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masonmtxo · 6 months ago

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Insatiable

Summary: Y/N teasing Mason relentlessly while his barber does his hair

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: this is sorta filthy without there being any actual smut?

Note: this is a result of my brain going into meltdown when the picture of Mase with a marked neck from the barbers gown was posted 🫣 please please leave feedback, it really means the world 🩷

•••

Mason groaned loudly in your ear as he released into you, instantly dropping his head into the crook of your neck, the weight of his body pressing you even deeper into the mattress as he relaxed into you. You giggled softly, gently raking your fingers through his hair as he came down from his orgasm that had him near enough trembling against you. He had been so pent up, the post orgasm come down had hit him hard so you gave him a moment, knowing full well he wouldn't form a coherent sentence for several minutes after the event.

Once his breathing had finally slowed you gently tugged on his locks, encouraging him to lift his head and look at you, needing to see his face after the intensity of what you had just done, "you okay?”

He nodded, eyes still bleary, lips red and swollen, a pretty grin adorning them at the sight of your equally as flushed face, "yeah, just needed a minute."

You smirked at him, loving the way you could work him into such a state of sexual bliss he was rendered speechless. He had been away for a few nights with the team for a match in Italy, making him extra needy for you when he stepped through the front door. You hadn't even made it upstairs before you had him whining for you, on your knees taking your time to swallow him down your throat until he came. Your escapades had continued throughout the house, ending with him pounding into you on your shared bed after giving each other multiple orgasms throughout the early afternoon.

You checked the clock on the nightstand beside you, eyes bulging at the sight, "fuck Mase, it's nearly half 4 already!"

He didn't lift his head from where he had burrowing back into you, letting out a short laugh, "Jesus, I got home at 1."

"Nearly 3 and a half hours, that ridiculous," you couldn't help but chuckle with him, "think that's a new record."

His head lifted from your chest so he could look at you, the sight of his disheveled hair making your heart jump with love for him, knowing nobody else got to see him this way.

"Dunno, I reckon when I got back from the world cup we must have been going at it for longer,” his smirk made you twitch, instantly floating back to the night you shared after being separated for weeks. He had been relentless, his head between your legs bring you to more consecutive orgasms than you thought was humanly possible, before fucking into your overstimulated body for multiple rounds that had you screaming.

You both fell silent, enjoying the peacefulness of just being with each other, your bodies aching in the most perfect way. You couldn't help but stare at his soft features, heart expanding with even more love that you thought possible as you admired his pretty face, wanting more than anything to kiss over the freckles dotted across his flushed cheeks but you stopped yourself, not wanting to disturb him as his eyes fluttered shut again, feeling your eyes closed and head lull back as you joined him for a late afternoon snooze.

The sound of your doorbell had you both jumping upright in an instant, Mason exclaiming a loud "shit!" Before springing up out of bed and grabbing the black gym shorts he had thrown to the ground an hour earlier in his haste to get you into bed.

You couldn't help but giggle as you watched him hopping to the door, naked arse on show as he scrambled to get the shorts up his legs, still not fully situated on his hips when he darted out the bedroom door.

He was gone in a flash, no further explanation as to who was at your door but you figured you may as well follow, curiosity getting the better of you, pulling on Mason's large t-shirt.

It wasn't until you were midway down the staircase that you noticed it, too late to say anything as Mason had already pulled the door open, his barber, Adam, standing on the other side of the threshold. Your eyes fixed on his muscled back, long red scratches littering the expanse of it. They weren't deep by any means, caused only by your fingernails in desperation to grab hold of him in any way you could.

Though the worst marks were left across the back of his neck, inches above the tattoo you loved to trace over with your lips when you cuddled him from behind, caused by what you could only presume was the chain of his necklace that you had pulled tight around his neck as he fucked into you. The angry red indents stood out against the soft, pale skin of his neck, making you cringe as they were far from unnoticeable.

You winced as he turned to guide Adam into the house, watching as his eyes landed on the recognisable marks on Mason's back, causing his lips to twitch into a slight smirk. In a moment of horror, you felt his eyes flick to yours, noticing the way you stood frozen on the staircase in only a T-shirt, cheeks burning as you had unmistakably been caught red handed.

Offering a quick wave, you spun on the spot and ran back up the stairs, extremely conscious of the fact you hadn't cleaned yourself up yet and could still feel Mason's cum between your thighs.

You let out another squeak of horror as you slipped into the bathroom and caught sight of your appearance in the mirror, kicking yourself for even following him out the room when you weren't even remotely presentable for anyone at the door. Everything about your reflection screamed 'I've just been relentlessly fucked for the past few hours’ making yourself cringe more than you already were.

After cleaning yourself up, you quickly stripped your bed of the sweaty, stained bedsheets, the smell of sex in your bedroom slowly disappearing as the candle you lit began to burn.

Grabbing a hoodie of Mason's and a pair of knickers, you made yourself at least decent, attempting to tame your hair with a brush. You were observing your reflection in the mirror when you heard the bedroom door open, your shirtless boyfriend appearing in the doorway.

"Baby, what the fuck have you done to my back," he smirked, spinning so you could have a clear view, "I just clocked it in the mirror as I was coming upstairs."

"Oopsy?" You offered, shrugging at him with a cheeky grin, knowing full well he loved it when you marked him up in bed, loving it when you were so desperate for him you would frantically scrape at his back and bite down on his shoulder.

"I'm guessing Adam's already noticed," he laughed as he made his way towards you, wrapping his arms around your neck and pecking your cheek affectionately.

You stood up from your dressing table and cuddled into him, nodding into his neck, "judging by the look on his face when he followed you in, he's well aware of what we just got up to."

Mason couldn't help but let out another laugh, unbothered by the fact his barber had just caught him post-fuck, he was never ashamed of anyone knowing what the pair of you get up to when your alone, bar his parents. Poor Woody had been victim to your antics on multiple occasions when he stayed over. You learnt early on in your relationship that Mason had no shame when it came to sex, and for the most part, neither did you, the teasing in the kitchen from his best mate the next day about your noise levels never bothering you. But something about his barber knowing made you cringe internally.

"Why are you up here anyway?"

He gestured down to his crotch, his half hard dick prominent in his tight shorts which did nothing to cover up what he was packing, "I need to put some boxers on before I give Adam another eyeful."

You watched as he stepped away and pulled the shorts down, eyes not moving away from his naked body as he stood completely exposed. He smirked down at you, enjoying the way you reacted to the sight, pulling you back up against his body, "you're insatiable, been fucking you silly for hours and you're still dribbling at the sight of my cock."

"You did that on purpose to work me up," you whined, closing the gap between you again, hand skimming down his chest in an attempt to grab at his length, but he stopped you, holding you wrist in his and stopping it from traveling any further.

"Behave," the firmness of his voice made you shiver in anticipation, "and once he's gone I might give you what you want."

He raised his eyebrows at you as you whined, pouted lips and screwed up nose making him smirk in amusement at how bratty you could be when you weren't getting what you wanted. He stepped away and around your body, grabbing a pair of boxers from his draw before slipping them up his narrow hips.

He turned to see you still boggling at his exposed body, eyes hazed over, "can you stop staring at me like a piece of meat and give me my shorts," he teased, gesturing the material on the floor by your feet.

Reluctantly, you picked them from the floor and tossed them towards him, sticking your tongue out childishly as he smirked.

Mason pulled up his shorts slowly, hand dipping into the waistband to 'adjust' himself in a way you know was purposefully to wind you up even more, “come down with me?," he asked sweetly, a complete 180 from the teasing tone he had taken on before, "I want to go shorter but need your opinion."

