millimeraki - Tumblr blog

millimeraki · 30 days ago

Note

gasp yay reqs open ! :o hmm if its okay can i req real verso painting a portrait of reader and reader posing for him , established relationship? ^^

I AM BACK! Sorry it took so long to continue ;; But I HAVE been daydreaming about this req a lot. It gave me major Titanic vibes. So I hope it’s okay that I kinda went in this direction. But I cut off before it would get too explicit, wouldn’t have everything I write to be straight out smut lol. It is still a super ‘they are all over each other’ kind of vibe. Hope you enjoy! 💕 Word Count: ~ 4k Rating: M (contains suggestive themes)

[Real Verso / Fem!Reader]

(Verso takes up the brush again, just for you, and has a very specific idea of how he wants to portray you)

CREAK

The door practically screamed at you that entering these hallowed halls was forbidden. The sound of the unoiled hinges probably hadn’t woken the entire house, but it sure felt like it could have.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all,” you whispered, hesitating to even close the door behind you. Despite your nervously fluttering heart, you couldn’t help the awe rising in you as you took in the vast atelier of the Dessendres.

The heart of the manor, steeped not only in the soft, cool glow of the moonlight pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but somehow also in the sheer power of the Painters – so concentrated here that a few canvases were floating mid-air. You’d never seen that kind of raw magic before.

“It’s alright. It’s not like I’m not allowed to be here.” Verso was already making his way toward a wall half-hidden in shadow, where you thought you could make out various materials.

“Yeah, well... I might not be allowed in here,” you hissed back, your voice tight with unease.

The longer you stared into the large room, the more it seemed to stare right back, like it was impatiently telling you to get out. One of your feet had already turned back toward the door.

Verso paused and turned in your direction. You couldn’t quite make out his expression in the pale light, but you could hear the quiet chuckle in his voice as he came back toward you.

“You were all about adventure a minute ago,” he said casually, reaching for your hand to calm you. “Come on. It’s really fine.”

Gently, he tugged your hand, and though you hesitated a moment longer, you let him guide you further into the room. His thumb brushed across the back of your hand, encouraging you as your reticence slowly gave way to curiosity. You allowed the heavy, charged atmosphere to settle around you, only to realize that while the atelier demanded reverence, it also brimmed with wonder.

Paint supplies everywhere, half-finished pieces, magnificent paintings lining the walls, the ceiling probably as high as the manor itself, and a strange kind of royal grandeur that seemed to complete the picture of a manifested, otherworldly passion.

“Where’s your canvas?” you asked, the question that had been burning on your tongue as you had walked towards the room, only to die in your throat when you’d entered.

While you glanced around, looking for anything that might remind you of Verso’s stories about Esquie or the Gestrals, Verso let go of your hand to crouch down.

“Somewhere in the back,” he said, rummaging on the floor.

“Can I see it?” you asked a little too eagerly.

Verso began placing what looked like paint pots into a nearby box. Brushes clattered on top of them, the sound no longer enough to distract you from your curiosity. He’d told you plenty about the adventures he’d had with Clea, his parents, and sometimes Alicia in his canvas, but you’d never seen it yourself. It lived in the atelier, and you had never dared to ask permission to step in.

He froze, still crouched with his back to you, and you could tell he was seriously considering his options, maybe even trying to find a way to wiggle out of the situation.

So you doubled down. “Come on, I already know basically everything about it. Doesn’t hurt to take a peek, right? I’ll make it worth your while.”

You laced your voice with just the right amount of flirtation – exactly the kind you knew Verso liked.

With a small, exasperated sound, he stood up. Moonlight fell directly onto his face as he turned to look at you, and you finally saw the crooked grin forming in response to your bold attempt at persuasion. You smiled sweet as honey in return, whether he could see it or not.

“There she is,” he murmured with a teasing, intrigued purr in his voice. “Just needed a moment as usual, huh?”

You just shrugged, your grin still firmly in place.

“And how exactly are you going to ‘make it worth my while’?” Verso asked, clearly amused. This was a game the two of you played well.

“Mhm,” you hummed, pretending to think, while he slid a paint palette into the box beside him. “Oh, I’m sure I could come up with a few things.”

A surprised squeak escaped you as Verso pushed a canvas toward you, roughly the size of your torso, along with an easel. You instinctively reached out with both hands to catch the unwieldy objects. Just as Verso had planned, as you quickly realized, when he slid one hand into your hair to pull you toward him with firm intent. Not in a position to push him away – even if you’d wanted to – your lips met, his kiss assertive yet playful, charged with the same giddy energy as your little adventure.

You chuckled against his lips, prompting a satisfied hum to vibrate against yours in return.

“You little minx,” he said, amused, his face still close enough for you to see the sparkle in his eyes. “Never failing to bring me joy. And I must say –” he glanced around the moonlit room, “this is kind of fun.”

“Told you so,” you grinned. “Soooo…” You gave him a pointed look.

He exhaled a laugh and pushed his hair back in a deliciously attractive gesture. “Patience is a virtue, you know.” His tingling warmth drifted away as he turned to pick up the packed box. “Let’s focus on this canvas first, yes? It was your idea, after all.”

Your lips curled into a pout as you pondered whether seeing his canvas for the first time really outweighed what you were actually going to do. You looked around the room one more time, as if hoping for some supernatural perception that might let you spot it, but most of the studio’s contents were cloaked in darkness.

“Don’t look like that,” Verso noted, catching your disappointed expression. “I’ll show it to you another time, I promise. Hell, if I could, I’d take you with me, show you the world inside. It may be an old canvas, but it still holds its charm. With Esquie...” His gaze drifted for a moment, lost in memory, recalling the world he’d crafted and the beings who lived there. The way his lips twitched upward every time he spoke of it always filled you with a sting of regret, that you couldn’t just step into a painting the way the Dessendres could.

“You don’t have to show me your canvas,” it came out of you. “And we don’t have to go through with my silly idea if you don’t want to.” The way Verso was hesitant to let you further into his Painter persona had to be for a reason. Maybe you were crossing a line.

Verso’s shoulders dropped just a little, and his smile softened into something longer, more affectionate. You both still had your hands full, so all he could manage was a quick peck on your cheek to reassure you, murmuring, “Always the little overthinker, mon cœur.”

“Hey,” you complained, though you knew he was right.

“That’s one of the reasons I love you,” he emphasized. “You think everything through, even when you’re already halfway in.” Another kiss landed on your lips. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t up for it. If it’s just between us, and if you are the model, then I can’t think of a better reason to pick up a brush again.” He nudged you toward the door. “And a beauty like yours deserves to be captured.”

