#female tailor in london

[queenie-avenue]

Terms and Conditions Apply.

💌 ⤻ THE CEO, ADRIAN HOUDE

—> you're the sweet little intern, and he's the big bad wolf who wants to eat you up.

⤻ reader is written as a female, yandere male, age gap, power dynamic, toxic obsession, slightly suggestive, slight financial abuse, set in london, this is a drabble but full fics of him will be made in the future

🦋 ⤻ archives.

TOP TEN BACHELORS NEAR YOU!

1. Adrian Houde.

Tall, Handsome, Rich, Successful, Ambitious. Ask anyone with more than half a braincell and they will immediately tell you that all these traits are what Adrian Houde has! Born from the rich Houde Family known for their luxury fashion products, he had risen the ranks as CEO of his family's company a few years back.

And boy oh boy, has he made himself known. From various (fake) scandals of him dating various women, to his success in the market in revolutionising his family's industry in fast fashion but still remaining loyal to his grandmother's routes as a custom tailor who first gained traction in France.

Perhaps Mister Houde's only flaw is that he has been on this bachelor list for far too long! He's already in his mid-30s, can you believe this guy has been single for so long?

So, to the lady who catches his eye, good luck surviving all the jealous women who are going to come after you, sweetheart!

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

Adrian Houde is a proud man. I mean, who wouldn't be, right? He was successful, and rich, and practically everyone — regardless of gender or age — wanted to be with him or be like him. He was the pinnacle of a great man, just like his father had said he would be.

So why was it that when you entered the office, looking like a lost little puppy dog, that you captured his interest immediately. Perhaps it was the coffee stains on your skirt and the way your eyes sparkled with desire for greatness. He had seen that spark many times before. In his own eyes, actually. From the moment he saw himself in the mirror as a teen who became aware of the legacy on his shoulders, he knew he was bound for greatness. And you, a simple woman, of all people, carried that same determination and ambition within those cute eyes of yours.

You couldn't blame him for being intrigued by you.

Especially when you looked at him with so much fear in your eyes he couldn't help but laugh.

"I am so sorry, sir- I had no idea anyone was in the meeting room this early." You apologised frantically, holding a bunch of papers and a small, slightly shabby notebook.

"No, no." Adrian voice was smooth and sweet, a mixture of his French accent and his London boy accent he had gotten from the years of being raised in London. "Don't apologise. I was a bit too early to the meeting room, it seems." He said, taking his hands out of the pockets of his suits, raising out his hand towards you.

"Adrian Houde." He introduced out of courtesy.

Hurriedly, you rushed to take his hand, firmly shaking it like you had been taught.

You touch sent shivers down his spine. Was it because your hands were cold or was it something else about you?

Either way, he liked it.

"[y/n] [l/n], sir. It's a pleasure to meet you." You smiled at him, that glow from your eyes never fading.

"[y/n] [l/n]," he repeated, allowing the syllables to roll down his tongue like something falling down the stairs, bouncing. "A pretty name, for a pretty girl." He chuckled cooly as he pulled his hand away.

"I've never seen you before, Miss [y/n]. Are you new?" He inquired.

"Ah, I'm an intern. I just- uh, got posted here recently." You smiled. "I'm a fashion design major."

He couldn't help but be a bit disappointed by that. You were a fashion design major, which meant that you and him would probably not see each other often unless he kept paying visits to the fashion department.

"Wonderful. It's nice to see such wonderful young minds in my company." The older man said as he adjusted the cuffs of his suit with a relaxed grin. "I just know you'll do great in this company."

That blush on your cheeks after he complimented you drove him crazy.

That was how your first meeting concluded.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

You were so intriguing that Adrian just couldn't keep his mind off you. The moment he returned to his office, he called up his secretary and immediately requested for your file.

When he got it, he couldn't help but obsess over it. Your portfolio was so perfect. From all your university extracurriculars to all your little quirks that the intreviewers had noted down, they were all there for him to overanalyse and understand. Your designs, he had to say, surpassed his grandmother's when she first started out the business.

His fingers traced past all the small details of the sketches of the dresses and suits you made and he wondered what you would look like as a model. Sure, you were the artist, but what if you were a muse?

He couldn't help but imagine you draped in fabrics, nothing else underneath.

He shook his head out of it.

Where was all this coming from? He was a gentleman, his grandmother had taught him to be one.

Brushing those thoughts aside, he went back to admiring your work with a smile.

Indeed, you were an asset he couldn't lose.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

Afterwards, he invested a lot of time into you. He would always drop by to the studio to talk to the head fashion designers then he would come find you, especially during your break where no one else would see you.

He disliked seeing you with others, terrified that someone else might steal his skilled intern away. No, he couldn't let any business rivals take you away from him.

Or at least, that was his justification.

Adrian would always watch you sketch your dresses behind you till you noticed and promptly let out a yelp. He enjoyed that fear in your eyes but what he enjoyed even more was the constant ambition sparkling in your pupils.

Right, you were his intern and his future designer. It was normal for him to be so invested in your growth.

After all, he was a gentleman. His grandmother had emphasised him to be in all his teachings, so this wasn't wrong. He wasn't preying on the cute intern because he wanted her. No, no, he was being a good boss by observing your actions and your growth.

Another defense as to why he began to nick your drawing pens away.

He would always replace them by gifting you more expensive pen though, a gift for you "allowing" him to have a close-up of the materials you use.

Plus, his future designer deserved the best.

You were his, after all.

"You lost another pen? No worries, I can gift you this one. Hm? Don't worry about it. Think of this as... an investment on your career."

#yandere male #yandere male x reader #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere drabble #yandere fanfiction #female reader #yandere ceo #ceo

[coochiequeens]

This is why we still need Women’s History Month.

By Martha Gill

What was life like for women in medieval times? “Awful” is the vague if definite answer that tends to spring to mind – but this is an assumption, and authors have been tackling it with new vigour.

The Once and Future Sex: Going Medieval on Women’s Roles in Society by Eleanor Janega, and The Wife of Bath: A Biography by Marion Turner both contend that women were not only bawdier but busier than we thought: they were brewers, blacksmiths, court poets, teachers, merchants, and master craftsmen, and they owned land too. A woman’s dowry, Janega writes, was often accompanied with firm instructions that property stay with her, regardless of what her husband wanted.

This feels like a new discovery. It isn’t, of course. Chaucer depicted many such cheerfully domineering women. The vellum letter-books of the City of London, in which the doings of the capital from 1275 to 1509 were scribbled, detail female barbers, apothecaries, armourers, shipwrights and tailors as a matter of course. While it is true that aristocratic women were considered drastically inferior to their male equivalents – traded as property and kept as ornaments – women of the lower orders lived, relatively, in a sort of rough and ready empowerment.

It was the Renaissance that vastly rolled back the rights of women. As economic power shifted, the emerging middle classes began aping their betters. They confined their women to the home, putting them at the financial mercy of men. Female religious power also dwindled. In the 13th century seeing visions and hearing voices might get a woman sainted; a hundred years later she’d more likely be burned at the stake.

“When it comes to the history of gender relations, storytellers portray women as more oppressed than they actually were”

Why does this feel like new information? Much of what we think we know about medieval times was invented by the Victorians, who had an artistic obsession with the period, and through poetry and endless retellings of the myth of King Arthur managed somehow to permanently infuse their own sexual politics into it. (Victorian women were in many respects more socially repressed than their 12th-century forebears.)

But modern storytellers are also guilty of sexist revisionism. We endlessly retread the lives of oppressed noblewomen, and ignore their secretly empowered lower-order sisters. Where poorer women are mentioned, glancingly, they are pitied as prostitutes or rape victims. Even writers who seem desperate for a “feminist take” on the period tend to ignore the angle staring them right in the face. In her 2022 cinematic romp, Catherine called Birdy, for example, Lena Dunham puts Sylvia Pankhurst-esque speeches into the mouth of her 13th-century protagonist, while portraying her impending marriage – at 14 – as normal for the period. (In fact the average 13th-century woman got married somewhere between the ages of 22 and 25.)

But we cling tight to these ideas. It is often those who push back against them who get accused of “historical revisionism”. This applies particularly to the fantasy genre, which aside from the odd preternaturally “feisty” female character, tends to portray the period as, well, a misogynistic fantasy. The Game of Thrones author George RR Martin once defended the TV series’ burlesque maltreatment of women on the grounds of realism. “I wanted my books to be strongly grounded in history and to show what medieval society was like.” Oddly enough, this didn’t apply to female body hair (or the dragons).

This is interesting. Most of our historical biases tend to run in the other direction: we assume the past was like the present. But when it comes to the history of gender relations, the opposite is true: storytellers insist on portraying women as more oppressed than they actually were.

“The history of gender relations might be more accurately painted as a tug of war between the sexes”

The casual reader of history is left with the dim impression that between the Palaeolithic era and the 19th century women suffered a sort of dark age of oppression. This is assumed to have ended some time around the invention of the lightbulb, when the idea of “gender equality” sprang into our heads and right-thinking societies set about “discovering” female competencies: women – astonishingly – could do 

things men could do!

In fact the history of gender relations might be more accurately painted as a tug of war between the sexes, with women sometimes gaining and sometimes losing power – and the stronger sex opportunistically seizing control whenever it had the means.

In Minoan Crete, for example, women had similar rights and freedoms to men, taking equal part in hunting, competitions, and celebrations.

But that era ushered in one of the most patriarchal societies the planet has ever known – classical Greece, where women had no political rights and were considered “minors”.

Or take hunter-gatherer societies, the source of endless cod-evolutionary theories about female inferiority. The discovery of female skeletons with hunting paraphernalia has disproved the idea that men only hunted and women only gathered – and more recently anthropologists have challenged the idea that men had higher status too: women, studies contend, had equal sway over group decisions.

This general bias has had two unfortunate consequences. One is to impress upon us the idea that inequality is “natural”. The other is to give us a certain complacency about our own age: that feminist progress is an inevitable consequence of passing time. “She was ahead of her time,” we say, when a woman seems unusually empowered. Not necessarily.

Two years ago, remember, sprang up one of the most vicious patriarchies in history – women were removed from their schools and places of work and battoned into homes and hijabs. And last year in the US many women lost one of their fundamental rights: abortion. (Turns out it was pro-lifers, not feminists, who were ahead of their time there.)

Both these events were greeted with shock from liberal quarters: how could women’s rights be going backwards? But that only shows we should brush up on our history. Another look at medieval women is as good a place to start as any.

 Martha Gill is a political journalist and former lobby correspondent

#Women’s History #books for women #The Once and Future Sex: Going Medieval on Women’s Roles in Society #Eleanor Janega #The Wife of Bath: A Biography #Marion Turner

[mcufan72]

Sugar and Cinnamon

Loki x female reader/ 18+

Chapter 6

Chapter 5

Warnings: contains fluff, smut, sex, oral sex, angst, alcohol, soft!dom/sub vibes, jealousy, dirty talking. It's a very long chapter (~9.5k words) so please be prepared! Some of you asked for it and I delivered.

Note: the dancing scene came to my mind when I walked through Soho/London a few weeks ago. It's also inspired by the dancing scene from the movie "Last Night in Soho" and you can find it on YouTube, and this is the song Anya Taylor-Joy and Matt Smith dance to... just to get a bit of the vibe ...and I couldn't resist to let MS make an appearance

I couldn't resist, my lovely @lokisprettygirl You already know that. Thanks for your help and for answering my special question and I sincerely hope I got it right...

This special part of the chapter is for you, my dearest (you'll know it when you read it)❤️🩷💚🤍

Loki couldn't remember the last time he felt that nervous and excited before an event. It must have been on Asgard when he was a young innocent prince, attending for the first time to a ball at the Asgardian Court, expected to dance with a princess for the very first time. He was delighted when Rhea sent him your confirmation for tonight's gala dinner and he looked forward to seeing you again. It wasn't even a real date, officially he booked you as his companion or as you were calling it, his arm candy. Nonetheless, he was grateful that you still wanted to spend time with him.

Dressed in black briefs after a relaxing bath which he took after returning from a run in Morris Canal Park, he stood in his closet and began to dress himself for the evening. For the gala dinner, he chose a black three-piece suit, perfectly tailored, excellently wrapping and emphasizing his muscular body. He combined it with a tight-fitting black shirt, and a dark-green tie which perfectly matched with the dark-green details of the waistcoat and the dark-green evening gown he gave to you, and finished his look with black leather shoes. He wished you would wear the dress tonight. He'd feel honoured. He had a further, little surprise for you. It was nothing special but he hoped you'd like it.

Nervous, nauseous, and excited. Three words to describe your condition. With trembling hands, you did your makeup and put on the dress. Why were you always so nervous when you had a date with Luke? You already slept with him so there was no need anymore to be nervous. You pulled your hair into a sleek tight bun like you always did, the knot high on your head this time. You'd prefer to wear your trainers but of course, you chose the elegant golden high heel sandals you had bought for events like these. They were just a further pair of beautiful little beasts but they perfectly rounded up the elegant design of the gown. You finished your look with the dark red lipstick and there she was: Sugar, ready to meet Luke. You grabbed your golden box clutch, studded with shimmering rhinestones, from the dresser and left your apartment, leaving all your problems behind. You wanted to enjoy this evening to the fullest. You deserved it, didn't you?

When you arrived at the event location, Luke was already waiting for you. Because of the evening darkness and the tinted car windows, you couldn't see what he was wearing but you were sure he would be the most handsome man tonight. He was always eye candy but for tonight he was your eye candy. Luke opened the door for you and offered you his hand helping you to get out of the limousine. You smiled brightly at him, happy to see him again. How could he look better every time you met him? He looked dashing in his tailored suit. Did his tie have the exact same colour as your evening gown? You found his attention to detail remarkable and adorable. What a man. What a wonderful, attentive man. Why wasn't he already taken? There must be a woman who would appreciate and want to be with a man like him.

Loki helped you to get out of the limousine and the first thing he saw were your beautiful legs and the elegant golden high heel sandals with the delicate straps on your feet. When you had left the car completely he smiled lovingly at you. You were wearing it, the evening gown he had chosen for you and you had no idea how happy you were making him. The evening gown hugged every curve of yours perfectly and the strong updo allowed an excellent view of your smooth neck and nearly bare back. You were so damn beautiful, and for tonight you were his and nobody would take you away from him.

“Good evening, Sugar. You look stunning in that dress. Absolutely gorgeous,” he gushed, one hand still hidden behind his back.

“And you look very dapper in your black suit. You're such a handsome man, Luke. And I like your tie, it looks gorgeous. I'm so happy to see you,” you complimented him.

“I hope I didn't overstep a boundary by sending you the evening gown. I just thought you might like it. Thank you for wearing it tonight. I feel extremely honoured,” and a hint of shyness appeared on his face.

“You didn't overstep, Luke. The dress is fantastic and I love it. It's perfect. You have an excellent taste for fashion. I don't deserve such a generous gift and I appreciate it. And also thanks for your lovely letter and I can assure you, I'm not mad at you. How could I, you don't owe me any excuse,” you explained to him sincerely.

His answer was a thankful smile and then he gave you what he had hidden behind his back. A little bouquet of multi-coloured wildflowers, tied together with a small green ribbon.

“Oh my god, Luke! Thank you! Thank you so much…how beautiful,” and your eyes teared up. You've gotten a lot of bouquets from some of your clients but none of them compared to this one. You never got a bouquet as pretty as this. You were sure he had poured his heart into it.

“Did you pick the flowers yourself?”, and you caressed the flowers.

“I did. I collected them in Morris Canal Park. I hope you like them,” he told you and you recognised a bit of shyness in his gaze.

“No man had ever done this for me. Thank you, Luke,” you whispered and pressed the flowers gently to your cleavage. You wanted to hug him but you didn't dare do it.

“It's nothing special but I…”

“Don't underestimate the beauty of self-picked flowers…and they are special. They're special to me because they're from you and I love them,” you interrupted him. You didn't want the flowers to wither and so you gave them to Walker who promised you to take care of them.

Loki felt like a little boy, trying to impress his first crush. He had never expected this cute reaction. He could've impressed you with a giant bouquet of roses but it seemed you appreciated the wildflowers more than any rose or lily he could've bought for you. You were amazing. How could you still be without a loving man by your side? You were so adorable… and naughty as well. A perfect combination.

“Shall we go in?” and as the gentleman he was, he offered you his arm.

“Yes, I'd love that!” and you two entered the location.

Loki introduced you to some of his business partners and finally, he wanted to introduce you to the host of the evening, Mr.Smith, who was still in a conversation. But he had already made eye contact with you. And then you understood what Rhea meant when she said, he's an attractive man. He wasn't a classic beautiful man but he definitely had an extremely charming aura. Almost as tall as Luke, he was lean but bulkier, had dark blonde hair and a sly smile which gave him something boyish and devious but in a very sympathetic way. His green deep-set eyes were sparkling with mischief and fun, and they had nearly the same stare as Luke's. The way he moved, spoke and behaved could captivate everyone under his spell. His elegant black tux and black bow tie perfectly rounded up his impressive appearance. You were sure a lot of women wouldn't say ‘no’ to him and your gaze wandered to an Indian beauty in an amazing black lehenga dress. This absolutely beautiful and elegant three-piece ensemble consisted of the actual lehenga, a long ankle-length and voluminous skirt, embellished with golden intricate embroidery, the choli, a well-fitted blouse top which emphasized her perfectly formed torso and the dupatta, a scarf which she had draped around her stunning outfit. Her waist-length and nearly black hair shimmered like black velvet and cascaded over her back, her big and sparkling dark-brown eyes were the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen. She was such a stunning eye-catcher and you didn't miss how Mr Smith looked at her from time to time. You knew that kind of gaze very well, not just from your clients and every time their gazes met, they both quickly looked away. It was kind of adorable. One might think he was totally smitten by the Indian beauty and nobody could blame him for this, she was one of the most beautiful women at tonight's gala.

“I don't like the way he looks at you,” Loki growled quietly.

“Do I hear some jealousy in your voice, Mr.Larsson?” you teased him. You didn't want to annoy him, you just wanted to see his reaction. You didn't want him to fall in love with you, he paid for your company but nonetheless you wanted him to desire you. You knew that was weird but tonight you were just his, and he was just yours, right?

“What? No, of course not! You're my escort, not my wife,” he frowned, pressing his lips firmly together, his jaw clenching.

“No, I'm not your wife. A pity, actually,” you teased him further and he side-eyed you, the expression on his face unreadable.

At this moment Mr Smith ended his conversation and came over to you two.

“What a beautiful sight at my friend's side… good evening, Miss…?

“...Black, I'm Miss Black,” you greeted him and he took your hand in his and gave a brief kiss to your knuckles.

“You look gorgeous, Miss Black, a further sparkling diamond at my party,” his deep-settled eyes staring flirtatious into yours and a sexy smile curved one corner of his mouth. He grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter, who passed by with a tablet of filled champagne glasses, and gave it to you.

“Thank you for completing me, Mr Smith,” and you took the offered glass of champagne from his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you,” you responded tantalizingly and held his gaze.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Black and I hope you enjoy the evening. Eat, drink, dance and have fun,” he encouraged you and he turned towards Loki. Mr.Smith was such a player, a sexy lad, you've already sensed that.

“Luke, my old friend, what a pleasure to have you here. I hope you enjoy the evening,” and he shook Loki's hand and placed his other hand amicably on Loki's shoulder.

“Matt, it is a pleasure to meet you, as always and thank you for the invitation," he answered, slightly annoyed and both appraisingly staring into each other's eyes. After a short conversation, Mr.Smith left to order a drink for himself at the bar.

You sensed the tension in Luke's shoulders and you suppressed a grin. He was a bit possessive over you, wasn't he? Since you worked as an escort lady, you were used to a man’s behaviour like Mr.Smith’s. You did everything to get these reactions, through clothes, style, and attitude because every man you saw could become your client. But all of this was a costume, a mask. That wasn't you. Luke would never want you or even like the woman and her problems, who were hidden behind that mask. The woman behind all the makeup and the dark-red lipstick. The woman who called herself ‘Sugar’.

“He was just being polite, and there's nothing wrong about it. He's interested in someone else so, relax Luke, he really was just being nice,” and he side-eyed you again, with raised eyebrows.