"Fine, let me just grab some joggers," you turned to walk away, stopping when you felt his hand grab hold of your hip.

He smirked, "don't bother, he's already seen you without, and I like the view."

Rolling your eyes, you allowed him to take your hand in his, reluctantly following him downstairs.

You weren't stupid, he never usually consulted you for haircuts, you knew he wanted to watch you squirm in front of Adam, sensing your embarrassment at the situation a mile off. But you refused to let him get to you, determined to make him as flustered as he was attempting to make you.

Adam had already set his kit up along the kitchen island, pulling a chair out from under the counter when you walked in, throwing you a polite smile when he noticed Mason had you in tow.

Situating yourself on the sofa across the room as you watched your boyfriend discuss the style he wanted, you couldn't help but admire his side profile, quickly turning away when he caught you staring, a smirk pulling across his pretty lips. You knew this game was fruitless, his ability to get you flustered with just a look was enough to make you hand him the win. But you were determined to at least make him squirm a bit.

The TV was already switched on the sport channel, some form of golf competition showing on the screen. You didn't bother looking for the remote to change it, knowing you wouldn't pay attention to whatever you flicked onto.

You pretended to be disinterested in the men's presence, not joining in their chit chat as Adam got to work. Eyes following the screen, but mind running wild of how Mason would look dressed in some of the outfits worn by the professional golfers, seeing a particularly cute jumper you thought you'd buy for him before he next went golfing with his mates.

"Don't I know it mate, y/n is a nightmare." Your ears pricked at the sound of your name, brows creasing at Mason's choice of words, your head twisting to glare at him. You knew it was intentional the second you caught the teasing look in his eye, he had wanted to pull your focus back onto him.

Refusing to back down, you bit back, "and how am I a nightmare, do tell Mase?”

"Adam was just saying how his missus made them half an hour late to dinner last night, I was saying you're the same," he responded, "takes you about 10 years to settle on an outfit."

"Not sure about that Mason, since I don't even remember the last time you took me out for dinner," you knew it was a low blow and not even remotely true, he had wined and dined you not even a week ago, before he had gone away.

But he picked up on your challenge, instantly clocking on to your attempt to bait him, "don't be such a spoilt brat baby, l'm a busy man."

"Yeah, too busy for me apparently," you whined, spotting the remote sitting on the other side of the sofa, the clogs in your brain spinning as you thought of a way to rile him up further.

Watching out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Adam move to his front, focusing on scissoring through Mason's quiff. Taking the opportunity, you quickly cleared your throat to make sure you had his attention before getting onto your knees and stretching across the seat for the remote, arse stuck in the air. Glancing over your shoulder you noticed your boyfriend's expression drop, the teasing look from before now long gone, replaced by what you can only describe as panic.

You couldn't help but giggle quietly, giving your arse a quick wiggle as you purposely pulled the jumper over your hips to give him an even more explicit view, a lacy red thong the only thing stopping you from being entirely on display.

Not wanting to get caught, you quickly sat back on your heels, grabbing the remote before looking back over, Mason’s eyes still fixated on your every move. Adam was still messing around with his fringe, combing it and tidying it up repeatedly.

You werent sure what came over you, but you quickly dropping back onto your elbows with your back arched, forcing you bum are far out as you could and gyrating your hips in the air the way you do when you are silently begging him to hurry up and fuck you from behind.

His sharp intake of breath had you tensing, hoping Adam wouldn't catch on to the tension building in the room, but you breathed out when you heard him start humming, too focused on his job to pay you any mind.

With one final moment of bravery, this teasing side of you not one that came out often, you found your hand trailing up your body, firmly grabbing over your bum to grope it in a way you knew Mason would be itching to in that moment. And without a second thought, you grab onto your panties, quickly yanking them to the side and giving Mason a clear view of your dripping pussy.

“Enough.” He spat, making you drop back to the sofa instantly with a gleeful giggle, Adam stopping what he was doing and giving Mason a puzzled look.

“Sorry mate, I dunno why it came out like that,” Mason rushed out as he realised his barber assumed he was talking to him, none the wiser to your antics, “I just think that’s probably enough length off the top.”

Adam laughed lightly, still visibly confused but feeding into Mason’s cover, “no problem bro, I’ll just tidy up your beard then you’ll be done. Want it like usual?”

“Yes, ple…”

You cut him off, leaning on the arm of the sofa, jumper now covering your decency, “don’t take any length off, just tidy it up.”

Adam turned back to Mason with a questioning look, your boyfriend watching as you smiled at him sweetly.

“You happy with that Mase?”

“Yeah bro, whatever the missus wants I guess,” he shrugged, knowing you loved him with longer facial hair and wanting Adam out the door as quickly as possible.

Sitting back on the sofa as Adam started asking about his plans for the summer once the season was over, you grabbed the remote to pass the time until he was finally done.

•••

"All finished mate," you heard Adam say at last, glancing over to see him unclipping the cloak from Mason's neck, not missing the way his lips curved into a small smirk as the evidence of your antics on his neck was uncovered. The harsh red marks looking even more prominent than before.

"I won't take a picture to post on socials this time... you know..because of…” Adam gestures to his neck, Mason's face dropping into a smirk as he clocked onto what his barber meant.

"Yeah sorry about that mate, she gets a bit carried away sometimes," he chuckles, both sets of their eyes darting to you as you continued to flick through the channels, pretending to ignore their conversation to save you any further embarrassment.

You stayed put as Adam quickly cleared his equipment, making small talk with Mason about the upcoming match before throwing a quick bye to you and heading to the door, Mason in tow to see him out.

"Cheers bro, see you in a few weeks." Mason's voice was followed by what sounded like claps on the back as they embraced, the door finally clicking shut as silence fell through the house and your stomach clenched with anticipation.

You heard his feet quickly making their way back to you in the lounge, his voice sharp but you knew he wasn't actually annoyed, frustrated and horny, but not annoyed, "you're a little shit, you know that right?"

“What did I do?” You smiled coyly, reaching for him as he made his way over to you. He dropped himself over your body, hoisting your legs around his waist as he pressed his hard crotch into yours, absentmindedly beginning to thrust his hips against you.

“You know exactly what you did, my dick popped up so fucking quick I dunno how Adam didn’t spot it,” he laughed inbetween lazy kisses against you mouth.

You couldn't help but blush, shocked at your own actions, but secretly happy to have gotten him so worked up he seemingly was ready to go for another round without much convincing. “He probably did, just didn't want to mention you getting hard at the sight of him doing your hair,” you teased with a bubble of laughter at his misfortune.

Mason rolled his eyes, burying his face in your neck, “little did he know my brat of a girlfriend was humping the air and flashing me behind him.”

Pulling him up for another kiss, you both smiled into eachothers mouths, messily making out like teenagers.

“C’mon, let’s go upstairs,” he whispered, lips trailing down your neck in a way that had goosebumps prickling across your skin.

"There's no sheets on the bed, they were filthy after this afternoon's session,” you moaned, pulling at his hair.

"Right here on the sofa it is then,” he smirked.

#mason mount #mason mount smut #mason mount fic

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liveontelevision · 8 months ago

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Demon Barber | Lucifer X Reader

IT'S DONNNEEEE

FuCk i slaved away on this one but y'all wanted a novel, so here she is!