Those last words, breathed close to your ear, made you smile – shy, flattered. Verso had said them so naturally, but there was always that trace of reverence in his voice, that deep, weighty admiration wrapped in his low rasp. Since the moment you both realized you belonged to each other, some of Verso’s polite walls had come down. What had emerged was a thoroughly playful, flirtatious man who couldn’t help but push your buttons – one of them being the way he whispered sweet nothings with that voice that never failed to make your heart stutter.

“Alright, Monsieur Dessendre,” you replied, refusing to reward his smug grin with blushing cheeks and wide eyes. “Let’s, as you said, focus on this canvas, right?”

The tingling in your lower abdomen, you decided to ignore entirely.

He chuckled low in his chest, fully aware of the effect his confident teasing had on you, but instead of teasing you further, he gave you a playful nod toward the still-open door.

Unnoticed, you both left the grand atelier behind. Verso moved more casually than you through the manor’s quiet halls. Occasionally, the paint pots in the box clinked together, the sound echoing through the large rooms, and each time it did, you flinched.

You were all the more relieved as you finally stepped into the library on the ground floor, the most beautiful room in the entire manor by far. With its two stories of books stretching all the way to the ceiling, only interrupted by a single, equally towering and magnificent window – it was breathtaking. Not to say the atelier wasn’t, of course, but for a family of Painters, the Dessendres’ collection of books from around the world was nothing short of impressive.

You leaned your cargo against one of the cozy sofas by the fireplace to free your hands and picked up a few logs to place in the hearth. Behind you, you could hear Verso moving about, tending to something. Moments later, the fire flared to life, warming your face with its comforting glow and bathing the library in gentle orange and red hues.

Verso had meanwhile set the canvas on its easel and pulled one of the armchairs in front of it. Standing before it, he scanned the room with an analytical gaze, very different from the way he looked when he played the piano. No, this was a focused, serious Verso. Painting was in his blood. Even if he hadn’t wanted this gift, it was deeply embedded in him.

“Everything alright?” Your tone was cautious as he came toward you. His expression softened, the smile returning to his lips, knowing full well that you still weren’t entirely convinced by his earlier reassurance.

His arms wrapped around you, prompting your hands to rise to his face, your fingertips tingling as they brushed over the slight overgrowth of his beard. Both of you had let yourselves go a bit during the last few days in the apartment down in the city.

Soft lips lowered reverently onto yours. Not a day went by, when you were together, that he didn’t kiss you thoroughly. Whether it was waking up in bed, at the breakfast table, under the shared morning shower, on a walk in the afternoon – whenever his hands weren’t otherwise occupied. And if he was busy, it was your job to steal a kiss, and he always welcomed it.

Now too, his touch was deliberate, as if he wanted to take you in with full awareness. You hummed against his lips, and he rewarded your receptiveness with wandering hands – over your back, up your neck, along your throat, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps and warmth.

“Verso?” you spoke softly, but further words were lost as his mouth captured yours once again. Skilled fingers worked the buttons of your blouse open while he claimed more and more of your attention, pulling you deeper under his spell. Whatever questions or objections you might have had stuck in your throat the moment his warm breath danced over your chin and neck.

A sound halfway between a chuckle and a growl vibrated against your skin. “As delicious as this is, we really shouldn’t get carried away.”

“I’m not complaining,” you purred. “Just make sure the door’s locked properly.”

A mischievous grin crept across his lips. “I just wanted you to strip.”

“I gathered as much.” Amused, you raked your fingers through his thick, silky hair, only for that texture you loved so much to slip away as Verso straightened, your blouse now fully unbuttoned.

“So I can paint you properly,” he declared, though he still couldn’t quite keep his hands off you. He gripped your waist, firm and steady, fingertips lingering on your skin for a while as you processed his words.

“You mean?”

“You said you’d make it worth my while.” His playful grin didn’t falter as he began unfastening the clasp of your skirt.

“Twisting my words now – how unfair.” You pouted, amused.

You had to admit, the idea was sending your blood rushing, all the more with his long, soft fingers on your skin and the way he was undressing you slowly, indulgently. When you’d suggested he might paint a portrait of you, you hadn’t specified what kind of portrait. And now that he was actually agreeing to it, why not the way he imagined it?

“I’ve never painted someone nude before,” Verso confirmed your thoughts. “But –” His hands left your body and moved to the buttons of his own shirt, “– we’ll make it tasteful. Here.”

In one fluid motion, he shrugged off his shirt, exposing his lean, agile torso. You didn’t bother to hide your approving hum, and your hands were on his warm, already slightly heated skin in the next instant. His handsome shoulders gave you something to hold on to as your knees grew weaker from the intensity of the skin-on-skin contact your now bare torsos allowed.

You couldn’t help yourself, you pressed against him, lips finding the crook of his neck, your hands wandering, already in search of his belt. The more you rubbed against each other, the stronger the ache inside you grew, steady and pulsing, swelling in your lower belly.

For a moment, Verso seemed ready to follow your invitation. His mouth had found yours again – until you suddenly felt the soft fabric of his shirt draped across your shoulders.

“Slip in,” he instructed gently.

Both of you were breathing heavily, and Verso let out a long exhale to the side as you obeyed. The white shirt was oversized, hanging loosely off your frame, falling to your thighs, much bigger than anything you normally wore.

“This is –” You laughed as he swept you off your feet and into his arms, “– by far the most pent-up energy I’ve ever had before painting. It’s inspiring. Let me put it to good use.”

He laid you down on the sofa beside you, his shirt sliding ticklingly over your skin. The legs of the furniture creaked and scratched against the wooden floor as Verso adjusted it into position as he saw fit.

“Do you need help?”

He looked focused, his eyes not on you, but on the canvas. “I just need you to lie there and read a book. What would you like to read?” He moved toward one of the bookshelves, running a hand along the spines before pulling one out and offering it to you.

“This is perfect, thank you.” Nothing escaped Verso’s attention, not even your reading habits. “So how do you need me to pose?” You trusted him completely, but felt just a little too exposed.

Verso made a thoughtful sound, then knelt in front of you and began adjusting the way his shirt sat on your body. He gave you gentle, almost whispered instructions:

“Turn toward me,”

“Bend your knee,”

“Lift the book.”

When he was done, you were reclined softly on the couch, body turned slightly toward the easel, holding the book up in front of your face. His shirt covered only one of your breasts, while your stomach was left bare. The fabric flowed down your hip, draping across your pelvis to hide what lay beneath.

“You look beautiful.” Verso placed a tender kiss on the backs of your fingers, his voice thick with a kind of reverent intoxication. “Don’t move. Stay exactly like this. Read the book.”

You heard his footsteps retreat toward the easel, the clinking of paint jars opening, brushes shifting, as you tried to focus on the words in front of your eyes and stay perfectly still. Quiet settled over the room, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire, the occasional throat-clear from Verso, and the delicate sound of you turning a page.