He was just being nice? Interested in someone else? You were a head-turner, an eye-catcher tonight and he just saw this guy lustfully staring at you and the only thing he could think about was that no man should ever chase after a girl on a friend’s turf. He saw you taking a sip of champagne, turning your head and grinning at him.

Between the main courses and the serving of the desserts was a pause so that everyone could take a short walk, have some drinks at the bar or enter the dance floor. Shortly before Loki wanted to ask you to dance with him, Mr.Smith came back to you, a glass of bourbon in his hand. With the biggest mischievous smirk on his face, he addressed Loki with a question.

“Would you allow me to dance with your charming companion?”

“You don't have to ask me. You have to ask the lady,” he said to Matt, giving him a fake smile.

“I think I should allow our host of the evening to dance with me, shouldn't I, Luke?” and Mr.Smith took you by your hand.

You would never understand why you had fun annoying Luke and where your self-confidence came from. Why did you want to provoke a reaction from him? And what kind of reaction did you expect? You didn't understand yourself anymore. Did you expect him to fight for his right to dance with you because he paid you for your company? You knew that Mr Smith just wanted to provoke a reaction from that gorgeous-looking Indian lady his eyes had been glued to for over several hours now. He couldn't fool you.

“I'm on to you, Mr. Smith but…Let's play a little game," you said to him while he led you to the dance floor. “But don't you dare play with her, she likes you,” you warned him.

“What do you mean, Miss Black?” He tried to play ignorant.

“Mr.Smith, don't fool me. I just dance with you when you spend the rest of the evening with her and dance with her only,” you answered demandingly, smiling at him.

“Her? Who is ‘her’?”

“The beautiful lady in the black lehenga.”

“I don't dare ask her. I'm sure she doesn't find me pretty enough, not good enough for her.”

“Then you probably should stop eye-fucking each other all evening… it's pretty obvious that you like her… and she likes you,” and you sensed he felt caught.

“Likewise,” he mocked you, "Mr Larsson is eye-fucking you as well, so… you two are not any better than us. It's obvious how possessive he's over you,” and he crowned his statement with a smug smile.

“I see we're speaking the same language, Mr.Smith. Get your girl, she likes you more than you think and believe me, you are very attractive and charming,” you tried to convince him.

“Thank you for saying that, you're very kind...And you go and get your man before he combusts with jealousy… he's addicted to you. And by the way, call me Matt.”

Before you could answer anything the music started to play and Matt began to dance with you.

“You're not his girlfriend, are you?” And he twirled you around.

“What makes you think I'm not?” you asked when you faced him again.

“Don't get me wrong, you're beautiful and charming but he's more the type for fake dating, he never wants to be connected to someone or be close to someone, nonetheless…,” you danced several steps away from him and twirled back into his arm, “…he's undressing you with his eyes,” and he twirled you around again and when you danced face to face again, he held you by your midriff, swaying to the rhythm.

“Why does it bother you? You should mind your own business, Matt. And to be very clear, I'll never date you, it'll always be him and you better take care of the Indian beauty over there. You should really ask her to dance with you … I'm not the one that you want,” you said kindly.

“Yeah, you might be right. I think if Luke is addicted to your personality and not just your body, then he may be falling for you.”

“I think we shouldn't play cruel games with them. We both have what we want, both are furious with jealousy. We should redeem them from their suffering, shouldn't we?” you suggested.

“You're an amazing woman, Miss Black, no man can fool you, indeed.”

“Not in this case, I guess, and… you can call me Candy,” you responded and with that the song ended, your dance was over and you both left the dance floor, walking towards Loki who was waiting for you with an annoyed expression on his face.

That was it. That was the reason why he hated it that you worked as an escort. Other men touching you, lustfully looking at you, dancing with you the tantalizing way Matt just did… This guy was too close, his hand too low on your back, his gaze at you too intimate. Loki fumed with jealousy. All those men didn't deserve you. He didn't deserve you either but he must do something to get you out of the escort business and he better not run out of ideas.

“Thank you for this nice conversation and the dance, Matt,” you thanked him with a bright smile.

“The pleasure was all mine, Candy. Thank you very much for telling me about your opinion and enjoy the rest of the evening.” Loki looked unbelievingly back and forth between you two, frowning.

“Relax, mate, she talked about you only,” Matt said to Loki, patted his shoulder and walked over to the bar.

“Candy? What?” Loki was confused.

“It's my second name, don't think about it further…oh and you can relax, Matt is off the market, he's no competition for you. He never was,” you smiled defiantly at him, clearly feeling the tension in his body. When the next song started, you saw Matt entering the dance floor with the Indian lady. ‘What a beautiful couple,’ you thought and smiled.

You could be such a bratty girl. You did it on purpose, didn't you? You had forbidden him to fall in love with you but you didn't hesitate to tease him like this? Maybe he should give you a proper and all-devouring kiss, here and now so that you and everyone else know, you belong to him. No, no he should not do that. You didn't belong to him. You were your own person and you could do whatever you wanted to do. But he had enough. He grabbed you by your upper arm and pulled you with him into an undisturbed, dark corner and pressed you with his whole body against the wall, breathing heavily.

“What are you thinking you're doing here, hm? Teasing me like that, here in public? Want me to fuck against the wall? Now? Hard, quick, deep?”

“Maybe? You wanted to show me pleasure…”

“You're such a tease. You in that dress… have you any idea what you're doing to me?”

“You wanted me to wear it…”

“Oh yes, because I knew how amazingly sexy you would look in it. And I wanted you to be one of the most gorgeous-looking women tonight because you deserve it. And I'm proud to be the man by your side,” he growled softly.

“Why didn't you want to dance with me? You let him dance with me but don't demand your right to a dance from me? You pay for me and my services. Why don't you force me to do my job?” you asked him quietly, still caged between him and the wall.

“I don't chase, I attract and to make myself very clear, I won't force you to do anything!” His voice dropped to subzero temperatures, dryer than gin.

“And believe me, Sugar, the kind of dance I'm thinking of, is not meant for the dance floor. All you have to do is ask me.”

“You can ask me the same question, I'm your escort, you pay for me, you can possibly demand it from me,” you provoked him further, a tantalizing smile on your lips.

“I'd never do that. I'd never force you. I'm still not sure if you want to do it at all so you'll have to be the one to ask!”

There it was again. He tried to give you the feeling that you were the centre of everything, that he was there to please you, not the other way around. You grabbed his tie and pulled his face closer to yours.

“I want to sleep with you, I want to make it up to you, I want to erase my mistake. I want you to play with me. And I want to try new things,” you whispered, your lips slightly brushing his earlobe, making him shiver. “Play with me, I allow you to kiss my whole body, if you want to, except my face,” you offered him sweetly.

“So you allow me to play with you? Are you sure?”

“Yes, show me pleasure, Luke. Show me how to give in to you, show me how to do it right. I won't disappoint you again,” you promised him.

“I'll do whatever you want and whatever you allow me to do. You won't regret it and believe me, you did nothing wrong or disappointed me,” and he pressed a gentle kiss on the soft flesh of your throat, his hand caressing the part of your naked thigh where the gown had the slit. Your hands clasped his shoulders and you felt his muscles tensing. You lifted the leg he was caressing and hooked it around his waist. He immediately pressed his hips against your throbbing core and you felt his cock hardening.

“We should stop doing this, Luke. We don't want to cause attention, do we? We should continue our ‘dance’ in the hotel suite later,” you moaned faintly.

“You have a valid point there. I don't want anyone to look at you while I tear you apart,” and he gave your butt a gentle squeeze. You felt so good in his arms, too good.

You giggled like a schoolgirl and loosened yourself from his lustful grip, took him by his hand and intertwined your fingers with his. It felt so familiar as if he were your lover, not your client.

“Let's get something to drink. And I need to sit down somewhere…my feet…”

“…are killing you. The little beasts, right?”

“Yeah, sorry. I shouldn't complain so much.”

“It's alright, sweet thing. We'll drink something and you can put your aching feet on my thighs if you want… underneath the table, of course. No one has to see it,” and he winked at you.

“You're adorable, Luke. I don't deserve it. Come, I need a cool beverage now… and…”

“…a dessert, yeah. I already know that. Sometimes I think it's the only reason why you escort me to dinner events,” he joked and teased you and he got a heartwarming laughter from you. You were so devastatingly beautiful when you were laughing. He shouldn't allow himself the feeling but you grew on him more and more.

“You might be right, Mr.Larsson,” was the only thing you could answer him. Desserts were definitely your weakness.

On your way to the dining area, you saw Matt and his beautiful Indian lady heavily making out in another dark corner of the location, both completely melting into each other's arms and forgetting the world around them.

“Shhhh,” you gestured to Luke, “we don't want to disturb them” and you both sneaked silently past them. You couldn't deny that you wouldn't mind Luke Larsson kissing you the same way Matt kissed his girl but unfortunately … you'd never kiss a client.

“I don't like desserts. I don't have a sweet tooth.” Loki complained when you both sat at a dining table to eat some dessert, sitting opposite to each other.

“Who doesn't like desserts? I still don't get it. It's the best thing about a meal. The culmination of every menu… sweet and a melting pleasure on the tongue…,” you gushed.

“I hate it, okay!”

“No, you don't!”

“I do!”

“No, you don't!”

“I do...mpffhh…” and you shoved a spoonful of chocolate mousse with cream into his mouth before he could speak further nonsense. The delightful glance in his eyes when the taste buds of his tongue were pleasantly surprised by the dark chocolate, told you otherwise. A blissful moan rumbled in his throat, making you smile.

“As I said. You don't hate desserts,” you stated knowingly.

“You forced me to eat it!” He frowned and pouted, licking the last droplets of mousse from his lips. “Can I have some more?” He whispered, barely audible to you.

“What did you say?” You mocked him.

“Can I have some more, please?”

“I'm sorry, it was the last one on the buffet… Well, you shouldn't be too disappointed that you can't have more, Luke, because you hate desserts, right?” A mischievous grin curved your lips.

“Hm!” He pouted and crossed his arms in front of his chest, trying to avoid showing his disappointment. “It's not as bad as I thought it would be… but, yeah you're right. I still hate it.”

You chuckled silently and recognised how cute he was at that moment. Trying hard to hold on to his opinion about desserts and not to show you how much he truly liked it after tasting it. Gosh, he was so adorable.

“You can tell me that you've changed your opinion about desserts. It's nothing to be ashamed of. And we can share my chocolate mousse if you want,” you told him softly.

“I appreciate it, Sugar, thanks. Enjoy your chocolate mousse. Come, place your foot on my thigh, sweet thing,” and you did.

Loki opened the straps of your sandal, took it off your foot, placed it on the free chair next to him and began to massage your aching foot and the toes tenderly but with the right amount of gentle pressure.

“Gosh, that feels so good,” you sighed blissfully and enjoyed his tender hand kneading your foot for several minutes.

“Now the other foot,” he said and gave it the same attention and care as he did with your other foot. You moaned blissfully again and the way Luke glanced at you was arousing you. When his fingers massaged around your ankle, you jumped at the opportunity rubbing your foot over his crotch and you felt him getting hard. You looked enticing at him and his pupils dilated with arising lust.

“You're such a bratty girl,” and he pressed a thumb into your bunion, hitting the right spot. You hissed lustfully and a dull throb in your core made you feel all giddy.

“Shall we leave for the hotel?” You asked him and he just nodded. He came over to you and gave you your shoes and when you put the first sandal on he bent down on one knee and fastened the straps.

“Luke, please, get up. I can do this on my own,” you begged him vehemently. He wasn't your servant and he certainly did not have to do this.

“You wear this torturous footwear for me so helping you with your shoes is a bare minimum,” he declared.

You stood up from your chair and stood close to him. He leaned into you and you put your hand on his shoulder. Your cheek gently touched his cheek when you whispered a soft “Thank you” into his ear.

Your closeness and your scent intoxicated him. His one hand wrapped automatically around your middle and pulled you closer to him. The way you gave in to his movement without any hesitation came so naturally that he immediately felt wanted. He couldn't believe that you were just pretending to want him. But it was maybe just your art of seduction and your magic allure that blurred his mind and made him succumb to you.

When you arrived at the hotel and finally in the same suite as the last time, you both didn't waste any time. You quickly prepared the things you needed to be prepared and put your kimono and a lace bra on the backrest of the chair. The purpose of being here again was more than clear. Loki took his jacket off, as well as the waistcoat and the tie. He would need the tie later. He opened his shirt completely but let the hem stay in the waistband of his trousers. He took a seat in the armchair and spread his long legs wide.

You stood opposite him, getting off of your high-heeled sandals and watching him getting partly undressed and taking a seat in the leather armchair, his shirt completely open. Every muscle in his arms and thighs and torso was flexing and relaxing while doing it and it sent a shiver down your spine and directly to your cunt. When there was one thing you hated, that disgusted you to the core, it was men sitting with wide-spread legs. Normally it disgusted you but Loki doing it did something to you, you had never expected. It aroused you, you wanted to sit on his lap or … humping one of his beautiful, muscled thighs. God, if you didn't shove those thoughts away immediately you would've turned into a wanton whore sooner than you thought. Nonetheless, you couldn't stop staring at his prominent bulge. This man was too sexy. His whole body screamed sex.

“Do you like what you see?" he teased you, an arrogant grin on his face while slowly rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

"W…what?"

“I asked, do you like what you see?” And he placed his now bare forearms on the armrest of the armchair again, his long fingers curling around the ends.

“I hate it when a guy sits like a man whore.” Loki chuckled darkly, smugness written all over his face.

“You like it!”

“I hate it,” you murmured.

“Liar! Come here, Sugar!” Loki pronounced every single word, his voice deep and rich.

You looked at him and a smirk appeared at the corner of your mouth. You shook your head lightly and rolled your eyes. You wanted him to play with you and the game had already started. You both were all in.

“Come.Here.” His voice dropped to subzero temperatures. Harsh, cold as if he could freeze the whole room into an ice cave.

A shiver ran down your spine again and you obeyed. You walked slowly toward him until you stood between his spread thighs. You stared down at him, his ocean-blue eyes glancing up and down between your eyes, your lips and your cleavage. You wanted to be cool and collected but you couldn't help the wetness between your thighs drenching your lace underwear. Why was he able to cause such arousal in your body? It was just sex. A sex appointment. A date, set by your escort agency. A consensual sex date to get some steam off. Just a natural need that you and he wanted to satisfy.

“Strip off your dress,” he commanded seductively.

You obeyed again. You loved to be told what to do next. Since when? You reached behind your back to pull the zipper down but had some struggle finding it.

“Could you please unzip me?” And you slowly turned around. You couldn't see him but you felt his gaze wandering up to your shoulders and down to your buttocks where his eyes remained for a moment.

He could smell you. The subtle scent of your perfume, the natural scent of your skin and the heavy, beguiling scent of your arousal.

“You're outrageously beautiful, Sugar,” he murmured and pulled your zipper slowly down. It was the most arousing sound you had heard for a long time. He was so close to you and you felt his breath fanning over your skin. You let your green dream of a dress slide down your shoulders and it pooled around your ankles and you stepped out of it, kicking it carefully aside.

Slowly he let his hands slide over your shoulders and flanks to your front and cupped your naked breasts carefully, teasing your nipples with his thumbs, making you sigh and moan. A warm tingling rushed through your veins but a coolness rushed over your skin as if a god would touch a mortal to make said mortal shiver in submission.

“Get your bra,” he whispered to your ear, nibbling at the soft skin of your neck. You did as he told you and he took the flimsy lace bra from your hand, put it on you, and closed the clasp of your bra. From the last time, he remembered that you felt better leaving your bra on. And he wanted you to feel comfortable.

“Am I still allowed to play with you?” He asked quietly.

“Yes, yes you are,” you whispered and turned around to face him.

Loki made some steps backwards, sat down again in the leather armchair, leaned back and spread his long legs wide.

Loki's heartbeat quickened and his mouth watered when he saw you in your tantalizing black lingerie. The flimsy lace bra emphasized your cleavage and cupped your breasts perfectly. Your peaked rosy nipples were on display for him through the transparent lace and he felt his cock throbbing with anticipation. He was on edge and he would've loved to take you instantly, roughly, thrusting his cock deep inside of you until you were a dripping mess, screaming his name. But he wanted to take his time with you, enjoy you, seduce you slowly till you were begging him to fuck you. And he would make sure you never needed to fake an orgasm again. With him, every orgasm of yours would be a real one. He would take good care of it and he wanted you to enjoy it to the fullest without feeling ashamed or bad.

“How do you want me?” You asked him softly, your lips slightly parted. Your plump lips drove him crazy. He wished he were allowed to kiss these beautiful lips of yours. He could just imagine how deliciously they must taste.

“I want you to suck my dick. I want you to suck and lick it extensively,” he demanded, testing you. How far would you allow him to go? The imagination alone of your lips wrapped around his cock made him harden.

“Okay. But you won't cum in my mouth. I don't like swallowing your sperm. You can cum over my breasts…and don't hit my face!”

“With that I can deal,” Loki answered darkly.

You didn't like sucking cock at all and the last time you completely ruled it out. Not to talk about swallowing sperm. But it seemed possible to suck him, this handsome guy and you wondered why. You told him you wanted to try new things and so you wanted to give it a try.

You knelt between his thighs, unbuckled his belt and opened his trousers. You reached into his briefs and pulled out his dick along with his balls. Loki moaned quietly and you could just let out a small gasp when you saw his erection. You saw his cock for the first time tonight because the first time when he slept with you, he had blindfolded you before he got rid of his clothes. Loki was a bit bigger down there than the other men you had had sex with. And his cock was… beautiful, pretty even. Perfectly formed in length and thickness, his tip swollen and leaking pre-cum, the veins on the underside pulsating in anticipation, his balls heavy and hot. Your mouth watered and you couldn't wait to suckle him. You had never expected to think about a guy's cock like you did right here and now.

“Am I allowed to place my hands on your thighs?”

Loki hesitated for a moment before he permitted you to do so. If he lost control, nothing would be noticeable there for you. And he still wasn't sure if he was able to stand your touch. But he gave it a try.

“Yes,” he moaned, and you placed your hands there.

You lowered your head and licked a stripe from base to tip. Torturously slow. Once, twice, then you took his cock head gently into your mouth and let your tongue swirl over and around his sensitive tip. You released him with a plop and licked your lips. He tasted so good. Sweet and salty and you craved for more. You gave him a devouring look and turned your attention to his balls. With your hand, you gave him light strokes while you kissed and sucked his balls and when you bit them gently, Loki whimpered loudly. His cock got rock-hard, aching for your warm mouth. How could he even get harder than he already was?

His scent intoxicated you. The smell of musk and the natural scent of his skin, manly and heavy, awoke a kind of lust in your body that you didn't know you had inside of you. Unbridled, initial desire. You were dripping wet and you weren't sure if you were already soaking the floor with your juices.

His breathing became heavier, filled with whimpers and moans. Loki was so turned on that he nearly forgot to blindfold you.

“Should we get you more comfortable, Luke? Lift your ass for me,” you asked him quietly and pulled his trousers and his briefs completely down and took them off completely. While his ass wasn't placed back on the armchair again you took the chance and you caressed his buttocks and kneaded them firmly. Loki sat down again but now he rather laid in the armchair than sit on it so you were able to continue cupping his ass cheeks in your hands and kneading them tenderly. You started to lick his cock again and he gently blindfolded you with his tie.

You flattened your tongue and licked his tip like a popsicle, stimulating his frenulum tenderly but firmly, testing the waters of what he might like. You didn't want to hurt him. Your one hand fondled his balls, carefully and tenderly scratching over the skin. Loki moaned and sighed heavily, writhing under your merciless but delicious torture. You took his unbelievingly hard cock into your mouth again, hollowed your cheeks and started to suck the life out of him.

“Fuck…Sugar I can't…I can't take it…much longer,” he whimpered.

You sped up your pace, your head bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm, sucking and licking him until his eyes fluttered shut, his head leaning back against the armchair's backrest, his fingers clawing into the armrest. You felt him tensing up and shivers ran through his body and you were sure he would come soon. His arousal and writhing and the way he allowed you to own him in this moment made your cunt throbbing and dripping with need. You wanted to get off as well, you never felt so needy before. Never before was any other man able to do this to you.

