seeing my gaze. “Kneel.”
It would have been idiotic to lie to myself and say I wasn’t wet at the thought of sinking to my knees before him. The thought hadn't left my mind since seeing him in the cathedral that night. The ferocity of it had frightened me that night—more so than the blatant display of magick and supernatural creatures that resided under those ghoul masks. But it had kept me up at night because I had wanted it. Yet being here, before him, I was full of fear.
My knees settled on the rug, the softness of it was welcoming.
“Hands behind your back, pet,” he instructed. I did as I was told, it was surely easier than arguing.
The Fourth came to me then, standing above me, those mismatched eyes devouring every inch of my bare skin. My gaze drifted down and I could see the bulge in his black trousers, my lips parted without any thought. His pleasure of seeing me so willing was written on his face but he didn’t make a move to undress. Instead, he extended a shiny black dress shoe toward me, his eyes never leaving my face. I glanced down at it, my brow furrowing in confusion before I looked back at him once more.
“You are a maid, si?” he said, the smile disappearing from his face.
I swallowed before nodding. “Yes?”
“Clean.” He moved his shoe closer towards me. It was already pristine. The black leather was so shiny I could maybe believe I could see my own shocked face in the reflection.
I sat there, hands behind my back with what I was certain was a dumbstruck look on my face. Was he serious?
The man pulled his foot away and sighed.
“Vedo.” He twisted the papal ring adorned on his finger, the sound loud as it slide across the leather of his gloves. “Che deludente.” He pushed his hair back with a dramatic sigh and moved towards the door. “I will be seeing Sister Imperator now.”
I nearly fell over myself in my haste to stand, my stockinged feet slipping over the soft carpets as I rushed towards him just as he reached the door.
“Papa—Your Dark Excellency—please, wait!” The desperation hit me. I couldn’t leave, I refused to be sent back into the world. This strange place was my home. I had been taken in without question and treated with something akin to kindness. “Please.”
I was aware of how pathetic I sounded. As I stood there, half-naked with my arms wrapped around, watching him with frantic breaths as he appeared to think. The Fourth moved past me and pointed back at the rug with no expression on that painted face. Resigned, I moved back and knelt on the rug and put my hands behind my back.
Again, he extended one shiny shoe toward me. Maybe if I did it quickly it would be fine. I hastily bent down and licked from the tip of his shoe all the way up, my tongue hitting the laces and making me recoil at the unpleasant texture. I sat back and glanced up at him. In the low light of the room, it was hard to see his face clearly but he didn't look impressed.
"You can do better than that," he said as he tilted his foot to get a better look at the glistening wet stripe I'd left there. "Imperator says you are very thorough."
I gritted my teeth. It was worth it for my job, I told myself. And I was never, ever, coming in here again. I leant forward, whisps of hair falling from its pinned confines as I licked the shiny leather again. I tried to ignore the taste as I swept my tongue over every inch of his shoe until it glistened with my spit. I didn't even wait for him to say anything before I moved to his other shoe, and I heard the hum of approval above me. I hated it. I loved it. I wanted to cry.
"Very good, pet." The words sent a grateful rush of arousal through me and as I leant back to look at him, I tried to ignore how damp my knickers were.
I could feel the sting of tears at the corner of my eyes but I kept my gaze forward, trying to blink them away. The man walked away from me then and to a small table adorned with curiosities—one of which was a wooden box that he flicked open. I sat there, silently watching as he pulled a cigar out, cut it and lit it before tossing the lighter back on the table.
It was like I was nothing but another piece of furniture in the room. My tongue itched in my mouth, all I could taste was leather and the horrible tinge of shoe polish. I merely swallowed, trying to rid it from my throat. I shifted on my thighs. He continued to stand there a moment, taking a deep drag of it and then letting the smoke fill the room. Then he turned on his heel and stalked past me to sit in a small armchair by the bed. There was a tiny stand next to it that held an ashtray and the remnant of past cigars I hadn't yet cleared away.
Those eyes found mine and he crooked a gloved finger at me. I moved to stand.
“No, non così.” The words were snapped at me and I stopped moving immediately. He pointed a finger back down at the ground. “Come to Papa like a good pet.”
My knees sank back down to the ground and I let my hands fall forward onto the lush rug. My fingers immediately gripped it as I felt my face flush at the humiliation of it all. More of my hair has fallen out and was swinging in front of my face as I stared at the ornate pattern beneath me.
“Come.”
I crawled over toward him, keeping my head down and just focusing on where I was going. I could feel my body swaying—whether it was due to anticipation or dread I couldn’t decide. Maybe it was both. I was all too aware of how wet I was, I could feel the dampness of my underwear as I finally reached him, those shiny black shoes once more before me.
“Brava, pet.” I felt the warmth of a gloved hand under my chin before he was forcing me to look up at him. Those mismatched eyes were fixed on me. His painted lips quirked at the corners. “Now, do you want a treat?”
I wanted to leave. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to hit him.
I also wanted to stay. And I hated that the most.
“Yes.” The word simply came out and there was no taking it back.
The pleasure at my response was clear on his face as it spread into a smile. I despised how much it pleased me to know I had pleased him. The Fourth let his thighs fall apart and my pussy clenched at the sight before me. The fabric was straining over the bulge and I could see a small wet patch where his cock had already started to leak through. I wet my lips and watched in a trance as he undid the bottom button of his waistcoat with his free hand so he could get it out of the way to undo his belt. With one hand, it was so slow as he worked. I swallowed, only the sound of the belt sliding free and my shallow breaths could be heard in the silence.
The sound of him undoing the zipper of his trousers shot straight down my spine. The man wasn’t wearing underwear and his cock sprang free before me. It was hard and leaking, straining out before me. He took a drag of the cigar and leant back in the chair, his legs opening wider as he moved. I was already moving forward and closing the distance. I shouldn't have been so eager but I stopped caring the moment my tongue touched the head of his cock, drawing out a long moan from him.
I wanted to make him do it again. One hand reached for his thighs to steady myself while the other was gripping him and giving his cock a few lazy pumps before my mouth engulfed him. The sound he made me draw my thighs together as I felt my own arousal flood my already soaked knickers. I heard the sound of him putting the cigar down before those gloved hands were in my hair, sending pins falling to the ground as he buried his fingers in. He wasn't going to let me go at my own pace, it seemed. He was pulling my face forward, my mouth sliding down his length as he growled out something intelligible in Italian. My tongue flicked at the underside of his cock and he bucked into me, sliding in deeper and hitting the back of my throat. I choked but he didn't stop, instead, he started to pump into my open mouth without a care. My hands were now gripping his thighs as I tried to focus on breathing through my nose, tears were already running down my face as he tilted my head up to look at him.
"Such a good little pet for Papa," he growled out.
Despite how uncomfortable it was, I hummed around him and felt his cock pulse in my mouth. His eyes closed, another feral sounding moan leaving those painted lips as he thrust down my throat. I did it again and the grip in my hair tightened, tugging on it painfully. I couldn't help but put a hand between my legs, my fingers touching the sodden fabric of my knickers with desperate urgency. It was glorious relief as I tried to rut against my own hand but I choked out a scream around him when I felt something sting my shoulder. He had grabbed the cigar and brought it against my skin, making ash fall over me.
"I didn't say you could touch yourself," he said as he put it back on the ashtray, a thumb swiping at the tears cascading down my face. "Now keep being a good pet for Papa."
He gripped my face and started to erratically pump in and out of my mouth. My shoulder was smarting and my pussy ached. I needed him. My glassy eyes were fixed on his face as I felt him swell in my mouth before he came, the thick cum hitting the back of my throat. I tried to swallow it but he was already pulling out and making it drip past my swollen lips and down my chin. The Fourth picked the cigar up again and took a drag before letting the smoke fill the room again. I sniffed, feeling the ash over me and his cum dripping down onto my chest as my own arousal ran down my thighs. Surely I had left a stain on the rug.
He stood, and grabbed my dress and shoes before tossing them at me. I stared at them bewildered. I wanted to cry again.
“Sorry, pet,” he said as he leant down, wiping more of the tears and some of his own seed from my face. It was clear he felt no remorse at all. “Papa non si scopa le puttane sporche.” In a daze, I stood up on unstable feets as I put my dress back on and stepped into my shoes. The fabric itched and my sweat was making it stick to my back. The Fourth grabbed my basket full of linen on the table and pushed it into my arms, dropping his soiled gloves on top as he pushed me towards the door.
“You are to serve me, si?” He slammed the door in my face. ------------------------
I’ve never written anything like this before. Please do not perceive me. Also, I did not intend for voyeurism again, it just kinda happened.
While not explicitly stated, this can be seen as the same Copia from my story Nothing Ever Lasts Forever - just set much earlier.
*Vedo. Che deludente. - I see. How disappointing. *No, non così. - No, not like that. *Papa non si scopa le puttane sporche - Papa doesn’t fuck dirty whores
Some more songs:
Total Depravity - The Veils Pretty When You Cry - Lana Del Rey Master and Servant - Depeche Mode Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex Pretty Little Head - Eliza Rickman
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madnessreruns · 2 days
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:)) I found you again
How about--- GN reader with arkhamverse! Jervis, who just loves listening to his voice? When he rhymes, when he reads, when he whispers in their ear 🤭 just finds him entrancing y'know?
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Don’t even have to try
Arkhamverse! Jervis Tetch x reader
Note: HOW DID YOU FIND ME AGAIN AHHGGHHHHHH. I’m sorry this isn’t as long as I would’ve liked it to be.
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Slow Sunday afternoons were your least favorite.
They were so uneventful, and boring, and the loom of Monday creeping up on you while being mad you wasted your weekend always bummed you out since you were a kid. Somehow they were always gloomy and dark, especially in Gotham, where the sun never shined and there was always an 101% chance of the sky pissing on you when your trying to take a walk.
You spent most of your afternoon tending to the garden, dark grey clouds hung over the sky as bright flashes of lightening filled the sky, followed shortly by booming thunder, reminding you of the storm that was bound to hit. It would be good for the roses, you told yourself trying to cheer you up. Your originally plan was to go on a picnic with your boyfriend, but with the mother natures choice in whether today you decided just to stay in.
The roses were wilting, petals falling on the grass below as it’s this time of the year again. The chill in the air, the leaves falling off the trees, animals going into hibernation. Autumn was already gone by in an instant and winter was just around the corner, which mean all of your plants were going to die. It always made you sad, the end of a life- despite it not being sentient, it was still alive in some way.
You gently watered the flowers, knowing that even thought they were at the end of their run, it was still your responsibility to make sure they live the longest they can, and if you stretch out the time just a little longer, you’d be satisfied with yourself.
Most of your garden was just roses, as of your boyfriends request. All red, when you suggested white he looked at you in ghastly horror, chanting some Alice in Wonderland quote that no one else would’ve been able to remember. You just gave up and planted the red ones. The only other thing the two of you grew were vegetables you thought it was fun to grow in the summer. Fun to eat too.
You rummaged through the large flower bushes, running your finger along the edge of a roses rim. Leaning down, you put your nose up to it, deeply inhaling the sweet scent. Maybe if you got a pair of hedge trimmers and cut a few off and put them in a glass jar Jervis would enjoy the momento of his lost plants.
Sighing, you moved on. Going to the next bush, watering it, before going on again. You did that until all of your plants were watered. You stepped back, making sure everything was perfect. You stopped, standing on two of the stepping stones that led through the garden into the home. A sigh left your lips, pleasantly content with your work done. You turned around stepping into the house, leaving your watering can near the door.
You opened the double doors that led back into the house. It kind of felt like a fairy tale, the way the house looked and felt, like you’d stepped behind a painting. Beautiful archways, long lace trim on the curtains, huge windows that made the house feel like the outside crept int, the candelabras sitting on tables straight out of a castle, and a wonderful boyfriend who had gotten it all for you, just the two of you. Of course you knew he didn’t legally obtain this, he stole it in some way, whether it be killing the original owners or stealing enough money to buy it.
Shutting the doors behind you, you made your way through the house. The kitchen was the room you entered, beautiful wood cabinets and soft countertops. Opening one of the doors, you searched through the space, despite knowing what you’d find you hoped for more. Sighing, you closed the door, making your way to the sink to rinse your hands off from all the dirt that had built up on them gardening.
You glanced back at the counter, a beige picnic basket lay on there, bare from all of the baked goods you we’re going to take earlier. It sorta hurt to look at it, you had planned so hard for this, you had checked the whether time and time again but apparently you pissed god off one to many times and he decided to fuck with you. You walked through the house, making your way through the dining room. Vases with roses decorated the middle of the table, plates and silverware sat out despite no on eating. The table was always made, you didn’t know why but it always came in handy during a stressed dinner time.
You made your way through the house, stepping up the creaky stairs, through the winding halls, and in front of your destination. Gently, you held your hand up, before knocking on the door. The door squeaked as your knuckles pounded on the old wood. Silence filled the air for a moment, before your heard a ruckus coming from inside. You patiently waited, bouncing in your toes as you heard rushed footsteps approach the door, before it slowly creaked open. Jervis stood there, in all his short glory. A wide smile on his face, although the was missing his usual hat. He clapped his hands as he pulled you into a hug.
“Oh! My dear your back from your adventure outside!” His voice curled at the end of his sentence, he always made everyday boring activities sound like wonderful, mythical and magical adventures. That’s something he always did well, he made your days so much more brighter and worth living.
“Yes, yes I’m back from my adventure,” you chuckled as you said the world adventure, wanting to play into is wonderful world that he lived in. His grip on your was tight, his hugs always made you feel like he was going to squeeze the life out of you. “The flowers are all watered and I pulled some of them the weeds in the front flower bed,” you yawned as you spoke, talking about your day and reflecting on it made you tired. “I couldn’t get all of them today. To deep,”
He gently stroked lines and patterns down your back, before softly smiling into your neck. He deeply inhaled, enjoying the pure raw you smell that you had. You didn’t want to ask why he did it, but he just likes how you smell.
“Sounds like you had a particularly productive day my love,” he pulled back, brushing a bit of dirt of your cheek, or maybe not and he just wanted to touch your face. “I’m so so so glad your doing so well!”
“Doing well with what?” You snorted, letting out a slightly self deprecating chuckle, “household chores?”
“Oh yes my dear,” his voice got slightly raspy as he said yes. “Some adults don’t know how to clean, or how to cook. I’m glad your good enough to do that,” he paused for a moment, a slight glaze going over his eyes before they refocused again. “I mean I’m not surprised! Your just that smart! That talented! That-“ his expression dropped, a odd, blank look on his face. He gently pushed a piece of hair behind your ear as he whispered. “That beautiful,”
He said those last two words, and then stopped. It didn’t even looked like he was breathing, but the soft, shakily sounds of his inhales and exhales reassured you he didn’t die in the middle of his sentence. But he just stared at you, locking gazes with your eyes.