If you focused, you could hear the brushstrokes gliding over the canvas. Your curiosity grew with every passing minute. You hadn’t realized you wouldn’t be able to watch him paint.

Eventually, your need to know got the better of you. How did Verso look when he painted? You wanted to know every side of your beloved. So you turned your head and risked a glance. And oh, how the boldness paid off.

Verso sat perched on the edge of his pulled-up chair, leaning in closer to the canvas than you’d expected.

He had tied his normally loose hair back. That same concentrated look you'd seen earlier tonight was glued to the canvas, his hand executing one brushstroke after another.

Another brush dangled between his teeth, a sight that – for some reason you couldn’t explain – made heat rise to your cheeks, even before you got a glimpse of his handsome torso, now speckled with little splashes of paint that he didn’t seem to notice at all.

His fingers, especially the ones holding the brush, were stained with color, particularly because he sometimes ran them directly across the canvas.

“You weren’t supposed to move,” he gently scolded when his eyes flicked your way.

“Oh, can’t you finish painting me first so I can watch you?” you teased, though you didn’t move a muscle after speaking.

“It doesn’t work like that, mon cœur.” The grin on his face was infectious. “Remember. Patience is –”

“– a virtue, I know. You’re proving tonight that you have far more of it than I do.” You smiled.

“Not necessarily…” Verso murmured, letting the words trail off as he refocused on his canvas. All you could do was turn back to your book and wait until he released you.

“There.”

You could only estimate how much time had passed by the pages you’d turned when you heard Verso’s voice and the clatter of brushes being set aside.

Certain you were finally allowed to move, you sat up, your joints a little stiff. Stretching your arms overhead, you walked toward him. He watched the movement reverently and reached out a hand to welcome you.

“Hey, no – wait a second,” he said as you began buttoning the shirt fastened around your body. “Leave it just like that, please.”

“I didn’t want to distract from your masterpiece,” you teased.

He grinned, grabbed you, and pulled you over the arm of the chair onto his lap, eliciting a delightful giggle from you. As curious as you were to see the painting, he was more important. The way his eyes glittered with affection, with that low‑burning fire in his rough voice when he whispered:

“The real masterpiece is you. And my shirt looks impossibly good on you like this.”

His hands explored your bare skin, sending a pleasant shiver up your spine. You looped your arms around his neck, stretching to meet him, returning to the haze of his lips.

Verso’s touch was tame, yet you could feel the urgency in the way his mouth claimed yours, how he seemed drunk on what the two of you had created together.

“Take a look, my muse,” he murmured against your lips and let you go.

A gasp slipped out when you looked at the canvas for the first time. Your first glimpse of Verso the painter was – there was no other word – sensual. You didn’t know much about painting, yet the way the colors harmonized, the way he’d captured the room, and especially you, spoke to you. Your body blended seamlessly into the setting and was still the focus of the piece, as though Verso had poured light onto the canvas just for you. The image radiated a strange warmth, somehow impossibly palpable.

Some of Verso’s mannerisms, with you and with others, clicked into place at that sight, and you realized you understood him better now. He might love the piano – the tender, gentle side of him – but painting was also part of his core, the side that gripped you with intent, with purpose and deep‑rooted passion.

“It's beautiful,” was all you could say.

“If I could, I’d stay in that moment with you forever,” Verso murmured against your ear. "It reminded me a little... about what painting can be. Let's keep this for ourselves, yes?"

One large hand cupped your breast, and you arched into his fingers with a small sound. He nibbled at your earlobe.

“We'll take it to the townhouse,” you sighed in agreement.

You framed his face in your hands, gazing at him with all the love and pleasure you felt. “Thank you, for indulging me. I had fun.” You smiled.

He mirrored the expression. “My pleasure. And –” his hand resumed its lazy paths over your skin, “– I should’ve started painting you like this long ago. Can't tell you how often I wanted to toss everything and just…” He left the sentence unfinished, placing his lips on yours.

Your body relaxed comfortably against his; you let him worship you. The heat of it all lay heavy in the vast library, seeping through every nook and cranny of the room.

“You’re getting paint on me everywhere,” you noted.

Verso gave a surprised grunt when you pointed it out.

“Whoops,” he murmured, glancing at his paint‑speckled fingers that had left little streaks of color on you.

With a mischievous smile, you leaned down, and before Verso knew it, you had left three strokes of paint of your own, a beautiful, deep gold, on his upper arm.

He gasped, half scandalized, half delighted. “You didn’t.”

“Just returning the favor,” you purred, shifting to straddle him, pressing him backwards.

He sank back into the deep chair, arms resting on either side of the armrests, looking up at you, inviting and curious.

“You know –” you began, using the remaining paint on your fingers to draw a delicate line down his torso, over his stomach, and all the way to the beginning of his happy trail, “– that hairstyle suits you well. With your hair back. I like it.”

“Is that so?” Verso’s chest rose and fell faster as you drew a small arrow at the end of the golden streak, then reached for his belt to slowly undo it. “Merde, you’re disturbingly irresistible,” he uttered, losing his composure. You could already see the bulge beneath his pants. Who knew how many times tonight he’d gone from hot to cold and back again?

“Let’s stay in this moment a little while longer, then,” you whispered.

#clair obscur: expedition 33 #clair obscur #expedition 33 #verso dessendre #verso x reader #verso dessendre x reader #verso #reader insert #x reader #x female reader #ask #request #millis mind

132 notes · View notes

millimeraki · 2 months ago

Note

I’ve read literally every fic you’ve got, I love your writing so much! Especially the Expedition 33 one with the Writer!Reader and Verso

Anyways, if you’d like or want to, perhaps a wedding day fic with Verso? Reader or oc, I don’t really mind either! (And if you’re feeling spicy perhaps a wedding night instead, but only if you want!)

Hiii, I feel so blessed and honored, thank you for reading my stuff and enjoying it 😭💕 I’m glad you loved the OG fic, cause your req really fits into the whole narrative so I wove it into the lore – I hope that’s alright with you! Also, I did *pirouettes* ✨both✨ *leg* 💃 So here we go:

A Writer & A Painter | Verso Dessendre – Wedding Day (& Night)

(Apparently, I lied when I said Part 3 would be the last part)

[Real Verso / Fem!Reader]

Part 1 of the fic preceding this | Masterlist

Word Count: ~ 7k Rating: E (contains smut)

“It's time.”

You had heard her high-heeled steps echoing on the stone floor before she even reached the door and came in without knocking. The look in the mirror you didn't cut short nonetheless. This would be the first and only time you'd see yourself in a wedding dress. You wanted to take it all in: the silk fabric adorned with the finest shimmering lace, the weight of the expensive pearls resting against your skin, and the view through your long veil.