“I'm…fuck…I'm coming…fuck…,” and he withdrew his cock from your mouth instantly, grabbed his cock and stroked himself two more times. The coil in his lower abdomen snapped and a mind-blowing orgasm washed over him, and he ejaculated in thick ropes all over your breasts. The sight of you blindfolded and letting him come all over your precious bosom doubled his satisfaction.

“Luke…please…” You didn't know what you were begging for but the feeling of his warm sperm running down your cleavage made your head spin. You still knelt between his legs, still blindfolded and dying because of arousal, your clit throbbing and yearning for attention. Loki came slowly down from his high, his cock still hard.

“Come here sweet thing,” and he grabbed you carefully by your upper arms and pulled you onto his lap.

“You took me so well, you're talented, sweet thing. You know exactly what you do, don't you? And now you will get off on my thigh, sweet girl. Want to ride my thigh, hm? Rub your needy clit over my leg and drench me with your arousal. Come, sweet thing, drive me wild…” he moaned lasciviously, guiding your hips when you began to gyrate them back and forth to get the friction to work yourself to much-needed relief. You placed your hands on the backrest of the armchair, your forehead close to his. You felt the warmth of an orgasm rising in your stomach and you moaned and whimpered breathlessly. It felt heavenly, he felt heavenly. And these feelings were all you had because you were still blindfolded. You were already on edge when Loki took one of your peaked nipples into his mouth, suckling and nipping it through the thin lace of your bra.

“Oh god…please…” you moaned. You needed to cum. Now. But Loki stopped your gyrating movements by holding your hips firmly.

“You will come around my cock, sweet thing. No fake orgasm this time, Sugar!”

“Close…I'm so close…please…”

“I know, I'll let you cum, be patient, sweet thing and don't move,” and you heard how he unfoiled a condom. Mere seconds later he lifted you from his thigh, shoved your lace thong aside and slid you carefully down onto his fully erect length, giving you enough time to accommodate his cock and get adjusted to him. He didn't want to hurt you. He would never forgive himself if he would cause you any kind of pain. You whimpered because of how deliciously he stretched and filled you and you were still in desperate need to cum.

“Are you okay, Sugar?” He asked quietly and concernedly. “Can I move?”

“Yes …yes please, I need you,” you answered desperately.

“Good girl, taking me so well. Fuck… you're so pretty…so tight…you've such a pretty cunt.”

Loki guided your movements, made you hop up and down and when you both had found a comfortable rhythm he thrust firmly upwards, faster, deeper, hitting your inner spot at a perfect angle. He took your nipple in his mouth again, nipping, sucking and licking it until it couldn't get any harder and changed to your other breast to torture that nipple in the same delicious way. At this point, you were a moaning, whimpering mess. You felt his cock throbbing inside of you, every vein and ridge massaging you straight towards your climax. It had never felt that good.

“Cum, cum all over my cock, show me how much you want it, Sugar. Scream for me!” And his one hand reached down to your throbbing clit and he pinched and rubbed your swollen bud purposefully. His thrusts became sloppier, he felt his own orgasm rising and he rubbed your clit faster than before.

“Cum…fuck…cum for me…now…” and right on cue you exploded. Your orgasm was intense and not only your cunt but also your whole body was convulsing and shaking and your toes curling.

“Good girl…you're such a…good girl.” Loki's abdominal muscles tensed up, his body shaking when he felt your walls clenching around his cock and it made him orgasm harder than before. You collapsed against each other, bathing in post-orgasmic bliss. This time you didn't fake it. This time you truly had an orgasm and it felt good, so damn good. For both of you.

When you came down from your highs you both chuckled in unison and Loki removed the blindfold from your eyes. They needed a moment to adjust to the dimmed lights of the hotel room again and you could swear there was a light shimmer of blue on Loki's skin. But then you were sure you had just imagined it and blamed the blindfolding for it.

“I'm sorry. I made a big mess out of you,” Loki chuckled.

“Don't worry about it, Luke Larsson. I'll take a shower after you've left. But we still have some time until midnight.” You released his cock, stood up from his lap and you instantly missed the warm feeling of him inside of you. You were still a little weak in your knees.

“Did you enjoy it this time, Sugar?” Loki asked you softly.

“The more important thing is you enjoyed it,” you answered him smilingly.

“That's not the answer to my question, sweets.”

“Why do men always need the confirmation that they were good and are a grenade in the bedroom department?” You contered sarcastically.

“That wasn't my question either. I don't need confirmation that…”

“You're being very self-confident, aren't you? Do we have a god-complex, Mr.Larsson?”

“Why do you have to destroy it, Sugar? I just wanted to know if you enjoyed it and if you're okay.” Loki sounded disappointed and sad and you instantly regretted your rude answer and your behaviour genuinely. You were afraid of your feelings again. You saw him heading for the bathroom and heard him opening the faucet of the sink. You followed him. He was cleaning himself, tossing the condom into the bin and preparing a washcloth with warm water. You stood next to him, facing him in the mirror.

“I'm sorry, Luke. I didn't intend to be mean. I did enjoy it. It felt good, really. I'm just not used to getting so much attention and care afterwards, you know. But please, Luke…don't catch feelings for me. I'm just your escort.” You smiled mildly at him. Your heart clenched when you saw how sad he looked at you. You liked him more than you were ready to admit.

“No worries about that. I won't catch feelings for you, Sugar.” A lie, a perfect lie from a perfect liar. That was what he always has been and always will be, a liar.

“I just wanted you to feel comfortable around me.” And he turned towards you, the washcloth in his hand. You wanted to take it out of his hand to clean your cleavage and stomach from his now sticky seed but he didn't give it to you.

“Let me do this, sweet thing. It's the one thing I'd like to do for you,” and he began to gently clean you. His actions were so soft and caring. You wished you could have this tenderness every day. But not with anyone, no, it had to be him.

'Don't fall in love with him, just don't, you foolish girl' you cursed inwardly.

“I destroyed your lingerie. I'm sorry for that. You looked so tempting and sexy in it, and it was wonderful to have sex with you dressed in this hot lace.”

“A bit kinky, hmm? Lingerie, a blindfold, commanding me…” you stated and smiled.

“Watch your mouth, sweet thing. Don't be a brat.”

“What if I'm bratty? Will you punish me next time?”

You both chuckled and looked into each other's eyes. There weren't only mischievous and lusty thoughts. There was something else. Sympathy, harmony, trust. You two didn't know how or why but you felt drawn to each other.

“Well, the biggest mess got cleaned,” Loki said after he finally cleaned you from his seed and smiled at you.

“Thank you! That was very sweet and thoughtful of you,” you said gratefully.

“My pleasure!" He answered with his deep voice, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. You wished you had a boyfriend like him. Attentive, affectionate and gentle. And not only in a sexual way. With a boyfriend like him, you surely haven't ended up here, as an escort with a man you liked more than you were allowed to like, not to talk about you weren't allowed to fall in love with. You made these rules yourself and you would never break them. Anyway, a man like him would never want to have someone like you as his partner in life. Why should he choose you when he could have any other woman who was smarter, more beautiful and more decent than you? Under different circumstances, you two might have had a chance but now your life was fucked up. You wished you would've met him before you became an escort but it was what it was and you couldn't turn back the time.

You walked back to the main room, took on your kimono and climbed into the bed. You curled up on one side and pulled the duvet over you.

“Are you okay, sweet thing?” Loki asked you softly when he found you lying in bed under the sheets when he returned to the main room as well, dressed in his briefs and his open shirt.

“Mhmh…,” you murmured sleepily. “I'm just tired.”

Loki climbed onto the bed, leaning his torso against the cushions on the headboard. You looked so innocent and cute with your head snuggled deeply into the fluffy pillows. He watched you dozing and he smiled lovingly at you.

“I'll stay until midnight if it's okay for you,” he whispered and you nodded slightly. It made him smile again. He hated cuddling after sex and cuddling without sex even more. But suddenly you came closer and in your sleepy state you draped your leg over his, curled your hand around his waist and your head snuggled into his chest as if he was a damn comfy pillow or a plushie. A sugar angel sleeping in the arms of a monster. He shouldn't enjoy it. He shouldn't touch you. His hands were the hands of a killer, a liar. Hands that fit easily around a gun or a neck. He shouldn't hold a precious woman like you in his embrace.

He wrapped his arm tightly around you and pulled you closer to his chest. You must've fallen asleep, your breathing became calm and deep. You felt so soft and warm and good in his arms and he stole a little kiss by pressing his lips softly on the top of your head. It wasn't a direct part of your face, was it? He closed his eyes for just one short moment because he had to leave soon but he wanted to enjoy every minute he had with you. Maybe aftercare wasn't as bad as he probably thought.

A loud banging at the hotel suite’s door and a loud man’s voice woke him up.

“Sugar? Sugar!” The banging became more violent. “Sugar, are you okay? Sugar, open the door, if not I'll have to break down the door.” It was Walker, deeply concerned because you hadn't been back by the limousine right in time. You also hadn't sent an emergency message. Loki shook you awake when he got aware that you both had fallen asleep.

“Sugar, wake up, Sugar…,” Loki tried to wake you up.

“I'm so tired…I just want…to sleep. Just… a few minutes…just a bit longer…,” you murmured, still sleepy when you heard the banging at the door.

“Sugar, I break the door open! Now!”

All of a sudden you were wide awake. You jumped out of the bed and ran to the door hurriedly. You flung the door open right in time before Walker would break it down.

“I'm okay, Walker, I'm okay,” you gasped in shock, breathing heavily. “Everything is fine,” you told Walker, appeasing.

“Are you sure?” Walker asked concernedly. He peeked into the suite and saw Loki getting dressed.

“Yes, I'm absolutely sure, Walker. I'm so sorry for frightening you but…we…we fell asleep. Mr.Larsson did nothing wrong, I assure you, he behaved decently,” you told Walker and he trusted you. You'd tell him if there was anything that wasn't okay for you. “Please give us a few minutes, we will just get ready,” you asked him.

“Okay, I'll wait for you by the limousine,” Walker answered, throwing a warning look at Loki, who didn't show any reaction towards Walker. You nodded once at Walker and closed the door, leaning against it and taking a deep breath.

“Didn't you tell me, you don't do aftercare?” you questioned Luke teasingly and slightly laughing.

“I did.”

“Do you know what it's called what you did for me in the bathroom and by lying in bed with me sleeping?”

Loki buttoned his shirt upwards, leaving the last three open, buckled his belt, put his waistcoat on, slid into his shoes and looked smilingly at you.

“You tell me,” he asked you and grabbed his jacket from the sofa and his tie from the armchair and draped them over his arm.

“The loveliest aftercare I've ever gotten. Thank you, Luke… also for this wonderful evening, the dress and…”

Loki walked towards you and cupped your head gently between his large hands. They were so soft and felt comfortably cool on your warm skin, that you had to suppress a shiver. He leaned down and pressed a tender, featherlight kiss to your forehead and you closed your eyes.

“No, Luke, please…please don't do that …,” you whispered with teary eyes.

“I know I'm not allowed to kiss your pretty face but I care about you and I want you to know that. I know you could call Walker immediately and tell him to beat me up and throw me out… but it's worth the risk.”

He leaned his forehead slightly against yours and his warm breath fanned over your face. And there it was again. The spicy aroma of something you couldn't specify mixed with his comforting scent of fresh cotton, sandalwood and orange blossoms.

“I just hope that all the other men you meet handle you with all the respect and care you deserve. Thank you for this wonderful evening and night, sweet thing. It was such a pleasure. I felt very comfortable with you. When can we meet again? What about tomorrow?” Loki asked, his voice dark and smooth. He was a picture of pure elegance and arrogance but also gentleness, and his eyes staring longingly at you while waiting for your answer. Would you ever be able to be without him?

“I'm sorry Luke. I already have appointments for the next three evenings.”

“Okay. Then I call the agency tomorrow and ask for another date with you. A club night? Dinner? Would you like that?” He asked you softly.

“Uh hmmh! Sounds good.” You seemed insecure and indifferent but he didn't ask you further.

“Good night, Sugar and take care of you.”

“Good night, Luke… and sleep well.”

Should you hug him? Should you tell him that he's the only one you were sleeping with? Did he already sense it? He had almost left the suite…

“Luke…”,you stopped him in his actions by calling his name and he turned around, facing you. You ran to him and fiercely flung your arms around his neck which obviously caught him off guard. He hugged you back, not knowing what to say.

“Luke Larsson, you might be the only one I take with me to this suite,” you whispered into his ear and for a brief moment you felt safe in the arms of a man who'll never love you back. “Say something …please say something,” you begged him and let go of him to look into his eyes.

He rubbed a thumb tenderly over your lips, his eyes teary.

“You shouldn't be an escort. You should leave the agency. You're too precious for that business. But if you'd do that, I'd never see you again. So I don't know what I should wish for. You being an escort so that I can still meet you but sharing you with other men or knowing you're safe and protected, away from that business but never be able to see you ever again. It both hurts, Sugar… and I know I've already let you come too close to my heart.”

“I can't quit this job, Luke. And maybe someone like you is the only reason that keeps me going. I'd love to meet you again next week. We could go to a nightclub, it doesn't have to be Vivian's Velvet. You can choose another one and afterwards you can have me again,” you offered him, your voice almost breaking. You better contain yourself and not show him that you don't want to let him go.

“In the beginning that was exactly what I didn't want and somehow you convinced me otherwise. You already know that I want to meet you again next week. You, and you alone decide what you want to do afterwards and please don't feel obliged to sleep with me. But you should also know that I'd never deny you. Good night, sweet thing. Promise me to get dressed now and let Walker drive you home. You need some sleep.”

“Promised,” you nodded. He was right. You were tired beyond belief.

When he finally had left, you opened your hair bun, got dressed in casual clothes and Walker drove you home. The whole time until you arrived at your apartment you held the wildflower bouquet in your hand, thinking of him.

“I'm sorry if I scared you, y/n but I was truly concerned.”

“It's okay, Walker, you just did your job. I should be sorry for frightening you… we just fell asleep, I was so tired.”

“Understandable, you are on the road seven days a week. You should take a break. You won't last forever.”

“I know Walker but I have no other choice,” you sighed.

“There's always a choice, y/n…and Mr Larsson likes you if not more,” and he grinned at you through the rear-view mirror, watching you gently touching the flowers Luke had given to you. You smiled tormented back at him.

“He doesn't know me, it's just my pretty shell he likes.”

“You might underestimate him. Sometimes you just have to ask for help and help will be given to you,” Walker told you wisely. Maybe he was right. If it just were that easy.

🌹🥂🌃🌹🥃🌃🌹🥂❤️🌃🌹🥃🌃🌹🥂🌃

Next chapter things will change 👀👀

Tag list:

@lokisprettygirl @faesimps @gruftiela @fandxmslxt69 @buttercupcookies-blog @chantsdemarins @fictive-sl0th @justjoanne242 @km-ffluv @stupidthoughtsinwriting @anukulee @lovingchoices14 @wheredafandomat @lokixryss @huntress-artemiss @smolvenger

#loki x female reader #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x reader fluff #loki x reader fic #loki x reader angst #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson #loki x female reader smut #loki x female reader fluff #loki x female reader angst #loki x fem!reader #loki x y/n #loki x female reader au #Spotify

[fallatyourfeet]

Swanky Suits (Arthur x Female Reader)

One Shot

Credit to Gif creator- sorry I don't know who you are

Summary: Arthur is taken completely by surprise after being sent by Ada to get a new suit

Word count: 1322

Warnings: Awkward adorable Arthur. He gets a bit nervous and anxious.

Author's Note: This was only supposed to be around 500-700 words. Big fail. Also, can't believe I've posted two fics in a week. What the hell is happening to me.

Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

If you like this, please feel free to visit my blog and take a look around! You can find my masterlist in my bio.

This place seemed far too swanky for Arthur, he felt completely out of place, but Ada had insisted he come. “Trust me Arthur, they’re the best tailors in London… you won’t be disappointed.” Looking at himself in the mirror out front of the change room, he had to agree. The pants and shirt were the nicest things he had ever worn, and he hadn’t even tried on the jacket yet. But still, no matter how much money he had lining his pockets, this place just felt a little too fancy for a boy from Small Heath. Maybe Tommy could get away with it, but him? Not a chance.

Walking up behind him, jacket in hand, came the attendant who helped him with his fittings last week, his posh London accent and manner doing nothing to ease Arthur’s inner monologue. Walking in a circle around him, he looked him up and down and nodded, quite pleased with himself, “The shirt and pants are a perfect fit, they won’t need any alterations at all.”

Moving behind him, he held open the jacket so Arthur could put his arms in and slipped it up over his shoulders. Then walking back around, he adjusted the lapels and buttoned it up, before stepping back, looking slightly disappointed, “The jacket is going to need some tweaking.” Placing a finger to his chin, the attendant sighed with thought. “It doesn’t need much… I might get our seamstress to have a look, she’s out the back. Otherwise, our tailor’s back tomorrow if you want to wait.” Unsure how to gauge Arthur’s expression, he added, “She’s very good… you won’t be disappointed.”

Arthur sniffed, visibly rolling his eyes as he adjusted the jacket, had this guy been talking to Ada? Shrugging his shoulders, he replied, “Yeah, alright, let her ‘ave a look.”

The attendant disappeared out back, leaving him in front of the mirror, and he couldn’t help but admire the cut and feel of the fabric. Arthur knew he was hardly posh and refined like ninety nine percent of the shops cliental, but he knew a bloody good suit when he saw one. And this was one of the best.

Moving to the edge of the store counter, he was flicking through a collection of swatches, taken completely off guard when to the side of him, someone spoke, “Arthur? ….. Arthur Shelby?”

An oddly familiar voice which Arthur couldn’t quite place, spoke his name. A voice from his childhood, only much more mature than he remembered. The edges to the Birmingham accent were a little softer, the volume somehow fuller, richer. A voice smoother than honey. ‘Hmmm’, he thought quite innocently, ‘a man could get used to a sound like that.’

Turning towards the voice, he almost jumped when he saw you. Dropping the swatches to the ground his cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink, standing straight as an arrow like a naughty child being caught in an act of mischief. He recognised you straight away. Even if he were an eighty-year-old man that hadn’t seen you in sixty years, he’d still know exactly who you were. His childhood crush. The girl who made his heart fly whenever she was near. The girl to which no other could compare. The girl he wanted to grow up and marry… And the girl who up and moved to London with her family when he was barely fifteen. Moved before he even found the courage to ask her out.

Arthur spoke your name, “YN?” It was almost a whisper. ‘Fuckin hell,’ he thought, you were even more beautiful than he remembered.

You smiled in response, and if his cheeks were pink before, they must be bright scarlet by now. Not sure what to do or say, he fumbled over his words, before blurting out, “You… you’re the seamstress?”

Lifting your hands, you laughed a little, waving the measuring tape and pin cushion they held, “I am… and these are the weapons of my trade.” Moving towards him, you placed them down on the counter, taking in every inch of his face, turning his poor scarlet cheeks crimson. “It’s good to see you, Arthur. My goodness, it must be what…? Twenty years?”

You moved even closer. Slipping your hands inside his jacket you went about your work, pinning together the alterations when your hand brushed against his side. It almost made him freeze, and he thanked God that it wasn’t his pants that needed altering, your close proximity making it hard for him to think. But somehow, he managed, “Uh, yeah. It’s been exactly twenty years.”

Looking up at him, you smiled the sweetest smile, your eyes looking strangely humbled that he knew exactly how long it had been since he saw you last. And it did nothing to ease the building flutters in his chest. He was a grown man, and a few minutes in your presence had him acting like an awkward teenager again. Arthur’s thoughts were a mess, scrambling to find something else to say, “So, ah, how long you been workin’ here?”

Biting your lip, you looked at the ring on your finger, before answering, sadness gathering in your eyes and voice, “Since my husband left for France.”

Arthur wanted to kick himself for asking, needing no more explanation to realise your husband did not return. And his heart broke for you. The thought of you hurting, in any shape or form, made him uneasy, made him want to reach out and comfort you. Placing a hand to your arm, he gave it a gentle squeeze. No words needed to be exchanged, you knew what he was trying to say.

With a small nod, you smiled softly, distracting yourself by getting back to the task at hand, making a few quick adjustments with your pins and measuring tape. Seemingly satisfied, you took a step back to make a full inspection, announcing quietly, “That should do it.”