“You know,” he started again, “Your eyes are so gorgeous,” he muttered, barely opening his mouth as he got closer. “A man could drown in them, and wouldn’t complain as they take their last breaths, they would be thankful to have the chance to be engulfed in okie beauty at all,”
Sometimes he did this, he’d say something beautifully poetic while talking to you. It made your heart flip and sing, you felt like a school girl taking to her crush. His voice was always so sweet and soft, a gentle tone he reserved for to be with you. You two stood there, in the doorway of his work room, gaping at how much you loved each other.
“Anyways-,” he quietly mumbled, coming back to what was left of his senses. “Is- is there anything you need my love? Did you come here for something,” he asked , his voice getting a little louder. You shook your head,
“I was just, a little down from earlier, and wanted to- I wanted to uh,” your cheeks start to burn as you realize what you were about to ask. “I wanted to know if you could um, hang out and read with me, just for a little while I know your work is important,” His eyes lit up, he quickly nodded.
“Oh silly dear! Don’t be afraid to ask me about this! C’mon c’mon let’s go! I believe I remember where we left off,” he excitedly dashed off to your shared bedroom. You followed in suit, chuckling at his excitement.
He had already gotten everything ready, he had shed his coat and changed into some shorts, he turned the fan on, and he had retrieved the book. He was all snuggled up under the covers waiting for you. He looked so adorably tiny as he curled up under your large duvet, you kicked off your house shoes and she’d your top layer of coats, removing your pants before climbing into the bed with him.
He quickly usher you over to under his arm, laying you down on his chest as your body was curled up into his, wrapping your legs around his, and your arms around his waist. You eagerly waited, he pulled the bookmark out of the book, and started reading.
You closed your eyes, his soft, soothing voice filled your ears. It was all you focused on, his voice was so perfect to you, every rasp, every break, every high pitched screech made him so imperfectly perfect.
He was perfect to you
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seoness · 2 months
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(18+) Day 1 of Kinktober - Orgasm Denial
Smut | (TV-show)Sandor Clegane x fem!reader
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A tease for a treat
A rat would have been more welcomed. The maester said nothing as you handed over the parchment, sucking at his teeth as he read through the list.
"Do you not have them?" you asked, keeping the smile locked to your face.
"Of course we have them," the man hissed back before turning on his heel.
Of all things you thought you'd miss of home, Septon Chayle was not one of them, but at least the overseer of the library of Winterfell didn't look at you like filth had gotten the ability to breathe.
Roll after roll filled your arms and one particularly heavy book bound in blackened leather.
"You be careful with those, girl. They are worth more than your life and tell your lord to send more suitable hands next time."
"Pardon, but it is not custom for us to question our lords in the North," you replied.
What wasn't worth more than your life? You polished jewelry worth more than you'd make in an entire lifetime and set tables for feasts where meat and mead would be devoured for more than years' worth of wages. What was the southron fool going to say next? Don't swim with the books, or you'll ruin the pages?
The heavy ironwood door closed behind you and the halls of the Red Keep met you. This was your domain. Not the chambers with their tall windows and tapestries of myrish silk, furniture of oiled wood from some land you would never see, and golden candelabras. No, it was the maze of brick and tile that was your home. Where you could walk as a shadow with the rest of your kind, gaze locked low and without sound.
The maester had taken his time fetching Vayon Poole's order. Had he not, you could have taken your time, but soon the excuse of getting lost wouldn't suffice. Where could he be?
The stables?
One of the courtyards?
For each search, the butterflies in your stomach grew. Passing one of the many bridges, the lie of getting lost was becoming more and more true.
Rounding the corner, there he was, standing guard by one of the doors. The Hound was not a man one missed easily. There was the obvious feature, the burn he carried that claimed half his face, but it was the rest you saw. A man that towered above all others and each time he moved, people held their breaths in fear. They were clever, writ right. It was you the gods had gotten wrong.
With each step, the tingle in your stomach grew and your heart began to race as his gaze caught yours.
"On duty?" you asked.
Clegane nodded back at the shut door. "Lesson." But his gaze lowered to the scrolls in your embrace. "The Hand has you running like some page?"
"I offered when Master Vayon requested for the service to be done," you replied and his nose scrounged up. "Is something wrong?"
"That what northerners call those a rung above? Masters?"
Sometimes he just made it too easy. Trying to keep from grinning, and failing, you took a step forward allowing him ample opportunity to see past the scrolls and instead down the neckline of your dress.
"He is the steward... do you envy the steward of the Hand, my lord?"
"This is no time for your games, woman."
"I am not the one," you answered, taking a final step closer. "You are the one being rude."
Even now, as the Hound loomed above you couldn't help but shrink. The intensity of those dark eyes... His hand caught your waist like a vice. Not so harsh that he hurt you, but impossible to slip away.
A shiver ran along your spine as his mouth reached your ear, his deep and raspy voice, a whisper, "Told you I work best with clear commands, no fault of mine you're too coy to give it."
You looked to either side, it was unusual for him to be this open, but no servant or lordling was walking the halls. "And if I gave it now?"
The snort in your ear made you flinch, and Clegane straightened, his brow cocked. "Go on then."
It was he that was playing a game, toying with you, teasing until you were close to madness. He had no issue plucking you up like some bone to carry to bed, but as soon as his need was met, yours continued to go unsated. And the rudest of all? He blamed you. At times you cursed yourself for going out that first fortnight in King's Landing and finding a Hound in one of the wine sinks. Made brave by too many cups you had gone to him. Some men fucked to no abandon, but not him. No, Sandor Clegane had more rules than you could count and his mood was fickle at best. It didn't help, feeling like half of it was mocking, having you name each thing he was to do until your cheeks burned bright red and your breathing so quick you couldn't form the words.
Your lips pressed shut, and a tug at his hold was enough to make it go.
"That master of yours keep a close watch?" the question was out the moment you stepped aside.
"The postern gate?" you asked back.
Night claimed King's Landing, but there was no true silence even in the dark. The stirring of the great city reached its way up Aegon's Hill to the window left ajar in the Tower of the Hand. Not that the sleeping hall gave much peace, snores mixed with the occasional creaks of beds. Slowly you slid out of bed, tip-toeing in the dark to where you had laid the cloak and boots. The dark wool fell over your shoulders. Keeping your feet bare so there was no sound of footsteps as you made your way through the halls. A mouse, no, a cat. No mouse ever felt so wicked.
The brisk night air was nothing to that of the North. Here it nipped, a gentle thing, but back home, cold was like a bite that drove deep into the bone. Your heart pounded as you crossed the inner courtyard, but no shout came, no call, and as you pushed at the gate, it had already begun inside. A throb. Low. It left you empty, waiting for what only he could fulfill. The hinges wailed as the weight of the gate left you; instead of wood, there was dark steel.
Clegane didn't stand there a shadowy figure. He never had. No one would dare question him if found by some lowly guard. The dark gaze didn't keep yours for long before falling down, his lips twisting.
"Do the wolves have that good an ear?"
Ripping the boots from your embrace, Clegane knelt before you, muttering underneath his breath as he pushed them on you.
"I didn't want to chance it," you replied, pulling at the cloak bundled in the fold of his arm.
It was finer than yours, a blue so dark it was almost black, with golden clasps. A broad silk band ran along its edges where yellow gemstones had been needled into its pattern. It swallowed you up. Pulling the hood over your head, you took up your usual role as his tail. There was no way to avoid walking past guards to reach his quarters, but the Hound took care so there was only one thing they saw, just a man that had paid for a woman at one of the brothels in the city to serve him for the night.
You never met the eyes of those guards, your fingers latching onto his belt, allowing Clegane to guide you through the keep. You only knew the sounds, the three door hinges that would creak before all this work was made worthwhile.
Chiiiirrss.
Your fingers curled around the leather, and his scoff made the smile on your lips grow.
Striiiiii.
"Was it a difficult day?" you asked.
He scoffed again, "Little help you offered in that."
Chiiiiiinnng.
The faint light of the brazier filled the bedchamber. Making the red stone glow. Compared to most of the chambers of the Red Keep, it was sparingly furnished. A bed stood against the long wall, a chest at its end, and a table stood ready with wine and cups in the furthest corner. Slipping out from his back, you steered your steps to the bed, finding a seat at its edge. All the while, the Hound watched you, studied you.
It was nothing meager in the sight of him standing tall before you in the dark plate with the sword fastened at his hip, yet the Hound found a softness. It had taken some nights for you to finally put your finger on why.
He breathed out.
The Red Keep, the King and Queen, the crown prince he was sworn to defend, and the court with their whispers and hidden daggers were all left at the threshold. A day of hard work would leave you deflated, crawling into the sheets, but Sandor Clegane grew. There was no tenseness as he moved, and his fingers began to undo the buckles of his armor.
"No help this time?" he asked.
"I enjoy the view," you replied.
Besides, those buckles took twice the time for you to undo. Piece by piece he rid himself of his armor. Your own was a shorter affair, both your cloaks finding a place on the floor with your boots. Left in his arming jacket and breeches, he came for you. His finger tapping your chin, a silent ask for you to meet his gaze.
His rasp low and deep, "And what command is there tonight?"
You leaned back, savoring as his gaze wandered lower. The linen of your nightgown was thin and forgetful as you are the lacing of your neckline was left undone.
"I am at your mercy. Whatever you want to do to me, you may," you said, but his lips pressed to a thin line. "No?"
He was the one to be infuriated? You were the one mocked night after night. How could he turn giving orders to something inferior? What did it matter if he made you wet, warmed you, fucked you if you never reached it?
Clegane towered above you, watching, waiting, but enough was fucking enough.
"Goodnight," you chirped and turned to crawl to your spot.
Breath catching in your throat as his hands closed around your waist. Linens twisting beneath you as he pulled back.
"At my mercy?" Clegane repeated your words and a chuckle filled the chamber. "Couldn't figure what you were, woman, but I see it now."
His fist filled with the back of your nightgown, forcing you up, sitting on your knees. His breath tickled the nape of your neck as he lowered. "What a little fool you are."
You could hear the sound of fabric shifting before a push sent you forward. Yanking your skirt up, he spared no time, and you felt him push against you. Another chuckle left him as he felt just how wet you were.
"A fool and a liar."
"How very kind," you countered.
Before he had been slow, but in one stroke, he entered. The bed creaked beneath as you failed to keep on your arms, the mattress suffocating your whimper.
"Kind now, my little fool?" But you couldn't even push yourself up let alone answer. "No?"
His hips pushed, grinding deeper. The muffled cry made the body behind you halt.
"Hurt?"
A hand slid in underneath you and air finally filled your lungs.
"No," you breathed out, spreading your legs, his size pressing at your walls. "Could- could I be on my back?"
Tipping over, he dodged the leg that flew, spreading further. The brazier's light caught on his face, casting stark shadows, but you could see the worry writ across it. The brow furrowed and jaw clenched. Holding out your arms, the scowl only set deeper.
"I'm not hurt. Come," you sighed.
"Another game?" he asked but heeded your wish, his nose brushed against yours, and his cock fully returned inside you.
"Do fools play games well?" you asked.
Your hands traveled up the arming jacket, arms hooking around his neck, the stubble prickling your lips until you found his. Placing one kiss after the other until they softened to your touch.
"Still at your mercy," you whispered, bucking up your hips, grinning as a groan left him.
Clegane began to move out until his tip brushed against you, only to enter again and return just as slowly. Your fingertips grazed along the arming jacket, joined by his, it found its place on the floor beside the cloaks. The heartbeat that had been running like mad steadied as he pulled the shoulders of your nightgown down, bundling at your waist. Your nails running along his chest, dark hair sprawled across, traveling down his stomach.
Clegane's pace remained calm, and the hands began to travel. You caught his lips once more as his thumb reached your right nipple. Pinching, only for his mouth to take its place. Your breathing grew heavy. Bucking up your hips, you allowed him to hit deeper. Nothing was left to muffle your moans, making them fill the night. His arms curled around your waist, and a shrill giggle filled the chamber as he lifted you up into the air, only cut off by the whimper as he lowered you down.
"Seven hells," with the curse his pace grew quicker.
Lifting just enough so his cock wasn't fully in you, each jerk of his hip harsher than the last. The drop came with no warning, the mattress hitting your back.
A whirlwind of touch, hands hooking underneath your legs, his mouth finding your neck. Kissing and biting along your sensitive skin until the tingle began to fog your mind.
Your hips answered him, meeting each thrust. Instinct guided you, searching for anything to offer pleasure or give it. As he lowered, you pressed your head up, forehead resting against his chest. Able to see him, his cock glistened. Each time there was less of him inside you a throb called out for him to return. Clegane slammed down and you were certain the bed would break beneath you.
The second time a cry climbed out your throat, "Gods!"
His lips caught your ear, biting gently, "Asking the gods for mercy now, little fool?"
Clegane's body tensed around you, continuing where he left off, his pace only growing wilder.
The sudden emptiness made a whimper leave your lips and you felt the warmth of his seed as it struck your lower stomach. The arms rigid as stone around you. The air turned heavy with his scent. Leaning back, the Hound took in the sight, his cock still resting against you.
Rolling his hips, his length began to grind against you. So now your torture truly began?
"I know what you're doing."
"That so, little fool?" A smile spread across his lips, and the throbbing grew, begging for more of him.
Clegane didn't stop, the length of his cock stroking against you until the throb was like a heartbeat. You couldn't keep from rolling your hips. Each pleasure laid itself atop the other, climbing, tensing.
It left your lips a sigh, "Please..."
The weight of the mattress shifted and you looked on in horror as he left the bed. Fetching a rag from the table, he tossed it at the trace left on your stomach.
"Can't do much with a please, little fool," he said.
Your eyes fixed low, his cock had not lost in size, the stiffness gone. The sight left your mouth dry. Fine. What was your pride, what was another sin? As Clegane came close, rubbing away his seed, you spread your legs again and you met those dark eyes that made the rest of the world disappear.
"Please, I want you to..." rubbing your lips together, but it helped nothing against the desert in your throat, pretending not to feel your cheeks burning. "Please make me cum, Sandor."
"Not that hard, was it?"
"Others take you," you muttered as he took to the bed, stretching out.
Clegane smacked at the side of his hip. "Go on then, don't know shit on how to make a woman spent, use me as you please."
Stunned, you blinked at the sight. Use him?
Swallowing the last of your pride, you climbed up on him, straddling his lap. His hands stroked your thighs as you began to grind against him. It took time, to catch up, regaining the pleasure lost as he had broken away. Your hips rolling back and forth. Shutting your eyes to focus on each sensation, how he grew hard beneath you, the warmth of his hands. against your skin. Your breathing grew quicker and each moan left soft and pleading.
This was yours.
He was yours.
It was so close, so ready, so near completion.