The delicate fabric might have hidden your face, but it could never prevent you from recognizing your loved ones. Reflected in the mirror, Clea stood in the open doorway in her bridesmaid’s dress. This morning, you'd already had to bite your tongue to not blurt out how beautiful she looked. She had completely transformed her usually casual look, just for you – braiding her long, typically loose hair, swapping her headband for a flower crown, and donning the lavender chiffon dress. Granted, she had fiercely resisted wearing anything pink, even threatening not to attend the wedding at all if forced into it.

“My fellow three bridesmaids are driving me nuts,” she announced, sticking to her signature attitude. “They never stop moving. Who are they again?”

You turned to her in a graceful – at least you suspected everything about you was graceful today – motion. “My cousins from the countryside.”

Clea let out a clearly exasperated noise. “They act like it, no offense.”

You chuckled. “I know, they can be a handful. You get used to them… or you move to the city estate to get away from them.” Your chuckle turned into a grin that Clea returned. After today, your cousins would fade even more into the background, because you'd have two sisters now.

“Well, after today, just so you know,” she said, her tone dry as ever, “if you ever want them to visit, you'd better stay in that city residence of yours. Because I will object if they plan to come to our place.”

Her gaze softened as her eyes traced your silhouette. “I still can’t quite believe you all talked me into this, but you look amazing. Marriage suits you and Verso much more than it ever would me.” She stepped closer and gently adjusted your veil.

“How does he look?” you asked, your mind already drifting to the image of your handsome husband waiting for you at the altar. You knew you'd have to restrain yourself from running toward him the moment you saw him.

“As calm as you are – and I really mean that. If I’ve ever seen a couple ready for this, it’s you two,” Clea said sincerely. “Then again, I obviously never saw my own parents get married, so maybe that’s not saying much. Still… you two remind us of them.”

“Well, that’s probably the highest compliment you’ve ever given me,” you teased, surprised by Clea’s unusual softness.

Her mouth straightened into a more familiar expression. “Don’t get used to it,” she muttered, though she still fussed with your veil a little longer.

“Now come. Everyone’s already waiting for you. Time to get married in front of the church, our families, and the entire community. No pressure, though.” She stepped aside to let you pass, gesturing toward the door. How she’d managed to shake off your cousins was a mystery you weren’t sure you wanted solved.

Said cousins stood waiting with your father – who was doing his best to keep their excitement in check – in front of the large double doors that led into the nave. All of them were wearing their lavender bridesmaid dresses, giggling and greeting you with the widest, sweetest smiles. When their eyes landed on Clea, those expressions faltered just slightly but remained polite.

Your father, by contrast, placed a kind hand on Clea’s shoulder. “Thank you for bringing her,” he said. The two of them got along surprisingly well.

You loved your extended family, and your chosen one, too. Those who had never lived in the city simply didn’t fully grasp the more refined customs. And then, of course, there was the entire situation – you, the ambitious cousin, marrying the Painter from a distinguished family.

But someone was missing. “Where’s Alicia?” you asked, glancing around for your flower girl. Just then, the organ music started behind the doors, causing you, for the first time on this day that had begun with a civil ceremony and was now culminating in the church, to feel slightly panicky. You couldn’t begin without Alicia, could you?

“Don’t worry about her,” Clea commanded, while directing your cousins to straighten your train and veil, before placing the bouquet into your hands. She personally stepped forward, her hand on the door handles.

“Wait, Clea,” you tried to stop her, but in true Clea fashion, she didn’t give you the chance. Instead, she pushed the doors open and took her place to your left, behind you, next to the other bridesmaids.

Everything suddenly grew serious as you took your father’s offered arm, your eyes wide behind your veil, and began walking. Beyond the open doors, the church revealed itself in all its beauty, row after row of pews filled not just with family, but people of standing, of influence – highly relevant figures from both factions. Up front, in the first rows, alongside your families, would stand the members of the councils. They had more or less invited themselves; there had been no alternative. This union was a precedent, and the groom’s mother was the head of one of the councils.

You would’ve almost walked through Notre Dame itself now. The head of the Writer's Council had suggested it, but was ultimately overruled, much to your relief. Getting married in Notre Dame would’ve felt excessive to both Verso and yourself, though probably even more so to you. Verso, after all, was more used to opulence than you were with your more modest privileges.

Everything around you felt hyper-present, somehow amplified. The light seemed brighter, the colors more vibrant, the organ louder, and your steps heavier as you pulled your long train behind you, careful to walk with elegance – not too fast, not too slow – and not to tug your veil away from your face.

The brightest spot was ahead, your destination. There, in the center, stood the priest. And beside him, Verso. It was just like in a storybook, the way the air seemed to shimmer around him, as if he were a revelation, the answer to every question you could ever have in life. A smile bloomed on your lips, blissful, as if all your dreams had come true.

That same smile appeared on his face too, gentle and perfect, the one that had enchanted you the very first time he’d played the piano for you. He stood there, waiting for you, a scene you’d only ever dared to imagine in your wildest dreams.

He looked positively proper – his suit perfectly tailored, his beard precisely trimmed, his hair neatly styled. Honestly, he’d look handsome in anything, but you preferred him in something more casual. Just the two of you, living day to day, maybe cooking together, going for a walk, working on your art, or sliding across the polished floors of the manor’s foyer in your socks, laughing. A crazy idea, one that had once led to Renoir walking in on you, giving you a scrutinizing look, then shrugging and saying to Verso, “Just don’t let your mother see.” After that, you’d both snuck off, snickering, to a different corner of the estate.

That version of Verso wasn’t visible now, but you knew he was still there. You could see it in the way his smile widened as you approached, slightly crooked, just the way you loved. To keep yourself grounded, you had to dig your fingers a little deeper into your father’s arm, just as you’d expected, so you wouldn’t run headfirst into your future.

Your father stopped in front of Verso and the priest. He lovingly brushed your hand, gave you a kind smile, then turned to shake Verso’s hand. Watching the scene through your veil, you thought to yourself that you would forever describe this scene as the moment when Verso had wanted to express his eternal gratitude to your father, because that’s exactly how it looked like. You had to suppress a giggle as you stepped the last few paces forward to stand across from him.

Your hands found each other’s. His thumbs gently stroked the back of your fingers in reassurance.

“Hi,” he mouthed, and the tears nearly welled up already.

“Hey,” you mouthed back with a smile.

The priest motioned for the guests to sit. “Dear children, you come before God and his church today to unite in holy matrimony…” he began his saintly speech, which you both listened to with reverent devotion.

When it came time for the exchange of rings, confusion started to settle in. You couldn’t spot them anywhere. You had agreed on one of your young cousins to be the ring bearer, but he wasn’t getting up from his seat. Standing there in front of all these people, you grew increasingly anxious, your eyes wide as you gave him a pointed look, but he just shrugged.