Slipping the jacket from his shoulders, you placed it over your arm before fixing the collar of his shirt, your fingertips creating a trail of goosebumps when they brushed along his neck, and that was when he knew he was in trouble. Just one touch against his bare neck and all those buried teenage feelings came rushing back, hitting him like a tonne of bricks. Never to be suppressed again. And he knew himself well enough to realise that if he didn’t act on those feelings today, he was going to end up with a whole god damned wardrobe full of swanky suits. When what he really wanted was you.

Breaking through his trainwreck of thoughts, you touched his elbow, your eyes searching for something in his, “Arthur, this will only take me ten minutes… will you wait? Or” You paused, your expression changing the slightest bit, “Or did you want to come back tomorrow?”

With a deep breath, Arthur cleared his throat, putting his hands in his pockets to hide the fact they were trembling. “Ah, yeah, I can wait.” Feeling sick to the stomach, he shuffled on his feet, taking his hands out to run them through his hair, before returning them to his pockets, “Um, when do you knock off from here?” Clearing his throat again, Arthur worked hard to keep eye contact, fuck you were the loveliest thing he had ever seen. “I mean, if you want to, we could catch up… I could take you out for dinner or… or somethin.”

You answered with a smile. It was so sweet and warm, and genuine. And he dared to hope that just maybe you weren’t going to turn him down. With his heart beating in his throat, he waited for your reply. It was just a few fleeting moments, a few short moments that felt like an eternity. But your answer came, and he could barely believe his ears. “Yes, Arthur. Thank you. Dinner or somethin’ would be lovely.”

#arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby fanfic #arthur shelby #arthur shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #arthur shelby imagine

[she-is-juniper]

The Devil I Know — Austin Butler x Reader

Pairing: Austin Butler x f!Reader

Type: Oneshot (i could be swayed to write more for this AU though...)

Summary: Between the two of you, Austin has always been in control. But when he denies your pleasure for his own gratification after two weeks away, you decide to make matters into your own hands.

Word Count: 7K...a monstrosity...

Rating: E (Explicit) ***18+ only. Minors DNI or you will be blocked.

Warnings: there's a lot.... Oral sex (male- and female- receiving), biting, bondage, dominant/submissive relationship, degradation, spanking, deepthroating, edging, orgasm denial, "sir" kink, power play, consensual sexual manipulation, forced orgasm (all of this is consensual)

A/N: At long last, it is here ♡ This is a work of fiction and is not intended to be taken as truth or fact. I do not claim to own Austin Butler or any other affiliated names or fictional events. Other details, such as names, locations, and events, are also fictionalized. Please note that the representations of body types in my moodboard are not intended to exclude anybody of any race, ethnicity, or body shape.

And please, for the love of all that is holy, comment/reblog/send asks if you want to see more of my writing—thank you in advance!

✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷

     It all started when you and Austin Butler locked eyes from across the red carpet. And now you lived together in a beautiful house with a cute dog and a big backyard.

     Ever since you’d started dating Austin Butler, your life had turned into a dream. He was the best boyfriend you’d ever had. He treated you so well, communicated with you, wasn’t shy to share his emotions. He celebrated with you, cried with you, enjoyed the little things in life with you. He whisked you away with him on travel, both for his job and for holiday: London, New York City, Bali, Rome. He kissed you in front of paparazzi without any inhibitions. He treated you as if you were a personal gift from God sent directly to him, and you loved it.

     But sometimes, dating Austin was a nightmare. Speaking facetiously, of course. But you’d never before been treated the way Austin treats you in bed. You’d never met someone with an appetite quite like his, sexually speaking. You’d never been with anyone before who was so singlemindedly determined to inflict such deliriously agonizing pleasure upon you. Austin was a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and you were at the focus. 

     Tonight, you and Austin were planning on going to a party hosted by one of the designers who worked with him on his latest project. The party was sure to be attended by all of the heavy-hitter celebrities in Austin’s circle. It was a themed party—The Devil I Know as the theme. According to one of your friends who’s planning on attending the party with her actor boyfriend, too, the name of the game for the party’s theme was red and black. You could just see it…a swath of partygoers clad in luxury leather and velvet, fur coats (faux, of course—this is Los Angeles, after all), fishnets, sleek tailored suits, chains, chokers. Think, Lucifer in luxury brands, your friend had elaborated. 

     And you had the perfect outfit. A tight-fitting number that looked more like glorified lingerie than a dress. It was the color of expensive Cabernet, with a V neckline accentuated with straps. The dress’s hemline was made of lush satin and delicate lace, under which you wore micro fishnet thigh highs and a garter belt. And of course, the outfit was elevated by decadent gold jewelry, your black Prada bag, and your trusty Louboutins. It was utterly indecent, even considering the party’s racy theme. You might as well have been wearing actual devil's horns as the cherry on top.

     But you don’t intend to leave for the party at all tonight. In fact, you had other intentions entirely for this night. Plans involving making Austin pay for what he’d done to you last night. 

     This summer, Austin had been traveling much more than usual, doing interview after interview to promote his new movie. That’s not why you want to punish him. In fact, you didn’t mind that he’d been gone more often than not lately; you’d been keeping busy with a life of your own, too.

     Last night, Austin flew back home after a two-week span away, mostly in New York. He’d wanted you to come with him on the trip, but you had work to do and had to decline. Austin was such a baby about that—he called you most every night, nearly begging you to catch the next flight to JFK and join him. You’d just laughed and told him you’d see him soon back in LA. Of course, he’d understood—but he made it clear to you every night (in the form of provocative texts and lewd photos) how badly he wanted you, needed you. 

     So when he finally returned home last night, he had two weeks worth of pent-up sexual energy. And he absolutely bombarded you…

     “Please,” you’d begged him, your voice absolutely shot with agony. Your hands strained against the handcuffs on either end of the headboard he had locked you in.

     Austin loomed over you like a stormcloud of dark desire. He had one of your legs pinned down with the weight of his own body, your other leg draped over his shoulder. And a vibrator, pulsing agonizingly slowly, pressed to your sex—enough to elicit a fine sheen of sweat on your forehead and a rivulet of moisture from your pussy, but not enough to actually get you off. 

     He smirked maniacally up at you. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

     You plead his name, trying to grind yourself against the vibrator. He brought his lips to your inner thigh and bit it gently with his perfect teeth while he turned up the setting, and you moaned in relief, finally able to lose yourself in the pleasure, which starts to grow and grow in rapid swells—

     Until he shut the vibrator off entirely. You wanted to scream in frustration, wanted to seize the toy in your own hands, but you couldn’t. And he had the audacity to grin maniacally at you.

     “Now you know how I’ve had to feel for the past two weeks without you,” he purred and did the whole thing all over again. 

     As you let last night’s memory flood your mind again, a furious warmth rushed to your core. He hadn’t let you get off that night, not once. He hadn’t given you a single thing you’d wanted. He hadn’t even given you himself—he’d made you watch while he got himself off to the idea of you being denied. And once he was done with you, you were far too exhausted physically and mentally to do anything about your neglected arousal.

     He would pay. He may have been the one in control last night, but not tonight. 

     You smirked to yourself at the thought and let your hips sway to the sound of the music playing through your AirPods as you finished washing up the last of the dishes. You were already dressed and ready to go, heels and all. It was nearly 6 pm; Austin was due home at any moment from a meeting with his agent. The plan was to leave the house by 7, get to the party by 7:45. Your clandestine agenda was to make sure that you never even left the house. 

     You suddenly felt a warm body press against your back and a pair of greedy hands slide over your waist. Those hands slid up your body, up your neck, all the way to your AirPods, and gently pulled them out so you could hear his reproving voice. 

     “You can’t possibly mean to go out like this.”

     “What?” you asked him, your red-lipped pout betrayed by the playful glint of your smokey eyes.

     And your boyfriend’s eyes, filled with barely-restrained hunger, raked down your body. God, you loved when he looked at you like that. “You look… You look…”

     “I look what?” you smirked. Austin seemed momentarily at a loss for words, and your smile only grew as you noticed the bobbing motion of his throat. You were well-aware of the sort of punishment from him this behavior would elicit. “This is the theme, isn’t it? The Devil I Know?”

     He didn’t reply. You stepped back and placed your hands on your hips, taunting him. Challenging him. His eyes followed the movement. 

     “What happened to the dress your stylist picked out?” he asked. “The one you’d texted a picture of to me last week?”

     Indeed you had a different outfit picked out last week, an elegant number by Armani, shipped straight from Italy. But you went this morning to shop for the alternative.

     “This seemed more fun,” you said dismissively.

     You had to admit, Austin looked pretty fucking debonair in his sleek suit, perfectly tailored and made of jet black satin. Your Armani dress was supposed to be his perfect match—black and black. But you hold firm, smoothing down the front of your new dress, which was just barely excusable for evening attire.

     And which was apparently was driving Austin all types of mad.

     Just as you’d planned.

     “You look…dangerous,” Austin finally finished his thought. You turned away to pat your hands dry on the kitchen towel, but you couldn’t hide your grin. 

     “Dangerous? Does that mean you don’t like it?” you simpered with concerned eyes. You already knew the answer to that.

     “I didn’t say that,” Austin muttered as a means of evading your question. But his eyes were quickly growing dark, like low-hanging clouds in the sky.

     “I guess I’ll just have to go change, then,” you purred, slowly stepping around Austin toward the bedroom. He didn’t hesitate a second to grab you gently by the arm, pulling you back.

     “Don’t change clothes,” Austin grumbled, and the rasp of his voice reeled you in like a fish on a line. You turned back to face him, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

     “So we’re going to the designers party after all, then?”

     “I think we’re going to be a bit late.”

     Whatever spell you’d cast on him was instantaneously broken. Austin pulled your hips toward him so your body was flush against his. You made a surprised sound, but your next breath was quickly stolen away by Austin’s fervent mouth against yours. His warm hand braced the back of your neck while the other snaked lower down your back, down toward the hem of your ridiculously short dress. A low growl vibrated across Austin’s chest as he touched the hidden garter belt. He gave your ass a squeeze, a motion that sent zings of warmth between your legs. 

     “Austin,” you gasped the moment he broke away. His pretty mouth was smeared with your lipstick. “I…”

     But you couldn’t finish your thought. Austin’s fingers were inching down again, tracing a line across the bottom curve of your ass. 

     “This is what you wanted, isn’t it,” he said. When you nodded, he chuckled lowly. “You devil. Such a naughty girl.”

     “If I’m the devil, then I’m right on theme,” you smirked at him. You barely registered as he guided you across the kitchen.

     “If you’re the devil, take me to hell with you.” 

     Your hip bumped against the side of the kitchen table. “You’d like it there,” you jested. “Nice place. Gets quite hot in the summertime, though.”

     The jokes were over, though. In one swift motion, Austin spun your body around so you were facing away from him. The next thing you knew, he bent you over at the waist, and your chest was pressed against the dining room table, arms splayed out in front of you.

     Oh.

     “We really are gonna be late, aren’t we,” you giggled, tilting your head to the side to face him. Austin stepped back for a brief second, his breath catching in his throat. What a sight you must have been…your backside shining up at him over the edge of the table, your dress—already so damn short—riding up your hips, revealing the prize hidden beneath.

     You arched your back, eager to show Austin all you had to offer—when Austin’s phone rang on the table.

     “Fuck,” Austin grumbled, straightening up.

     “Better get that,” you teased, letting your gaze fall conspicuously to the tent in his trousers. 

     Austin gave you a venomous glare as he answered his phone. It must be his agent again. He stalked into the kitchen, murmuring softly into the phone. He took a paper towel and wet it with water from the sink to wipe off the lipstick from his face, glancing back at you reproachfully a couple of times. You smiled to yourself, satisfied.

      By the time the call was over, Austin stalked back into the dining room, you’d perched yourself on the table, your fishnetted legs crossed.

     “We told Alexandra we’d be there at 7:45,” you reminded him, your voice sing-songy. “Reckon we should get going. Don’t you think?”

     Austin didn’t answer your question. “I didn’t say you could get up,” he said.

     “You didn’t say I had to stay there, either.” You met his angry scowl with a wicked smile. All your teasing was working. The storm brewing in Austin’s eyes was growing more and more turbulent.

     “Y/N,” he warned. He wasn’t getting what he wanted, and you weren’t about to give it to him so easily.

     “I can think of a dozen better positions, anyway,” you purred and beckoned for him to come close. He stayed back, but the second you uncrossed your legs and spread them wide, some of the steely resolve in his eyes seemed to dissolve. You took advantage of his moment of weakness and reached for his silk collar, already unbuttoned at the top two buttons. You pulled him to you, between your spread legs. He couldn’t resist.

     “Let’s make this quick,” you continued, grasping his stubbled chin with your other hand. “We have a party to go to, after all.”

     You brought his mouth to yours and kissed him, slowly and voluptuously, indulging yourself in the sweet taste of his lips. Your lips spoke one thing, but your intentions spoke another. If you played your cards just right, this ordeal wouldn’t be quick at all—it would be excruciatingly drawn out, which was precisely what you wanted. Reverse-psychology. It worked like a charm, every time. 

     Sure enough, just as Austin was beginning to lose himself in your kiss, he stiffened and pulled away. You barely had a chance to register what he was doing before he grabbed your hands, pulled you off the table, flipped you around, and bent you over once more.

     “Oh,” you grunted as Austin pressed your cheek into the table, hard. The action was careful but rough, and you loved it. 

     “I’ll decide how I want to take you,” he snapped. The hand on your head moved to your hairline, smoothing it back and away from your face. His other hand pressed heavily into your upper back, keeping your torso firm into the table. You could feel his pelvis against your ass, and upon assessing how hard he was through his trousers again, you bit your lip in anticipation. This was Austin’s favorite position. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t yours, too. But you weren’t about to admit that.

     Austin’s hands moved down the sides of your body. You felt him grind a little against your ass. You moved, too, appreciating the low “fuck” that came from his mouth as you arched your back toward him.

     “Everyone’s going to ask where we are,” you said, still moving your hips.

     “Don’t care.” Austin’s hands reached the hem of your skirt. “This is all you’re wearing underneath?” he asked as he pinched the thin straps of your garter belt. No underwear. You yelped as he let it snap back against your skin. Austin tsked. “Can scarcely believe you wanted to show up to a designer’s party like this.”

     “I can wear what I want to wear, thank you very much,” you grumbled half-heartedly. Austin’s touch became feather-light as he traced a line down the backs of your thighs. You realized he was moving to kneel on the ground behind you.

     God. You pressed your legs together, almost embarrassed by how wet you felt, how there was no underwear there to stop it from gliding down your inner thighs.

     Austin saw you squeeze your legs together and gently guided them back apart. “That you can, love,” he murmured, his words deliberate, calculating. “You can wear whatever you’d like.”

     “Then what—” You cut yourself off, swearing. Austin’s finger was circling a spot on your pussy, right at your entrance, where you knew the wetness has seeped. There was no hiding your arousal now, not with his face right there.

     “Going out with you looking like this,” Austin continued, pressing his fingers against you more firmly now. “I wouldn’t be able to contain myself at that party. And you knew it.”

     “You seem like you can hardly contain yourself now,” you mocked, a derisive edge to your tone. It seemed to fuel some furious energy within him. Austin growled again, pinching the insides of your thighs so hard you felt like your knees might buckle.

     “You know I don’t like being provoked, darling,” he scolded you. His face was so close to your body now that you could feel his hot breath fanning out over your thighs. “Better curb that attitude of yours. Or else I’m going to have to fuck it out of you.”

     Which was precisely what you desired. You wanted him, and you wanted it rough. But you played the game anyway.

     “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, finally showing your submissive side. The non-bratty, submissive side. But Austin pinched you again, and you couldn’t contain the breathy moan that spilled from your lips.

     “What was that?” he chided. 

     “I’m sorry, sir.”

     “That’s more like it.” He spanked you then, lightly, but the action was so unexpected that you yelped and arched your back. “Tell me, darling, who’s in charge here?”

     You tried to answer, but with the way he was suddenly caressing your thighs so lightly was bringing goosebumps all over your skin, and you couldn’t find the words.

     “Y/N,” Austin murmured. He smacked your ass again, harder this time. Your body flushed with heat and desire. “Answer me. Who’s in charge? You or me?”

     “You, sir,” you gasped. “You’re in charge.”

     And he was—at least outwardly. But he was a fool for not realizing quite the extent to which you had him wrapped around your little finger.

     “Good girl.”

     You played the game the way he wanted, and you arched your back, eager for your reward. And Austin, who started kissing his way up the insides of your legs, seemed just as eager to give it to you. 

     This was how it worked with Austin. You rile him up a bit, then you back down and submit just enough to give him what he wants, and then you rile him up again. Rinse and repeat. You wondered when, if ever, he’d catch onto the pattern.

     But you’d worry about that later. Right now, Austin’s mouth was preoccupying your thoughts. 

     Gradually, he kissed his way up, up, up. When he finally reached his destination—the summit between your thighs—he planted an open-mouthed kiss to the place you were the most wet. You moaned at the onslaught of heat from his mouth. His stubble—he hadn’t shaved for a few days—scraped against the sensitive skin of your thighs and your ass. You couldn’t get enough. Nor could Austin, it seemed. He seemed impatient to taste you.

     “So goddamn wet.”

     He spanked you again, and you knew there was going to be an angry red spot on your ass for the next few hours. He flipped the hem of your dress up onto your back so it was out of the way and slapped his hand to your ass once more. You shifted, uncomfortably turned on, desperate to feel the heat of Austin’s mouth again. 

     “Remind me our safeword again,” Austin asked you.

     You wanted to answer right away, but the tickle of a single finger circling right at your entrance replaced your words with a high-pitched moan.

     "Y/N, safeword," he prompted again.

     “‘Stop,’” you recited in a gasp.

     As instructed, Austin withdrew his finger.

     “No, don’t stop,” you corrected yourself. Austin chuckled. You and he decided right at the beginning of your relationship that the best safe word was the only one that truly only had one meaning: stop. God, you couldn’t imagine stopping now. The establishment of the safe word gave you both a sense of reassurance, however, that seemed only to perpetuate the passion between you two. But stopping was the last thing you wanted right now.

     “Just checking to see if you remembered.”

     Austin buried his face between your legs from behind. 

     A moan bubbled out from your throat, followed by another, and another. You felt your knees threaten to give out again, but Austin’s arms, wrapped securely around your thighs, steadied you.

     He felt unreal. The sounds his mouth was making against your pussy were obscene as he lapped at you, a feeling of silky smoothness and warmth coupled perfectly with the roughness of his beard. The thought of him burying his whole face in your ass, his eyes closed in ecstasy, his dick jumping to life in his trousers… fuck, it was going to be the death of you.

     And just when you thought it couldn’t possibly get any better, a sensation like no other sent jolts of electric desire across your body—his tongue slipping inside you.

     “Austin, fuck, I—fuck,” you panted. Your hands raked across the wooden table, desperate for some kind of purchase, for something to grab onto. They found nothing. You were slowly but surely beginning your spiral toward an orgasm, a realization that nearly alarmed you—he’d only just started with you.

     And you knew he didn’t like it when you came too quickly. 

     Yet, he did not let up. He gently pulled your legs apart even further, and as his tongue slipped in and out of you, his deft fingers zeroed in on your clit.

     “Don’t come until I say so,” Austin instructed.

     Fuuuuuck.

     He worked you into a gasping, moaning, dripping mess. You don’t know when his mouth had moved from your pussy, but you saw stars as you felt his tongue against your asshole—holy fucking shit, you could come just from the sensation. As minutes passed, you were gradually losing your grip on reality. Your climax was approaching sure and strong now. While your mind fought against it, knowing what would happen if you let go too soon, a veil of primal lust overshadowed every rational thought.

     You had only one choice, and that was to sit here and take it and chase your high. 

     And Austin knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing to you; he was setting you up for failure. He wanted you to come too early. He wanted to punish you. 

     “Baby, please, I—I can’t, I’m—Austin,” you cried in a dazed moan. His other hand had slipped inside your pussy while his mouth was preoccupied. This wasn’t fair. He really wasn’t letting up. He pulled his head away just enough to bite the skin of your upper thighs, gently, but enough that you could feel his teeth. His fingers moved faster and faster on your clit, giving you absolutely no way to come down. There was nothing to do to stop the approaching orgasm on the horizon.