Content Warning: Smutsmutsmutsmut +18, a little bit of angst and fluff, and Lucifer and Reader being kind of shitty people

☆☆☆

Everybody knew how much of an icon Queen Lillith was. She immediately blew up any form of media when she started uplifting demonkind. As time went on and more sinners were sent to Hell, a ripple effect of styles and trends rang throughout the city. It was important to Lillith to stay up to date with them. She hated to admit it, but she couldn’t keep up. She decided to take the opportunity to bring a new face to her team. At that point, the Morningstar family had already hired a handful of imps to keep little things in line, but this was a position that needed the point of view of a sinner on the streets.

Lucky you, you were one of the first sinners to work personally with the most powerful couple in Hell! You weren't that different from anyone else, but you are a chronic people watcher. It was an important hobby that helped you keep up with what everyone was decorating themselves with. A perfect pair of eyes for adorning the most beautiful creatures in the realm in a modern fashion. You started your glamorous job a couple of thousands of years before the Hotel was built. Even with your immense age, you did a surprisingly good job at keeping an open mind and becoming knowledgeable in most cosmetic and costuming work. You managed to make it through every extermination and more in this career. The protection from being housed with royalty definitely had its benefits.

On your first day, you went through Lillith's already existing wardrobe, in awe at the quality and unique aesthetics that she had. Even with your praises on her gowns, she insisted she needed your knowledge of street style incorporated into her wardrobe. You definitely fit into the Pride ring of hell at that point. The queen of Hell needs your personal opinion on what she wears? That went straight to your head. You became the head of a team and were credited with dressing up Lillith in some of her most iconic outfits. It didn't exactly bring you any fame, you weren't advertised or really credited in any other form than writing. Sometimes, if Lillith was put in an outfit she really enjoyed and her makeup and hair lasted through an entire performance, she'd give a little shout-out. You didn't really mind, you loved doing what you did, and the sweet praises Lillith gave you sufficed your need for validation. It felt amazing to see her face plastered all over Pentagram City, and being able to say hey, I did that. The salary helped, too.

As time went on, you noticed how little Lucifer made public appearances. When he did they were exclusively with Lillith at his side. And of course, he looked.. He was definitely a handsome ruler, but he didn’t have a lot of variety in his wardrobe. And it wasn't exactly up to your or Lillith's standards. She would often suggest taking some styling tips from you, almost begging at times, but he would refuse every time. You did little things, steaming and restitching his wardrobe, doing some touch-up makeup for shoots, but his suit? It stayed the same almost every day.

One day, Lucifer suddenly had a change of heart. He looked disheartened but begrudgingly agreed to be dolled up for a shoot that was happening soon. You were almost as ecstatic as Lillith was, getting this chance.

"I want you to give it your all, dear. Maybe I can convince him to do some more in the future if all goes well..." She'd tell you in a hushed tone, the two of you standing in front of the double doors that led to your studio." Do what you do best!" She said cheerfully, her hand on the small of your back. She practically throws you into the room once it's open, leaving you alone with Lucifer. There was no music, none of your other artists had shown up yet, and the only thing you could hear was your breath shaking. You breathed in heavily, then put on your best customer service face as you exhaled. You played professionally at the beginning, but it's always easier having some personality and small talk when you're planning on being in close proximity to clients for so long.

"Your Majesty! I hope you're doing well today, I'm glad you decided to join us this time!" You spoke in your people-pleaser voice, trying to hide the nerves that suddenly washed over your body. "Why the change of heart?" You started questioning, in a desperate attempt to find some sense of small talk with the intimidating figure seated in front of you. As you spoke, you stepped in front of the vanity he was seated at, having to stretch by his crossed legs to lay out your supplies. "I'm doing fantastic. Obviously." He spoke in an aggravated tone. You sucked in your lips, unsure if you should laugh. Luckily he didn't need a response before answering your other question. "You've seen Lily, she can be quite convincing." He puffed out his chest in his seated position, insinuating something vulgar. Your eye twitched, trying your best to not let them roll.

That didn't stop your face from heating up, the image suddenly materializing in your head. You cleared your throat, turning your attention back to the array of makeup brushes and some colored powders you had picked out specifically for this shoot." She is a beauty, I agree." You felt the need to respond in some way before getting to work.

You loved doing your job. No matter who you worked on, you'd always focus on your technique before anything else, which helped calm you down while you delicately held Lucifer's jaw, twisting his head around to get a general idea of what you were working with. You examined a solid purple bruise that decorated his neck before he had the chance to stop you. "Oh! I just - ran into a doorknob. Yeeah.. I.. tripped." He rambled a pathetic excuse, learning away from your touch." Sure, let's go with that." You replied, finally rolling your eyes at his words. "But you said it yourself, the Queen is indeed quite convincing." You teased, twisting around and grabbing a brush. When you went to move behind his chair to start running a comb through his impossibly soft golden hair, you caught how red he had turned at your remark." Oh, it's okay, I'm just teasing. You know how long I've worked on Lillith, I've had to cover way worse." You added, genuinely thinking that would help calm him down. He let out a quiet groan of embarrassment, smacking his hand against his face.

It went silent for a while as you worked on his hair. You saw how it usually was put up, and you didn’t want to scare him with too drastic of a change, so you only added some subtle layers that left it a bit fluffier than normal. You’d stop every now and then, placing your hands on his shoulders and looking at your work in the mirror. He'd flinch at your touch each time, leaving you concerned at first, then just giving him a suck it up attitude for the rest of your session. You went on to do something that didn't need your full attention and looked over his shoulder to get a peek at his phone screen that he used as a buffer for the awkward silence. It displayed a little calendar, he swiped through each day mindlessly. "Looks like you have a packed schedule, huh? How's that been going?" He looked up and pulled his phone into his lap, a squint across his face. "It's fine, I'm handling it. It's my job after all, ya know. Important things." He didn't seem to want to get into too much detail, so you let out a nervous chuckle and agreed before immediately finding some music to play to cover your mistake. You were convinced he would fire you at that point. Or worse.

As you finished up, you viewed him from multiple angles, twisting him around in the chair. You leaned down a bit, your eyes at his level then reached both your hands out and took the pieces of hair that framed his face, curling them up a bit at his cheeks. You stepped back again and placed your hands on your hips, letting out a satisfied hum.

He definitely calmed down by the time his hair was done, leaving behind the crude jokes and little rude quips from before. Now onto the makeup. This was far more intimate, so you gave him a quick rundown as you rummaged through your things." Alright, you definitely don't need any makeup, since your skin is perfect, but there's a chance the cameras and the lighting could wash you out, so I'll just use a blurring effect with this pow - " you stopped talking when you saw his confusion." I'm.. I'm gonna doll you up. Basically.." You summarized it bluntly. It was clear to you how uncomfortable he was with being touched excessively, you did your best to accommodate. You applied some translucent powders to his skin, then brightened up the cute little red circles on his face, after mentally kicking yourself for thinking of them as cute. This is the king of Hell, knock it off. You cleaned up the heavy bags under his eyes, then noticed a tired purple hue to his eyelids. Going in with a lilac color, you emphasized them.

As you were gathering some other things, stepping back a bit, he turned his head to look at his appearance in the mirror. He was expecting some ridiculous and dramatic work, but he really just looked brighter. More alert, more alive. He shut one of his eyes to see the color you had added to his lids, "I.. like that.." He spoke quietly and sounded surprised as if he didn't want to admit that to you. You let out a little chuckle, the compliment completely going to your head, before passively scolding him for touching his face before you had finished. He let his hands fall back into his lap with a pout on his face. Adding any color to his eyes or lips required precision, so you were lifting up his face by his chin to do what you do best. You were honestly a little surprised about how well he handled the rest of the session. For someone who's refused any sort of cosmetics for literal centuries, he looked like he was enjoying the pampering.