You were just about to say something when Verso leaned toward you and spoke in an amused voice, “You were probably wondering where Alicia disappeared to.”

“Uh, yes?” you answered, nervously glancing toward the front row, where the council members were seated in quiet anticipation. Couldn’t Verso have at least let you in on whatever wild plan he’d cooked up?

“Well, she had a last-minute idea.” He nodded toward the aisle, and your gaze followed his. There, Alicia stepped out from behind a pillar at one of the chapel’s side aisles – and the moment you saw what she was carrying, the tears finally shot to your eyes.

“Oh mon dieu, no. You didn’t… that…” you stammered, a little embarrassed by the wave of emotion the sight unleashed, trying to laugh it off, though your voice trembled.

Alicia made her way down the aisle, head held high and smiling wide, carrying a large, richly embroidered red pillow. And perched on top of it – Soleil. The cat seemed to know exactly how important the moment was, sitting prim and composed on her little boat, head held as high as Alicia’s, a ribbon tied around her neck with the rings hanging from it.

“Bonjouuur,” Alicia trilled as she reached you. “Sorry, we just wanted to surprise you with something.” She held out the pillow proudly, Soleil perched atop it like the most regal of ring bearers.

You let out a teary laugh, sniffled, and didn’t hesitate to let go of Verso’s hands so you could scoop the little fluffball into your arms. Soleil blinked at you with her beautiful blue eyes and gave a soft meow, like a quiet hello.

“My jolie Soleil,” you cooed at her, not caring what anyone else thought. “Tell me the truth, did you plan all this just so you could marry Verso yourself at the last second?”

Across from you, Verso chuckled. Soleil meowed again, this time in his direction, and he leaned in, grinning. She stretched her tiny head toward him and nudged her nose against his, then gave him a quick little lick on the tip of his nose.

“Little charmer,” he said, repeating the nickname he’d unknowingly given her the day you met. He’d just kept calling her that ever since. Verso scratched her behind the ears, and she purred approvingly.

“My word, this is highly unorthodox,” came the rather scandalized voice of the priest. “Wouldn’t a human ring bearer have sufficed?”

You both turned toward him, his expression a mix of confusion, disapproval, and perhaps a hint of shame at the unconventional display.

You almost wanted to say everything about this wedding was unorthodox, but you bit your tongue. It was Verso who stepped in, his voice laced with that disarming charm of his, trying to smooth over both the priest and the council members who were now quietly rolling their eyes in the front row, though a few wore amused, forgiving smiles.

“I apologize, Father. This cat brought my beautiful bride and me together. The Dessendre family merely found it appropriate to include her in the ceremony.” Verso gently took Soleil from your arms and presented her to the priest. “Please, feel free to take the rings.”

The priest pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly unsure whether the cat might bite him. He hesitated.

“She is harmless,” you assured him gently.

Your words seemed to reach him. He carefully lifted his hands from under his long robe and began fiddling with the ribbon around Soleil’s neck, eventually managing to untie the knot and retrieve the rings without incident. Verso promptly placed her back on her pillow with care.

“Thank you, Alicia, my sweet sister,” you said with heartfelt devotion, your chest full of love and joy. “You are a treasure. This meant everything to me.”

Alicia's smile widened, if that was even possible, before she turned to head to her seat in the front row next to Renoir, who shook his head at her in fond amusement, ruffling her hair as she sat. Then he offered his hand to Soleil, and once she allowed it, gave her a short scratch behind the ear.

“Well, now that the ring… cat… has delivered the rings, we may proceed.” The priest cleared his throat. Holding the rings, he turned toward the altar and sprinkled them with holy water. “Bless, O Lord, these rings, which we bless in your name…” Then he turned back to you, passing the rings to you both. “If you wish to enter into the holy sacrament of marriage before God and His Church, answer ‘Yes.’”

Your body was practically humming with anticipation. Finally, the moment had come. Slightly flustered from the spectacle, the ritual, and Soleil’s spontaneous appearance, you turned Verso’s ring gently in your fingers, your gaze traveling from the shiny gold band to his hand, then up into his eyes, sparkling with joy and completely free of doubt.

The unwavering presence of his love, more beautiful than any poem you could ever write, washed away every last hesitation, like a gentle, clarifying summer rain. “Yes,” you said firmly, trying to pour all your happiness into that one, simple word.

His loving smile widened into a delighted, irrepressible grin as he slid the ring onto your finger.

“Yes,” he repeated, his voice steady and sure. Now it was your turn to put the ring on his finger.

“Au nom du Père, et du Fils, et du Saint-Esprit,” intoned the priest, making the sign of the cross. “You may kiss the bride.”

Gently, if not reverently, Verso lifted your veil and flipped it back over your head. He exhaled audibly as your eyes met without the thin barrier between you, and you answered his expression of almost disbelieving joy with a smile as devoted as your heart could muster.

His hands found the skin at your neck through the lines of pearls, holding you delicately as he pulled you ever so slightly closer. His bright, joyful expression didn’t waver, not even as his lips met yours. You could still feel the smile in his kiss. The moment was pure euphoria, yet devoid of nervousness – just a deep, peaceful sense of having arrived.

Too soon the kiss, this promise, was over. Too fleeting was the brush of your hands against his arms, before the sound of applause surged around you and you had to part. The guests rose to their feet, some beaming, others more reserved – a Writer and a Painter had married, with as much blessing as could possibly be given.

You smiled across the front rows, from the council members to your own family, then to your newly gained one, to all the faces you loved. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

Verso’s fingers wove between yours. You leaned gently against his shoulder, every touch grounding you in that ineffable feeling of home.

“Shall we, Madame Dessendre?” he asked playfully, giving your hand a soft squeeze.

If it had been up to you, you’d have disappeared with Verso right after the ceremony, slipped away to your city residence and simply been husband and wife. You’d have gladly walked right through the chapel, straight outside, and just… kept walking.

Instead, and of course you had known this ahead of time, the day stretched on and on, as it had to become one for the history books.

And so the entire wedding party made its way to Dessendre Manor, where the family itself hosted the celebration. There was an army of hired staff, a lavish banquet in the afternoon followed by long discussions about what your marriage might mean for relations between Writers and Painters, and toward the evening, a bit of immersive theater performed around the long table.

Finally, as the evening reached its crescendo, Verso sat down at the grand piano. He took a moment to survey the room and lifted his voice once more, despite having given so many speeches already.

“The Dessendre family would like to thank everyone for their presence tonight. It has been an honor and a privilege to welcome you to our halls on this most special day. Our eternal gratitude goes out to those who made this union possible.” He nodded to the council members, who raised their glasses toward him. “This piece was written by my wife – a truth, a fate, though not inevitable. May this day always remind us that a life to love is what we really need.”