     “Hold off for me, baby,” he encouraged. “You can do it. Don’t give in, not yet.”

     Edging. He wanted to edge you, again. But you wouldn’t have any control this time. And you didn’t want him to stop.

     “Austin, I can’t,” you keened. Reaching around behind you, your hands finally found something to hold onto—Austin’s head, keeping him in place against your ass. You cried out and buried your fingers in his hair, pressed his face into you.

     And that was it. You were past the point of no return.

     Austin’s fingers slowed as he realized what was happening, but it was too late. You felt your desire swell over you like a tsunami, and your whole body convulsed in response. Your moans peaked in volume and pitch as you thrashed against his touch. It was so good, so fucking good, that you couldn’t think about what was happening, what you’d just done. 

     You fell limp against the kitchen table. It was over.

     You lied there gasping for breath. Time had stopped and restarted itself. Droplets of moisture—a mixture of Austin’s saliva and your own pleasure—rolled down your thighs.

     Austin stood up and said nothing, but your mind was still too hazy to turn and face him. You heard him make a small, exasperated sound. But he was silent.

     You took a shaky breath. “That wasn’t…” You gulped, your throat dry. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

     “Stand up,” Austin said bluntly. You took your time to heave yourself up from the table and turned to face him, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He was a sight to behold…his hair mussed up, his cheeks flushed, his mouth glistening with your wetness. Despite his facade of disappointment, you could tell by the way his pupils were blown wide that he was absolutely ravenous about what just happened.

     “I’m sorry, sir,” you said in a quivering voice. As if to discount your words, an aftershock came across you, and you jolted and sighed. Austin watched the brief shudder run through your body. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

     “You know the rule about coming,” he chastised.

     “I—”

     “Only good girls get to come,” he continued. You saw his hands, which rested on his hips, twitch toward the center of his hips. “And only when I say so. I didn’t say you could come yet, Y/N.”

     Normally, you’d make some kind of bratty comment that you were well aware of his stupid rule, but the implication of his words made you shudder again. 

     “I didn’t mean to, baby,” you said quickly as you squeezed your thighs together. “I just couldn’t…I couldn’t resist.”

     “Couldn’t resist?” You didn’t miss the way Austin took a small step toward you. “Well. If you couldn’t resist coming, love, that was your decision. But you know the rule. You leave me no choice.”

     “I know,” you said, hanging your head, although your body buzzed like a live wire. Austin lifted your chin to his with a single finger. His eyes were bright beneath his heavy lids.

     “Such a filthy girl. My dirty little slut. Down on your knees,” he demanded. “Now.”

     You resisted the urge to drop to your knees right away; instead, you took your time, playing the role of reluctance. Once you settled into a kneel, you blinked up at Austin with a doe-like gaze.

     An angel wearing the devil’s clothes. At least, that’s what you were going for.

     It worked. Austin’s face softened a bit, and he rubbed your cheek with his thumb. That same thumb came to your mouth, dragging across your bottom lip. Your lipstick was probably everywhere, but that’s exactly how he liked it. 

     “I love you,” Austin mouthed. A check-in, you knew. The slightest of role-breaking. But it was enough. You just bit your lip and smiled coyly, whispering it back response.

     And then his hands were fumbling with the belt on his pants. You waited patiently as he unbuttoned and unzipped, and as he guided his trousers off his hips, you helped. Austin’s briefs looked uncomfortably tight. With those, he let you take the reigns with pulling them off.

     His throbbing erection emerged and sprung out, hard as a metal rod. God, after all this time, and you’ll still never get over his cock and the fact that it was yours. You squeezed your thighs at the familiar sight.

     His phone rang—again. “Don’t answer it,” you told Austin.

     “Wasn’t planning on it,” Austin murmured as he pumped himself a bit. “You look too fuckin’ gorgeous down there.”

     “You want me, baby?” you asked him. 

     “Always,” he answered. You licked your lips in anticipation. “C’mere.” He beckoned you, and you crawled closer to his legs, eyes glued on his manhood. Desperate to help him out, you brought your hands up to his, but he swatted them away. “Hands by your sides.”

     You did as you were told.

     “Fuck,” he whispered. “There’s my good girl.”

     You smiled. It really was that easy.

     Austin kept jerking himself gently off with one hand and brought his other to cares your cheek. You sat up straighter and parted your lips. “Open up wider, baby. Show me your tongue.” You did, and Austin cursed again. You inched your head closer to his cock, breathing through your mouth so he could feel how warm you were. 

     “Doing such a good job listening to me,” he said. “Almost makes me feel bad about having to punish you.”

     “Please punish me, sir,” you pleaded. “I deserve it.”

     “You want this dick, darling? You want me?” When you nodded, he said, “Need to hear you say it, Y/N.”

     “Yes, please, I want you. So bad.”

     “Good.” He started moving his hips toward you, and secured his hand to the back of your head. He tilted the tip of his cock toward your open mouth. “I’ll give it to you, baby.”

     You kept your eyes locked on Austin’s as he slowly, slowly slid his member between your lips.

     A guttural sound came from the back of his throat. As you took more and more of him, inch by inch, his eyelids fluttered and his throat bobbed.

     “Shit,” he groaned. The hand around the back of your head stiffened into a fist around your hair. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m—fuck.”

     You closed your eyes, tasting him. Salty, but clean. Undeniably Austin. You loved this. You loved getting punished. Maybe he’d catch on one day that this was why you acted out so often. It wasn’t much of a punishment when you loved it this much.

     Austin was so deep now that he filled your whole mouth. You wrapped your lips around his shaft, and sucked, gently, just a little. But at the sight of your puckered red lips and hollowed cheeks, Austin let his head fall back with a loud moan.

     The hand on your head guided you, but it wasn’t like you really needed it. You knew exactly what to do. You pulled away slowly, letting the bottom of the head drag along your tongue, and then pushed it right back into your mouth. Again, and again, and again. With each thrust, you let him hit the very edge of your throat, right at the soft palette. And it was driving Austin insane. 

     “Fuckin’ take it, baby,” he groaned. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. God, you feel so fucking good.”

     He was likely too distracted now to notice if you move your hands. Grasping the base of his dick, you pumped him with your hand while your head moved. Austin’s hand fell from the back of your head, and by the dazed look on his face, you knew you had him in the palm of your hand. Literally.

     Just when you were getting into a groove, you pulled all the way off of him with an obscene sound, a string of saliva and precum stuck on your tongue. He was so swollen he was almost purple, and the lipstick marks all over his shaft was a delightful sight. You gave your mouth a rest and worked him with your hands, spreading the slickness all over his shaft before jerking him off. Responsive as always, Austin let a stream of groans and praises fall from his parted lips. 

     You wondered if he could tell how much you love this, this punishment. Your enthusiasm couldn’t be mistaken, surely. He looked like he needed some love elsewhere, so you dipped your head and kissed his balls. He yelped a little in surprise as you sucked them ever so gently, and then licked a long stripe up from the base of his shaft to the very tip of his head. 

     There, you tasted the fresh droplets of precum that had accumulated there from your ministrations. Austin breathed in a shaky gasp as you flicked your tongue along the most sensitive place on the underside of his head. 

     “Jesus Christ,” he swore.

     His phone buzzed with a series of texts.

     You gave him a wry look, wrapping your lips around just the tip, and to your surprise, he seemed not to have even noticed his phone. Which was good. There was no way you were stopping things now. You knew you were skilled at this, and you knew you were working him to his limit, which is why you didn’t have much time. Pretty soon, he’d be pushing you off of him to prevent himself from coming too soon, to buy himself enough time to fuck you properly.

     What he didn’t know is that you wanted his cum in your mouth, all over your lips, dripping down your throat.

     And you had the perfect trick up your sleeve to get what you wanted.

     Sure enough, as soon as you started bobbing on his cock again, Austin squeezed your shoulder. “Slow down, darling,” he said, his jaw clenched. 

     Not a chance. You smirked around his cock and didn’t slow down one bit. He seemed to lose the words to ask you again to slow down. You moved with new vigor and brought your hand to the base of his shaft, moving it along with your mouth.

     “Y/N,” Austin moaned—a panicked warning. His hand squeezed your shoulder again. You knew he knew the safe word. But he wasn’t using it.

     You hollowed your cheeks and sucked as you bobbed on him, just the way he liked it, just the way you knew would make him start falling apart. It was working. Austin’s back arched and his breaths grew shallow and strained. Between your lips, you could feel him swell.

     “Y/N, please,” he gasped, and you raised an eyebrow at the pretty word from his lips. Please. His hand, squeezing your shoulder, pushed you away gently, but the movement was weak. Indecisive. He didn’t want to push you away.

     It was time you pulled that perfect trick out from your sleeve. Relaxing your throat just the way you’d practiced, you brought your hands to Austin’s ass and pulled his hips toward you—all the way. His cock hit the soft, warm place at the back of your throat. You breathed in and out with steady, calm breaths through your nose. 

     “I…I can’t…Y/N, you—fuuuuuuck!”

      You took all of him, every inch. His cock slid down the back of your throat.

     Through your watery eyes, you looked up at Austin and saw the disoriented astonishment on his face. And oh, how you wished you could capture the disoriented astonishment on his face in your memory forever. He looked as if he’d never experienced anything like this, ever. 

     Nor had you. It was a novel feeling to take him so deeply like this. Your throat burned slightly as his girth stretched it out, but you’d been expecting it. You’d preparing for this. No amount of preparation could have done any justice to the primal emotions it unlocked to be pleasuring him so intimately. You liked the way it felt, Austin filling your throat like this, spit dribbling down your chin—not to mention his reaction.

     Relaxing your throat as much as possible, your lips hit the base of Austin’s shaft, the tip of your nose poking his pelvis. Austin gasped out, a choked sound. His eyes darted about, but then you hummed against his cock, and any deliberation he’d had was gone. His hips jolted at the vibration from your throat, and you gagged a bit around him, but you didn’t care. You could handle it. A stream of curses came from his mouth as your throat vibrated while he was still deep inside you.

     You swallowed around him, the muscles of your throat contracting. You knew he could feel everything. 

     “Y/N,” he nearly sobbed your name out. His voice was so weak, almost broken. You’d broken him. “I… Please don’t stop… I’m gonna…I’m…”

     You didn’t stop. 

     Austin’s whole body went rigid and his hips stuttered. You held him steady as his cock pulsed, and with one loud moan, Austin couldn’t stop himself. He went over the edge. You pulled out a bit and braced yourself. His knees nearly giving out, Austin arched into you and released the tension in his body. You felt his whole cock surge and pulse as he came down your throat in thick, hot spurts.

     You swallowed everything.

     As you slowly slid yourself off his cock, gasping for breath, spit covering your mouth, Austin nearly lost his balance. He leaned against the edge of the table, still panting, still unable to say anything. You wiped your mouth in satisfaction.

     Seconds passed. Neither of you said a word until you caught your breath and Austin caught his grip on reality. He met your eyes, absolutely bewildered.

     “What?” you finally asked, and you couldn’t keep the smug undertone from your voice. 

     “I—” he stammered, but he couldn’t finish. He looked away. He was suddenly like a completely different person, embarrassed and shy and blushing and still completely stupefied. His cheeks were still flushed with desire. He hadn’t bothered to pull his trousers back up, and frankly, he was still rock hard. 

     “What’s wrong, baby?” you cooed as you got to your feet. You made a show of pulling up your thong, smoothing down your skirt, fixing your jewelry. 

     “You… When did you learn to do that?” he whispered, dumbfounded, unable to meet your gaze again. 

     You smirked. “What do you mean?” you asked innocently. 

     “With… With your throat,” he clarified, almost angrily. 

     You tittered. “Oh, that? Just a little something I’ve been practicing.” You cocked your head devilishly. “Didn’t you like it, baby?”

     “I…” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t… I mean, I… I did, it’s—it’s just, I didn’t mean to… That wasn’t…”

     “…Supposed to happen?” you completed his sentence, your voice taunting, jesting. The same words you’d told him when you’d come too early. “Aw, honey. It’s okay.”

     Austin finally looked at you again. He was finally regaining his focus, and suddenly, a glimmer of frustrated realization shone in his eyes.

     It was as if you could watch the exact moment he realized what had happened. He realized that you’d been planning it to go your way all along. 

     “Y/N,” he said, but whatever threat he’d tried to muster up in his voice was empty. 

     Before you could reply, your own phone buzzed on the kitchen island. You didn’t hesitate to retrieve it.  

     “Hello?” you answered, sauntering back over to Austin. “Oh, Alexandra! Hi!” 

     His eyes trailed on you as you talked on the phone.

     “Yeah, I’m so sorry, we’re just running a bit behind. We haven’t left yet.”

     You let your eyes fall to Austin’s lap. He blushed a deeper shade of red, realizing, and pulled up his boxer briefs and trousers.

     “You think it’ll be okay if we show up late?...Oh, great. That’s wonderful. See you soon. Okay, bye.”

     You hung up. Austin said nothing. 

     “Alright, then,” you said cheerily. “Alexandra says almost everyone is showing up late, so as long as we’re there by 9, we’re golden.” Truthfully, you hadn’t been sure how the night would pan out. Your original plan was to make Austin stay so late with you that the party wouldn’t even be an option. But if you could still show up fashionably late, so be it. 

     Austin stared. You patted his thigh endearingly, almost demeaningly. “Let’s get to it. We’re already late.”

     You turned to stroll away toward the bedroom, but Austin grabbed your arm. He glowered at you but didn’t say anything. 

     “Are you going to let me go anytime soon?” you said lightly after a long moment. “I need to go clean up, unless you want me showing up looking like I just deepthroated your cock.”

     He jolted in surprise at your words. A few seconds later, he let you go. “You’re going to pay for this later,” he said, but it was more of a stammer than a warning. 

      You smiled through your eyelashes, rubbing at your bottom lip absentmindedly. And then you turned away from Austin, letting your hips sway as you ambled in the direction of the bedroom. Little did he know that “paying for it later” was part of your plan all along, too.

————————————————

Author’s Note: ...So are y'all sweating as much as I am, or...?

Thank you so much for reading! This is probably the filthiest thing I've ever written, and I'm not sorry about it.

I’m dying to hear your thoughts about it! Please note that I write fanfiction for free; my only request for repayment is a genuine expression of your thoughts, opinions, likes/dislikes, and predictions about the story. Whether it’s simply a “Wow, I loved it!”, a keyboard smash, a series of convoluted thoughts in the tags, or even a full-out review, please know that any and all feedback is welcome!

For fanfic, blurb, or headcanon requests about Elvis, Austin Butler, or Stranger Things, please let me know via my ask box!

Much love ❤︎ from Juniper

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfiction #elvis 2022 #elvis #elvis movie #elvis presley #fanfiction #works by juniper

[stylesnews]

FLORENCE, Italy – As Steven Stokey-Daley’s fall show in Florence during Pitti Uomo wrapped, the British designer, the 2022 recipient of the LVMH Prize for Young Designers, revealed longtime fan Harry Styles is acquiring a minority stake in the company.

Financial terms of the deal were not disclosed.

“Harry and I have a shared vision for the future of S.S. Daley and we look forward to this new chapter together as we focus on brand longevity and scaling the business into a modern British heritage house,” the designer, 26, said.

The pair was introduced by Styles’ stylist Harry Lambert, who masterminded the wardrobe for the artist’s “Golden” music video, outfitting him in Stokey-Daley’s graduate collection.

The investment is geared at building S.S. Daley’s direct-to-consumer business and forge ahead with plans for a “sustainable and long-term expansion,” the company said in a statement.

After graduating from the University of Westminster, Stokey-Daley made his London Fashion Week debut in September 2021 supported by the National Youth Theatre artistic director Paul Roseby, staging a four-part performance by members of the theater, riffing on British tailoring and tackling such topics as social class, inequality, school life, sexual awakening and homosexuality.

That same year, the S.S. Daley designer was among the recipients of the British Fashion Council’s Newgen initiative and was awarded again by the British fashion governing body the following year, with the BFC Foundation Awards.

The designer’s gender-fluid take on the uniforms of the British upper classes, such as wide-leg trousers, argyle-knit wool vests and embroidered shirts, appeals to a Gen-Z sensibility, and a growing female customer base. The brand is currently stocked in a handful of retailers, including Saks Fifth Avenue, Dover Street Market, Matchesfashion, Bergdorf Goodman, 10 Corso Como Seoul and I.T Store.

Attending the S.S. Daley show in Florence, Sir Paul Smith praised Stokey-Daley and said: “I think that the ideal thing [for him] would be to try and work in parallel with a commercial company that help him develop as a commercial designer, as well as creative designer. And of course, that’s what everybody dreams of. He has the balance between commerciality and creativity.”

“I think [his designs] might have had similarities in my earlier [career]… We are in 60-something countries now. So you have to be a lot more aware of commerciality and things that work for the shops especially right now because the business and around the world is so difficult for people,” Smith added.

Styles’ investment falls in line with a growing number of celebrities becoming brand shareholders. They include, among others, Oprah Winfrey and Reese Witherspoon who invested in Spanx; Priyanka Chopra and Nick Jonas in skiwear maker Perfect Moment; Beyoncé, Jessica Alba and Rihanna in French accessories firm Destree; Mila Kunis, Cameron Diaz and Gabrielle Union in Autumn Adeigbo, and Mark Wahlberg in Italian sneaker brand P448.

#harry styles #jan24 #ssdaley

[ladycamillewrites]

Against the odds

Chapter 4 - Mister Kray

Word count: 4,5k

a/n: Chat Style - description of the movie plot and characters they play

warnings: 18+ filming of sex scene, language, toxic ex - gaslighting

masterlist

“Damn! Mister Hiddleston!” You hollered grinning. A playful appreciation of Tom's look as he emerged from the little studio where all your make-up artists and costume designers were swirling around like busy bees. 

The first two weeks of filming were already over still leaving you with tons of unshooted material left. It was amazing to work with Tom and Jef Goldbloom who played your father, the third and last of the bigger roles.

The first week was mainly a 'getting to know each other' when the group clicked immediately. Tom and you had quickly revived the ever simmering embers of your friendship while he and Jeff recently had worked together in Ragnarok. He was incredibly sympathetic and so was the female director Anne. 

You were happy these days. Acting, especially working with such sunshine people was a blissful distraction.

Tom's sharp features were highlighted by a pinch of make-up while his athletic form was slipped into a dark brown suit, visibly tailor made and clinging to his limbs like mysterious snake skin. Damnit, how were you even supposed to remain professional and not drool over your co-star who looked like a storybook villain?

So that’s how you ended up with a few funny remarks and quips to distract your clouded brain from unholy thoughts about Hiddlecharm as you began to call him. It was Chris’ idea but admittedly one of his better ones.

Tom's low chuckle rumbled through his chest, the dark timbre resonating against your eardrums. Whoever exactly picked him, thank you, you thought marinating in the soothing pitch.

He had slipped into his role already, a piece of cake for the incredibly talented actor as you realized while watching him shoot his first scenes. It seemed like he was Mr Kray, radiating exactly what you would expect when reading the script. No, even more. Even more intense. 

“Or should I say, mister Kray, sir?” you purred, theatrically descending the few chairs you had sat on waiting for him to shoot your very first scene together. Not gonna lie, you were anxious as hell although everyone had told you how you were doing a great job. The executive producer even called you a perfect match for Victoria after your first scenes in the snobby law office with Jeff.

But the alluring thought of shooting with Tom, the man you were supposed to fall for at first sight and lose your grace along the ride was something utterly different. Something that could actually bring you uncomfortably close to your boundaries.

“You look gorgeous, y/n” the handsome Brit snickered as you joined him on his way to the set; a scenery on the huge property of the London film company. A street, wet from this afternoon’s rain and slightly darkened due to the late hour was the perfect background for Alexander and Victoria's first encounter...

Victoria Desmond, a young, ambitious lawyer, living up to the expectations of joining her well-known father's law firm. The best in whole London, especially when it came to criminal defence. Victoria didn’t have a clue whether her dad John was involved in some shady business ventures but she didn’t and shouldn’t care about his ways anyway. The young woman was awfully intelligent, a shooting star in her métier not to mention the sex appeal she should radiate throughout the film by wearing tight pencil skirts and not fully buttoned up blouses. She was the perfect innocent temptress who would drown in the underworld, mercilessly pulled by Alexander Kray and his criminal charm. 