The shove knocked you off but the mattress kept your landing pain-free and all your work, all that pleasure was ripped away.
"What are you doing?" you hissed. "I did what you wanted, I gave your stupid command."
"And I am not one for mercy, little fool."
Pulling you to him, the Hound wrapped you up in his cover. "Best get sleep."
"Sleep? Sleep? Sleep is not what I want."
The fact that he pulled someone squirming and hissing to him was little bother for Clegane.
"Never had this power, not going to give it up so easily, little fool," he said.
"What power?"
"A true fool," he chuckled.
"And if I tend to it myself?"
"Then you'll sleep with your hands tied behind your back. Now shut your mouth and get rest, we'll need it come morrow."
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dianasson · 10 months
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Beannachtaí na Féile Bríde oraibh 🕯 Happy St Brigid's Day to you all! (Jan 31 - Feb 1)
Gabhaim molta Bríde Ionmhain í le hÉirinn Ionmhain le gach tír í Molaimis go léir í
Well the whiskey is nearly gone, good job team! Lots of flavors, many candles, handfuls of reeds, tons of laughs, and I'm much more ready to face the rest of winter. Really glad I got to celebrate with Matthew and Demetri this year!🍻
📸 @bederpin for 2, 3, 5, 7, 8. Really grateful you were taking these along the way!
...
[Image descriptions:
1. Close-up of a white and yellow handmade cloth and stick doll, on a marble surface surrounded by flowers, reed crosses, food, and drinks. 2. Full view of the table, showing all the above as well as papers, a candle, and dark floral rug under the rectangular marble table. 3. The doll from above propped up in an antique wooden chair at a table before a place-setting, with small white and pink flowers in the foreground. 4. Tall, blooming, dried reeds stand next to a white door on a wooden porch splattered with snow. The house is green. A few other buildings are captured with some blue sky to the left of the porch in the background. 5. Hanging iron candelabra with off-white candles burning in front of a dark window with diamond panels. 6. Gif of a firepit in snow burning St Brigid’s crosses on a paper bag. 7. Close-up of scissors and hands tying a St Brigid’s cross on a green and brown rug. 8. Close-up of the crosses from the able in 1 & 2. 9. St Brigid’s cross on a white surface leaning against a white wall under an iron trivet behind an iron candlestick, surrounded by evergreens. 10. St Brigid’s cross on a white background. End descriptions.]
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weenis-beenis · 1 year
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Someone Better
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Konstantin Levin x F!Reader
Ao3 link
Word Count: 14,862
18+ Minors DNI
Tags: AFAB reader, angst, fluff, smut, emotional hurt/ comfort, fingering, oral sex, vaginal sex, a little bit of size kink, I watched the movie and have read some of the book and combined parts of both for this, I use the book names and I liked Konstantin’s awkward stuttering, but you honestly don’t need to have seen or read it I’ve provided all necessary context to the best of my ability, also this is so so long
You fretfully fiddled with the freshly cut ends of your hair, eyes darting around the drawing-room around you. It was an awful, gaudy room, filled with novelties that held no value other than saying look at us, we can afford something this utterly useless and expensive. Almost the whole of the room was a deep, rich red, including the walls and carpeted floor, the decorative rugs were an accompanying shade of maroon, and it was all accented with brass embellishments on the mahogany furniture. The room was warmly and dimly lit by the candelabras, both real and electrical, spread about. The only real splash of color came from the forest green chaise you lounged on in the center of the room and the pale blue dress you wore, accented with pastel pink trim. You had foregone the bustle in your skirt tonight in favor of your physical comfort given that you were expecting a rather uncomfortable conversation in a few minutes.
Your eyes flashed back to the doors to your left, still closed. You sighed and closed your eyes, trying to force yourself to relax into the velvet cushions. You had extended your invitation for eight o’clock and it was still seven-fifty, and Konstantin was always punctual. Often annoyingly so.
You combed your fingers through your hair, still surprised by just how quickly they ran through your locks than you were used to. The change had only been done yesterday, and you had been in the process of cutting away at it when his letter came. 
A devious smile curled on your lips as you recalled how your maid’s eyes blew wide when she entered your room to deliver the envelope, only to find you had chopped your hair well shorter than what was to be expected from a woman of your status. She had handed you the letter hurriedly, trying not to look horrified by your shoddy work, and offered to touch up the hack job while you read.
You had handed her the scissors and flipped the envelope over in your hands as she began trimming your choppy ends. You recognized the sender as soon as you saw the lettering of your name on the back, and your heart fluttered. You tore it open in excitement; it had been too long since you had last heard from him for your liking.
Konstantin was your oldest and, at this point in your life, just about your only true friend.
Your older brother, Dimitri, was around the same age as Konstantin Dmitrich Levin and his friend Stepan Aarkadyich Oblonsky, all of whom were only a couple years older than you. The three boys had been dear friends in their youth, and you had often found yourself as a more or less unwanted tag along to them growing up. But as the three grew older, Dimitri became more and more insufferable of a person, and more and more like your parents, the other boys found they enjoyed your company far better than your egotistical brother’s.
You had always preferred the sweet and timid Konstantin to the social butterfly Stepan. Dear Stepan was friends with everyone and everyone was friends with dear Stepan, but you and Konstantin often preferred your own company to that of others.
Your preference for Konstantin only grew stronger as you came into adulthood just two years behind him. Both of you being of marriageable age found yourselves growing more detached and exhausted by the pageantry of aristocratic life and the blind ignorance of your contemporaries, which only grew worse as they sought out someone to court. Some of your warmest memories involved the two of you sitting off in some corner of a party, discussing what he was learning at the university while Stepan flitted about the room with his new wife Dolly, saying to everyone exactly what they wanted to hear to gain their respect and friendship. There was nothing necessarily wrong with Stepan’s conduct, to this day he is still beloved by all, but neither you nor Konstantin cared enough to put on false faces for your peers.
It was during one of these talks that you had the sudden and overwhelming realization that you had fallen utterly in love with the man. But much to your dismay, that was also the night he confessed to you that he would be moving to the country to take over his family’s estate. He knew in his soul he was meant to live a simpler life, and so he had decided to leave that night, and would only make the occasional visit back to the city. Of course you were happy for him, even a little jealous that he could make an escape from this world that you did not have the power to do, and so you sent him off and wished him well that night.
But without him there to keep you company, you tried your damndest to avoid parties, and when your parents forced you to go to “socialize and find yourself a nice man”, you sat off to the sidelines and wished you had someone there to hate the garishness of it all with you. Your cold demeanor and apathy for the society you were born into had earned you a reputation as a sort of freak, especially in your being decidedly unladylike, and it only got worse as years passed and you remained unwed well past what was normal for a lady of your status. This was both due to upper-class men turning up their noses at your oddities, and that anyone who would consider you was nothing compared to your smart and kind Konstantin.
Thankfully, he had written you frequently in his absences, and maintained his promise to visit from time to time, but in recent years, he had fallen for another woman: Kitty Shcherbatslky.
The Shcherbastskys had been another family your group had spent a lot of time around, and the women of that family had been of particular interest to your friends. Stepan had married Dolly, the eldest of the three girls, many years earlier, and now Konstantin had fallen for the youngest. He had always had a certain fascination with the family, and had fallen head over heels for this woman. And there was nothing you could do but support your friend in his endeavors while privately worrying about his fixation on her.
In recent months, the time between his correspondences with you had grown considerably. You knew things were strained between what was left of his family and that his most recent visit to the city had ended abruptly when he packed up and left having decided that there was no way Kitty could love him, so you weren’t going to give him grief over the duration between letters, but receiving another one from him sent a warmth spreading through your chest.
A small frown tugged at the corners of your lips when you unfolded the page. It was far shorter than usual. Far, far shorter. His letters were often several pages long, full of tales of his work on the farm and his ever shifting and growing thoughts and perspectives of the world and his purpose in it. Nevertheless, you flushed a little seeing the words “my dearest friend,” before your name, but your frown deepened as you read:
I am afraid I must start by apologizing for springing this upon you, my friend, so suddenly, but I am in town this week and I was wondering if I may call upon you tomorrow? I have much to discuss with you, but I would much prefer to do so in person. I must also note that of course, I desire to see you, who has become most important in my life, before I take my leave once again. Please write me at your nearest convenience.
Appreciatively, Konstantin Dmitrich Levin
Ignoring the small fire that second to last sentence had stoked within you, you grew increasingly concerned for your dear friend. Something very serious must have happened for him to have refrained from writing it all out to you, as he so loved to do.
You had been pulled from your worried thoughts when your maid set the scissors on the vanity near the opened envelope and asked you if your cut was acceptable. You sighed and turned your gaze from the paper in your hands to look at yourself in the mirror. A little smile found its way onto your face as you looked at your reflection. Even with her help, it was choppy and messy and uncouth, and you loved it. A very simple thing that flew in the face of everyone around you. You thanked and dismissed her, running your fingers through your hair, your mind wandering back to the letter. What will Kostya think? You shook your head in annoyance at the thought, a pang of guilt running through you. The man was certainly troubled, and there you were thinking about whether or not he would like your haircut. You rolled your eyes at yourself and picked up the pen and paper at the end of your vanity, quickly scrawling out an invitation for the following night at eight in the evening.
And now you sat alone in your drawing-room, eyes flickering between the doors and the wine on the coffee table in front of you. No… you shouldn’t. The last thing you really needed was to be inebriated before he even walked in the doors. You nervously fiddled with your hands instead. Oh, that letter had left you so anxious and worried, you had hardly slept last night at all. What could have happened for your friend to have written such a brief note?
More anxiety washed over you in waves as you pondered the possibilities. You bounced your foot on the crimson carpet, eyeing the wine and the two crystalline glasses next to it again. Maybe just one drink to calm your nerves wouldn’t be the end of the world. You stood and resolved to pour yourself a glass when the doors finally swung open.
The servant standing in the doorway loudly announced, “Konstantin Dmitrich Levin!” to the room only you occupied.
Your face lit up as the familiarly large man stepped into the room, grinning at you. He had dressed himself up nicely as he tended to do when visiting the city, but you wouldn’t have minded if he had shown up in working clothes. Hell, he could have shown up nude, and you… well, perhaps you were a little too alright with the idea of him showing up to your house naked… nevertheless, while he cleaned up nicely, even from a distance you could see he was more disheveled than usual.
You waited until the servant closed the door behind him before running over to your friend. “Kostya!” you squealed, throwing your arms around his middle. Your heart hammered in your chest as he gave you one of his familiar bear hugs back.
You parted, grinning ear to ear as you looked up at him. God, sometimes you forgot just how much he towered over you. You flushed a little, realizing just how tiny you were in his arms.
He gave you a quick smile and kissed you on both your cheeks, still holding you in his grasp rather firmly. You returned the gesture and wrapped your arms around him again, trying to crush him in your grasp, even though you knew it wouldn’t affect him at all. “It’s been too long.”
“I know,” he said, squeezing you back with his usual warmth. His hugs were always delightfully strong and tight, and he always held you like it would be your last.
You pulled back to finally get a good look at him. Like you had seen earlier, he was looking less put together than he usually tried to. Of course, he was as handsome as ever, but you could see his hair was a little less well-kept, it looked as though he hadn’t groomed his facial hair in a bit, and there were some rather heavy bags under his eyes. You could also see that though he smiled at you, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. They lacked the brilliant sparkle that usually danced in his gaze.
You wanted to ask him a hundred questions about his letter, but he spoke before you, his brow furrowing and looking like he was concerned for you. “Did-?” One of his hands came to your hair, grasping a lock between his thumb and forefinger. “Did something happen?”
You laughed and waved his question away as he let go of you, looking even more confused by your reaction. “Oh no, nothing happened,” you explained. “I did this to myself.”
He blushed at your answer, bowing his head slightly. He practically tripped over himself to apologize, like you knew he would. “I am… I’m very… so, so sorry- I… didn’t mean anything by- you know-”
You patted him on the shoulder to shut him up, otherwise, he would have been at it for a while. “I know, Kostya. I am very aware of the stigmas around it, and that’s why I did it.” You twirled a strand around your finger. “I had grown very bored sitting around yesterday, and I knew it would stir up trouble.”
He continued with his apologizing anyway. “Truly, I am sorry.” His eyes wandered over your face, inspecting you. “It is certainly eye-catching- I mean of course that it still looks fitting on you.”
You could tell he was shocked to see such a dramatic change on you, but you didn’t mind because you knew he was honest, often brutally so, therefore he must’ve thought, whether good or bad, that it was, in fact, fitting on you.
His apologetic look turned concerned once again. “Though, I am sure your parents did not take to it well.” Was he shifting the subject slightly to the left to avoid further awkwardness? Certainly. Did you care? No, not particularly.
You scoffed. “Oh, why would they? You recall how they’ve thought me crazy all these years?”
He nodded, rolling his eyes. He was very, very familiar with your family’s thoughts on you and your outlook on life, especially your thoughts on the aristocracy.
“Well this,” you gestured to your head, "was the final straw for them. They believe I’ve gone properly mad now.”
His soft concern turned to a steely frown. “Ridiculous.”
“I know.” You turned to walk back to the green seat, motioning for him to follow. “Come, sit with me.” And he did.
You sat and leaned yourself comfortably against the cushion of the backrest. Yes, it had been very smart to forego the bustle. It would certainly be a long night.
He sat himself on the opposite end of the chaise, the both of you turned to face one another. His eyes wandered over the room curiously, as though he hadn’t sat in it a thousand times before.
“What?” You asked, leaning over to pour you both some of the wine you had nearly opened just a minute ago.
“Of course, you know that I wanted to speak with you alone, but-” He kept his voice low. “Is there nobody else in the house tonight?”
“Mama, Papa, and Dima are all out at the opera tonight,” You explained, handing him his glass.
He accepted it and took a sip, furrowing his brow. “My apologies if I kept you in tonight, I know you have a soft spot for the arts.”
You gave a bitter chuckle at that, sipping from your glass as well. “I told you already, they think I’m crazy, Kostya. They have decided I am not allowed to leave the house any longer.”
He gaped at you, but before he could get a word out, you continued, “For about a month now they had already been limiting how often I was to go out because of my unsociability and outbursts.” You rolled your eyes and took another drink. “Being honest about my opinion of ghosts and spirits when asked is apparently what they consider an outburst nowadays. But, as I said, this was the final straw, and now they simply cannot allow their crazy daughter out in public to soil the family name, now can they?” You could see him growing angrier with every word from your mouth. It provided you with a little amusement and you kept talking, swirling the wine around in your glass. “They even convinced a doctor to prescribe me medication for my so-called delusions. Delusions of what? None of them are sure, least of all myself.” You took another drink.
His face had turned red and you could see his jaw tensing in anger, but you stopped him once again before he went off. “Of course I’m not taking them, the last thing I need is to actually go mad.”