And then he played that silly little piece you once wrote him to end your connection, only to deepen it, because Verso had already loved you back then. It wasn’t quite the same now; it sounded more melodic, more hopeful, a few notes changed, tailored to the joyful situation you two now found yourselves in.

Once again that day, the tears came – so many times you had cried today, more than almost any other day. But they were tears of happiness, so it was alright. Every moment of this day had woven itself into the fabric of a dream worth living.

Those still present at this late hour applauded Verso’s emotional tribute to you. He rose, bowed, and walked over to press a soft kiss to the back of your hand, followed by a glance clearly meant only for you, questioning, as if to check whether it had been alright to play that particular piece. You answered his silent question with a smile and a wink. That little secret was now out in the open too, and you didn’t mind at all.

After Verso’s piano piece, the gathering slowly but surely began to disperse, finally, after what had felt like the longest day. You both said your goodbyes at the door to the last few guests, including your parents, who would be staying in a hotel in the city. They hadn’t wanted to overstay the Dessendre family’s hospitality, though Renoir, as always, had firmly and repeatedly insisted it wouldn’t have been a burden.

At long last, you and Verso could head to your family’s city residence, which they had graciously lent you for a while, so you could settle in as newlyweds. And truly, you were so grateful for the promise of privacy.

“Thank you, for everything, for all of this,” you said to the family gathered around you. The first person you embraced was Aline. The woman who had so fiercely fought for you both, who had debated and even argued with council members just to make this marriage happen. All to make her son and his once-unwelcome bride happy. To help begin to end the feud between Writers and Painters. Because of you? It was hard to believe she held you in such esteem. And yet she put her arms around you, squeezing tighter than you were used to from her.

“We’re happy to have you as part of our family now,” she said softly, then gently pulled away, offering you a smile full of warmth.

You returned the gesture and moved on to embrace the rest of the Dessendre family. Renoir, who had surely been reassuring Aline behind the scenes all this time, the way Verso had reassured you. Clea, brave and fierce Clea, who had worn a bridesmaid dress for you. And Alicia, so thoughtful, who had clearly come to know you well enough to give you the most special wedding surprise.

“Thank you, for bringing Soleil. You’re taking good care of her?”

Alicia nodded with a smile. Soleil would stay at Dessendre Manor while you and Verso were in the city. She would be just fine here, and, you told yourself, it wouldn’t be long until you returned.

Verso also said his goodbyes to his family, receiving a paternal pat on the shoulder from Renoir and a few whispered words meant only for him – God knew what kind of advice he was giving for the wedding night, and honestly, you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

“Send someone… or write, if you need anything,” you said as a final farewell, before you and Verso finally stepped toward the waiting carriage.

Finally, after the most beautiful and longest day of your life, you and Verso stepped through the door of the house in the middle of the city. You stretched your arms as you entered the cozy hallway, a yawn slipping out. As soon as Verso closed the door behind you, he turned to you, looking just as content, and just as tired, as you felt.

“How is my wife?” he asked, running his fingers soothingly up the long lace sleeves of your gown, over the intricately embroidered Bertha collar framing your heart-shaped neckline. He toyed with the pearls resting there, eliciting a soft hum from you, his eyes dreamily locked on your face.

“Very happy, my husband,” you answered, the words like sweet honey on your tongue. Verso’s reaction was blissful. He smiled with such joy, then brushed a gentle kiss across your lips. Your eyes fluttered, heavy with the comfort of his touch. “And very tired,” you added.

Verso nodded, his fingers soft and warm against your slightly tingling skin. “It’s been a long day. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

You squealed when he grabbed you with a sudden motion and lifted you into the air. You laughed gleefully as he started up the stairs to the bedroom, carrying you in his arms.

“You were supposed to do that at the threshold, weren’t you?”

“Totally forgot,” he admitted at once. “Hope this makes up for it.”

“Careful, don’t step on the train,” you cautioned gently, but he managed each step with perfect precision, even while looking at you with that loving sparkle in his eyes, the one that never failed to fluster you just a little.

He carried you through the narrow hallway upstairs, nudged the door open with his body, and delivered your still-laughing self into the room. While still in motion, you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, placed a soft kiss on the exposed spot just above his high collar, and nuzzled his bearded cheek, drawing a pleased sound from him.

He stopped with you in front of the bed. You knew he was about to drop you both onto the mattress, and still, you laughed out of sheer delight when he did. You pressed a kiss to his cheek before rolling off him to lie on your stomach atop the soft bed, switching on the lamp beside it.

“Mhm,” you hummed contentedly. “I’m lying here now. I don’t think I’ll ever get back up again.” You snuggled into the sheets, eyes closed. “But the dress,” you complained playfully to get his attention.

As expected, it worked. You heard a soft chuckle beside you, then felt his hands at the back of your neck. “Look at that,” he murmured. “Every time I saw your back today, I dreaded this moment. So many buttons…” His nimble fingers began undoing the row that ran all the way down to your lower back.

“Why are wedding dresses made this difficult to put on and take off?” he asked, aghast, as the task dragged on.

“Nobody ever said marriage would be effortless,” you teased in return.

“Well then,” he said, shifting his weight with a rustle of the sheets, “consider this the first of a lifetime of efforts I’ll make for you. Whatever makes you happy.” Soft lips brushed your neck, and a small shiver danced down your spine.

Once the row of buttons was finally undone, a disbelieving grunt escaped him as he realized how many layers your rich wedding gown actually had. You sat up, wiggling the top half down and working your way out of the multiple layers of petticoats.

“This thing must’ve been incredibly heavy,” he sympathized.

“It’s alright,” you answered with a smile, standing up from the bed, eager to finally shed all the pomp and tulle. The gown collapsed into a pile of fabric on the floor, leaving only the light fabric of your chemise clinging to your body. As beautiful as the dress had been, you exhaled in relief.

Verso remained seated on the bed, watching with fascination as you undressed piece by piece. He let out a sigh of his own, finally loosening his constricting tie, both of you clearly exhausted by now, tempted to just collapse into the covers and call it a night.

Instead, he stood and came toward you. You used the opportunity to grab him by the lapel and pull him close, helping him out of his own clothes. Unfairly easy – just a jacket, a shirt, his suspenders, and a few buttons on his trousers, and he was free.

“Let’s get you out of this thing as well,” he murmured, his voice lower now, as he began playfully undoing the ties at the neckline of your chemise.

“Oh, Verso,” you sighed softly, even though his fingertips felt so wonderfully good on your skin. “I’m really tired…” It was all you could say, hoping he would understand if things didn’t go further just yet.

“Yeah, me too…” he admitted, but didn’t stop untying the garment. “How about we ditch all the clothes, take a shower together, and then just sleep?” He toyed with the edge of the fabric at your shoulder, slowly drawing it down, waiting for your consent. “We’ve got time.”