Coming to Kray - a ruthless criminal dominating the UK's filthy underworld under the pretense of a fake company selling luxurious jewelry. The company wasn’t fake at all yet small and exclusive but still making a remarkable amount of money. Enough to launder bloody money and to present Kray in a white vest. After a mole had done some damage the prosecutor’s office got ahold of some sensitive documents. Kray seeked help at the countries most prestigious law firm; Victoria's dad's. Of course, the case ended up on her desk making her defend a criminal who had told her everything about his dirty business as if it was nothing and slowly pulled her mind under a numbing spell of devotion. Eventually, she turned her back on the dream of becoming London's chief prosecutor and defended Mr Kray she had been stumbling in a steamy affair with.

God, it had been a lot to take in after you first read the whole script in one night, four cups of coffee had fallen victim to your binge-session. The piece was dramatic, captivating to the last sentence and most of all; fucking steamy. You had no idea about how the hell you would manage three, THREE sex scenes while the first was already nearing but more like in the frightening speed of a sprint instead of a marathon.

It was a heavy challenge without any equal. Especially since you were completely inexperienced in the field of acting, ergo also in faking literal sex.

You had watched every single one of Tom’s films in the last week. Admittedly, you must’ve had watched them at least more than ten times now but of course that was and should remain your little secret. He was a marvel, an absolutely gifted actor nailing everything single role he had played so far. The way he conveyed all the feelings in romantic scenes was dreamy and the intimate parts were… nerve wrecking. 

No wonder the Hiddlestoners were very numerous and ambitious.

Thomas Sharpe? Fucking hot. Robert Laing? God above. Jonathan Pine? Yes please.

He made it look so natural, so real that it was terrifying once your brain snapped back in your own reality. The times you could manage to actually focus on the acting behind the tantalizing scenes, what was unfortunately pretty rare, you were utterly amazed. It was a double-edged sword; on the one side it was relieving to have an experienced friend guiding you through all that but on the other side you were afraid of the close contact, the act you had to display whereas 'act' was meant in the full sense of the word. 

The last time you truly had been intimate with someone was before you and Nate finally broke up. Needless to say it made you extra sensitive to the topic in general. A dumb, humiliating comment of your ex as soon as the movie would be on screen was practically bound to occur only making it harder to work up the nerve to film those scenes.

But Tom was undeniably good looking and you would have given your life to be intimate with him all those years ago. Those few weeks he had spent in your damn house, day and night.

God, you were so torn. It started to get on your nerves.

It was a toxic combination of verdancy in this industry, the fear of failure, malaise due to your traumatic breakup and unstoppably growing emotions for the hot Brit. A perfect mess and you were praying for someone to declutter your heart and mind. 

For Tom on the contrary it was the perfect opportunity to explore his villainous talents he had developed by bringing Loki to live. Naturally, he was about to elongate his success streak. deliver the Alexander Kray everyone would be stuck thinking about even weeks after watching 'The Moralizer'.

The first time you had seen him acting and developing the incredible persona of Alexander Kray curious goosebumps spread all across your body while you had to fight gravity in order to keep your jaw in place. Otherwise it would have dropped to the floor coaxed by the sinister yet totally charming aura Tom had created…

“Take 1, scene 35a. Go!”

“My, my, my... Who would have thought I’d meet my rising star of a lawyer in such a dark, wicked alley” Tom's deep voice growled as the black Jaguar rolled up next to you, the timbre of his voice matching the V8 engine in perfect unison. You didn’t even need to act like you were battling fear and arousal as your eyes met Tom's steel blues. 

“I’m afraid that is none of your business, sir” you snapped, arrogantly tugging a strand of your dyed hair behind your ear and averting your gaze from the handsome man in the flawless suit. Victoria flattered you perfectly, her characteristics just mingling with your own and creating an amazingly real person.

You truly enjoyed playing the rich, ambitious daughter. Why? Well, you needed no explanation to just relish in the magical moments.

“Call me Mister Kray, darling. Although sir sounds rather delightful coming out of your mouth” he cooed, a sly smile dancing around Tom’s sharp features, streetlights casting sinful shadows on the hollowed cheeks. He did look a bit terrifying with a sparkle of manic in his narrowed eyes.  

You were about to inhale sharply, making Victoria pop out an indignant retort to how he called you. Following the script and Anne's previous annotations while it was you to make true to those lines felt incredible. Then, you let your mouth fall agape, eyes widening in the shock of realization before they narrowed again, hiding curiosity that should remain veiled to Mister Kray.

“Right, Ms Desmond. I am Alexander Kray and you will get me out of this mess” he groaned raising a critical eyebrow as he conducted his gaze to travel your body not even trying to hide the profanity. Each of your curves was hugged by the tight black dress and topped with a white blazer. You wore an expensive costume yet you felt naked under Tom's or better Alexander’s interrogating eyes.

What lead to the very first time you deviated from the script, improvising by just saying what your inner Victoria told you. 

“Just because I'm forced to defend your very mindless criminal games, I won’t fuck you” it blurted out of you before you swung your hair to the side, looking fed up and started to walk in the different direction. 

“Come, come! Cameras-” the producer whispered and gestures them to follow you, eager to see what those perfectly harmonizing actors had in store for him.

Tom understood immediately, his face didn’t even twitch for a mere second as he brushed the gas, slowly keeping up with your hasty steps. Effortless, the blonde summoned a satisfied smirk on his velvet lips. God, he was talented just taking what you delivered and forming something completely new. 

“Well hello... I wager the notorious John Desmond isn't aware of his daughter’s bratty mouth?” he snickered eliciting an annoyed scoff from your crimson lips. 

“Are you trying to blackmail me, sir?” you sneered finally and abruptly stopping your strides. A surprised, angry expression lingered on your face whilst your knuckles turned white around the grip of your expensive handbag. The camera came closer. 

“Not in the slightest, miss“ he began mimicking your polite address. “May I offer the lady a ride back to her office?” Tom then asked, his hand curling around the alabaster leather of the steering wheel. Steel blue eyes were flirting with the camera, killing all the women on what seemed like amused purpose.  

“CUT“

“And that’s a wrap. Scene 35a done” 

“This was absolutely perfect! Y/n, we need more of your improvising, it looked so natural” the first assistant instantly remarked completely surprising you with the unexpected compliment.

Was it really that good? Couldn't be since you had the audacity to basically ignore their script.

Jeff just stood in the corner grinning broadly and showing you a solid thumbs up before Tom took your hand and made you turn around in a flash. “You were amazing, darling. Congrats on your first successful impro-scene” he smiled warmly pulling you into a hug you wished would last for eternity.

Nate had never been a man of compliments or real charm so you were even more overwhelmed by the friendly nature of the handsome Brit. 

“Well, without you playing along it would have been shitty” you quipped nervously, the scent of his cologne invading your nostrils like a wildfire. Tom was the perfect charming villain who already made your inner Victoria fall for the haughty ass that was Alexander Kray. You were stumbling towards the abyss of joining her, desperately holding on to your deep friendship as a reason to repress any other feelings.

Feelings you might regret one day. 

“That’s not true, y/n. Let’s get you the nice caramel macchiato with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla and oat milk, shall we?” Tom weaved past you until standing on your right, sliding his arm down from where it had rested to gently wrap around your waist before his long legs coaxed you to go with him. He remembered how you liked your coffee already? How?

A flash of rose lit up on the powdered skin of your cheeks. A beautiful warmth spread in your lower belly emitting from his big hand holding you so lovingly in a place you normally wouldn’t let anyone touch you so easily. Especially not after Nate and his ongoing 'let me touch you' discussions. 

“Liam?” You asked after picking up your phone, hands still wet from taking a shower. It was a wonder the phone even recognized the press of your thumb that created a small water bubble to relax on the blacked out screen.

The youngest one of your brothers you also had a very good relationship to normally preferred to text so it must’ve been something urgent?!

“Hey, boops” his voice echoed through the speaker of your phone as you dried your body and slipped in your underwear.

Today was the day. The first sex scene shoot and the intimacy coach told you to wear a bra you feel sexy in since you were allowed to wear one of your private collection instead of having to wear what the mask and costume team picked out. A small ray of hope in the dark valley of your simmering nervousness. 

“What’s up? I’m kind of in a rush, bro” you panted slipping in the black leggings and wriggling your head through the tight opening of your turtleneck. You were indeed in a rush considering that you’ve wasted twenty minutes in the hot shower fearing the moment you had to get out. 

“Well, erm it’s about your ex” Liam whispered carefully but it was hard either way. Your heart dropped, fingers digging in the soft fabric of your tote bag. 

“The People magazine published an interview with him in which he stated that quote 'the relationship with her was almost platonic. Nothing what would ever satisfy a guy so men, beware'. I read it and I just had to tell you” Liam’s voice explained, the pity clearly audible.

Desperate anger and familiar sadness rose in your trembling body. This was certainly the least thing you wanted nor needed today. 

“Tha- thank you, Li. I’ll phone my lawyer after shooting” 

“I’m so sorry you have to go through this, y/n. I’ll visit you next week, alright?” He cooed trying to soothe his little sister who struggled to suppress hot tears. He knew it what only ached his own heart.

“Okay, thanks. See you, Liam” you whispered shuddering as the short beep signaled the end of the call.

You would have loved to snuggle up in the warmth of your bed, burying hot tears in the silk of your pillows and watching an episode of Friends. But it wasn’t possible. You had a job to do, and what a difficult one today so you got ahold of yourself and stumbled out of the spacious hotel room heading towards the set. 

“Hey, you seem sad…did something happen? I’m sure we can reschedule the shoot if you’re unwell” Tom’s soothing voice intruded your mind as he stepped in the costume trailer where you sat in the corner, shaking.

You looked up at him, all ready in a dark red suit with a checkered tie and brown shoes. His handsomeness never failed to impress you and special parts of your body. God, you would never want him to think he was the reason for your muddled state.

“No, no it’s not that… it’s just…” you stammered biting your lower lip from the tension sitting within you. Tom came closer and sat down next to you, his gentle hand resting on your skirt clad thigh. It felt like a hug adding to the friendly, trustable gaze of his beautiful blue orbs. 

“You don’t have to tell me, y/n. I can just stay here with you for a while” he whispered, smiling as your head leaned over to bump and rest against his shoulder. The Brit loved physical contact to you. Although he had a hard time restraining himself every time you wore those tight, sexy costumes. You were the most gorgeous woman to him and your character was pure gold, especially after the more or less dramatic breakup with Taylor. 

To him you were a woman to cherish. Someone truly loyal and loving he wouldn’t hesitate a second to spend the rest of his life with.

But love was just an object easily buyable in the big grocery store that was the world.

“It’s Nate, Tom. He- he said in an interview that I’m not satisfying and warned all men about entering a relationship with me” you explained, keeping your voice but the words formed surprisingly easy as if your heart spoke to Tom through an invisible wire. A heavy sigh escaped the Brit's mouth, his chest falling with pure disappointment and the wish to snap that man’s neck. 

“Darling, that’s horrible. I'm truly so hear that this idiot still has the audacity to put shame on your persona”.

You silently sobbed and snuggled up against his muscular arm. Shit, he was calming. Maybe even better than Chris or Liam although you’ve known him for just about three months now. The feelings you were unsure about fought their way back to the surface of your consciousness as he told you how talented and gorgeous you were and how he would be happy to have a girlfriend like you. Butterflies danced in your belly making you ready for the upcoming shoot.

Maybe it was a completely idiotic idea to enter such a situation with romantic feelings surging through your veins…

But as the set assistant announced the scene a cold shiver ran down your spine, freezing like ice crystals on the surface of a frozen lake. Fear and embarrassment flooded your body as Tom was instantly back in his role, picking up the incredible cocky and fucking alluring nature of Alexander. The previous scene was already in the box so you started at a 'cold point' what only made it harder.

But you took a deep breath, reminding yourself of Tom’s earlier encouragement and the tips he kindly gave you. Anything but Nate and his straining trouble.

“It’s gotten late. Are you sure such a gorgeous woman should go home now?“ Tom rasped approaching you and pushing you backwards until the edge of his black desk hit your back, forcing you to keep still as his strong chest lurked in front of your face. Tom’s strong pecks were clearly visible trough the white, thin fabric of his dress shirt drawing your coy eyes like a natural phenomenon. 

Training to become Captain Conrad had paid off, obviously.

“Mister Kray, you- what are you doing?“ Your shaky voice asked while greedy hands wandered up to trace the button line and the muscle insertions hidden underneath. You saw Tom shudder lightly under your touch wondering if you should have left it.

Then you felt his hand pinching your chin with two fingers and coaxing your head up to make your eyes meet his. The tension was blooming, slowly allowing your senses to fade out the presence of two big cameras and about five people in the small room.

“You want this, don’t you? Just deny and I’ll leave you alone. Say yes and I’ll show you my generous side“ he growled nearing your face until you felt his hot, damp breath against your lips. Hot ripples ran down your spine at the close contact, something you accidentally dreamt of twice since filming started. Tensing up at what was to come next your left hand instinctively flew back and gripped the edge of the desk.

“No…“ you breathed letting Victoria lose herself in his narrowed eyes which radiated danger and seduction like a black sun.

A twitch shook your torso as Tom’s hand landed on your neck trailing your pulse point like a starved vampire until his fingers met the buttons of your blouse and began to open it slowly. Your mouth was still agape, goosebumps traveling the valley of your breasts as his cold digits brushed your cleavage with every unbuttoned centimeter. 

It didn’t take him long to fully expose your chest and the sparkle in his steel blues hitched, evolving for a moment at the beautiful sight he longed since you had visited the set of Ragnarok. You could swear he was staring at your admittedly very alluring lace bra for longer than intended.

Was he, Tom, aroused by you? Or was it just interest? Fuck, y/n stay in the role!

“Yes“ you finally whispered tilting forward as if you craved his touch, more of his touch. The low chuckle rumbling through Tom’s chest was so unlike his usual laughter sending a hot gush of sizzles between your legs.

God, his deep voice was attractive. But suddenly, as his hands began to actually cup your breasts you nearly lost it, shivering under the many gazes fixed on your body in such an intimate situation.

“That’s what I thought, darling. Such an obedient little girl“ Tom rasped, his thumb caressing your collarbone as he lowered his head bringing his velvet lips closer to yours. Fuck, why did the script have to be like that? But you didn’t have much time to internally curse the alluring lines voiced by Tom Hiddleston because your heart began to hammer against your chest like crazy. It was as if your pulse was doing a sprint.

Tom secretly told you not to rehearse the first kiss beforehand since Victoria’s surprised reaction would look more authentic if it was real astonishment. And of course you listened to him, now facing the consequences of untamable nervousness.

It wasn’t only the kiss but also what followed after pretty quickly without giving you any time to think. The Brit saw the flickering anxiety in your eyes so he winked assuringly as the camera faced his back. A friendly try to calm you down but little did he know there were real emotions involved…

Then your lips met, your eyes fluttered shut at the overwhelming sensation of Tom’s soft lips sealing yours. A gush of emotions broke free from the gutter you had built to keep them in check. The battle was officially lost and your body began to swing the white flag, giving in to the kiss thoroughly.

At first you didn’t even realize the camera so close to your face but when your eyes met the light reflection on the lens you began to panic again.

“Shhh, you’re doing great“ Tom whispered, inaudible to the sound recorder, softening your muscles again before the kiss grew dirty, tongues flicking around each other before his hands suddenly hoisted you on top of the desk, hasty hands ripping your skirt apart.

Did he actually just rip a whole pencil skirt with his bare hands?

“That’s so wrong“ you panted under Tom’s demanding kisses which clearly helped you to let your breath appear labored. The man kept his promise to guide you through this and put the spotlight on you, making you look flawless. Those special feelings breaking free right now were only nourished by his honest and loving nature threatening to make you moan Tom instead of Alexander. A dangerous chess game you unfortunately played against your own heart.

“I’ll make it feel so right. Just let me in, Victoria“ Tom’s deep voice resonated in your ears, your signal to part your legs before Tom stepped in between. The false name gave you some strength again, helped you to to be in a meta level of control of the whole situation which slightly vanished when your task was to rip Tom’s shirt open. To expose his bare chest.

Then everything went by so fast. He unbuckled his belt as greedy appearing hands were on your breasts pressing your back flush against the desk before the real action began. The part of which you were most afraid; faking moans and whimpers and scrunching your face etc.

The whole range.

A shiver spread all across your body as Tom pulled down the panties you wore above the special skin color pad you got for exactly these kind of scenes. Your head was lost in a battle of wishing it would have been your real panties and the grand nervousness of being so exposed and vulnerable in front of strangers.

But Tom made up for it, whispering little words of encouragement whenever his kissed either your lips or your neck.

And that was how you got the boldness to dive in a little deeper, letting your little moans become louder and more unchained while his naked hips rolled against your crotch. This was a sweet little torture to the part of your brain which had craved Tom since your first encounter. His raspy, dirty lines only poured oil in the fire that spread from your belly while you decided to shut your eyes and spare you from the incredibly handsome face contorted in pleasure as if it was real.

“Fuck, you’re perfect. You feel perfect“ Tom moaned coaxing you to arch your back as his fake thrusts became stronger, shaking your body like Charlotte’s in high rise. You were utterly thankful for the tip to just close your eyes if the people’s gazes and the camera became too much hence your body could relax a bit more before the heavy task to fake an orgasm. 

The intimacy coach told you to use your legs and hands to make it look more intense so there you were starting to grasp the edge of the desk and Tom’s lose tie. He was a professional without a doubt but your sweet melodies and the way you acted with your face was dangerous. It was a risk to his spotless reputation as an actor. But the Brit was skilled enough to transform and bring in his feelings into the acting. He delivered a picture perfect impression of Alexander’s sweet relief. 

But deep down he would love to turn this into reality with the woman who conquered his heart.

Faking a heavy panting, your legs sinfully wrapped around Tom’s waist before the final lines of the film were spoken, your eyes opened again and your ponytail messy like it should after pure debauchery.

“Mister Kray… I should really go now“ you whispered under staggered breaths before he pulled you into another kiss. But a different one; a touch of real, unsated sentiment that nudged your heart over the edge.

You had fallen for your co-star Hiddleston. And hard.

“Call me Alex, pretty. And no, you’re staying. You gotta regret this night when the sun kisses your skin again“ Tom began, kissing your neck in between of his lines. “Let me make the remorse so awful“ he rasped, his baritone hoarse and used making your legs clench around him most involuntarily.

But you simply couldn’t help yourself at the words that escaped his mouth and the way his hollowed cheeks highlighted the godly bone structure. Not even to begin with those beautiful blue eyes fucking you with mere subtle gazes.

“Cut!“ 

“Your chemistry is breathtaking! Another one take“ the director yelled clapping above her head in pure enthusiasm while you were struggling to switch out of this vulnerable situation and back in an everyday-mode.

Shit, you internally cursed as you realized your legs were trembling from all the pressure which just vanished so abruptly. This was the most intense experience you’ve ever made. 

“Are you alright, darling? You were amazing. Acting clearly runs in your blood“ Tom cheered as you wrapped his arms around him in a comfort seeking hug. But the handsome Brit wasn’t astonished by your actions, on the contrary he also enjoyed the last moment of intimacy after the steamy scene. 

“Thank you so much, Tom. I couldn’t have done it without you“ you whispered obviously touched by him and his kindness. “Anytime, darling“ he temptingly winked at you before being called to make-up again leaving you standing there alone, only your strong feelings for him keeping you company.

However, the tall Brit with the dreamy smile saw you as a best friend… Didn’t he?

Tags: @crimson25 @kikster606 @huntress-artemiss @123forgottherest @lovingchoices14 @ozymdias @vbecker10 @coldnique @lokixryss @simplyholl @peaches1958 @lokibadguy @jennyggggrrr @stephenstrangeaddictions @holymultiplefandomsbatman @coldnique @gigglingtigger @mischief2sarawr @mypsychoticlove @mochie85 @muddyorbs @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @simping-for-marvel @lady-rose-moon @goblingirlsarah @kats72 @vickie5446 @buffyfan2833 @12-pm-510 @ladymischief11 @somewiseguy @woooonau @cabingrlandrandomcrap

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[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Chapter Twelve

Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Y/N Burgess is the granddaughter of Alex and Paul, and after having spent so many summers at their manor and always wondering why she was forbidden from entering the basement, she descends the steps into the world of the Order. She broke out the being that had been trapped in that glass cage, but what does he want with her now that he is free?