He suddenly stood, face scrunched in anger. You watched with a barely restrained smile as he began pacing back and forth as he often did, and repeatedly opened his mouth to go on a tirade, only to cut himself off with a huff, growing redder by the second. You found a sort of comfort in knowing that he was so concerned about your well-being that he, a man who loved to rant and rave about anything and everything, was unable to speak.
You patted the seat next to you. “Konstantin Dmitrich, please sit down. You always work yourself into a frenzy when you pace.”
“But-”
You patted the seat more firmly and he conceded with a sigh, slumping back against the chaise and taking another drink. He took a moment to close his eyes and compose himself before speaking again. “I cannot believe they would do that to you.” 
You quirked a brow at him.
“Alright, well maybe I can, but it is still an outrage! I am deeply sorry.”
You shrugged. “Nothing to be done.”
“Even so,” he continued, rather obviously trying to steer the conversation away from such a dreary subject, “I am surprised that they would allow an unwed man and woman this sort of privacy.” He gestured to the warmly lit room the two of you sat in. “That is, of course, assuming that you haven’t taken a husband since we last spoke,” he teased, knowing full well that you wouldn’t have kept something that important from him.
“They’ve left us unattended for the same reason I am still very much unwed.” You joked, “Don’t you see? I am unsightly and undesirable, no normal man would want me.”
“Yes, but we both know I am no normal man.” His cheeks flushed after saying that, as though he hadn’t thought before speaking. He took another sip from his glass.
Of course it was simply the casual flirting the two of you often engaged in, and dear Konstantin was known to blush after saying just about anything, but nonetheless, you found yourself speaking genuinely without thinking yourself, “That’s just the problem with my love life, that I cannot find anyone like you.”
You both turned red at that admission, and you kept talking in the hopes of keeping the atmosphere from growing too uncomfortable. “Every other man I’ve had the displeasure of speaking to cannot seem to see past the end of his nose when it comes to matters of the classes. And they’re all so… superficial. They lie as easily as they breathe, unlike you, my friend.” You gestured toward him with your glass. “You are an honest man, sometimes even to a fault.” You saw a twitch of a smile on his lips. “You’re genuine with your thoughts and emotions, and I value that. And I swear you are the only person who understands my worldview.”
He nodded his head in agreement. “I understand completely.” Your heart fluttered a little when you heard that. “Nobody takes us seriously.”
“Isn’t it a shame,” you said. “That a man thinks for himself and he’s odd, and a woman thinks for herself and she’s crazy?”
Konstantin said nothing in response, simply clinking his glass against yours and downing a good portion of his drink. You laughed and did the same.
You suddenly sat up straight, playfully slapping him on the knee. “Oh, but now you’ve distracted me! Enough about my annoyances.” You placed a hand on his shoulder. “What’s happened, Kostya?”
He gave a sad smile, moving his hands to his lap. “How could you tell something was wrong?”
“Konstantin Dmitrich.” You smirked. “We both know you have the most handsome smile in Russia, but it looks even better when it reaches your eyes.” He let out a breathy laugh, and you continued, “You wear your heart on your sleeve, even when you try not to. Not to mention your letter was so short yesterday, I knew as soon as I took it from the envelope.”
He sat quietly for a moment, pointedly avoiding your eyes. You could see him start to curl in on himself as he tended to do when he got uncomfortable, and his eyes darted around the room.
“What’s wrong?” you asked, trying to coax anything out of him.
“This room,” he said. “I feel constrained by it. It’s all too much for a man such as myself.”
“I know, trust me I know. But even if I am crazy, it’s not as though I could bring you to my bedroom for privacy,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. He blushed again as you expected and you thought he looked quite cute when he was flustered. You kept speaking, both to confess a truth to him and to give him a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. Even after many years of friendship, it was still quite hard for him to overcome his bashfulness at times. “I wish I could live like you do. I want nothing more than to be able to pack up and leave as you did, but I have no such choice in the matter.”
“I am very sorry for that, you would rather like the country,” he said. “Away from the insufferability of it all. Away from the constant excess of everything.”
“Really?” You perked up a bit. “Do you think I would be good with farm work?”
He smiled a little. “Not with the delicacy with which you’ve been raised.”
“Ha!” You flexed your arm at him. “Give me a month and I’ll be as strong as you.”
He couldn’t help but laugh at that, and you lit up seeing him properly smile for the first time all night. “That would certainly be a sight to see,” he said.
Seeing him more relaxed, you rested your hand on his shoulder once more. “Alright, now be honest with me. What’s wrong?”
He looked down at his hands again and bounced his leg nervously. You could see a light pink dusting his cheeks as he worked against his nerves. It was a little sweet honestly, seeing such a large and physically intimidating man be so timid. He managed to mutter out your name before looking you in the eyes and you flushed a little.
“I proposed to Kitty.”
Your heart seized in your chest and you felt a pit forming in your stomach, but you fought to maintain an even face for his sake. Though, surely, he wouldn’t look so dour if she had accepted… unless he was coming to say his final goodbye to you. Maybe he would be taking her to the countryside with him to never return. Oh lord, what if she knew of your affections for him and had sent him here to tell you that could never speak to you again? You anxiously chewed on your lower lip.
His eyes dropped back down to his hands as he spoke, voice barely above a whisper, “She rejected me.”
What an intense and disgusting mess of emotion swirled within you at that moment. A wave of relief swept over you upon hearing those words and you were revolted by it. And then you saw his eyes glistening with tears and you felt utterly monstrous that the words that gave you reprieve were hurting him so terribly.
You quickly took his glass from his loose grip and set both of yours on the coffee table, and wrapped your arms around him. He held you back tightly, as though you would vanish from his grasp at any moment, and you heard him sniffle.
“Oh, Kostya,” you cooed, giving him a squeeze and pulling back to take his hands in your own. “Are you alright?”
He took his hands from yours to wipe away his tears. “I don’t know.” He gave a half-hearted chuckle. “It appears she has eyes for another.”
You pulled your lips into a tight frown hearing that. “You deserve better,” you declared firmly.
He idly rubbed the palm of one hand with the thumb of the other. “What do you mean better?”
You grasped his hands again, prompting him to look you in the eyes, his own full of heartache. “You know I love you, right?”
“Of course,” he said, “I love you too.”
You tried not to wince at the stuttering in your heart and the deep ache in your chest. Of course you loved each other, but it was as he once told you about Plato’s symposium on the two loves. His love for you was platonic. He cared for you in perhaps more of a sisterly way than anything. But your love for him was decidedly non-platonic in the ways you yearned for him. Romantically, and what kept you up at night most, physically.
You continued, “Then you will know that when I say this I say it because I love you and because I only wish good things upon you, Konstantin Dmitrich.”
He bowed his head a little in anticipation for what you had to say and you felt miserable, but you knew someone had to say it, or else he would be wallowing in his misery for god knows how long.
“With all due respect to you and Kitty, you have been idolizing the woman. You have deemed her untouchable and infallible.” He nodded his head solemnly, so at least he was somewhat aware. “And you aren’t just in love with her, you’ve been in love with the Shcherbatsky household for a long time.”
He looked up at you curiously.
“They’ve had what you’ve lacked in family, and you’ve fallen in love with them in that sense, in the idea of their family… and they’ve had what I’ve lacked too.” You sighed. “I guess I’ve fallen in the opposite direction as you. They seem to care for each other in a way my family hasn’t, and I’ve come to be quite jealous of them. But you, you’ve placed them on a pedestal, especially Kitty.”
You patted his hands and encouraged him to really look at you. “But they are human. Just like you. And just like me.”
He paused for a moment and sighed. “You’re right.” He shook his head soberly. “You’re right and I didn’t want to see it.” You could see his eyes growing wet once again and you felt yourself tearing up as well, mortified to know that you had been able to hurt him with your words. You buried your face in his shoulder and let a few tears slip. “I’m sorry, Kostya.”
His head fell to your shoulder as well. “No, I needed to hear it.” He said into the fabric of your dress.
You leaned back and wiped the tears from your eyes, and he kept his head resting on your shoulder. “ Will you be alright?” you asked.
He turned his head and looked up at you through his lashes, studying you rather than answering your question. You furrowed your brow in confusion. His eyes wandered over your face and lingered on your messy hair for a moment before he spoke again. “Now that I’ve sat with you a moment I’ve really grown to like how that looks on you.”
You scoffed and rolled the shoulder he was resting his cheek on. “Thank you, but do not try and distract me again, Konstantin Dmitrich.”
He sat up, sighing, and finally answered, “I’m still not sure.” He twisted himself to face you even better on the chaise, resting one of his legs on the seat to do so. “That was several nights ago. I’ve taken the last few days to collect myself, and I’ve decided to be heading back home tonight.”
You pouted when he said that last part, and he gave you a small grin, placing one of his hands over yours. “I was going to leave that night, but of course I couldn’t leave without seeing my dearest friend first.”
“Well, I appreciate that at the least,” you smiled. “Coming to see me before you go and leave for another eternity.”
“Oh don’t be that way.” He smiled playfully and you finally saw that brilliant sparkle in his eyes that you had been missing since he arrived. “I had to come see you, you’re just about the only person left for me to want to see.”
You rolled your eyes at him, ever the exaggerator. “Surely you cannot be serious.”
He sighed, that playful smile turning into a more dour look. “No, not entirely, but my relationship with you is the only one that has not come under strain within this last week. I visited Sergei to tell him about my plans with Kitty, but he was-” he faltered, furrowing his brow, “conversation with a… with some philosopher, I suppose, and they both were… rather seemed unconcerned by my input, and then Sergei was rather patronizing about my farming matters and-” He took a deep breath and paused his rambling. “The two of us are just very different men. He thinks I’m simple.”
“You are not simple, Kostya,” you chided. “He just fails to understand why an intelligent man would lead a simple life.”
It appeared as though he hadn’t even processed your comment as he continued speaking, lost in his own racing thoughts. “And then I went to see Nikolai and I-”
You sat a little straighter hearing about his older brother. “Nikolai?” He always saw his half-brother Sergei during his visits, but as far as you knew Nikolai had been avoiding the both of them for a while now.
“Ah!” He waved his hand like he was shooing the man out of the room rather than his name out of the air. “That’s… he’s- another time! Another time I’ll have to talk about him…” You didn’t push the subject further.
“And then there’s Sti- no, no Stepan. Oh, that…” his face was growing redder, “Oblonsky!”
Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Stepan? Oblonsky? What has our dear Stiva done to earn your scorn?"
Konstantin heaved out an exasperated sigh, cooling himself down. He really knew how to work himself up. “I know he meant well, but Stiva was the one who encouraged me to propose! He claimed that his wife said she was certain to be my wife and-” He suddenly went from very animated to very still, his face dropping to a look of concern. “Have you… do you know about Stiva and Dolly?”
“No?” Your heart rate picked up. Were they getting divorced? And for what?
“I-” He was playing with his hands again. “I believe Stepan has had an affair.”
“Pig!” You spat without thought, but stopped yourself and closed your eyes. Would Stiva have really done such a thing to Dolly? “Did he tell you this himself?” You asked, opening your eyes again.
“No, but the man is about as subtle as a brick.”
“That is true…”
“He spoke to me at our lunch about infidelity, mind you the same conversation wherein he told me Kitty was to be my wife. He asked me my thoughts on it.”
“On infidelity?”
“On infidelity.”
You dragged your hands down your face. “What an idiot.” You loved your lifelong friend, but he could really be just about the most stupid man on the planet when the mood struck him.
“Of course I told him that I could not imagine nor understand why one would do such a thing, but he tried to weasel himself onto the moral high ground. I’ll tell you what I told him, I said that if one were to pass a bakery as full as we were at that moment, why steal a sweet roll? He told me that sometimes a sweet roll is so fragrant you cannot help yourself.”
You scoffed, hardly believing he would say such a repulsive thing. “Bastard!”
“I know.” Konstantin bowed his head. “So most everyone I have held dear to me has given me strife. My brothers, Stiva, Kitty…”
You felt an awful tug in your chest hearing the heartbreak in the way he said her name. You fiddled with a ruffle on your skirt, scared to look at him as you asked, “Do you still love her?” You forced yourself to look back at him for his response.
He instead avoided your gaze, looking down at his palms. “It has all become so… complex.” He closed his fists and began speaking animatedly once more. “I am hurt and I am angry and there’s been this terrible… this awful ache in my chest that I haven’t been able to be rid of. It’s dull and throbbing and far worse than the pain I felt in the not knowing.” He clenched his jaw. “And a wicked part of me cannot help but loathe her for it… and yet- Oh how I’ve loved her for so long!” He fell back onto the chaise, practically melting into the cushions. “But if she loves another… then it was not meant to be,” he finished with a mournful sigh.
You pursed your lips and grabbed your glass from the table, finished the rest of it off in one gulp, and set it back down. You patted Konstantin on the shoulder reassuringly. “You deserve someone better than her, truly. Someone who appreciates what a wholesome man you are.”
He cracked a small smile and sat a little straighter. “Thank you.”
You chewed on your lower lip for a second, trying to think of how to best phrase what you were thinking. You placed a hand on your chest and said, “I say this with all the love I have in my heart for Kitty.” Which wasn’t much. “But, she is a bit of an airhead isn’t she?”
He let out a disbelieving scoff and you laughed a little, trying to encourage him to take it less seriously.
“I mean she is though, isn’t she?” You reiterated. “She is rather sweet, I will give her that, but she’s not exactly the brightest out there, is she?”
You could see in his shifting facial expressions that he was wrestling with how to feel about your question, but he finally caved and a laugh passed his lips, that warm chuckle you had been missing all night, and you couldn’t help but join in, it was so infectious.
He grabbed your hand as you both giggled. “You know what?” He grinned. “I came to a gathering at the Shcherbatsky’s early to propose to her, and after she- heh- after she rejected me… the party came in and they-'' he laughed to himself a second, “They decided to try table-rapping.”
You both dissolved into laughter, holding on to one another as you each fell back, giggling like a couple of children. Table-rapping, how preposterous!
You slapped him on the shoulder. “You must be joking!”
“I’m afraid not.” He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still smiling ear to ear. “Of course, I left before they got properly started.”
You couldn’t help but grin at the image of poor Konstantin leaving a party dejected while they all tried to commune with spirits after his heartbreak. Obviously, you felt terrible, but you couldn’t help but find it a little humorous. “I’m… I am sorry,”  you wheezed, “But what a way to add insult to injury.”
“No, no. It is quite funny, you’re right.” He relaxed against the seat, finally looking like the Konstantin you knew and loved.
You clapped a hand over his. “Oh, Kostya, you certainly deserve someone more intelligent than that.”
He gingerly picked up his glass and finished off the last of his wine as well. “Perhaps you’re right about that.”  He sat his empty glass back on the table.