You had only worked on Lillith before, and even if she was intimidatingly gorgeous, you adapted to being physically close to her. Going into a sort of auto-pilot mode, you held your breath, tracing out his best features. Pulling away to check on his full appearance again, you noticed that he seemed to be holding his breath as well. He finally let it out once you stepped away, his face already a little flushed. You didn't think too much about it, you were mainly annoyed that the composition of the makeup was being thrown off by this sudden blush.

"Well! Once wardrobe comes in, you'll be taken down to set. What do you think?" You stood behind his chair and spun him back around to face the mirror. He leaned in, making sure not to touch his face since you scolded him before. He moved his head around, even admiring the coverage of the hickey that Lillith so generously gifted him." Hm! I suppose this works. As long as Lillith likes it, that is." His voice wasn’t enthusiastic, but you recognized the satisfaction plastered across his face. He looked up to meet your eyes in the reflection of the mirror. "She's right, you are good at what you do, I'll give you that." You gave a little nod and began to pack up your things. "I'm glad it's acceptable, your highness." You pulled up some finger quotes as you spoke the word acceptable. "You were really nice to work on actually, your hair looks great and your face is already near perfection, so I didn't need to do much. Plus, you sat very well." You spoke nonchalantly, compliments like that coming as second nature in this field.

You turned once more and bowed your head a bit before sending a smile his way. His eyes were wide, and it looked like he was struggling to stiffen a grin. He cleared his throat, covering his mouth with his fist and looking to the side. "G-Good.. Glad you enjoyed the.. Uh - Enjoyed it.." His voice muffled behind his hand. You didn't overthink his nervous reaction since you were in a hurry to get Lillith ready next. "Oh, for sure! I hope I see you around more often! I'm sure the shoot will be great." You chimed in, finally dipping out of the room as a crowd of imps barged in, finishing up his look.

The rest of the day was spent getting Lillith ready for the shoot, which took considerably longer than Lucifer's preparations. The whole time you chatted with her about how Lucifer did, calling her out on the damned bruise that you had to cover up, and general catch-up that had become routine at this point. Once everything was up and moving, you floated around the set fixing up some small details on both Lillith and Lucifer's look when needed. And of course, the shots they got were fantastic. You couldn't stop yourself from admiring your work once the posters and advertisements were distributed.

That was the first time you worked with Lucifer. Not much changed after, you became a little more popular around the staff; getting complimented on how you dressed him and answered some silly questions about what he was like. You did see him around more often, and you’d make small talk. After a few weeks, while working on Lillith, she brought up another shoot that was proposed for a big event coming up. "And get this! Lucifer asked me to put him in the shoot!" She was absolutely giddy to tell you the news. "Well, of course, he wants to be in the shoot, it's because I prettied him up so well!" You bragged in a joking tone, making Lillith let out a sultry chuckle. She placed her hand over yours, a sincere smile across her already-painted lips. "Thank you, dear. He needs the pampering sometimes." You blushed at the sudden contact and grinned in response.

---

Lucifer did in fact join that shoot. The process was about the same, but he seemed to engage in conversation more and asked more questions about what you were doing at each step. It warmed your heart to talk about your passions, you were unknowingly gushing about your interests every time he asked.

As the years went on, he joined more and more shoots, accompanied Lillith to more public appearances, and generally just wanted your opinions on his looks more often. It didn't take long for you two to become close. He'd ask for help on outfits, sometimes becoming a nervous wreck about what to wear on dates. With his wife. It was adorable the way he worried about how he looked after being with Lillith for so long and essentially running a new world together. He seemed to really enjoy having his hair and makeup done, occasionally making a fuss if you weren't the one to do it. You would scold him, talking about how he's wasting your time, and that you trained each of your stylists, so he has to trust them. He pouted the whole time.

Being around the power couple of the century unfortunately had its flaws. Like having to witness its downfall. Both of them became quieter a decade or two before Lillith's disappearance. Any time you'd try and tell a funny story about Lucifer to Lillith, she would change the topic almost immediately. On the opposite end, Lucifer wasn't supplying you with the same amount of jokes and puns as usual and reverted back to flinching at your touch. You couldn't ask about what was going on, that'd be rude.. Right?

"You know, Lillith was just talking about some sort of Gala for the Sins, are you going with her?" You had some hidden intentions by bringing this up while you were fixing Lucifer up for his day. "A Gala, huh? Haven't heard anything about that, so - I guess not!" He blurted out, clearly irritated. Shit. " Are.. Are you okay? Is something going on?" You leaned against the back of the vanity, stopping what you were doing to give him your full attention." Well, if you want to talk about it, that is.. Aaand as long as I won't get in trouble by asking." You shrugged and crossed your arms over your chest. That happened once or twice, but it was for little things; spoiling an anniversary gift one time, or accidentally getting an imp fired when you were venting about workplace struggles. "Yeah, of course it's okay! We're fine. It's fine. I'm fine! Stop asking so many questions!" He got increasingly aggressive as he spoke, you threw your hands up, stepping away and returning to the back of his chair. "Okay, okay! I believe you, jeez!" You responded to it as a joke, hoping you could recover.

You didn't talk about it after that, lifting his mood a bit by asking about his projects and other little things. As you finished up his hair, you noticed him closing his eyes and leaning his head into your hands as you ran your fingers through his hair to coat it with some kind of styling product. He'd fallen asleep in the past, so you didn't worry about it too much. You went on to work on his makeup. He asked you recently if you wouldn’t mind coming up with a more subtle everyday look for him. Apparently he just really liked your work. Or, he needed the pampering. Either way, you couldn't refuse.

He was loving the treatment today. He would hum every time you used your thumb to brush a speck off his cheek, and would start leaning forward when you stopped touching him. You pushed him back by his chest mindlessly, just needing him to sit back in his chair.

You then started to apply makeup to his eyes. Covering the bags underneath them became increasingly difficult throughout the years. You pulled him in like usual, your hand lightly leading his head up towards your face. When you paused at some point to evaluate whatever you were doing, he suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze meeting yours, then flashing a quick peak at your bust that had been accentuated by your stance. He leaned back, a nervous look on his face.

"Um, hello?? I was kind of in the middle of something! That’s it. Tell me what’s wrong." You scoffed, confusion and irritation plastered across your face. He quickly dismissed it, letting you work again. He could feel your shallow breathing fan across his face as you went on. His breath was picking up, heart rate elevating as you kept this proximity. The leather on the armrests of his chair squeaked as he gripped his claws into the fabric.

After a while, you silently leaned back, only now noticing him falling apart. He leaned in slightly, dropping his jaw to let out a shaky breath. He would've hit your face if you hadn't stepped away. Possibly even met your lips.

"Uh – Your higness..?" You were oblivious, so you decided to question this behavior. He popped his eyes open and immediately leaned back into his chair." A-Are you done yet?" He squeaked out, examining the damage he had done to your chair with a nervous chuckle. "I'll uh.. I'll get you a new chair." He muttered, before looking into the mirror for just a moment. "Looks good to me! Excellent job as usual, my dear, I better get going, I have a meeting to get to so – " You watched in silent confusion, seeing him squirming and screwing up his words. He quickly stood up, not assessing how close he would be to you and how close your back was to the vanity. You stumbled backward, placing your hands on the vanity to keep yourself from falling any farther, and acting as a buffer between the counter and Lucifer. He tripped over your stumbling feet, his flailing arms landing beside yours. You were effectively trapped, his knee had bent between your legs while trying to find his balance.