Warnings: Language, Peril, Violence, Blood, Demon Dogs, Gore, Reader Once Again Woke Up And Chose Violence, Thoughts of Giving Up and Dying, Morpheus to the Rescue, Talking Bird Takes Book to Face, Morpheus Monologue. 

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Female!GranddaughterReader, based on Netflix’s ‘The Sandman’, Reader now has long-ish hair for plot reasons (Just so Morpheus can tug on it later).

Word Count: ~3.0k

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Seven days had passed since I was freed from my glass cage. Seven days since I had returned to my realm only to find it crumbled to ruins and deserted. A king without his tools, a king without his castle, a king without his subjects. But I was not without help. I had visited the Three-In-One and received their answers, and know where to look for my sand. Now it was time to put an end to the hell beasts hunting my consort, for they have done the unforgivable by opening her skin. 

Sitting in the library dressed in a nightgown, you rested your chin on your palm as you read from a book in your free hand. The last few days since you returned from your trip to London you had been on the down low, resting and recovering, and most definitely trying not to think about a silver blue-eyed devil that for some ungodly reason, you could not get out of your head. You were alone in Fawny Rig, Paul having gone to London to settle Alex in a hospice home there. To be honest the old manor was more spooky lately without their presence. The eaves groaned. The floors croaked. The walls whispered. It was like the house was alive and it freaked the hell out of you. 

You let out another breath, trying to focus on the book you were reading. Or at least trying to read. You were more running your eyes over words than actually absorbing what was written. It was fruitless, you weren’t going to actually manage to read this book no matter how much you tried. Your mind was far too distracted, far too chaotic. Closing the book, you set it aside and rubbed your face with a tired groan. Spiraling. You were spiraling deep. Placing your hands on your thighs, you looked down at the nightgown covering your body. Your grandmother from your mother's side was a seamstress and tailor, and had gotten her hands on a vintage silk nightgown. A little elbow grease and some hemming later and you had a luxurious nightgown as a birthday present. The thing was the most comfortable piece of clothing you had ever worn. Albeit a little on the fancy side, but still. The silk felt like heaven against your skin. 

Maybe a change in scenery would help your restlessness? You rose to your feet and grabbed the book once more, tucking it against your side as you departed the library and headed for the stairs. Before heading upstairs, you made sure to turn off the lights that were still on, leaving the hall lanterns at a low setting so you could see where you were walking. You were turning down a hall when you caught sight of a black mass in one of the grand mirrors hanging on a nearby wall. Freezing in your step, you twirled around to look behind you. Nothing. Was your mind playing tricks once more? Bored of nightmare-free dreams? You heard a deep, guttural growl. 

Nope, most definitely not imagining what you saw. In front of you, the air twisted into a gray cloud, growing larger and darker until red eyes appeared and a beast emerged. The wounds on your arm, which had finally crusted over, burst into fire. You let out a pain-filled gasp and grasped the cuts as the lines reopened, blood spilling down your arm and quickly staining the skirt of your beloved nightgown. You gaped at the flood of crimson for a second before looking back to the beast. It snarled at you and prowled forwards. 

Yeah, you should probably start running.

You turned tail and bolted for the stairs. From behind you the hell beast's claws scratch the worn wood floor as it gave chase. Terror rushed through your veins, you felt your heart start to race in your chest while you flew across the manor, tugging and yanking on decorations and antiques. Anything to slow it down from ripping into your real body. You were surely leaving behind a trail of blood, smearing the crimson liquid on walls, lights, and anything you touched. The adrenaline was keeping you from feeling the excruciating pain emanating from your arm but it did little to mitigate the woozy feeling that flushed through your body. You made it to the grand stairs.

Nearly tripping on the first step, you half crawled up the steps, clawing blood across the worn wood and sinking your nails in for purchase. Your nails broke from the force at which you scrambled, but from the sounds behind you, your haste was essential. A glance over your shoulder saw the hell beast slam into an alcove with a bust of Roderick. It shattered to dust and broken bits of rock. You didn’t stay to see the total damage. Lurching to the top of the stairs, you stumbled down the hall, another bout of wooziness hitting you suddenly. You crashed into a decorative table, breaking the delicate lamp that had been resting on it. Shards of ceramic dug into your skin, opening new sources of red. You cried out in pain. 

Your hands twitched and trembled against the table and for a moment, you thought about not running anymore. To simply give up the chase and surrender to what seemed like your fate. They had been after you for so long and you were tired of running. You were tired of hurting. Giving up would be so easy, the pain would only last so long and then you would be free of it. But then the memories of the friends you had made in your dreams surfaced in rapid fashion. You remembered how much those memories were worth living for because you wanted to see their smiles once more and you could. But not if you were dead. Your bloody fingers closed around a broken piece of the lamp, gripping it so hard that it bit into your flesh once more. When the growls and snarls approached you, you whipped back around, swinging as you went. 

A claw caught you in the chin, but not before you slammed the piece of the broken lamp into the thick neck of the hell beast. Fresh waves of pain erupted along your jaw bone and you were crying out yet again. Your fingers automatically reached for the broken and torn skin. At the same time, the hell beast let out a howl of pain and took a step back in surprise as if it never expected you, a menial human, to fight back. You reached behind you and grabbed another piece, raising it to strike once more as the hell beast pawed at the chunk of lamp already in its neck. 

“Go back to hell you poor excuse of a mangy mutt!” You snarled, going straight for its eye this time. You didn’t manage to lodge the chunk where you wanted to, but you did manage to scratch it’s eye hard enough in the process that it wouldn’t be seeing out of it any time soon. The best part? You made it bleed. Dropping the shard of lamp, you turned tail and lurched back in the direction of your room, hoping that you could somehow barricade yourself long enough to come up with another plan. Whimpering from the agonizing pain that rippled from your arm and face, you crashed into your door and reached for the handle. Blood-covered fingers proved to be slippery, but you eventually managed to rip the door open and slip into your room. 

Slamming the door behind you, you locked it and tripped forwards, your eyes frantically searching for something you could protect yourself with or use as a weapon. You couldn’t find much in your sitting room so you ran for your bedroom. Behind you, the door splintered open and with one glance over your shoulder, you could see that your stabs had only made it that much angrier. Its eye was out of commission, dripping black liquid down its snout to the floor. The wound on its neck still held the shard you had rammed there. Most definitely not pleased with you at the moment. You took a few more steps and crashed into something. 

A pain-filled grunt left your lips and you staggered about, splattering the carpet with blood. Arms steadied you and in less than a second, a gentle calm seeped into your veins, chasing off the harsh high of adrenaline. Wheezing on your next breath, you tilted your head back and stared up into the dark, star-filled eyes of Dream. How was he here? Your thoughts were diverted as you took in his facial expression.His eyes smoldered with an unadulterated rage you could feel coming off his body in waves. The hands that were trapped against his black jacket twitched as the urge to grip the material floated into your mind. You took no further action, completely enraptured but storming silver-blue eyes. 

Your attention was diverted to the vicious growl behind you combined with echoes of howls. The hell beast had called in reinforcements. Twisting your head, you looked at the hell beast that had ripped you up and the two others that now flanked it. You could maybe handle one, just barely… but three? That wasn’t going to happen. Your vision wavered while the snarling hell beasts advanced. But by some miracle, their growls and snarls turned to whines and they backed away, disappearing into a void. You shuddered in place, the feeling of relief flooding into your body so fast you were nearly overwhelmed. 

“Y/N,” When the being spoke, you were pulled from your trance. Returning your eyes to his, you stared at him, watching as his face doubled for a moment. You saw that his lips were moving but what registered in your brain wasn’t full sentences. Your head tilted to the side in confusion while you struggled to understand what he was saying. You thought you heard him mention venom, but his words all blended in a nonsensical mess. His hand landed on the non-injured shoulder as you swayed in his arms.

“I don’t feel well,” You whispered, your body buzzing with lightness.

Catching your crumpling body, Morpheus tried to rein in his anger at the sight of the wounds scattered across your body. To set hounds on you was an unspeakable atrocity he would have to take up with Lucifer, but the mere fact that they had poisoned you with their venom? That was unforgivable. No human was meant to survive the venom of hell beast and if not for your soul bind, you would have long since succumbed to poison within your veins. To attack you was to attack Morpheus. Gently cradling you in his arms, Morpheus manipulated the minuscule grasp of his sand once more and transported you both away from the bloodied Fawny Rig. As much as he wished to send you to The Dreaming, Morpheus felt you were far too vulnerable to stray from his side. Certainly with the hell beasts on the loose.

Reappearing in a hotel room in London, Morpheus ignored Matthew who fluttered his wings and hopped closer to his arrival, his black eyes examine you in his masters arms. 

“Wow, sir, is that— is that fixable?” Matthew asked, his head cocking to the side as he took in the numerous injuries you had. “It looks really bad.” 

“Her fate is bound to mine, as long as I exist, she shall too,” Morpheus replied, setting you down on the hotel bed and gathering his meager power once more. “You needn’t worry about her, she will recover.”

“How did she get like that? I know that you said that she was being hunted by hell beasts, but I would have thought that if they got their claws on her…” Morpheus’s lips twitched at the corner as he commanded his remaining sand to purge the blood clinging to your skin and heal the wounds that still wept crimson. 

“The little troublemaker put up a fight, as expected.” Morpheus picked up one of your torn-up hands and watched as the wounds and cuts on your palm, slowly meshed together to form beautiful, unbroken skin. “I’ve never met a being who managed to wound a hell beast while being attacked, let alone a human.”

Matthew fluttered to the bed and waddled his way up to your side, watching fascination as the scratch marks on your arm closed up and disappeared as if they had never existed. It even erased the stains on your lovely silk nightgown. 

“So they’ve got her scent in this world too, how do we protect her if they have it? Cause if she managed to bang one up, I have a feeling that it’ll want revenge.” Matthew observed, his eyes lifting to Morpheus. Morpheus reached into his jacket with his free hand and pulled out a ruby necklace. 

“This necklace will hide her scent so long as she wears it,” Morpheus explained, letting the gem drape in his spindle fingers, the red hues sparkling in the light. 

“That’s a pretty piece, I’m sure she’ll love it, Sir,” Matthew said encouragingly. Morpheus’s lips twitched again. 

“Love it or not, it is her safety I care about.” Morpheus’s eyes returned to your body, now devoid of any evidence of the events that took place at Fawny Rig. Morpheus brought the hand he held up to his nose and brushed his lips against the pulse that lay beating beneath skin, beating strong. A sign of life and humanity. A very beautiful thing. “She’s going to be difficult at first.” 

“I’m no pushover, Sir,” Matthew replied, puffing his chest out and ruffling his feathers to make his small body bigger. Morpheus set your wrist back down and gently clipped the ruby around your neck. 

“Her life has been hard, she does not trust easily… and getting her to believe what she sees will be difficult. Her mind has been twisted since childhood. She doesn’t trust it, nor trust her dreams.” Morpheus explained, his eyes fading to darkness in memory of what you suffered during your childhood and teenage years. 

“Are you saying she won’t trust us? She won’t trust you?” Morpheus pressed his lips together, not wanting to say the words out loud, but knowing that Matthew needed to know and understand.

“Yes, she isn’t going to trust us at all.”

Your body ached unpleasantly, but the sharp prickling pain you were used to feeling in your arm was gone. Neither did you hurt from the fresh wounds that you knew marred your body. Whatever did happen to that hell beast? You groaned and shifted where you lay, digging your hands into the soft sheets beneath your body and sinking your nails into the fabric. Your nails, fingers, and hands didn’t hurt, they should given the state you last knew them to be. Nose wrinkling as you sluggishly pushed your body into a sitting position, you flickered your eyes open. You were greeted by a room you didn’t recognize and a window across the bed you were laying on showed the London skyline. What the bloody hell? Where was the hell beast?

“How the bloody hell did I end up in London?” You questioned, tilting your head to the side in confusion. 

“Oh! That’s because Lord Morpheus brought you!” An uplifting, cheerful voice spoke from your left. Cue more confusion on your part and slowly turning to look at who had spoken, your eyes caught sight of a large bird, possibly a raven, perched on the headboard. Your eyes went bulged, the bird couldn’t possibly be the one who had spoken. The bird cocked its head to the side and ruffled its wings before hopping down to the mattress. “Also, you don’t need to worry about that hell-hound-looking thing. They won’t be back any time soon. ” 

Good God the bird was talking! Your right hand searched the space to your right, looking for something to hit it with. You found a book and grabbed it. Then you swung it around and nailed the bird right in the side. The bird let out a squawk as it went flying. You kept your eyes trained on it as it tumbled through the air before righting itself. It landed on the back of a chair nearby.

“That was totally uncalled for!” The bird shrieked, its feathers ruffled. If a bird could look entirely gobsmacked, this one certainly did.

“You’re a talking bird!” You exclaimed, your voice a pitch or two higher than normal as you brandished the book in hand once more. The bird moved its head and flapped its wing. 

“Talking raven, thank you very much!” The voice squawked back, insult clear in its tone. 

“Like that makes a difference!” You shouted at it, your eyes wild in fear. This was an all-new low for your brain. A talking bird? How ridiculous! 

“It’s a big difference!” The bird defended itself, still very much outraged. “Do you know the difference in intelligence between me and a pigeon? It’s big! Like comparing me to a fish!”

“You’re. A. Talking. Bird!” You enunciated, pointing out the major fact that despite some bird species being able to speak and mimic human speech, none of them were smart enough to hold well-constructed sentences like this one. It let out another screech of annoyance. “A bird!!”

“I have a name and it’s Matthew!” Matthew, the talking raven, cried out, hopping on the back of the chair and flapping his wings. You glared at each other for a few moments, and while you were sure the bird wasn’t a threat, you still held the book at the ready. 

“Are you two finished?” A smooth and calm voice spoke with a touch of amusement. You let out a screech of your own and this time threw the book in the direction of whoever spoke. The book flew fast and sharp through the air only to be caught by a pale hand, inches from an all too familiar face. His eyebrow was raised elegantly. He was entirely amused by the conversation you had just had with the raven. If your eyes weren’t already bulging, they were now. 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” You said before letting out an overly dramatic moan and flopping back against the bed. What was worse, getting torn apart by a hell beast or tormented by your mind? 

Date Published: 9/23/22

Last Edit: 7/2/23

Previous | Masterlist | Next

#morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream the endless x reader #morpheus #sandman x reader #the sandman netflix #lord morpheus #dream of the endless #dream the endless #the sandman

[kc-the-writer]

3, 4, 9 and 10 for BP3 and a female Pendleton (or associate) of your choice! 🌻

Thank you so much for asking about the women who make TPT so much fun to write!

The women in books 1-3 so far have always stolen the spotlight, and You know I have to show off the trio of delightful women who are in no way witches...

Illustrations of my favorite ladies were commissioned to the wonderful @farrradays and can be found under each of their answers.

What parts of themselves do they tend to hide?

BP3: When Trip moved to New York as a child, he told the children at school that Gilles was his father’s butler—NOT his godfather and certainly NOT his stepfather. He had no issues with the fact that Gilles was a man but raged against the notion that his father found love again. "Why should Brad get to replace a wife when Trip cannot replace a mother?”

Maeve Woodbury: “No, dear. My statement was neither a premonition nor prophecy … I simply… wish to speak your success into existence. ‘No man shall harm Trip. No day shall come when you are overthrown.’ I say it because I want to believe it, certainly not because the girls and I saw this in our tea leaves. Such talk would send us all to the madhouse.”  LIES.

How do they punish themselves when they make mistakes?

BP3: Trip doesn’t acknowledge that he makes mistakes, so he punishes everyone around him. He's paranoid, any error or mistake is purely an attempt to sabatoge his legacy.  

Sidonia Van der Snythe: Sid’s sharp tongue is not limited to other people. She speaks to herself like she does anyone else. Which probably isn’t healthy, but at least her self-insults are kind of hilarious.  

What are their insecurities?

BP3: That blasted son of his. Born in the asylum after his mum went nuts. The kid should have stayed there with his fingerpaints and odd point of view. 

Aurelia Luppino: Her hand. Though now a talented seamstress at a high-end tailor’s shop, she was once a loom worker in a shoddy factory with few safety rules. An accident left her left hand broken and badly scarred. She did not have access to proper treatment, and the bones did not grow back the way they should have. If only her “book club” had access to a powerful healing tonic…

 

What are their emotional triggers?

BP3: Trip is surrounded by emotional triggers in the city. He was forced to leave New York at a young age and wants to return to London. There’s a difference in being wealthy in London and being wealthy in New York. New York's wealth feels claustrophobic, precarious, and artificial to him. 

Wisteria Pendleton: The (not very) fine folks at the Poughkeepsie Valley Lunatic Asylum for Women are trying to work that out. So far, everything triggers Wisteria Pendleton.

[carolineandrew1]

Bespoke Women's Tailor in London: Elevate Your Style with Caroline Andrew

In the heart of London's vibrant fashion scene stands Caroline Andrew, a bespoke tailor renowned for crafting exquisite women's tailor in London that are as individual and unique as the women who wear them.

A complete bespoke look goes beyond just the suit. Caroline Andrew also offers a curated selection of accessories, including shirts, blouses, ties, and scarves, to complement your suit and complete your look.

#female tailor in london #mens wedding suit #tailor made suits london #london tailored suits #bespoke suits #women's bespoke #caroline andrew #mens wedding bands #bespoke tailoring

[lotus-flower-writes-history]

The Unofficial Black History Book

~~

Phillis Wheatley (1753-1784)

Imagine being the best-known and also the first African-American woman to publish a book of poetry at the age of 13, whilst being a slave.

This is her story.

Phillis Wheatley was the first African-American and second female to publish a book of poems. And she was also the youngest.

Phillis Wheatley was born on May 8th, 1753, in Gambia, West Africa. There's no record of her real birth name. 

When she was no younger than seven, she was kidnapped by slave traders and brought to America in 1761. The slave traders renamed her 'Phillis' based on the slave ship she arrived on, 'The Phillis'

She was transported to the Boston docks with a shipment of "refugee" slaves who, because of their age or physical frailty, were unsuited for rigorous labor in the West Indian and Southern Colonies. They were the first ports of call after the Atlantic Crossing.

In August 1761, Susanna Wheatley, the wife of Boston tailor John Wheatley, was "in want of a domestic."

Susanna purchased "a slender, frail female child...for a trifle."

The captain of the slave ship believed that Phillis was terminally ill, and he wanted to make at least a small profit off of her before she died. 

It's reported that a Wheatley relative surmised her to be "of slender frame and evidently suffering from a change of climate," "nearly naked, with no other covering than a quantity of dirty carpet about her," and "about seven years old...from the circumstances of shedding her front teeth."

When Phillis was sold to the Wheatley family, she adopted their last name and was taken under Susanna's wing as her domestic.

During her time serving the Wheatleys, which was about sixteen months, Susana discovered that Phillis had an extraordinary capacity to learn. The Wheatleys, including their son Nathaniel and their daughter Mary, taught her how to read and write after discovering her precociousness.

But this didn't excuse her from her duties as a house slave.

Phillis was soon immersed in the Bible, astronomy, geography, history, theology, British literature, and the Greek and Latin classics of Virgil, Ovid, Terence, and Homer. Inspired, she began writing poetry between the ages of 12 and 13.

At a time when African Americans were discouraged and intimidated from learning how to read and write, Phillis' life was an anomaly.

When she started to publish her poems, her fame, and talent soon spread across the Atlantic. With Susanna's support, Phillis started posting advertisements for subscribers for her first book of poems.

However, a scholar of Phillis's work, Sondra O'Neale, notes, "When the colonists were apparently unwilling to support literature by an African, she and the Wheatleys turned in frustration to London for a publisher."

In 1773, Phillis was in continuously poor health; she had chronic asthma. But she sets off for London with Nathaniel Wheatley, her master's son.  