Certainly he was trying to hide it, but you saw the shift in his expression and the way he began to curl in on himself once again as he said that, and you felt a tightening in your chest. You squeezed his hand. “In all seriousness, do you think you’ll be able to get over her?”
He swallowed, eyes wandering to the wall behind you. “I’m going to have to.” Poor bastard.
“You better,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood you just soured. “For the both of us.”
He turned himself so he was looking at you fully and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘for the both of us’?” You could see his cheeks dusted red.
Shit.
You coughed out a laugh and prayed you weren’t turning as red as you thought you were. “Well, I meant so that you can move on, obviously, and, well…” Your mind was moving a mile a minute trying to slap together a decent way to cover your ass. “So that I won’t have to deal with letter after letter of your whining for forever.”
His gaze seemed to see straight through you as he studied your reddening face. “Is that so?” He failed to give any indication of the meaning of his words in the tone of his voice.
You busied yourself by reaching over to the small table beside you and pouring more wine into your glasses, talking all the while, scared to know what would happen if you allowed silence to fall between you two. “Besides, I don’t believe the two of you would have made a great match anyway. I doubt Kitty would take well to country life, and I know you wouldn’t want to hear about all the drama from the city from her. You certainly don’t want to get roped back into all of our troubles around here, do you?”
You paused to offer him his glass, which he politely declined. You reached for your own, but hesitated as your fingers grazed the cool glass. No, perhaps you shouldn’t. You sat back upright, trying not to look too stiff, and continued, “You’ve said it yourself, Kostya. It corrupts the mind and poisons the heart.”
He nodded and turned his head to look off wide-eyed, as if pondering your words. “You’re right. I… I’ve just wanted love so desperately for so long now, I couldn’t admit to myself that it wasn’t meant to be.”
You placed a hand on his shoulder and he looked back at you with an expression you couldn’t quite understand, and you nearly jumped. Konstantin was always so easy to read, and now you almost felt left in the dark by his intense gaze. You let out a breathy laugh to ground yourself before saying, “You deserve someone better, someone like us.”
He shifted when you said that, leaning ever so slightly closer to you. His intense expression grew more curious, and you felt yourself getting lost in those deep, warm eyes of his.
You rested your arm on the back of the chaise and mimicked his leg posture, trying to appear relaxed and casual despite the anxious jitters you were fighting off. You continued, “You know, someone who appreciates what kind of man you are and the work you do. Someone who wants what you want. Someone who’s tired of all this upper-class nonsense.” You were both flush, and you knew he could probably see where you were leading him, but you were being honest. You truly believed he deserved someone who understood him, and you tried not to shrivel under the depth of his gaze as you finished, pushing just that much farther, “Someone who’s ready to leave all of this behind to be with you.” You swallowed.
He finally looked away from you, and you were both relieved and disappointed. Relieved to be free from the expression you just couldn’t understand, but disappointed because… no one had ever looked at you that way before, and you were beginning to fear no one would ever look at you like that again.
Konstantin was staring off at nothing, a smile dancing on his lips. “You’re right… you’re absolutely right.” He turned back to you, eyes sparkling brilliantly. “Certainly, there is someone better.” He inched ever closer and you took the second of silence that passed between the two of you to appreciate just how handsome he looked in the warm light of the room. His brown hair, so dark it was nearly black, falling around his face in soft waves. His facial hair, a little scruffier than usual. His thick, expressive eyebrows and sharp pointed nose. His toothy smile and soft, kissable lips…
You could feel a blush creeping up your neck as you looked back into his eyes, hoping that he didn’t notice how your gaze lingered on his mouth. You opened your own to speak, afraid he’d hear your heartbeat with the way it was hammering in your chest, but his hand came up to run through your hair, stopping by your ear and grasping the locks there. You barely caught a soft gasp from escaping your throat, but you were certain he noticed how you tilted your head into his touch, and you couldn’t excuse the deep blush on your cheeks on a single glass of wine.
He rested his other hand on yours on the back of the seat, leaning in closer. His knees bumped against your own and his face was completely flushed. “You know…” He swallowed. The fingers in your hair gently grazed the side of your head, and you had to refrain from practically purring at the warmth of his touch. “It’s really… it’s grown on me, this look.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and it sent a shiver down your spine.
The tension in the air was palpable, and you almost didn’t respond, terrified of bursting open and drowning the dreamlike scene in the reality of what your friendship was outside those crimson walls. “Thank you,” you managed to murmur out.
He scooted closer timidly, his eyes searching your face for any reason to stop, but you certainly weren’t going to give him any. You admired him through the lashes of your hooded eyes as a means of encouragement, but you saw his expression falter a little and the hand in your hair started to pull away. You quickly grabbed it and guided it back to your cheek, nuzzling into his large, warm palm.
He was blushing furiously, redder than you had ever had the pleasure of seeing, but he leaned forward still and held your face more firmly in his hand while the other inched up your arm on the back of the seat. He was being far braver than you had known he was capable, so you kept quiet and let him do what he needed to do.
He swallowed hard again. “You look lovely like this,” he whispered. “I… I feel as though- well…” He looked down, fighting for his words. “I feel rather foolish… as though I’ve- I’m seeing you. For the first time tonight.” He met your gaze with purpose and intensity. “For all you are.” His thumb gently caressed your cheek.
You couldn’t help the soft hum that his words dragged out of you. He slid his hand further up your arm, moving in far closer than what was acceptable for even the closest of friends, and you drew in closer without realizing it. His presence was intoxicating, and the warm and earthy scent of his cologne overwhelmed your senses and muddled your thoughts. Without thinking, you placed a hand on his knee. His gaze flickered down to your hand then back up to your face, pupils blown wide.
“Do you think maybe…” Your fingers trailed up his inner thigh. “I might be able to help you get over Kitty?”
His fingertips traced down your jaw, touch setting your nerves alight, and held your chin. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, and his other hand slid up the rest of your arm, over your shoulder, and came to cradle the back of your neck. His face was inches from yours, hot breath fanning in your face. Despite the confidence in his movements, you could see his eyes still searching for any little reason on your face to end it all right then and there. “I- I think you… already are.” He twisted his hand to hold your chin just that much tighter in his grasp.
You drifted ever closer to him, like an asteroid trapped in his orbit and destined to collide. “Konstantin…”
He closed the distance between you further, mouth just a hair’s breadth away from yours, and murmured your name against your lips. The honeyed sound dripping off his tongue sent a shiver down your spine. Your free hand wandered up to cup his cheek, his beard tickling your skin.
It was a very bad idea. A terrible one. It was almost certain to end in nothing but hurt feelings and a relationship permanently tainted. But you were both so desperate for affection and love; two outcasts emotionally worn by those closest to them. You were lonely, painfully so, and the man you loved was offering the attention you desperately craved. To hell with the consequences.
You took the final step yourself, closing your eyes and pressing your lips to his, soft, warm and perfect. His nose brushed against your cheek and his mustache tickled your upper lip, and it only lasted a second before you pulled away. It was delicate and fleeting, but any longer and you felt you would’ve been consumed by the raw emotion of it all. You rested your foreheads together and your eyes fluttered open, staring deep into his through your lashes. His pupils nearly eclipsed his irises entirely, but they held a questioning look: Are you certain?
You answered by reaching the hand on his cheek around to tangle in his dark hair, pulling him back to you, and crashing your lips together once again. You kissed him again, and again, and again, basking in the euphoria of finally having what you had been aching for since that night he moved out to care for the Levin estate.
You dragged your hand higher up his thigh, stopping just shy of his crotch, and squeezed. It pulled a low hum from him and he pulled back from your lips, laughing breathily. You playfully squeezed his thigh again, enjoying how flustered he looked when you did so. He was scanning you again, looking to see if that was really where you two were heading. You knew you were more than willing, you had finally gotten a taste of him, and you craved more.
“I want you, Kostya.” You said simply.
The man was practically scarlet, but he took the hand holding your chin and skimmed down the skin of your throat, over your pleated underdress, and grasped the button at the top of your bodice. “I want you too.”
A shiver ran up your spine at his admission and you smashed your mouth to his once more, tugging him as close as you could, as though you were trying to bind yourself to him, never to leave you lonely and bored and forgotten again.
The hand on the back of your neck held you against him with equal passion, and he began popping open the buttons of your bodice. He pinched your lower lip between his teeth and you happily opened your mouth for him, letting his tongue slip in and massage against your own.
You glided your hand up his body, deliberately brushing against the slight tenting in his pants, and began fiddling with the buttons on his vest as well. He pulled away and let out a little huff as you did so. You pulled a devilish grin, continuing to flick open the buttons.
He dove back down to dot your jaw with kisses and started frantically pulling at your buttons with both hands. He pressed into you, his broad body pushing against yours until your back laid against the curled armrest of the chaise. You whimpered, suffocated in the most wonderful way by his presence and in utter disbelief of his eagerness. You felt alight under your clothes. Your fingers curled tighter in his dark hair and finished unbuttoning his vest with a matched enthusiasm.
Konstantin quickly shoved your top open after finishing the last button, and you gasped. His big hands wandered over your exposed corset and underdress, resting for a moment on your chest. The only thing separating his skin from yours was a thin layer of fabric and the heat of his hands on your breasts was driving you mad, but they continued their way upward, pushing the bodice off your shoulders. You sat up and shed the garment in a flash, tossing it to the floor.
Your hands shoved at his jacket, desperate to get him undressed as well. He followed your lead and discarded his jacket and vest, but before you could get at his undershirt, his hot mouth was on your neck and you melted against him, allowing him to lean you back against the armrest. He started at the hooks on the front of your corset and you whined in frustration. You were dreadfully hot for the amount of clothes you were wearing, and you could imagine he felt quite the same, but there was nothing you could do when the nip of his teeth at the juncture of your throat and shoulder turned you to putty in his far too careful hands.
“Kostya,” you groaned. “Just rip it off.”
He paused and blinked at you. “Are you sure?”
You nodded impatiently, arching yourself into his hands. He shrugged and grabbed the sides of your corset that he had already opened, hesitating for a second before roughly jerking them in opposite directions like it was nothing, snapping the hooks and sending the bits flying around the room, and shredding the garment open.
You didn’t even attempt to hide the low moan that drew from you, feeling yourself growing wetter watching such a simple display of the man’s strength. He tore the corset out from underneath you and tossed it to the growing pile of clothes on the ground. You sucked in a deep breath, thankful for the relief the lack of pressure on your stomach provided, but you were still stiflingly hot, your body burning to feel his skin on yours. But there were still too many damn layers. You still had your underdress and what felt like approximately ten million skirts left.
Konstantin reached out to the waist of one of them, but you stood with a huff and began pushing at them yourself. “I swear the next thing I’m cutting up are these damn dresses.”
He laughed, hands joining yours on your backside to expedite the process. You tried to loosen them for a second, but instead opted to hold up the fabric while he untied, given that he had the better angle for it. You both managed to safely tug your frilly outer skirt up and over your head, but his movements grew more impatient as he tugged at the other skirts to loosen them, and you jumped a little when you heard the sound of fabric tearing.
You glanced over your shoulder to see him wincing at the silk bunched in his hands. He looked up at you, an apology already on his tongue, but you instead whispered, “Keep going.” He quirked a brow at you and you gave him a look that said Please for the love of all that is holy rip these things apart. He shrugged and you turned your head back so as to not strain your neck while the sounds of cloth shredding filled the room. You shuddered as the remnants of a skirt fell to the floor, and he was at it again, tearing through the last two with his strong hands. You nearly let out a whimper at the thought of what they were going to do to you.
He left you in just your thin white underdress, shivering in anticipation. He grabbed you by the hips and eased you down onto his lap. His hands reverently glided up your sides, over your stomach, and back up to your chest. He squeezed your breasts through the fine fabric and you whined in frustration. “Kostya-”
“Sorry.” He let out a nervous chuckle and pulled his hands away, precisely what you didn’t want him to do, but not before giving your chest an extra squeeze. His hands came to the laces of your underdress. “You’re just…” He pressed his lips to the nape of your neck as he worked the laces. “Wonderful.” As the stays loosened and the thin fabric slipped further and further down your shoulders, his lips traced over every newly exposed inch of skin. You could almost pretend in the softness with which he treated your body that, even if it was Kitty who he longed for, it was you who he loved most tenderly. Your body ached for his and it felt as though his ached for yours. You whined almost pathetically at the thought, but he responded with a longer kiss to your back and mumbled, “You’re gorgeous,” against your skin. You sighed, allowing yourself to slip back into the moment.
You shifted further back on his lap, growing impatient at how he took his time undoing your laces, and felt an unmistakable hardness on your backside. You smirked wickedly as you pressed your ass onto his crotch, drawing a grunt from him. You settled further into his lap, enjoying the low moan he made in response. You meant to keep teasing him, but one of his hands came to grip your hip and held you firmly in place while he worked. You bit your lip, goosebumps spreading over your skin at just how easily he could keep you still with his hands. Thankfully, he finished up your laces at a pace you much preferred.
The fabric of your undershirt finally came to pool around your waist, and you shivered as your heated skin came into contact with the cool air of the room. You hastily kicked off your heels and twisted yourself around to straddle his lap. He swallowed hard, eyeing your bare chest, and you felt your cheeks heat up under his transfixed gaze. Your fingers flew to his shirt collar, deftly working at the buttons there, and he grabbed at you desperately. The feeling of his rough hands, calloused from hard labor, on your soft skin was searing, igniting your nerves wherever he touched. He pulled you closer and attached his mouth to your collarbone, sucking and licking at every bit of your flesh he could. Your hands faltered as he trailed down to your right breast and his tongue laved over your hardened nipple. His hot mouth all over your chest felt like nothing you had ever been able to do to yourself and you never wanted him to stop, but you also just wished you could get his fucking shirt off.
You squirmed as he mouthed at your other breast. His hands explored your torso, heating your flesh and further stoking the fire burning within you. Every lap of his tongue went straight to your needy core, and you were certain you had never been so aroused in your life. You tried to keep your hands moving on his shirt, but you jolted when he softly pinched your nipple between his teeth. You whimpered and your cunt throbbed. He massaged his tongue over the spot as a sort of apology and your hands shot up to tangle in his hair and rub his scalp in appreciation.
In a desperate attempt to provide relief to the aching want between your legs, you rocked your hips against his, earning a gasp in response. You did it again, shuddering at the relief it gave you, and the relief it apparently gave him, as he removed his mouth from your chest to rest his forehead on your sternum, groaning with your every movement.
You took the moment of respite to limply paw at his shirt once again. “Kostya,” you whined, rocking yourself against his clothed cock. “Take it off.”