A moment of silence. All you heard was the beating of your heart ringing in your ears. He looked down at you in a way that clouded your judgment. Neither of you said anything, but you fluttered your eyes shut subconsciously. He did the same, then cocked his head to the side and slowly lean into your face. He roped his arm around your waist, pulling you forward a bit, but not quite flush to his chest. Yet. You felt his shaky breath fanning over your lips, before snapping back into reality. "No! Nope - " You quickly broke free of his arms and began cleaning up your things, avoiding his gaze as it followed you frantically getting your things together. "You have a meeting, right? I just finished up, so you should be all good now! I'll just – I-I'll see you around! Have a good day, sir!" You quickly left the room, not letting him get a single word in. He reached out to you as you left as if that would suddenly draw you back towards him, but of course, it did nothing. "Well, shit." He let out bluntly, waiting for a moment in your own studio before b-lining it back to his office.

What the fuck was that?

You avoided Lucifer after the incident, and he seemed to respect that. He let one of your stylists do his daily pampering, knowing that stopping that routine would cause too much suspicion. He didn't enjoy it as much, but stopping altogether would make Lillith ask about it. Fuck. Lillith. A flood of emotions wash over you. In reality, you were closer to Lillith than her husband. You two gossiped and chatted on the daily. It was a struggle to face her after this, but what choice did you have?

She was completely silent during her last few sessions, so you drowned out your guilty thoughts with music. She disappeared a few years after that. You absolutely panicked. So did many of the staff members, but your sole concern was if it was your fault. You were quick to find Lucifer after the announcement was made, only to see him in your studio, running his hands across the rack of gowns that Lillith had left. "Lucifer. What happened? Where did she go? What did she say?" You rambled approaching him, but being careful not to get too close. "She didn't say anything. She left a half-assed note, and she's just.. Gone." He pulled a dress into his arms and gripped it tightly before letting it drop to the floor. He let out a vicious roar, throwing the rack to the side." How could she do this?! What about the kingdom? What about Charlie? Dammit.. What did I do?? We slept next to each other that night.. The same night she left… I-I could’ve stopped her, I should've - She just disappeared..!" He rambled on, quickly unraveling in front of you. You watched his tail and horns start to form, and you hesitantly gripped his shoulder. He finally stopped, taking a deep breath before turning to face you. He hadn't looked into your eyes since..

His horns shrunk back into his temples before he let his head fall onto your shoulder. You almost stepped away, but.. He needed this. And you needed answers. "Sir.. Was it because.. Did she leave because of me..?" You spoke softly, your breath a cool sensation against his heated skin. He quickly shot up, planting his hands on your shoulders and looking at you with a stern expression. "No! No, I promise it wasn't your fault. Fuck, none of that was your fault. She.. I-I'm not sure why she left, but that's not your burden to bear." He spoke calmly, a stark contrast to the raging mess he just displayed moments ago.

You two stood there for a while, his hands drifted down to hold your arms. What was he supposed to do now? He looked around the room for some kind of answer. Before he could realize what was happening, he was pulled into a tight embrace, his head just barely reaching the top of your shoulder. "It's gonna be okay.. I’ll be here, Lucifer. No matter what." It felt.. weird for a moment. This was the first time you'd gotten close to him this way. And actually, the first time you'd said his name without any sort of title. He let out another exhausted sigh, his hands snaking around your back and accepting the much-needed affection. As his head pressed against your collarbone, you stood there until he decided he’d had enough. You were there for a while.

It wasn't Lucifer's fault, but after that, you didn’t work much. There really wasn't a lot to do, without someone pushing public appearances and emphasizing the importance of image, you generally just mended and fixed up the staff's uniforms and Lucifer’s wardrobe. You were technically a stylist, but you've been doing this long enough that you could handle these jobs entirely by yourself. Actually, you did handle the job by yourself. Lucifer fired or sent most of the previously employed stylists away, along with most of the staff. About five years into Lillith's disappearance, the place had widdled down to a handful of workers. Some in the kitchen, basic housekeeping, a noisy secretary to answer some calls, and you. You started to question why he kept you around. You hated to admit that you still blamed yourself for Lillith leaving, but why else would she suddenly disappear? She was cold to you as soon as you kissed – almost kissed – Lucifer that day. You tried your hardest to avoid that thought process since you stuck around the mansion.

You were surprised to find out that Lucifer accepted an invitation to be on the cover of a magazine for Helluva Times. He hadn't needed makeup or hair done since Lillith left, and in reality, you barely saw him around. You were ashamed about how excited you were to see him again. Of course, it won't be the same as before, but you were looking forward to it nonetheless. You were taken to the studio where the shoot was being held since the one in the mansion was turned into more of a workspace for mending clothing. The studio was brightly lit and bustled with imps and some stylish sinners doing their part. You wondered if It was always like this, or if it was just because of Lucifer. You approached the vanity, the king of Hell seated in a movie set chair, with a golden star on the back, his name embroidered to the center. You were stopped in your tracks when you saw the dark circles that surrounded his eyes. Jesus, he was exhausted. You weren’t exactly surprised, more like distressed. Now that you think about it, Lillith really did a lot of heavy lifting when it came to keeping Hell in line.

"Your Highness." You gave him a little smile and nodded your head, beginning to display your usual setup on the vanity in front of him. "Heyyy! You..! Good to see you, Ahha.. ha.. h-how've you been..? How's... work been..?" He put on a fake smile and propped his head on his hand in a sad attempt to act casual. He switched to crossing his arms, unable to sit still and make eye contact with you at the same time. You didn't know how to react. The last time he was this nervous, he ended up pinning you to a table with his arms around you. You quickly got to work, trying to get the image of that day out of your head.

You go to comb his hair, recognizing that it's been a while since he let anyone tend to it; it was nearly grown to the bottom of his neck and wasn't exactly the cleanest. "Do you have wrinkle-free, clean, clothes every day?" You asked in response to his nervous ramblings from earlier. He nodded slowly," Then work is fine." You picked up on the sudden attitude you had, and it even surprised you. He quickly shut his mouth and started to spin the wedding band on his finger as a nervous fidget.

You had to put some effort in since he wasn't getting the same attention he used to. You gave his golden locks some much-needed attention, running a number of products through them and taking the time to restore it to its usual length. You found yourself peaking at his face every now and then, which he didn't notice. He was too indulgent to even keep his eyes open. You tried to stop yourself from looking at his relaxed expression, but you found yourself turning away only when he opened his eyes. You checked the clock, you definitely had some time for a more thorough session. You dug your fingers just a bit deeper into his hair, lightly running your nails across his scalp. In several swirling motions, you had him melting in your hands. You had to stop every now and then and push his head back up after it lulled to the side. It usually kept him alert for a moment, but it never lasted long. He let out a subtle hum every now and then, making you bite your lip in some attempt to keep whatever you were feeling at bay.

After you finished your little massage, you quickly finished up his hair, giving him a very-needed trim and styling it to its usual glory. You instinctively placed your hands on his shoulders once you finished and leaned in a bit to look at the results.

"So? What do you think? You needed a haircut, sir, you should… keep in touch.. If you need me, I'm here." A grin grew on your face and he couldn’t help but sigh at the sight of your smiling face. He turned his head to the left and the right, reaching up to touch his face delicately. He was less worried about messing it up and more worried about you scolding him for it. He let out a little huff and he opened his mouth, with no words coming out. It took him a moment." It's great, but uhh.. Could you do the – " He spun his fingers around his cheeks," you know, the.. Little loopy.. Bits..?"