When she arrived in London, she was accepted and adored for both her poise and her literary work. And during her time there, she also received medical treatment for the ailments she was battling.

She met Selina Hastings, a friend of Susanna Wheatley and the Countess of Huntingdon. Eventually, Hastings funded the publication of Phillis's book. "Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral." Was the first book of poetry published by an enslaved African American in the United States. 

Her book includes many elegies as well as poems on Christian themes, even dealing with race, such as the often-anthologized "On being brought from Africa to America."

Phillis was also a strong supporter of America's fight for independence; she penned several of her poems in honor of George Washington, who was Commander of the Continental Army. She sent him one of her works that was written in 1775, and it eventually inspired an invitation to visit him in Cambridge, Massachusetts. In March 1776, she traveled to Washington.

 Phillis eventually had to return to Boston to tend to Susanna Wheatley, who was gravely ill. 

After the elder Wheatleys’ died, Phillis was left with nothing and had to support herself as a seamstress. 

We don’t know exactly when she was freed by the Wheatleys, but some scholars suggest that she was freed between 1774 and 1778. And during that time, most of the Wheatley family had died.

Even with her literary popularity at its all-time high and being manumitted, freedom in 1774 Boston proved to be incredibly difficult.

Phillis was unable to secure funding for another publication or even sell her writing. 

In 1778, she was married to a free African American man from Boston named John Peters. They had three children, but sadly, none of them survived infancy.

Their marriage proved to be a struggle due to the couple's battle with constant poverty. Phillis was then forced to find work as a maid in a boarding house, where she lived in squalid, horrifying conditions.

Even through all her misfortune, Phillis continued to write. But, with the growing tensions between the British and the Revolutionary War, she lost enthusiasm for her poems.

Although she continued to contact various publishers, she was unsuccessful in finding support for a second volume of poetry.

On December 5th, 1784, Phillis Wheatley died alone in a boarding house at 31 years old, without a penny to her name. 

Many of her poems for her second volume disappeared and have never been recovered. 

___

Next Chapter

The 16 Street Baptist Church Bombing

_____

My Resources

#the unofficial black history book #black history matters #black history 365 #black history #black history is american history #black culture #black tumblr #black tumblr writers #black female writers #black female poets #know your history #learn your roots #black figures #herstory #history #black writblr #phillis wheatley #black activism #discrimination #writers on tumblr #black stories #black authors #women in history

[4rtificialfolio]

It’s Complicated, My Darling: Character Introductions

Of course, we all know who our beloved Nick Folio is but in this universe, he is not the drummer of bad omens; Folio is a detective in 1941. Besides Folio, every character in this story is entirely fictional, so when you see mentions of his “family” in this story, they are NOT his real family. There will be quite a lot of names mentioned and new characters will be introduced throughout, so I thought I’d make a character profile for each of them. I will make another one as the story progresses but for now, meet the characters of “It’s Complicated, My Darling” so far!

(for ages, note that the story is currently taking place in May of 1941)

Main Male Character

Name: Nicholas John Folio / Nick

Age: 25

Birthday: 17/07/1915

Birthplace: Maryland, USA

Occupation: Lead Detective

Started as a Police officer at age 18 and worked for 6 years until the beginning of the war

He was relocated to NYC to help with the war effort

Enlisted in the Army at the beginning of the war but was discharged in June of 1940 due to a back injury

He then returned to work where he was promoted to lead detective

Enjoys fishing

Has a 1936 Harley-Davidson EL Knucklehead

Family is currently unknown (fictional)

Main Female Character

Name: Ada Marie Chapman

Age: 23

Birthday: 21/03/1918

Birthplace: Brighton, England

Occupation: Undercover Secretary / Operative

Moved to London and worked as a secretary in England in 1940 and was made an operative after she discovered a traitor among her colleagues, previous workplace is unknown

Partner agency in NYC so she was chosen and relocated to NYC

Enjoys knitting, bird spotting and walks on Brighton pier

Hates seagulls

Has 2 sisters & a brother

Side Characters

Name: Logan Chapman

Age: 52

Birthday: January 1889

Birthplace: Brixton, England

Relation: Ada’s farther

Slim build, Grey hair, glasses, always wears a suit

Birthday unknown

Orphaned mother died giving birth and father sent him away

Siblings unknown

Met his wife in 1917 when he moved to Brighton during the war, discharged from injury

Served in WWI 

Name: Mary Chapman

Age: 40, deceased

Birthday: 24/07/1899

Birthplace: Brighton, England

Relation: Ada’s mother

Came from a middle-class family

Met Logan in Brighton when he came into her family-owned tailor shop

Married Logan within 6 months 

Had 4 children: Ada, Denis, Peggy and Agnes

Enjoyed taking them to the pier in the summer and buying them ice cream

Died in March 1940 evacuating to Canada with one of her daughters Agnes, ship sunk

Name: Denis Chapman

Age: 19

Birthday: 16/12/1921

Birthplace: Brighton, England

Relation: Ada’s younger brother

Only boy amongst siblings

Always caused trouble at school

Worked in his grandfather’s tailor shop for a year before the war

Enlisted at aged 17

Wrote home as frequently as he could

Declared MIA in July of 1940

Name: Peggy-Anne Chapman

Age: 9

Birthday: 28/06/1931

Birthplace: Brighton, England

Relation: Ada’s younger sister

Second to youngest sibling

Goes by Peggy or ‘pegs’

Loves dresses and dolls

Favourite activity is running down the pier scaring the seagulls

Used to love playing with her friends and little sister in the fields during the summer

Very stubborn

Name: Agnes Chapman

Age: 5, deceased

Birthday: 13/06/1935

Birthplace: Brighton, England

Relation: Ada’s youngest sister

Evacuated to Canada with her mother but the ship sunk

Died just 3 months before her 6th birthday

Loved making daisy chains with Ada and singing Ring ‘O’ Roses with Peggy in the fields

Favourite toy was a teddy bear made by her mother for her 3rd birthday

Name: John Hughes

Age: 58

Birthday: 11/02/1883

Birthplace: London, England

Occupation: Head of operative agency, Ada’s boss

Made head of agency during WWI

Bit of an arsehole

Misogynist

Never fought on the front lines but likes to brag as if he did

Wife left him, no children

Name: Alfred Goodwin

Age: 60

Birthday: 03/01/1881

Birthplace: NYC, America

Occupation: Head of England’s partner operative agency in NYC

Also a misogynist, just american

Arrogant

Has a wife and twin girls, always berating them because he wanted boys

A dick but he’s good at his job

Name: Michael Brewer

Age: 56

Birthday: 13/01/1885

Birthplace: NYC, America

Occupation: Captain of 13th Precinct

Fairly diplomatic, just bossy

Big ego

Never has a suit that fits

Fired 5 secretaries in the past 4 months because they “weren't young enough

Married but is cheating on his wife with his neighbour 

5 children but hardly sees them

More will be introduced later in the story, but that's all for now!

series master list

#nick folio #bad omens #bad omens band #noah sebastian #jolly karlsson #nicholas ruffilo #bad omens fic #nick folio fic #fish boy #it's complicated my darling #4rtificialfolio

[livsunit2]

THE SWINGING SIXTIES

The Defining Look of the Sixties

Taylah Brewer. (2022). 60S FASHION FOR WOMEN (HOW TO GET THE 1960S STYLE). [Online]. www.thetrendspotter.net. Last Updated: 7 August 2022. Available at: https://www.thetrendspotter.net/60s-fashion-for-women/#google_vignette [Accessed 4 January 2023]

The Supremes

They were not only the most commercially successful female group of the '60s but among the top 5 pop/rock/soul acts of that decade. Diana Ross, Mary Wilson, and Florence Ballard had a mature, glamorous demeanor that appealed equally to teens and adults. Beautiful, musically versatile, and unique, the original Supremes were America's sweethearts.

Steven Ward. (2019). VINTAGE GOLD: AMERICA’S MOST SUCCESSFUL VOCAL GROUP IN THE SUPREMES. [Online]. www.grimygoods.com. Last Updated: 25 February 2019. Available at: https://www.grimygoods.com/2019/02/25/americas-most-successful-vocal-group-in-the-supremes/ [Accessed 3 january 2023].

Edie Sedgwick

The original 'it girl' inspired Bob Dylan and Andy Warhol, and was the toast of the New York art scene with her bouffant blonde hair, vintage chandelier earrings and by wearing nothing but a leotard and tights.

The Designers

London's fashion sector existed until the 1960s in the shadow of the renowned Parisian couturiers. Paris served as the centre of global fashion, specialising in tailored clothing for a fantastically wealthy, elite group of women. But all of a sudden, as the youth market expanded, London started to lead the pace.

Thanks to a handful of up-and-coming young designers trained in the couture tradition, Paris has maintained its edge. Fashion firms like Saint Laurent, Cardin, and Courrèges discovered how to appeal to younger customers. They established ready-to-wear shops and concessions in department stores and produced "space age" clothing that was quickly imitated on the high street.

The youth market was enormous in the US, and department stores made millions by importing London fashions. But retailers also recognised the boutique's potential. Local stores that catered to affluent customers by selling unique, cutting-edge designs thrived, notably in New York.

Andrè Courrèges

André Courrèges

The French designer is best known for introducing the revolutionary space look- featuring white boots, goggles and boxy dresses designed in futuristic metallic shades, high shine fabrics such as PVC. His look was a blend of avant-garde geometry with sports classic driven by the youth culture.

Pierre Cardin

Became famous for his brightly colored mini dresses. At the time his garments were "avant-garde" he like other designers at the time was heavily influenced by “Age" movement. His design style is mainly geometric shapes and colours.

Paco Rabanne

The Spanish born designer made a name for himself in the 1960s with his space-age inspired fashions. He used materials such as metal, aluminum, plastic, plexi glass and even fiber optics. He was the first fashion designer to use black models in a catwalk show. As a result, he was almost thrown out of the Chambre Syndicale de la Couture Parisienne, the governing body of Parisienne fashion.

Givenchy

Responsible for the iconic little black dress that is essential to every woman's wardrobe and dressing the most elegant ladies of the time such as Audrey Hepburn, U.S. first lady Jacqueline Kennedy, Princess Grace of Monaco; Wallis Simpson, Duchess of Windsor and socialite Babe Paley.

Yves Saint Laurent

Shift dresses and pea coats became YSL trademark styles. In 1965, colour blocking made its entrance in the world of fashion, when Yves Saint-Laurent introduced the colour block dress, inspired by the works of the famous painter, Piet Mondria.

Emilio Pucci

Is best known for colorful psychedelic prints, especially for headscarves and dresses. In 1962 the world lost screen siren Marilyn Monroe. It's believed that she was buried in one of his dresses. Monroe was a huge fan of his work which can be clarified by the volume of Pucci garments in her personal collection displayed at Christies in 1999 prior to auction. Although an already established designer, Pucci saw an increase in sales in the sixties which he attributed to Miss Monroe and her popularity.

The Birth of the Hippie

(1960-70s)

Originally used to designate beatniks who had settled in San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury neighbourhood, the word hipple is derived from the hipster. The hippies sought for alternate lifestyles. The majority of hippies cherished independence, nature, closeness, peace, generosity, and spirituality.

Nudity was another expression of freedom that hippies used to set themselves apart from society's norms. They frequently stayed in parks or set up camp in the woods, discarding their belongings.

All throughout, people wore tight-fitting bell-bottom jeans, preferably with flower patches and ankle fringe, T-shirts, or just a skimpy halter top. All of the peasant blouses complemented jeans. Anything handcrafted was considered an accessory, and many of them had peace symbols. Popular shirts and dresses had floral prints that stood for peace and love.

In general, people dressed in a way that they believed represented who they were as individuals and not only to follow the rules of fashion. For instance, both sexes wore their hair longer and it had an unruly, uncared-for appearance. This was in response to the mid-60s girl in the miniskirt who had neat, short hair.

Woodstock 1969

At Woodstock over 250,000 hippies showed up to hear artists like Janis Joplin, The Who, Canned Heat, The Allman Brothers, and County Joe and the Fish. Woodstock was not just a music concert. It was a "profound religious experience."

vintag.es. (2015). 40 Rare and Incredible Color Photographs That Capture Scenes of the Woodstock Music & Art Fair in August 1969. [Online]. www.vintag.es. Last Updated: 7 February 2015. Available at: https://www.vintag.es/2015/02/40-rare-and-unseen-color-photos-of.html [Accessed 3 january 2023].

The controversy of drugs

The most popular music of the time was psychedelic rock. Many of concerts were places for lippies to protest, socialise, dance, or take drugs. Drugs like marijuana and LSD were a big art of the hippy/counterculture movement. Using drugs made hippies feel like the were belling from mainstream society.

[firstprince-ao3feed]

Happens Great Happens Sweet

by OrchidScript It was a simple prospect — buying a new suit. But Henry had a nasty little habit of turning simple items into complete chores. He always had, blaming it on natural anxiety, coping, and other words gleaned from his patient-if-long-suffering therapist. The core of it was truly a lack of necessity and a lame gesture at thrift. “Please,” Pez began between sips of latte. “For the love of all that is good in this world.” He tapped the business card set between them on the cafe table. “Call the gent.” __________________________ Alex Claremont-Diaz is a tailor with an upscale London shop. Henry Fox is an escort in need of new suits, and hopelessly in love with the man who sews them. Words: 5182, Chapters: 1/4, Language: English Series: Part 4 of Roll Inspiration (D20 prompts) Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Alex Claremont-Diaz, Percy "Pez" Okonjo, David the Beagle (Red White & Royal Blue), Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s) Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Tailor Alex Claremont-Diaz, Escort Henry Fox, Sex Work, Sewing, First Meetings, Getting to Know Each Other, Eventual Romance, Eventual Relationships, Sexual Content, Explicit Sexual Content, Mind the Tags, they will change, Other Additional Tags to Be Added via https://ift.tt/GkdJt1r

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #red white and royal blue #rwrb #firstprince #OrchidScript

[mariacallous]

The first time I saw a Vivienne Westwood dress in the wild was while shopping for my best friend’s wedding, almost 10 years ago. She told me she wanted something black, not white, something in the sale, something she could wear after the wedding and – turning to face me on the middle of London’s Regent Street, added: “something that will stretch because I’m six weeks pregnant”. So off we went to the Vivienne Westwood store on Conduit Street in London, and left half an hour later with a loose black silk sleeveless pencil dress, with a draped neckline and ruched waist with plenty of give. She successfully wore it, five weeks later and 11 weeks pregnant, to her wedding.

Vivienne Westwood, who died on Thursday night, could pack more contradictions into one collection than most designers could in a lifetime. But in her clothes, she did the one thing designers are unable – or rather unwilling – to do. That is, make fancy stuff for real people with real bodies, making her truly the mother of all fashion contradictions.

Probably more famous for her transgressive marriage of punk and fashion in the late 70s – for dressing the Sex Pistols in rips, and Adam and the Ants in Elizabethan blouses – it wasn’t until the late 80s and 90s that Westwood began making proper tailored clothes by dissecting existing pieces, inadvertently changing the landscape of high-end womenswear.

The best example is perhaps her 1990 Portrait Collection show. Here, skirts were full, waists were boned and bosoms spilled. The models who took part in her shows were thin – but in spite of this, some of the clothes seemed to support their wearer, somehow making them look fuller. Removed from their catwalk context, they didn’t just expand the definition of acceptable body type; they encouraged it.

This was part of Westwood’s shtick, of course. If trends went one way, she went another. But at the time, viewed between the wide-shouldered soft power of fashion’s main New York players such as Donna Karan and the “heroin chic” thriving within its subcultures, Westwood’s 90s aesthetic was an outlier, exaggerating the female form rather than reducing it. The 18th-century-inspired gowns were not outrageous because they showed their wearer’s knickers, but because they understood what fashion for women with breasts and bums wasn’t – which was fashionable.

“All my clothes are really sexy, about meeting the body and making it look attractive and powerful,” she said, at the 2004 launch of her V&A retrospective. “I aim to make people look important.” Among her fans were undoubtably famous and powerful women – most famously the artist Tracey Emin, the actor Christina Hendricks (who also fronted a Vivienne Westwood campaign in 2011) and the shape shifter Kim Kardashian. Celebrities, yes, but also women with bodies who relied on clothes that celebrate the female form.

Not everything Westwood made in the 90s was about wearability, of course. Just ask teenage Naomi Campbell, who fell on her 1993 catwalk in 9in platforms, or Kate Moss, who in 1995 walked out wearing just a skirt while eating a Magnum. Nor is body image something Westwood particularly wanted to interrogate with her clothes (it’s telling that in a 2018 documentary, she described her approach to fashion not as attacking the establishment, but as “a distraction”). She cared about animals, and was a vegetarian, but partly because her favourite food was lettuce – she once alleged that she and her husband, Andreas, went through one iceberg a day.

It could also be said that Westwood, perhaps hypocritically, deployed nudity as a shock tactic rather than anything more helpful, particularly later in her career. When Pamela Anderson, her one-time muse – in politics too, with both campaigning for the release of Julian Assange – walked in a show in 2009, and revealed a nipple during the final bow, the effect was mainly comic.

Still, as someone who dressed punks, then supermodels, translating the shock tactics of one movement into the other through plaid and scissor-work, she pioneered a rebelliousness that often led to change. In 2017, her catwalk show was one of a few that season to include menswear and womenswear. What seemed like a gimmick then was actually fairly progressive – this is fairly normal practice now. Still, as the clothing was sold in separate departments, the only real way to identify the unisex stuff was to check the label.

Not all catwalk shows have real-world impact – and as empowering as it was to see heaving bosoms on her catwalks, how many women think of a catwalk show when hunting for something to wear? They did with Vivienne Westwood. As my pregnant friend walking down the aisle in a black dress proves, the clothes actually worked for women in the real world.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi!

I was wondering whether you have any fics with Crowley in a skirt of some kind?

Hello. Here are some fics in which Crowley wears skirts/dresses...

The city never looked so bright by nieded (T)

I saw this fanart of Crowley in a flapper dress, and it got stuck in my head on loop.

1926 to 1941, a snapshot in time.

Therein Lies The Beauty by BlackUnicorn (NR)

After receiving an unexpected invitation to his brother’s wedding, an unfortunate realisation about his old suit, and the inconvenient news that his trusted tailor had closed down, Azra Fell finds himself in Devil’s Wear and his world turned upside down.

OR

Two trans tragedies accidentally steal each other's hearts and then simply never give them back.

In the Shallow by Nadzieja (E)

Crowley is a singer in a drag club, Aziraphale is an A&R Manager in need of a miracle. When they meet, it seems like the perfect arrangement, but what they don't know is that the meteoric rise to stardom has its price and that their pasts will come back to haunt them.

Can they work through their differences and rise above the difficulties the world is throwing at them to finally realise that all they need is each other?

Loosely based on A Star is Born

Liquid Gold by fashioncriminal, smolalienbee, Sodium_Azide & Tarek_giverofcookies (T)

Goth beekeeper Crowley starts a new life in the countryside, in a suitably gothic house, with suitably goth furniture, tombstones, and bees. One day Crowley finds a surprise singing to the bees. And Crowley's suitably goth life changes.

A gentle cottagecore human AU, featuring a bit of a bastard, a bit of a soft touch, and many many bees.

A Little Place in the Country by die_traumerei (G)

Wanting a change, Crowley and Aziraphale decide to buy a place in the country and fix it up. It goes exactly the way you'd think, and exactly opposite of the way they thought.

(Featuring a female-presenting Aziraphale and a Crowley who experiments a lot with gender. Also, a lot of discussion on drywall.)

A Modern Way Of Living With The Truth by CloseToSomethingReal (T)

Ezra Fell is just as stunned as Adam Young when he's granted custody of the boy after the untimely demise of his parents. Though their relationship is rocky, they eventually settle in a bookshop in London and try to live a normal life.

Across the road is a florist. Ezra thought him to be just another neighbour until he ran across the road, yelling that Adam had gotten into an altercation his son at school.

Crowley has been running "Fleurish Flowers" for the last nine years, exactly as long as he'd had Warlock, although those two were not connected. All was relatively normal in his life until the odd bookshop moved in across the street.

An odd bookshop, with an even more odd, yet somehow fascinating, owner.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable partners #genderfluid crowley #genderqueer crowley #mod d