Warmth washed over you, and you allowed the last bit of fabric to leave your body. He immediately pulled you against him, skin to skin – after such a long day, it was the most comforting thing in the world. Your lips found each other in a deep, yearning kiss, just as you’d wanted to all day. Finally, you could mess up his far-too-neat hair with your fingers.

His large hands moved over the sore spots on your body, those places that had been compressed for hours and hours by your tight corset, eliciting another contented sound from you against his lips. In turn, you gently massaged the base of his neck, where his high collar had left faint little marks.

“Let’s go take this hot shower,” Verso whispered against your mouth and led you toward the bathroom, prompting you to reach up and begin undoing your elaborate bridal hairstyle.

Under the shower, the two of you would get lost in each other for a moment, washing away the stress of the day, hands wandering and lips locked in long, steamy kisses, spiriting each other into your newlywed state, senses blurred, until you curled up naked between the sheets of the bed, content, as if there had never been any other state of being and you had never existed in anything else. Verso would cover your face with kisses before the two of you slowly drifted off to sleep.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when you woke up again for some reason. The deep, dark night still stretched beyond the windows, over Paris, only the moon casting soft, cold light into the room, bathing it in a peaceful stillness.

Except for the warm body behind you, wrapping you in comfort, and the touch of gentle fingers along your upper arm.

“Verso?” you whispered sleepily. “Are you awake?”

A low hum came from him, his fingers lazily brushing up and down your arm, soft lips grazing your neck, causing you to shudder.

You nestled deeper into his enticing body, each second of his lips on your skin waking you further, your body and mind restored by a few hours of rest.

Verso didn’t miss your soft shifting toward him. His fingers, which had stayed on your arm until now, wandered up over your shoulder, to your neck, your chin, guiding your face gently toward his.

Your lips met in a sensual kiss that blurred your senses. Your body instinctively turned further toward him, opened to his caress and his lead – an opportunity he used to lean over you and deepen the connection between you. You clutched at his upper arm for stability as a wave of sensation surged through you and gathered as a tight pull in your belly.

Already, the two of you were engrossed in one another, your lips moving together with growing passion, the rising heat clearing away any remaining grogginess, replacing it with excited tingling. Verso was especially fond of holding your face and capturing your lips over and over again, drinking you in, feeling the soft vibration of your contented hums against his. He did it with intention, taking his time seducing your lips so thoroughly that soon you found yourself aching to feel his hands everywhere else.

You leaned into him, slightly squirming, nudging him into letting those hands roam further.

He smirked against your lips – how could he ever deny your body that wish? – and let go of your face, allowing his skilled fingers to explore your supple skin.

Maybe it was the fact that you were now husband and wife, or that you had fallen from sleep straight into the haze of his touch, but your whole body was already trembling, a near-overwhelming need pooling low in your center and tugging insistently.

He wasn’t rushing, though, his hand only brushing down to your throat, painfully slow, his mind focused entirely on savoring every inch of you rather than going straight to where your body already ached for him. But he noticed – he noticed how your breath picked up, how you writhed ever so slightly, almost surprised by how quickly you'd both heated up, his own arousal pulsing just as strongly through him. He had no intention of torturing either of you, but he wanted to build enough that the release would be beyond satisfying.

He moved to cup your breast, gently cradling the soft fullness, the sensation alone sending a tingle down his spine. You let out a quiet sigh as he brushed over your nipple, rolling it beneath his index finger, his heartbeat quickening at your reaction. He could see your expression in the moonlight – your eyes closed, lips parted in search of more air now that they were free from his. Your body relaxed into his touch, and into his lips now finding a new purpose: nibbling tenderly along the delicate skin of your neck, coaxing another soft sigh from your throat. How he loved the sound of you.

Even though your belly tightened almost painfully, you waited obediently, knowing that Verso only wanted to pleasure you. His body slid down yours, his hand on you some space ahead of his mouth, and you were unsure what to focus on.

But it was his mouth that reached a sensitive spot first, his lips parting to breathe over your heated skin, then enclosing your nipple, his tongue flicking over the already hardened bud. You arched your back into the sensation, a whimper escaping as the throb between your legs intensified. He took pleasure in making you feel this good, ignoring the pull of his own desire, even actively turning his body away from you so you wouldn’t feel how hard he was. He kept lavishing attention on you, tempted to return his hand to your breasts for longer consideration, but the way you opened your legs for him made your request unmistakably clear.

The heat beneath the covers built more and more, so much so that it began to irritate you – paired with the restricted freedom of movement, it was too much.

“Verso,” you breathed, “I’m hot.”

He didn’t respond with words, just a low grunt against your chest, never breaking the steady stimulation of his lips. He simply used his arm to push the blanket aside and let it fall to the floor, exposing your bodies to the moonlight spilling in from the night sky through the window. The cool air soothed your searing skin, the newfound freedom allowing you to part your legs even further for him.

You gasped as Verso’s hand slipped between your thighs. Your fingers clawed at the bedsheets for purchase as his index finger curled and circled your clit, the gentle pulsing there encouraging him. He rubbed you deliberately, with just the right pressure and pace, exactly how he knew you liked it.

But he also knew you wanted more. Your hips rolled forward, moving subtly with his touch, urging him to take the next step. Again, who would he be to deny you? He rose slightly, hovering above you, supporting himself with one arm, his gaze, from what you could make out, devoted, almost obsessed with giving you pleasure.

Your eyes fluttered shut again as his hand moved further, his finger finally finding your entrance. You placed your hand on his arm.

“Fuck,” he finally spoke, breathless, his first word of this quiet night a curse, just as you sighed at the easy slide of his finger inside. “You’re so wet.” And so irresistible – he had to remind himself that this moment was about you.

“Just for you,” you whispered, the whisper turning into a moan as he, overwhelmed by your words and what he felt, curled his finger inside you, pressing against that spongy spot deep within. Your fingers tightened around his arm. He stroked that velvety wall with purpose, always returning to that one sensitive place, giving it all his tender focus, building the pressure slowly, until he felt the first flutter of you clenching around him, your body alternating between tension and release. Then, he spread his touch, covering a broader area inside you, causing you to whimper softly.

You gasped again, his name on your lips. “This is so good,” you breathed, drenched in the sheer intensity of sensation from just the small, precise movements of his finger inside you. “Really, you could just go on and do this forever.” The pressure inside you built, radiating heat through your entire lower body.

A flicker of uncertainty passed through you, making you open your eyes to search his – hazy and kind of absent. “I’m sorry, is this terribly exhausting?”