He wasted no time in heading your command, tearing his shirt open like he had done with your corset, pulling his arms from the sleeves, and tossing it to the ground. You barely had time to admire him before he was grabbing at your underdress and pulling it over your head, and adding it to the mountain of discarded clothes on the carpet. You were quite enjoying needy Konstantin, his bashfulness nearly forgotten in the desperation of the circumstances you found yourselves tangled in.
You both sat for a moment, hot, sweaty, and panting, and admired one another. For a long time now you had wondered what he looked like under his clothes, and you were certainly not disappointed to find out. He was a solidly built man, and his years of manual labor were evident in his broad frame and thick stomach. He didn’t have the commonly praised athletic build, with some softness on his chest and stomach, but his strength was evident in the sheer size of him. You found you preferred his build to whatever nonsense everyone else was talking about.
You placed a hand on either side of his face, pulling him in for another kiss. Your hands trailed down further to his chest and he did the same to you. You took your time roaming your hands over the vast expanse of his chest and torso, simply enjoying his largeness, and his moved down until they reached the hem of your underwear. You whimpered between open-mouthed kisses as his hand slipped under the soft fabric and his fingers brushed through your shock of curly hair and came to swipe his middle finger between your dripping folds. A scream nearly ripped from your throat at the relief of finally finally having him touch your aching heat. His finger stroked up and down your pussy a few times, collecting your slick, before coming back to rub tight circles on your clit. You gasped and shuddered at his movements, his name tumbling from your lips in a broken moan.
Your hands smoothed over his soft stomach and down the trail of dark hairs starting at his belly button, and all the way to the hem of his trousers. You frantically unbuttoned them, shoving your hand under his pants and underwear with far less delicacy than he had treated you in your desperation to touch him. You wrapped your hand around his shaft, or at least you tried to. He was so thick your fingers couldn’t meet around his cock. You tugged him from his trousers and gaped at the size of him in your hand. You had never seen one in person before, only having read about them in books you kept hidden between your bed frame and the wall.
He was bigger than you had anticipated and you briefly questioned if you would be able to fit it in, but you were pulled away from your concerns when he let out a shaky moan and the hand between your thighs faltered as you ran your thumb over the head of his cock. You continued stroking him, delighting in his restrained moans through your lust-clouded head as his fingers brought you closer to your peak. You were almost content to let him finish you off with just his hand. Almost. But your body ached to have him inside you, to feel him completely, should this be the only time you could experience your beloved Konstantin in such a way.
He rested his head on your shoulder, eyes screwed shut and panting heavily. You combined your fingers through his silky locks and guided his head so he was looking you in the eyes. You shivered in satisfaction to see such a timid man looking so utterly debauched with his tousled hair, kiss swollen lips, and eyes dark with carnal desire. You had to imagine you looked rather similar.
He suddenly pulled his hand from your heat, and you whined at the loss of contact, letting go of him as well. The hand came back to join the other at your hip and he crashed his lips to yours once again, lifting you off his lap like you weighed nothing to him, and laid you back on the chaise. He climbed on top of you as you caught your breath at the dizzying display, and his mouth found your neck once more. You made a mental note as you found your thoughts again to wear your highest collars for a while because he was definitely leaving marks.
He brought one of his hands to massage your breast and the other to pull at the hem of your undergarment, all the while muttering praises against your skin between kisses. So beautiful… So wonderful... So Perfect. You let out a keening moan, lost in the overwhelming sensation of having him all over you. His hands, his mouth, his entire body eclipsed yours. And it dawned on you that you couldn’t bear to be without him, not after knowing him so intimately. You would spend the rest of your days craving his body. His words. His touch.
You spoke without thinking, words spilling from your lips before you could stop them, “Kostya, I can’t stand it here any longer!” You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him tight. “Take me to the countryside! Take me with you when you leave tonight!”
He planted much gentler kisses on your face, dotting them over your cheeks and nose. “Yes… Yes I- I cannot leave you here. I won’t.”
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you felt as though you could weep hearing those words leave his mouth. Even if it was a lie. Even if you were both fooling yourselves. You needed to hear it.
He sat back and tugged your last article of clothing off your legs, dropping it to the ground and leaving you fully bare for him. You snapped your legs together instinctively, blushing up at his flustered expression. His eyes were wide and his face was completely red as he ogled you. You tried not to curl in on yourself under his expression, but you couldn’t maintain eye contact with him, instead tracing over him with your own gaze. He was still far too clothed for your liking.
You nudged him with your leg. “Excuse me, but I would prefer not to be the only naked one here, Levin,” you said teasingly.
He swallowed, standing. “Ah, yes. Right…”
He removed the rest of his clothes in a rush, seemingly unwilling to give you much of a show, but you stared at him anyway, admiring each newly exposed inch of him. God, he was huge.
His large and powerful physique was a sight you had fantasized about for years, but before you got the chance to properly appreciate his form, he knelt beside the chaise and smoothed his hands over your right leg. He brought it to his face and planted a kiss on your inner ankle, smiling against your skin. You both looked at one another shyly.
From there he worked his hands and mouth up your leg, keeping his eyes locked on yours despite his deep blush. He crawled onto the seat, strong hands pushing your legs apart as he continued mouthing along your inner thigh. His eyes dropped from your face to the apex of your thighs, calloused hands caressing your skin. You shuddered in anticipation, watching with intent and intrigue as he inched closer and closer to your wet heat.
His gaze darted back to yours, his deep beautiful eyes looking at you with admiration through hooded eyelids, and your breath hitched as his lips pressed to your aching pussy. You threw your head back with a shuddering gasp as he dragged his warm wet tongue from your entrance to your clit. He rolled his tongue over the sensitive bud again and your hips bucked into his face, trembling as he hummed against your core.
You brought yourself to focus your gaze back on Konstantin. Konstantin with his face buried between your legs. God, never did you truly believe you would have the luxury of feeling him on you like this. You had been certain you would live out the rest of your life watching miserably from the sidelines as he loved another, destined to long for someone you could never have. But you had him now. You had Konstantin desperately laving at your cunt.
He gave your swollen clit respite for a moment, sliding his tongue down to tease at your entrance. You fisted your hands in his hair and rocked into his mouth as his tongue delved inside you, massaging your inner walls. His beard scratched at your thighs as you rolled your hips, but it only added to the sensation, a harsh contrast to the pleasure of his tongue. He found his way to that spot inside you that left you squirming underneath him and focused his efforts on it. The feeling was heavenly, but only lasted for a moment before he dragged his tongue out to press a kiss to your clit. You whimpered at the loss, but he quickly replaced it by slipping a finger into your wanting hole. You hummed at the feeling, eyes fluttering shut. His finger was far thicker and longer than your own, but it slid in without resistance.
He eased the digit in and out slowly, watching as you melted into the velvet cushions for him. “You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, and a shiver ran down your spine. He began kissing and nipping at the already tender insides of your thighs, pressing his mouth everywhere but where you needed him, and you wanted to whine for him again. The gentle thrusting of his finger in and out of you and the feeling of his lips on your skin was pleasant, but it simply wasn’t enough to get you anywhere. The start of a whine formed in your throat, but just then he slipped another digit into your cunt, and it melted into a moan. Just the two of his fingers felt about the same inside you as three of your own.
You rocked in time with his hand, feeling rather full, and eager to know just how stretched out you would be when he was actually inside you.
He finally brought his mouth back to suck harshly on your clit and stuffed another finger inside you.
“Oh god, Kostya!” You cried out, bucking your hips into his touch.
He brought his spare hand to effortlessly hold your hips down as you squirmed on the seat. You breathed out huffing whimpers while he finger-fucked you, completely at his mercy. With the addition of a third finger, you were stretched beyond what you had been previously able to do on your own and it was delicious.
You panted his name out praisingly, but also as a way to ground yourself amidst the sensations overwhelming you. You had your beloved Konstantin giving you the pleasure your body had been aching for for years, and only a handful of days ago he had his heart set on marrying another.
You winced at the thought, trying not to let it destroy the delicate balance on which this euphoric and strange scene the two of you found yourselves in sat. You brought your focus back to how he tenderly dragged his fingers in and out of your sopping core and swirled his tongue around your raw clit.
You were incredibly close and getting closer to unraveling under his deliberate touch, but, through the haze of your pleasure-muddled brain, you had a thought. You wanted to give him just as memorable of an experience as he was giving you. You needed to make certain that he would never think of that oblivious Kitty ever again after he walked out of this room, and you desperately wanted to taste him.
You tugged on his hair, pulling him from your soaked cunt, and he blinked up at you almost in a daze. He looked at you with half-opened eyes, staring right at you but somehow also seeming far away, with a mixture of spit and slick glistening on his lips. Fuck, he looked good like that. And you wanted to wreck him even worse.
“Sit down for me,” you said, releasing his hair from your grasp. He eyed you curiously, but you began pushing yourself onto your elbows and he did as asked, leaning against the back cushion of the chaise.
You moved yourself to kneel on the floor in front of him, pushing his legs further open to accommodate yourself the same way he had done to you. His face turned a rather cute shade of pink as you smoothed your hands up his thighs, inching ever closer to where his dick stood straight up against his stomach. You wrapped a hand around his cock and dipped your head forward, hot breath fanning over it as you locked eyes with him through your lashes.
Konstantin’s breaths were hard and shaky as he looked back down at you, face almost as crimson as the wall behind him. He murmured your name softly, and you cracked a sweet smile before taking the head of him in your mouth. He let out a strangled moan as you took him in further, cock heavy against your tongue. His hands shot out to thread through your hair with his fingers pressed hard against your scalp, not yet pulling, but he was certainly struggling to hold it together.
The desperate whine of your name on his lips sent a shiver down your spine and you started bobbing your head up and down his length, only taking as much as you could manage. The hand not wrapped around him gripped his thigh, rubbing soothing circles on his skin with the pad of your thumb. He leaned back against the seat, eyes falling closed and jaw going slack as you dragged the flat of your tongue along the underside of his cock, groaning deeply.
You looked at him with hooded eyes, relishing in his ravished appearance. The sight of him so utterly lost in pleasure by your doing sent a wave of arousal crashing over you, as if you weren’t already soaked enough, and you moaned around him. His face scrunched up and he grunted out a sharp, “Christ-” His hands gripped at your hair, unconsciously tugging at the roots.
You hummed around him again, thoroughly amused by his reactions and delighting in the knowledge that you were the only thing on his mind at that moment, and you would be for quite a while. You brought yourself back up to the tip, sucking harshly and swirling your tongue around the sensitive head. He whined for you and you smiled around him, continuing to unravel him with your mouth, but the hands white-knuckling your hair dragged you off his cock with an audible pop. You blinked up at him and wiped away the saliva running down your chin.
Konstantin looked down at you with brown eyes full of longing and mouth parted ever so slightly to speak, the both of you panting heavily. Suddenly his grip on your hair loosened and he offered you an apologetic look. You squeezed his thigh in acknowledgment and responded with a look of your own asking him to continue.
He muttered your name and your eyes fluttered shut as the desperate sound of it went straight to your cunt. His hands came to hold your face sweetly and you opened your eyes at the feeling. He leaned himself closer to you, whispering, “I need you.”
You closed your eyes again and leaned up to press your lips to his once more. You were already more aroused than you had ever been in your life, but hearing him admit that to you only added to it. He needed you. Your heart fluttered in your chest. His tongue dragged over your lower lip and you eagerly opened your mouth for him to slide in. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and you were sure he could taste himself on you. You clambered onto his lap, mouth still attached to his, and taking in the delectable sensation of his bare skin against yours as you rested yourself on his strong thighs.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, one hand running through his hair, and the other gliding up over his throat to cup his jaw. He quickly grabbed you by the hips and dragged you forward so that your body was flush against his, chest to chest, and his dick pinned between your stomachs. He broke the kiss to sloppily mouth along your jawline as you raised yourself off of his lap. You grasped his warm cock in your hand, slowly easing yourself over it until the blunt head slipped between your dripping folds to prod at your entrance.
Your gaze flickered from his eyes to the joining of your two bodies and back. He stared back with a tender intensity, and you both took a moment, with heaving breaths, to study one another. How rapidly your relationship had evolved tonight, and you each gave one another an opportunity to back out at that moment. To step away, put your clothes on, and act like you hadn’t touched, tasted, loved one another. Chalk it up to a moment of emotional weakness on both parts and convince yourselves it was the alcohol, even if it had just been one glass each.
But you had no intention of backing out. You needed him like you needed air in your lungs. He was the one thing you had desired for god knows how long. Konstantin. And if he would give himself to you, there was no way in hell you would let that opportunity slip through your fingers.
You tilted your head at him curiously. Did he feel similarly, or at least horny enough to give you what you wanted, even if it wasn’t you who he desired? He answered by grasping your chin more firmly, confidently smashing his lips to yours, and so you began to sink down onto him.
You winced a little as the thick head penetrated you, more ambitious of a task than you had expected. You gasped and screwed your eyes shut at the stinging stretch as you were spread open on his cock, feeling every ridge and vein of his hot length. Even the stretch of his fingers hadn’t properly prepared you to take all of him in, but you kept lowering yourself with shaky legs, your hands moving to grip his broad shoulders and focusing on the low groan rumbling in his chest and how it reverberated through your whole body. You parted from his lips with a whine as he used his grip on your hips to help ease you down, dotting soothing kisses along your collarbone. You felt your thoughts begin to muddle and melt together at the feeling of being so utterly full as your hips met his, your pleasure only heightened by the moan that escaped his lips.
You looked into those gorgeous eyes of his, vaguely processing in the back of your lust-fogged head that the man you loved was inside you. He looked back with an equally dazed expression, lips parted slightly, and skimmed one of his hands up your side, over your chest, and up to your cheek.
“Are you…?” He murmured. You assumed Okay? or something akin to that was what he meant to end with before trailing off, but he seemed distracted as his eyes wandered over your face and he caressed your cheek with his thumb.
You gave a small nod and he pressed his lips to yours gently, as delicate as your first kiss of the night, and just as fleeting. You rested your foreheads together once more after parting.
You lifted yourself up on shaky legs, panting against his lips. The heavy drag of him out of your tight heat left you lightheaded, the sharp sting melting into raw pleasure. You worked yourself up to the tip, and then his hand was guiding you back down, your grip growing tighter on his shoulders as his thick cock perfectly hit every spot you needed it to. You both let out shuddering moans as you fell back onto his lap, and you began rolling your hips together in a steady, gentle rhythm, your pleasure mounting slowly and steadily.
His head fell to your shoulder and he started to nip and suck at the skin of your throat once again, the hand on your cheek moved to join the other at your hip to pull you further onto his lap with each rock of your body against his.
Your head fell to his shoulder as well, forehead pressed to his sweaty skin, and you took shaky breaths as you rode him. Your thighs were beginning to burn and the wonderful fullness of him inside you was nearly aching, but god was it exquisite. Never had you been able to experience this sort of pleasure on your own, and you were certain you never would.