God, what a cutie.

You let out a little chuckle and nodded, turning his chair to face you." My bad, how could I forget the loopy bits?" You teased, reaching out to either side of his head. Your hands lulled over his cheeks for some reason you wouldn’t explain. Finally, you untucked the bits of hair from behind his ears, pulling them forward and twirling them with your fingers. You placed your hands on your hips, still bent to be at his eye level.

"There. Ready for makeup, Lucifer?" Your words didn't come naturally, it took you a few seconds to debate whether or not to call him by his name. With his voice cracking in an attempt to respond, he just nodded, attempting to keep some dignity intact. You did your best to act professional, despite his lovely reactions. You started as you usually did, applying an easy base and highlighting his rosy cheeks. You never needed to do much to his face, and even after all this time, you still didn’t need to. Must be his angelic abilities, that his skin never really changes. You shrugged off the thought, getting ready to focus on his eyes. Instead of keeping his chin up, you took a light hold of his jaw, your fingers grazing his neck and your thumb placed dangerously close to the side of his lips. You both reacted to this new method, but you quickly went to work to prevent any more eye contact.

You took your time and it was clear neither of you cared to bring it up. He was past his call time, but when some poor stylist working for the news team came in to get him, Lucifer used his threatening status to give you both more time. After you finished covering the dark rings surrounding his eyes and prettying them up a bit, you mirrored your other hand and essentially cupped his cheeks. You did your best to make it look like it was for work purposes, but damn you were enjoying this. Such a beautiful creature in the palm of your hands, looking away because he was too embarrassed to meet your eyes." Look forward, please?" You spoke softly, lightly tapping his cheek to get him to follow your commands. He let out a huff, then finally prepared himself to look into your eyes. The noisy workers coming in and out of the room suddenly disappeared, the room going silent. He had your complete focus, and suddenly there was nothing more important than gazing into his red eyes. His hand moved to your wrist, holding one of your hands in place while he pressed his cheek against your palm. What a sight. You leaned in, not knowing what would happen, but also not really caring. Any chance to get close to –

"Alright your Highness, we're gonna need you on set in five." The harsh sounds of the room suddenly returned, a Hellhound making a more stern request to get this shoot over with. You quickly stood straight, taking up a brush and fixing up the small smudges you had created by holding him. "Rrright! Yup, pretty sure we're almost done, sooo... I'll be right there..! Thanks." He clenched his pointed teeth, as he thanked the brute, who walked off with a scoff. "Good golly – I'm their king! What gives that mutt the right to – " He stopped his rambling once he saw your sheer embarrassment. He took it as a sign that he went too far, that just maybe, he read you wrong.

He turned his head, looking back to his reflection and tracing his little curls with his fingers before letting out a satisfied hum. "Great work as always, my dear." He stood from the chair, stretching his stiff legs with a groan." I should uhm – I'm gonna get going, I have to.. Do the.. Thing – with the thing.." He walked backward towards the exit, pointing over his shoulder. "You mean go to set and get the shots? Hope everything goes okay, sir." You chuckled, going back to cleaning some things up. "Okay, well – oh! Thank you! Right, forgot that part. So, thanks..!" He just kept talking. Like he might never see you again once he left the room. "My pleasure, Lucifer." You hummed, still attending to your tasks. Oh, you should’ve seen the winded look on his face. He let out a wheezing chuckle, tripped over himself, then finally left the studio.

Once all your things were neatly tucked away, you were invited to the shoot. They had an extensive team of people behind the scenes, so you got the chance to just observe the process. They had him run through a number of poses, some regal, some more.. Provocative. Just for fun, they said. It made you cringe, it definitely wasn't his style. Finally deciding on a composition, he had his arms crossed over his chest, and he rested his thumb just below his chin, drawing your eye to his devilish smirk. How could someone who's been hurt as badly as he has, smile for the cover of a magazine?

You made some mental notes on his makeup and his hair, which they squished down with a comically oversized tophat. Trying to keep your mind purely professional became increasingly difficult when he kept looking over at you, his smile twitching every time. He must be tired. That’s clearly why he's acting this way.

"All right, we got it! Wrap it up, people!" An aggressive shout took you away from your phone screen, and you looked around at the rush of workers. You tried to catch anyone's attention to see if you could help with anything, but you never got anyone's attention. It was definitely a change of pace from your past experience, considering you were the lead on a team that really only dressed two people, even if they were royalty. By the time you got back to the studio, it was basically cleaned out, other than your little cart with all the supplies you brought from home. You assumed you were good to go straight home and find something to do other than feeling up the king of Hell; speak of the devil!

"Oh! I.. didn't know you were still here, I thought you left..?" A soft, and mildly raspy, voice came from the door, making you catch Lucifer's eyes in the reflection of the vanity you stood in front of. "No, I was enjoying the show." You leaned against the tabletop after turning to face him, a little smirk on your face. "You did good, by the way. The shots came out really well." You pulled up some of the shots that the company sent to your phone. "These are some very handsome photos.. You're welcome, by the way." You were gloating. He had walked forward to get a better look at your phone screen, squinting his eyes like he needed glasses, despite it being impossible for him to have poor vision. He scoffed at your comment, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well don't let it go straight to your head, dear, you didn't do all the work. I'm just naturally gorgeous, right? You used to say that all the time." He nodded his head to either side as he spoke like he was winning some argument.

"Well, I meant it and it's still true. So, don't let that get to your head." You responded like you were trying to one-up him. He immediately turned red. He can shoot his shots, but deflates at any quick or clever rebuttals." W-Well! I'll try not to.. T-thanks for being here. Not like, here, but like – helping with the shoot, and doing meee – my hair! Love my hair, came out great." Good job, Lucifer. You startled him by running your hands through his locks, attempting to fix up the mess they made by putting a heavy hat on him." Ugh, they ruined it.. It should be an easy fix, I guess... that stupid hat." You grumbled, running your hands along the sides of his head to smooth it out. He was biting his lip when you sent him a quick look." I-I like the hat..." He said weakly. You couldn’t help but let out a little laugh, beginning to pull your hands away. Clawed hands took hold of your wrists, keeping them hovered on either side of his face. "You said... that you'd be there for me no matter what. Do you remember that..?" He relaxed his face, but his hands were shaking just a bit. You nodded slowly.” Well, I’m - I appreciate that.. And you.. I-I appreciate you..”

“If you still.. I don't know, it's been a few years since – but if you still wanted to.. Ugh, dammit..! I don't know how to – " He stuttered over his words, becoming visibly upset, something stopping him from speaking coherently. You couldn't assume he was talking about the little incident from years ago, but if it was still on your mind after all that time, maybe it was still on his. He stepped forward just a bit, his grasp still lightly holding your wrists, keeping him close to you. Waiting for you to respond to a question he never really asked, he gulped, then let out a breathy, fuck it. In one fell swoop, he released your hands and immediately pulled you into a tight embrace. This wasn't like before, this wasn't to console him. His hands were wrapped around your back and cradled the base of your neck, leaving no space between the two of you.

Your entire body tensed, the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in was knocked out of you, and your arms were stuck with your hands pressed against his chest. He loosened his grasp as soon as he held you, but never actually let you go. His head had sunk into your shoulder, trying to hide some kind of adorable expression, you were sure. You had the opportunity to push him away, nothing was truly keeping you there. Physically, at least.