Verso blinked once, his gaze sharpening briefly for the seconds he needed to answer. “I’m a pianist, mon cœur. I could do this for days,” he assured you with a cheeky smile that made you melt back into his touch. And then, a sudden, deeper push of his finger made you buck up with a surprised moan. Your eyes fluttered shut again as his touch grew bolder, his finger moving in and out with increasing vigor until you couldn’t help but rock your hips in rhythm with his hand, sigh after sigh escaping you, your arousal slick and flowing over his knuckles.

Your soft, silken walls twitched and pulsed around his skilled finger. You writhed, only to be steadied by the rest of his hand applying gentle pressure to hold you still. Instead, your own hands dug deep into his skin, so much that you feared you might hurt him with how tightly you clung to him.

A soft groan escaped him at your contractions, his self-control slowly but surely waning, shamefully so, as his cock screamed at him to finally get something – a faint touch, a tiny stroke, maybe a soft kiss, or, at best, the satisfaction of being plunged into the warm, soaked depth that was you.

As if you had heard his silent desperation, you loosened your grip around his arm and sent your hand wandering over his chest, briefly playing with the soft fuzz of hair on it, his firm abs, and the closer you got to his pelvis, the less he was able to focus on your pleasure, anticipating the imminent touch he desperately needed.

“Oh, Merde,” he lost his composure when your soft palm closed around his rock-hard shaft, its warmth like a cozy blanket. You felt moisture at his tip, the sign of his arousal, caught the drops with your thumb, and spread them gently, his finger still delightfully inside you, while you were already searching for more again.

“Fuck, I need you,” Verso groaned plaintively, amazed at how the simple touch of your hand was still enough to make him lose control like that. He was worried he would last just two or three thrusts once he sank into you.

“Yes,” you whimpered just as desperately for him. “Take me, please.”

Hearing you plead for his cock robbed him of the last shred of free will he had left. Whether you were married or not, hearing your voice like that – so completely responsive to what he did and said, so devoted – confirmed to him that he existed only to make you happy.

He penetrated you with his finger one last time before withdrawing it and guiding his hand up to your hip, gently pressing you to your side, him behind you, both of you vibrating with excitement to consummate your marriage officially. He carefully lifted your leg to open you up for him. Everything between you was hot, wet, and inviting to simply melt together, and so you did.

A satisfied, gurgling sound escaped his throat as he sank into you with a single, slippery move, and the relieving fullness of his cock inside you made you utter a very similar sound, you, after all that foreplay, barely able to respond any differently to what he offered you with his unique knowledge of your body.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low and sultry as his hand left your leg to roam over your body, settling on your breast.

Your own hand immediately laid on his as you exhaled heavily. “Yes.”

After your confirmation, there was hardly anything holding Verso back anymore; only with all his iron will was he able to resist pulling out and finishing on top of you immediately. Instead, he pressed a fleeting kiss on your shoulder, drew you close to his form, and pulled his cock through you in a simmering rhythm.

Your body practically fused with his, bending toward his thrusts, finding the perfect angle for you both to feel all the intense heat and pleasure of your connection as his movements quickly grew more passionate, hitting the perfect spot every single time he plunged into you. Your breathy sighs and moans turned into eager mewls, only spurring him on. Luckily, you responded contentedly, guiding him along, since he didn’t have enough mind left to pay attention to the direction of his thrusts. Shortly after, his hand was on your hip, gripping firmly into your soft flesh and pressing you toward him; he had to be inside you with everything he had or he would perish.

You searched for support on the bed frame, steadying yourself against his deep thrusts, your entire lower half ablaze with sensation. Had he asked you, you wouldn’t have known what to tell him to make you feel even better. Every fiber of your being already felt incredible. Your body showed him this on its own, tightening again and again around him and eliciting high-pitched whines from you. You needed release so badly now that you decided to take Verso’s hand and guide it between your legs.

He growled as you did so, finding your clit with single-minded accuracy to bring you to your well-deserved peak, circling it while fucking you with abandon, his momentary weakness replaced by the thrill of bringing you to climax.

“Mon dieu,” you whimpered as another wave overtook you, licking down your spine warm, then cold, then warm again, your body trembling.

“Come for me,” he purred sensually the exact moment your body twitched hard. Then, your nerve endings exploded, throwing you into a maelstrom of ecstasy, unstoppable and overwhelming. Mouthwatering, every fiber of your body trembled against his relentless cock hammering into you, helpless cries of elation escaping you as he launched your mind out of your body. You could have sworn you saw his mindless, devoted, focused expression from above – his eyebrows knitted tightly, determined that his muscles wouldn’t fail him now, on the final stretch, desperate to prolong your climax.

“No, no,” Verso stopped you as you tried to muffle your cries with your hand over your mouth. “Please, I love you like this. Let me hear how good you feel, mon cœur.” He needed to hear you, would have begged you if he had to, to call his name into the night. Thankfully, you obeyed his gentle command, and also gave voice to his name on your lips. Your twitching body made him clench his jaw in arousal, his hand gripping the flesh of your hip a little too tightly, he knew, but you were simply too irresistible.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he warned you, his hips trembling against yours.

You felt that completely carnal urge to feel him inside you until the end. So you grabbed his hand and whispered, “Stay inside.” You wouldn’t be having children for a long time to come.

A croaky sound escaped him at your request; he was far too lost in you to question you. On the contrary, your words pushed him over the edge, making him come immediately and harder than ever before. Putain, it felt too good – your shared climax, pumping you full, feeling your shivering body receiving his release. He welcomed your lips as you turned your head to find his, your mouths meeting in a tender kiss. The high slowly ebbed away, his movements growing languid but remaining connected until the very last moment and beyond.

Your breaths mingled – hot, heavy, and sensual – as your pulsing bodies gradually settled into calm, and your vision began to sharpen again. Verso panted, still deep inside you, with no intention of pulling away just yet. He brushed a strand of hair from his sweaty forehead, then tangled his fingers in yours, looking down at you completely enchanted.

He pressed another kiss to your lips. “That was…” he began, hesitated briefly, searching for a word that would describe how this experience had felt, even though he knew your body so well. “Incredible,” he settled on.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, still a bit out of it, lazily stroking his chin. “I love you. So much.”

He smiled lovingly. “And I, you.” He laid his head down on the pillow next to you. “So, how long do you think we can stay here, being naked, doing just this, all the time?”

A wistful smile, which he couldn’t see, flickered across your face. “Practically forever, I reckon.”

After all, this was written in blood.

Ending note: I really researched a lot about how weddings in the early 20th century would play out and no, they didn’t really kiss at the altar in that time, but as I wanted them to, they were all just chill like that 😤

#clair obscur: expedition 33 #clair obscur #expedition 33 #verso dessendre #verso x reader #verso #reader insert #x reader #x female reader #fem reader #reader smut #millis mind

117 notes · View notes