Konstantin drew you down especially roughly, gasping your name as he ground his hips against yours harshly. You cursed, squirming against him as he hit a new angle that had stars dancing behind your eyelids. You held him closer, nuzzling into his neck, and picking up your languid pace as the tension in your lower abdomen grew tighter and tighter, and you never wanted it to end. Not just the pleasure, but the intimacy. The love of being held and tenderly fucked by your dearest friend and beloved. To know him so intimately… to have been touched by him… to have seen him so raw and completely was a joy you never wanted to part from. And even if it ended in misery, even if your friendship was forever tainted and you two drifted apart and you were left alone and incomplete, you would always have this moment. Always have this memory of wholeness and love.
Your breath hitched as the thoughts overwhelmed you and you pulled yourself even closer to him, feeling every bit of him you could, absorbing every sensation into your memory. The way you felt so small in his arms. The feeling of his heated, soft skin against your own. The slightly salty taste of perspiration as you kissed his neck. The sound of the low moans and purrs of your name passing his lips.
The grip on your hips tightened, and he began to bring yours to meet his quicker. His mouth stopped its attack on your neck and shoulder as his breathing grew heavier and he thrust up into you more frantically. You whimpered into his shoulder, lost in the feeling of taking his thick cock again and again, dragging along every spot that had you whining in his arms.
His pace grew faster and faster until he was holding you still while he fucked you deeply. Your whimpers melted into deep moans as one of his hands wandered down your hip to between your legs, his thumb gathering some of the wetness that spilled from where your bodies entwined and brought it to rub tight and fast circles on your clit. The only sounds in the room were the harsh slap of skin against skin, broken up by the both of your breathy pants and desperate moans of each other’s names. You were hurtling toward your peak, and you could tell he was too with the ragged breaths and broken praises he muttered against your skin between kisses.
His grip grew even tighter and the pressure on your clit became almost unbearable as he ground his thumb against it. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, making the most delicious sounds you had ever heard against the skin of your throat, and you were so so close. You knew he was done for when his hips and hands began to stutter. He dragged you down his cock and onto his lap one last time, emptying himself inside you and painting your insides with his release. And between the grunts and moans of your name, you heard a soft “I love you.” Those words finally sent you hurtling over the edge of your climax as his cum filled you somehow more full than you already were, your body trembling in pleasure.
“I love you too,” you gasped, eyes squeezed shut as you rode out your high. The fluttering walls of your spent cunt clenched around him and dragged more moans from his throat, which rumbled through your overly sensitive body as you collapsed against him.
Konstantin relaxed against the chaise completely, and you came with him, the both of you breathing heavily in the aftershocks of your pleasure, exhausted and sweaty. His hands moved to wrap you in a tight, warm embrace and you both took a moment to catch your breath.
After a second, he lifted you off his lap, the both of you groaning at the sensation against your oversensitive bodies, and you shuddered when you felt his release trailing down your thigh. He set you back on his lap and you both took a deep calming breath before he slid himself to lay on the cushion of the seat, dragging you along in his arms to rest on his warm, wide frame.
You fought off tears as he pressed his lips to the top of your head and hugged you tight against him, relishing the oddly domestic feeling. Perhaps you were more sticky than you would have preferred, but you had Konstantin holding you in his arms, and he had said I love you. You quietly nestled against him and basked in the moment, afraid to speak and bring an unwanted reality crashing down on your euphoria.
And so you both laid there for a minute in each other’s embrace, enjoying one another’s tender touch. He felt so perfect to cuddle with, like he was built for it, with you curled up on his torso and your head tucked under his chin. Eventually though, he started shifting underneath you and you raised your head to look at him curiously. He sat himself up on his elbows and placed another kiss on the crown of your head. He was blushing heavily again.
“I suppose I should get up now,” he said, gaze falling from your eyes to the carpet.
A wave of anxiety washed over you. No, no, no, no, no. I don’t want this to be over yet please no. Was he starting to regret it all, or was this just his usual awkward timidity returning? You couldn’t tell, and you were terrified to find out.
He gave you a quick peck on the cheek before gently picking you up and setting you back down on the chaise so he could stand. You watched with wide eyes and shaky breath as he found his way to his clothes on the floor and began pulling on his trousers.
You stared down at the pile of discarded clothes on the carpet and found tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Was he just going to leave you here alone, with half your dress torn to shreds? To walk out of this room looking like a fool, running past the servants with your already fragile dignity in tatters and the evidence of your tryst hanging from your body, bunched in your arms, and splotched on your neck? And even if you could manage to make it to your bedroom without being seen, surely the two of you had been heard by someone passing by the doors of the drawing-room tonight.
Oh, how the rumors would fly. But he could escape at least somewhat unscathed, being a man. Everyone already thought him odd enough, this would just be another blip on his long history of strange actions, a moment of weakness, and it would be forgotten soon enough. But you, well, perhaps your reputation was already tarnished enough for you to not give a damn, but your family… as if you weren’t enough of an embarrassment. Maybe your parents would be forced to send you away for good this time, the humiliation that would come from your actions finally outweighing the shame of having a daughter shipped off for the reason of an unsound mind.
You dug your nails into the emerald green cushion beneath you as you fought to keep a straight face amidst your anxieties. As downy as the velvet usually felt, it was like sandpaper when compared to the warmth and surprisingly softness of his skin. That had been safe, comforting, but the feeling of the cushion beneath you felt like another grim reminder of the reality that was opening up before you, scratching at your skin. The happiest moment of your life had come and gone, and a new uncertain future was unfolding before you.
Konstantin glanced at you over his shoulder, flashing a nervous smile as he shrugged on his undershirt. His hands and face faltered when he finally met your eyes, a panic washing over his features. There was a beat of silence between the two of you, your heart hammering in your chest. You knew he knew what you were thinking. You did not know how he would respond.
Rather than continuing to dress himself, he turned and reached out to you, offering his hand. You looked up at the worry etched in his features and hesitantly took it, just barely resting your fingers on his. He closed his hand around yours tightly and bent down, his warm eyes flickering to you and then down to your hand. He brushed his lips against your knuckles with a smile.
His eyes darted back up to yours, his cheeks still dusted a rosy red. “We should get you packed rather quickly, don’t you think… before, before your family returns?” He pressed another kiss to your knuckles before tugging you from the seat and onto your feet.
You gaped up at him, a tear slipping down your cheek. “You were serious? You’ll take me with you?” The nightmarish path you had imagined yourself traveling down began to crumble in your mind, replaced by the image of Konstantin and yourself sitting side by side in his carriage tonight, leaving this miserable life of yours far behind you.
He gave you that toothy grin that warmed your heart. “Certainly, I am.” More tears began to flow. You could hardly believe it. You would be free. You tried wiping the tears away but they just kept coming. Oh god, oh god, what a relief!
He rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand before letting go, moving to finish buttoning up his shirt. “What sort of man do you take me for anyway?” There was still a hint of that smile as he spoke, adjusting his collar before he bent down and began gathering the pieces of your dress. “I am not the sort of man to do…” He flushed as he picked up your torn skirts. “This kind of- of thing with a woman and… well.” He stood and sheepishly handed you the scraps of your clothes. “Abandon you.”
You took your dress with a light laugh, how Konstantin of him to give you a quick rant about his character while picking up the evidence of your affair. You were still crying, unable to stop amidst the euphoria of knowing you could finally walk away from that wretched house.
He brought his large hands to cup your face tenderly, smiling at you and whispering again, “I love you.” A joy to hear outside the throws of passion, to know it hadn’t just been something to say while coming down from an orgasmic high. He crashed his lips against yours and more tears slipped down your cheeks, which he brushed away with the pads of his thumbs. He parted after a moment, still lovingly holding you in his hands, and stared into your eyes with his own brilliant shining ones.
“Let’s get you home.”
81 notes · View notes
mjwritesfics · 1 year
Note
“what would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?”
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nsfw //
 set somewhere in early season 1 idk the business part isn’t important tbh but picture the reader’s family media empire to be similar to PGN 
“Chardonnay would be great,” you smile at the waitress, handing her your drink menu. “Thank you.” 
“Make it the most expensive bottle,” Kendall interjects, and you raise an eyebrow. He nods at the waitress. “She deserves the best.” 
“You flatter me,” you tease, resting your chin in your hand. Glancing around, you notice wandering eyes throughout the restaurant, surely tweeting about the cozy dinner between two children of a couple of America’s most influential men. “I know your game, Kendall. Because I’m playing it, too.”
“Yeah?” he asks, curiously narrowing his eyes and tilting his head. You admire his features, softened by the dim glow of the candelabra, both of you knowing deep down how this meeting will end. “I guess it’s a question of who plays it better, then.” 
This evening is gonna end the same way it always does. You bent over his kitchen counter, his fingers in your mouth and lips on your neck, whimpering as he pounds up into you. Desperate, filthy, wanton fucking - unable to even make it to the bedroom because you need each other that badly. It’s been that way for years now, each time you’re both sent to try and strike a deal of any sorts. 
“I believe I have the upper hand here,” you bluff, thanking the waitress as she hands you the glass of wine. You both know that’s not the case, it never will be when it comes to Kendall. You sip from your generously poured glass, humming at the vague sweetness. “You’re desperate. You need us to lay off of your dad.”
“Just until the stock levels out,” he states, and you nod. Admittedly, your dad’s media conglomerate had been a bit harsh on Logan Roy since his stroke. Publishing almost weekly stories of his incompetence, frailty, and poor decision making skills that will scare off any logical shareholder. “Please. Come on. They’re fucking kicking him when he’s down and it’s hurting the company.” 
“And if I were to propose we reopen that joint acquisition at 50/50,” you tread carefully, a smirk on your face. “I’d be in a solid position to do that? Considering the fact you need something from me?”
“If you want to get technical,” he concedes, fingers drumming along his own empty glass. His smile is enticing, a hint of amusement and mischief in his eyes as he appeases you. “Then, uh, fucking sure. You’re the one in control.” 
“Glad you can admit it,” you retort, inhaling sharply. Your foot grazes his calf, the ball of your stilettos sliding along the fabric of his slacks, stopping below his knee. You want him, now. “Maybe we should finish this meeting somewhere else. Too many people staring.” 
“Can you blame them?” he asks, ignoring your under-the-table shenanigans. “Two powerful fucking media dynasty kids, both rich and single. Let the speculation begin.”  
“I hope they report just how in control I am,” you tease, smiling when he gestures to the waitress to get the bill. Kendall leans in, gesturing for you to get closer, his hot breath on your ear sending shivers down your spine. 
“Don’t fucking forget who had you on your knees last week,” he whispers lowly, leaning back as if nothing unordinary happened. You swallow hard, sitting up straight and trying to mitigate the hot flush in your cheeks. He looks at you with an amused smirk, shaking his head as the waitress returns with his credit card. “Are you warm?” 
“A bit,” you smile, clearing your throat. You stand, mouth dry, working harder than usual to find words. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom before we head out.” 
Walking toward the back of the restaurant, you inhale sharply as you enter the bathroom, locking the door behind you and immediately walking toward the mirror. Your face is burning hot, both from the wine and Kendall’s devious looks throughout the night. Running the cold tap, you jump at a knock on the door. 
“One moment,” you shout, unsure of why you sound panicked. You’re doing nothing illicit, just trying to tame impure thoughts of the notorious scandal-prone playboy billionaire who has you in a psychosexual hold. 
“It’s me,” his voice echoes through the wood, and you splash the water on your face, scurrying to the door. He practically barges in, locking the door behind him and connecting his mouth to yours, kissing you hungrily. “I need you.” 
Any facade of power and control you attempted to exude suddenly melts away, his rough touch and fervid kiss instantly causing you to surrender to him. He can sense your submission, a lewd chuckle leaving his mouth before he latches onto your neck, mouthing keenly. 
“Still think you’re in charge?” he asks, lifting you onto the counter, wasting no time at raising the hem of your skirt. He rips off your panties, placing them in his pocket and swiping two fingers up your slit. “Already fucking dripping for me. Yeah? It’s like a fucking pavlovian response at this point, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” you whimper as he pushes the digits into your trembling hole, curling them upward and thumbing at your clit. You clench around him, his mouth on your serving to muffle some of the noise you’re involuntarily making in response to his expert touch. “F-fuck, they’ll hear.” 
“Uh huh,” he nods, slowing his motions, languidly working at your cunt, a drop of your arousal sliding down his knuckle. “What do you think? What would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?” 
“Please,” you’re practically incapable of words at this point, hips bucking into his hand like a wild stallion, the insatiable look in his eye only further captivating you. He doesn’t give in, working you slowly, firmly pressing into your g-spot, other hand used to still your hips. You know what he wants from you, and you’re too mindlessly desperate to resist. “Kendall, you’re in charge. You’re always in charge. Now please, give me more.” 
“So fucking needy,” he tuts, withdrawing his fingers all together, smirking deviously at your anguished whine in protest. He brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting you, before tapping your chin with the same two fingers. Like a well-trained pet, you open your mouth wide, holding out your tongue. He places his palm on your forehead and tilts back your head, a string of spit slowly dripping onto your waiting tongue. You swallow and bat your eyelashes up at him as he adjusts your skirt and helps you off the counter. “Good girl. Glad you still know how to listen even after your little fucking power trip.” 
“You’re mean,” you pout, the haziness coming from such an intense edge rendering you unable to think of anything else to say. Kendall chuckles darkly, placing a kiss on your temple and helping you straighten up. “Is it obvious what we just did in here?” 
“Sort of,” Kendall shrugs, a sadistic smirk on his face. You furrow your brows, fixing your skirt, acutely aware of the possible eyes that might be on you as you walk out of the restaurant. “But doesn’t that make it kind of hot?” 
You shrug, turning and placing a kiss on his lips, straightening out his suit jacket. He smiles, the two of you walking toward the bathroom door, faces flushed and knees weak. 
“We have to continue this meeting,” you state as you both make your way toward the exit, focusing only on each other rather than wandering eyes. Kendall chuckles, nodding as you lean into whisper in his ear. “And the other thing, too. You left me on the edge.” 
“I had to remind you of who’s in control,” he states simply, holding the door so you can step out onto the city sidewalk. You can’t tell if you’re shivering at his words or the brisk NYC air, but goosebumps erupt over your arms at his low-spoken statement. “Because it seems to me that you forgot.” 
“It won’t happen again,” you whisper, knowing that it just might. 
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feistybiscuit · 3 months
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Hello dear! First off, I'm SO happy to see new faces (or, well, blogs) writing for Lord of the Rings! Welcome!
Could you please write something with Boromir or Aragorn with a writer! s/o. Someone who's pretty nervous and has a hard time connecting with people but who's writing skills are really good? I picture them stumbling upon her journal and being shocked at the beauty of her words, and especially at the way she talks about them since it's basically a journal of love confessions. Bonus points if they help the reader publish some books or think of ideas for new ones!