As you stood still, deciding what your next move would be, you'd feel him adjusting his head and turning it to plant his cheek on your collarbone, his breath hot against your chest. You knew he had to feel how hard and fast your heart was beating with how he was nuzzling into you. Focusing on one thing at a time, you tugged your arm out of his hold and lifted his face upwards, at least preventing him from being too close to your rapid heart rate. The next problem was your noses almost touching due to how close you were. His eyes were wide, full of some sort of desperation or fear, and a little bit of excitement. Your fingers still lightly hovered under his chin, and you could feel his pulse. Just as fast as yours, maybe even faster.

You felt him gulp, his face now heating up. Maybe the look in your eyes was too much for him to handle. You looked at the vanity that was just a few feet away. That should make him understand. Taking small steps backwards, which he didn’t understand, but also didn’t question, you kept moving until you felt the table hit your back. You leaned back slowly, forcing him to brace himself against the table to keep his balance. His eyes darted around as it clicked finally. You had put yourself in the same position that you were in years ago. His hands caged you in, and his knee sat between your legs for stability. You remembered it so clearly, you had no trouble bringing the two of you right back to where you left off. You took one of his arms and guided it to support you by the small of your back, then snaked your arms around his shoulders. Then, you closed your eyes and just waited. Just sitting there, anticipation bubbling in your stomach.

Before you knew it, he had softly pressed his lips against yours. You jumped at first, startled by something you were waiting so patiently for. You felt his lips pull away in response, but you were quick to pull his shoulders in, closing the gap again. He let out a little cry against your lips, as you pulled him even closer by wrapping your arms around his neck. He kept one hand at your back and sent the other to your outer thigh, slightly lifting your leg to sit against his hip. With a more secure hold on you, he leaned forward further, until you felt the back of your head hit the mirror with a light thump. "Mmph! Are you okay?" He pulled away for a moment to ask, which only upset you even more. You looked at him as if the answer was obvious, and fisted the collar of his shirt, pulling your lips back together. Clearly, you were fine.

Becoming intoxicated by your lips, he practically begged for a more intimate kiss. He placed a hand on your chin, pulling your mouth ajar with his thumb and quickly entering his tongue in your mouth. The sudden motion left you muttering incoherent praises onto his lips. He pulled away, leaving you in a daze. Once you regained your focus, you were able to reassess your situation. You had slid down the entirety of the vanity, your back fully against the cold material of the counter. One of his hands were propping himself up directly above you, the other still holding your leg, and keeping you from moving away as he pulled you impossibly closer. While letting you catch your breath, he sent a few kisses down your jaw and neck, making you grip his shoulders and hold your breath. He pulled himself away after pressing another quick peck on your lips. "Hey. Breathe. I'll take care of you, don't worry - " How dare he. How could he act so flustered when you did his hair and applied his makeup for literal centuries, then tell you to calm down? You scoffed and smashed your lips back against his, mainly to shut him up, but he wasn’t complaining.

He let out a little yelp against your lips, struggling to keep up with your sudden change of pace. Running your hands through his hair, ruining all the hard work you put into it, you lightly tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. A shakey sigh met your lips, as you took control of the situation, taking the opportunity to explore his mouth with your own tongue.

After this went on for what felt like forever, which you didn’t really mind, you pulled away to breathe. Looking up to him, your eyes explored the lipstick that messily covered his lips. You tipped his head upward by his chin forcing him to look at himself in the vanity's mirror. He let out a pathetic little wheeze, looking back down at you with a suddenly confident smirk." Beautiful work as always, my dear." He spoke flirtatiously, "You missed a spot, though." Dipping his head back downwards and indulging in your warm presence for as long as he could.

You were clawing at his back, untucking his shirt as you struggled to keep a hold of him. Both your legs had spread, making your hips flush against his. He kept you close, as he nipped and kissed across your collarbone, his sharp teeth grazing your skin without hesitation.

Sucking on the softest part of your neck, you let out a breathy moan and arched your back into his chest. The sudden motion sent friction to his lower half, making him release his teeth and suddenly bolt upwards. The reaction made you nervous, "I-I don't - I haven't.. It's been… Awhile.." He stammered out, putting an emphasis on the word awhile." I know, It's okay." He winced at your nonchalant remark, remembering how often you witnessed his last relationship essentially fall apart, as you went back to kissing his neck. He gently pulled himself away. "Nono, it's been awhile- awhile… I hadn't been close with.. anyone… for a couple.. Decades..?" He spoke nervously like he was embarrassed to admit it. You sat up for a moment, making him question whether or not he should've said anything." But.. It's only been five years, right?" You weren't sure if this was the best time to be getting into this, but these are answers you’ve been wanting for years.

"I don't know what happened, sweetheart, but we lost what we had long before any of this. I'm sorry if you thought.. I can't have you take on that burden.. Okay?" He cupped your face, shifting to a more tender approach. You tried piecing things together in your mind, which was still cloudy from the past few hours. Of course, that still doesn’t make what you two did right. Of course, you blamed yourself after all this time. He pulled you out of your thoughts, by tucking a bit of hair behind your ear and keeping his tender hold on your cheek. You couldn’t help but smile and nuzzle your face into his hand.

"We can stop if you want, love." Oh how you wanted to say stop. To say that you were terrible people for even feeling this way after all this time, while he was with his wife. Who also happened to be your employer. How scandalous. "No, I want this." You said without a hint of hesitation in your voice. It shocked him a bit, but he didn’t have much time to react before you leaned forward, unbuttoning his coat and pushing it off his shoulders. You pulled him in by his collar again, continuing to remove his vest, then opening his shirt, letting it hang open loosely, his white skin just barely peeking out. He shrugged comically, before going back to working on your neck, pulling at the hem of your blouse that had already fallen to your shoulders.

He ran his hands along your curves, eliciting a shiver down your spine. You reached your hands into his open shirt, your warm hands trailing across his even warmer chest. Your physical pleasure was subdued for a moment, absolutely in awe. "You have beautiful skin, Lucifer." Your voice was breathy, he lulled his head to the side, melting at your words and intimate touch. After a moment he let out a sweet chuckle and shrugged his top completely off. "So I've been told." Implying your constant praises from before, he puffed his chest out.

Oh, he was loving this. You sat up, your legs just at the edge of the countertop as you arched your back into him, closing the gap between your hips. You started by pressing a little kiss on his cheek, his face heating up even after all he's done to you. You then, moved your way down to work your lips across his neck and collarbone. Gently tracing his spine with one hand the other traveled downward as you pulled his hips into yours. Messaging his hip and continuously running your fingers along the center of his back, you sent him into sensory overload. You weren't surprised by the sudden bulge you felt hitting your center, in fact, you reveled how that confirmed you were doing a good job. You began sucking and biting on the skin, stopping to let out breathy mewls into his ear. The massaging of his hip turned into you pulling him in, then pushing him away slightly, only to viciously repeat the motion, forcing him to start grinding against you. Your hand on his back continued to trail up and down his spine, only you started to drag your nails across his skin as well, digging in a bit harder whenever you heard his voice hitch. You let your fingers slip into his pants every now and then, the cool sensation of your hands making him let out a little whimper.