It can be a one shot if you'd like, and feel free to make the reader gender neutral. Thank you so so much hun, I hope you have a great day. Keep being awesome 😎
A/N: this turned out to be WAYY spicier than I originally expected so hopefully that's ok <3 I chose to write for Boromir :) Thanks for your request love!
Boromir X GN!Reader
Word Count: 3066 Description: one shot, steamy, unrequited to requited love
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Boromir could feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing at his temples. The din of the crowd milling around the Tower Hall was grating on his last nerve. His father had insisted on an extravagant banquet to celebrate his recent successes as the High Warden of the White Tower, but Boromir would have preferred to rest and spend the evening strolling through the streets of Minas Tirith unbothered. Eager to get away from the crowd, Boromir strode out of the busy throne room onto the south facing balcony.
The night air was warm and smelled of jasmine. Boromir took a deep inhale, leaning his hands on the rail of the balcony and gazing out over the Pelennor Fields, the expanse of grassland that stretched out from Minas Tirith’s feet towards the banks of the Anduin. Boromir strained his eyes against the dim twilight; he thought he could make out the parapets of Osgiliath, Gondor’s first capital, now little more than a ruined river crossing. Faramir was there, as commander of the city’s garrison. Boromir had ordered his brother to oversee repairs to the old city to prepare for the coming battle. Beyond the dark smudge of Osgiliath’s long-vacant towers, an ominous blackness loomed over the land of Mordor. His thoughts turned bleak as he wondered what was stirring behind the mountains in that black land. Scouts reports had confirmed that orcs were-
Boromir jumped at the tinny clang of something metal hitting the stone floor in a darkened corner of the balcony. Instinctually, Boromir’s right hand grasped at the hilt of his sword and unsheathed it in barely more than a breath. He crouched into a warrior’s pose, his sword held out in front of him and his features steely as he looked for the source of the noise.
The quickness of his movements startled you almost as much as your clumsiness had startled him. You were glad for the darkness as you felt your face flush with embarrassment at your discovery. You hadn’t expected the High Captain of Gondor to skip out on his own banquet; in fact, you’d been counting on having the balcony all to yourself, so you’d be able to write in peace. There certainly wouldn’t be anymore of that, now that the small candelabra you’d been using for light was in two pieces on the stone floor. 
You leapt to your feet, muttering apologies and trying to keep your heart from beating out of your chest. You’d never been so close to Boromir before, and certainly not alone in the dark. Your mouth went dry at the realization. 
As one of the Steward’s personal scribes, you’d spent most of your life in the Tower Hall of Minas Tirith. On occasion, your work brought you into close contact with both of Denethor’s sons. Faramir was something of a friend to you, despite the difference in your stations. You both shared a love of the written word and his quiet temperament mirrored yours, making you fast friends. But it was Faramir’s older brother, the handsome and lordly High Warden, that made you go weak in the knees. It had been that way since you’d been old enough to notice such things.
You’d always admired him from a distance and kept your desires to yourself, confiding your feelings only in the pages of your journals. Nothing would come of your infatuation, you knew; Boromir was next in line for the Steward’s role, which was the closest thing Gondor had to a king. His title required him to wed someone of noble birth, and you knew his father would have nothing but the best for his favorite son. While your family was not poor and your duties as a scribe were a great source of pride to them, you did not have the aristocratic heritage needed to be a worthy match for the High Warden. And even if you did, he’s never looked twice at you, a harsh inner voice reminded you, causing your fragile heart to crumple at the reminder.
“Forgive me, my lord, I didn’t wish to disturb you.” Your voice sounded small and pathetic, and you felt your cheeks blaze with renewed embarrassment. 
Boromir relaxed at the sound of your voice, dropping his sword and chuckling softly. 
“You shouldn’t make a habit of startling armed men, you know,” Boromir chided you gently as he bent to pick up the fragments of the broken candelabra at your feet. He was so close that you could see the seams on his blue brocade tunic. When he stood, the candelabra in his hands, he stood almost a half foot taller than you. If you’d been bold enough to hold his gaze, you would have been forced to incline your chin up at him. But you kept your eyes fixed intently on the gray stone floor, hoping he couldn’t hear the erratic thudding of your heart in your chest. He was so close you swore you could feel the faint tickle of his breath on your temple. Your skin erupted in flames where his breath danced over it.
“I’ll make a note of that, my Lord,” you stammered in reply, barely able to keep your voice from breaking. 
“Please, Y/N, how long have you known me? Dispense with the ‘my Lord’ nonsense, I beg you. I’ve heard enough of that tonight.” The sound of your name in his voice sent a thrill running up your spine. You hadn’t realized that Boromir knew you apart from the dozens of other faces he saw on a daily basis around the halls of the Steward’s quarters. That fact, coupled with the High Warden’s closeness, scattered your thoughts like marbles on a smooth floor until you didn’t trust yourself not to press yourself against him, twine your fingers in his hair, press your lips to his, run your hands along the planes of his stomach, pant his name until you were breathless, grab his-
You audibly let out a small, breathless gasp as you tore yourself away and bid your feet to run. You knew that if you stayed that close to him for one more second you would do something irreparable and shameful. All you heard as you left, practically sprinting away into the relative safety of the well-lit throne room, was the blood pounding in your head. It drowned out the sound of the night breeze, the sounds of the party, and the sound of Boromir calling after you…
**********
Boromir watched as y/n scurried away like a frightened animal into the banquet room once again. He must have misread the signals, must have misinterpreted the tension in the air between them. Boromir wasn’t used to being rebuffed in his advances; most people were swayed by his easy charm, his skill with a sword, and his title at the very least. But y/n seemed immune to him, always preferring the quiet company of Faramir. Feeling frustrated and embarrassed, he called out after y/n, but his voice was swallowed up by the sounds of merriment in the throne room. 
“You damn fool,” Boromir cursed to himself as he ran a regretful hand through his hair. He tossed away the broken pieces of y/n’s candelabra, anger at his misstep boiling in his chest as he made to stride off. It was then that he saw it, resting precariously on the balcony’s railing. A small, leather-bound journal. 
Boromir hadn’t noticed it earlier, although he recognized it instantly. Y/n always carried such a journal. Aside from Faramir, it was y/n’s most steadfast companion. 
Boromir froze, eyeing the diary, a conflict raging within him. He knew that whatever contents the journal held were private and to open it constituted a violation of honor. The thought twisted like a knife in his gut. But, on the other hand, Boromir had always longed for a peak into y/n’s mind. For reasons he couldn’t quite articulate, Boromir knew that there was beauty there, if only he could access it. 
He hesitated for only a moment, casting a wary glance back towards the banquet hall. If y/n saw him, Boromir’s far-flung hopes would be dashed forever. No one was looking, and y/n had disappeared into the crowd. It was now or never.
Like a man dying of thirst, Boromir grabbed the journal greedily and cracked it open, his eyes roving the pages and drinking in the words. It was a journal, but so much more. There were smatterings of poetry: some of it original, Boromir deduced, but some of it copied down from y/n’s work in Minas Tirith’s library. Every so often, Boromir found a sketch. Most of it was of Minas Tirith, drawn from the vantage point of the mountains that rose up behind the city. A few horses, children, nondescript landscapes. They were beautiful renderings, detailed and delicate in the linework, incredibly lifelike. 
He continued to flip through the journal. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but in his eagerness to scour the entirety of the book he found he couldn’t focus on any one page for longer than a moment. 
Not until he found his own likeness staring out of the page up at him. 
Boromir recognized himself in y/n’s drawing immediately, although the pen-and-ink Boromir seemed finer somehow. Boromir’s heart pirouetted in his chest as he drank in the drawing, trying to decipher where it was that y/n’s drawing deviated from reality. Y/n had captured the line of his jaw perfectly, even the small scar above his right eyebrow. His hair was rough and unkempt looking, as if he’d just returned from a horseback ride, and he wore his simple fighting leathers. The eyes and lips were a perfect mirror to his own, but still there was something about the drawing… 
His eyes slid down the page to where, at the very bottom of the drawing, he saw a single line of small, impeccably neat handwriting:
A King in a long line of Stewards
Boromir felt the breath hitch in his throat. The sentiment was simple but beautiful, and it touched something very deep inside him. And that was when he placed it. The drawing of him was true to life, but it was through the eyes of someone who loved him. It was evident in the carefully drawn lines, the light in the eyes, the gentle ghost of a smile in the drawing’s expression. And with the caption, Boromir finally understood. He was looking at himself through the eyes of someone who truly knew him, truly saw him, not just for what he was but for what he could be.
The feverish hunger to devour the journal’s contents in a single gulp from moments before slowed and dwindled to something much more tender. Boromir flipped the page slowly, the same neat handwriting covering the backside of the sheaf of paper where his portrait was drawn.
You must be a trick of the memory that the old gods are playing on me,
You travel with my love over plains, mountains and seas.
Your blue eyes are there when I close mine,  Your voice chases me while I dream, My heart cries out in the darkness for you, The roots of the world shake with its scream. 
I’ll drown in this desire and choke on this need, Say you’re mine once and I’ll fall to my knees.
Boromir read the lines more times than he could count, luxuriating in the words until he could hardly breathe. He knew y/n’s words when he heard them, although he’d never heard anything close to this. Never dared to hope that anything approximating this was in y/n’s heart. His mind danced with a misty light, his heart suffused with warmth. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, using the fading light of the banquet inside to read the lines over and over again until he had them memorized. 
At some point he surfaced from his reverie, his heart beating erratically against his ribs. He stood up from where he’d sat against the railing, smoothing the front of his tunic and the sides of his hair. With a final inhale, he strode off purposefully, weaving through the thinning crowd of Gondor’s nobility, ignoring their greetings. He didn’t hesitate until he found himself standing in front of y/n’s door. Shakily, unsure of what he was about to say, he knocked twice. 
**********
You heard two soft knocks at your door. You glanced at the moon outside, surprised that anyone would pay you a visit this late. It was nearing midnight, you guessed. There was a fluttery feeling in your chest coupled with a pit in your stomach that you hadn’t been able to soothe with either tea or a warm bath. You felt as if you were losing your mind by inches. You’d spent your entire life, more or less, in Boromir’s home and you’d crossed his path hundreds of times before. Why now were you suddenly undone like a smitten child? Your feelings for him weren’t new, so why were you abruptly unable to control them?
You tried to push those thoughts from your mind as you crossed your chamber and unlatched your door. You suspected it would be Teithand, the master scribe. On rare occasions he gave you a special assignment and made a habit of visiting your private chambers to discuss the details of these duties at all hours of the day or night. 
But the figure darkening your doorway wasn’t dressed in the long, cream robes of a scribe, but instead in the formalwear of Gondorian nobility. 
Boromir smiled at you, and the sight of him, leaning casually against your door frame and close to you set your heart ablaze again. The thoughts you’d tenuously strung together shattered and your breath hitched in your throat. 
When you saw the small journal clutched in the High Warden’s hands, however, your stomach fell into your feet. Horror and something deeper than shame consumed you in an instant. 
You hardly had time to process what was happening before Boromir stepped into your chamber confidently. He tossed your journal onto the bed behind you, his now empty hands coming to the small of your back and the side of your face as he caught your lips with his.
You froze. You’d lost all semblance of coherent thought. The whiplash of emotions had left you feeling terrified. Thankfully, your body reacted faster than either your head or your heart. 
As if you’d done it a thousand times before, your lips moved in sync with Boromir’s and your hands tangled in the thick strands of his auburn hair. You gave yourself over to instinct as your mind dissolved under the pressure of his lips. His breath washed over you - warm and ragged - as the two of you pressed your bodies against each other, eager to melt together in the quiet dark of your chamber. His hands roamed over you, tentatively at first, but faster and firmer as you responded to his touch with neediness. You heard a small, desperate groan escape from the back of his throat; the sound of it almost sent you catapulting over the edge of the logic. 
You caught yourself in the instant before you lost all control of yourself, breaking the kiss and pulling back just enough to catch his eyes. 
“Boromir, what is thi-”
“I’m yours,” he whispered back, cutting you off with his words followed by another kiss. This time his lips refused to stay contained to yours. He tipped your head back, exposing your neck to him as his mouth moved along its length. The places where his lips connected with your skin burned like a brand. You felt a heat building deep inside your core. 
“I’m yours, Y/N” he said again. This time it was him who had the sense to pull away. You were panting, and you would have been self-conscious if it weren’t for the fact that he too was on the verge of gasping. His hands came to either side of your face, framing them as his eyes bored into yours. 
“Aren’t you…” Boromir’s question died on his lips, replaced by an impish grin. He raised an eyebrow at you, his eyes moving between your face and the ground beneath your feet. Between the confusion starting to coalesce in your head (what the hell is going on? the rational part of you screamed) and your body alight with desire, you didn’t have enough wherewithal to decipher his meaning. 
“Aren’t I what?” you asked dumbly. A sliver of anxiety spliced its way into your chest… maybe what you were seeing in Boromir’s eyes was just the neediness of a lord looking at someone he knew was game for a tumble in bed, and not the mirror image of your satisfaction at the fulfillment of a long-denied devotion. 
“Going to fall to your knees,” Boromir replied, placing a soft, gentle kiss on your lips. It was almost a question, as if he were asking you. The brazenness of his request startled you, but the heat in your core blazed in response. There was also something familiar about his words…
“In your journal… you wrote, ‘say you’re mine once and I’ll fall to my knees’… I’ve said it twice now, and yet here you stand.” He chuckled softly, his lips dancing along your jaw and over your cheeks as you tried to catch up to his meaning. 
Then, like a clap of thunder, it clicked. The poem. You’d written it over a year ago, the night after Boromir had left Minas Tirith with a garrison of Gondor’s guards to ride to an outpost at the southern border. You’d almost forgotten your words - you’d written so many of them, all of them for him. 
You let you a small laugh in surprise and a hint of embarrassment.
“Didn’t anyone tell you it was rude to read another’s writings, my Lord?” You emphasized the last two words, shooting him a wicked smile as you made good on your written promise and sank to your knees in front of him. Your fingers went to work on the lacing of his trousers, the urgency of the moment rekindling between you. Boromir caught your chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to catch his gaze. He looked breathtaking, standing over you. A King in a long line of Stewards, you thought as you drank in the sight of him. 
“Call me Boromir,” he said simply. “I won’t have you calling me ‘my Lord’ for the rest of our days together.” His tone was casual, but you could hear the intention of his words. You hesitated only momentarily before returning to the task at hand. You broke into a smile, wide and triumphant, and although your attention was focused elsewhere, Boromir’s expression matched yours exactly…
* I based the words of the poem loosely on the lyrics from 'Old Gods' by Emily Scott Robinson
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