"Your skin really is perfect, Lucifer. You are entirely beautiful. You're absolutely stunning, my king." You hummed into his ear, your skilled hands continuing to drive him crazy. He could barely keep up, his head falling back whenever you'd reach up to run your fingers through his hair. "K-Kiss me.." You heard him almost whisper, making you pull back for a moment to assess his stature. He had his hands on your hips, to keep you close, but also to keep him standing on his swaying feet. "I-I need you to.. kiss me.. Please.." He spoke in choppy sentences, he was too lost in his own pleasure to keep his head up, so you kept it forward by cradling the back of his head. When his head would start to droop too far forward, you gave his hair a light tug to remind him where he was. Did he need permission? You enjoyed the 180 he had made from the flirtatious tease just moments ago, humming in thought and tapping your chin like you were still deciding. Like you were considering not kissing him as passionately as he could handle.

He was lightly grinding his hard-on into you but still seemed patient enough to wait for your answer. "Well.. Since you said please." You finally said after far too long. He let out a sigh of relief as you inched towards him. You left your lips just over his, only letting him feel your heated breath against his lips. He shifted his stance but never moved towards you. You brushed your lips against his, not locking them together, just barely grazing them. He let out an impatient groan, his eyes clenched shut as you teased him so cruelly. Who knew this is what would bring tears to his eyes? You ran your hands up his chest, then dug your nails into him as you went back down. You finally met his lips, deciding he had enough after you wiped away a tear from his watering eyes. You don't know how he still managed to keep the kiss so tender after acting so desperate beforehand. You continuously wiped the tears off his face, keeping your hands on his face and caressing his cheeks with your thumbs. As you pulled away, he followed your lips, disappointed in the sudden disconnect. He took the silence and the look on your face as a sign, that he needs to tell you what he wants.

He dropped to his knees, the warmth you had sitting between your legs was hit with the cool air of the room as he did. He kept his hands off of you and himself but fiddled with his thumbs to keep them busy in some way. He took in a deep breath, before speaking quickly," Can I taste you?" His voice was embarrassingly loud like he was just waiting and waiting to finally say it. It sort of shocked you, you assumed he’d be nervous after admitting he hadn't done this in a while. You pulled your legs together, finally feeling how wet you were becoming, but needing to commit to the bit. You crossed your ankles to furth prevent access. "I suppose so.. But what do you saay?" you reached down and tapped the tip of his nose, as you dragged out your words like you were speaking to a child. "Please..! I need to touch you, please.." He quickly replied, with no hesitation at all. "Good boy." That was it for you.

You realized you sealed your fate, as you felt him take a hold on your knees and pull them back apart gently. He moved forward until he could rest his head on your plush thigh, which he did for a while. He lifted your skirt up to your waist, then took a moment to appreciate the view. You were finally becoming a bit embarrassed, attempting to close your legs instinctively, but he pushed your legs farther apart, keeping a tight hold onto your thighs. When he looked up at you, his eyes were wide and innocent, as if he wasn’t keeping your legs apart and wiggling his hips to give some much-needed friction to his own growing problems.

He blinked, then looked back down, trailing his clawed finger across your wet underwear. You covered the sounds you were making with the back of your hand, still struggling to keep your legs open for him. He bent his finger and pressed it deeply into your still-clothed entrance. The sensation of the fabric digging into you made you groan, but that didn’t affect him at all. He licked his lips and began gathering spit in his mouth and he pushed your legs back in place, keeping them apart this time. Running his forked tongue across your panties, you squirmed under his touch. As he lapped at the fabric, the heat from his breath and the wetness he was coating you with caused you to fall back onto your forearms. "L-Lucifer - " You said weakly, quickly drawing his attention. "This is cruel." You pouted, continuing to let out a little whimper as he kept running two of his fingers across your underwear.

He cocked his head to the side as if he didn’t understand the damage he was doing. He was playing dumb." Oh? I'm sorry, love, how should I touch you then?" He was way too calm for your liking. He let one of his fingers just graze the hem, only touching a bit of your skin. You let out an annoyed groan, and move your underwear to the side, guiding the tip of his finger to your entrance. With your hand holding his wrist, you pushed his fingers inside of you, a strange sensation to say the least. It was embarrassing. He noticed your discomfort and finally dropped the act, sending you a sweet smile and kissing your thigh before starting to pump his fingers inside of you.

You let out a sultry moan, a mixture of relief and pure pleasure finally hitting you as you felt him add another finger without any real warning. You lulled your head back, not able to see his absolute focus on matching the rhythm of his fingers to the circling of your clit. Before you could fully comprehend, he pulled his hands away and back onto your thighs, delving into your center with a heated, open-mouthed kiss. Letting out a gasp, he delved into your folds, his tongue easily slipping from your entrance and back up to your clit. He lifted a hand to continue to slowly rub his thumb in small circles, so he could focus his tongue on thrusting in and out of your entreance with ease.

He showed no sign of faltering as you bucked into his face, desperate for more of him. Your hands moved to his hair, taking a tight hold as he hit right where he was supposed to. He scrunched his face, letting out a low growl as you yanked at his scalp, the vibrations startling you in a wonderful way. He only sped up when you started to babble about being close, letting your thighs tighten around his face as you finish into his lips. He continues his rapid pace, the adrenaline from being squeezed by your shaky legs taking over. You finally pulled his head away from you after the pleasure of overstimulation started to ache in your core. You sunk backward, your body twitching on occasion.

He planted a kiss on your thigh before rising back to his feet. He leaned into you, the fabric over his groin coated in your juices the longer he pressed in. He pecked your temple, looking at you, completely unphased." Too much? How did I do..?" He seemed genuinely interested in whether or not he did a good job." Y-you did.. Great.. It was g-good.. Felt good.." You gave a pathetic thumbs up as you caught your breath." W-what happened to the whole it's been a while thing? Fuck, Lucifer." You sat up finally seeing that he split the fabric of your underwear at some point to gain better access." Guess I've still got it." He said with a smirk, waggling his eyebrows at you. You couldn’t take him seriously. Your wetness and lipstick stained his mouth, the eyeliner you had applied had ran down his cheeks and rubbed under his eyes. Not to mention, he was covered in your marks. It's fine you can cover those, you thought. Even with his sudden burst of dominance, you took pride in the fact that this was all because of you. He was all yours.

☆☆☆

If you're curious, that one is pushing 10k words ;)

(Tagging some people who might appreciate it) @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @bat-boness @christineblood

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin #lucifer magne #hazbin hotel fandom #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin smut #lucifer x you #lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader smut #lucifer x you smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin fanfic #hazbin fanfiction #lucifer morningstar x you

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captainlondonman · 4 months ago

Text

SHORT STORY- TURKISH BARBER

Sam decided he needed a haircut, only a trim but a tidy up anyway and went off to his usual barber. As he went to open the door he noticed a sign saying ‘On vacation. Back soon’

‘Shit now I need to find another place.’

He remembered passing several times a Turkish barber shop where there never seemed to be many clients and the older barber was invariably sitting reading a newspaper

‘Well’, he thought’ it’s only a trim he can’t go far wrong.’

He pushed the door open and walked in

The guy looked up and smiled

‘Looking for a haircut?’

‘Yeah just a trim if that’s OK.’

‘Come and sit down and let’s get started.’

After getting a gown around Sam’s neck the barber took out his scissors and started on the sides. Thinking of getting a conversation started Sam asked

‘Are you Turkish?’

‘Yes sure am but I’ve been here a good few years. Have you ever been to Turkey?’

‘Once a few years ago to Istanbul. I’ts an amazing city. I loved it. So much to see and do. Really where East meets West.’

‘Everyone goes there and you are right but have you been to any of the beaches in Turkey?’

‘No.’

‘That is something else, golden sand and blue blue sea.’

‘Not sure I would find it that easy.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well with my fair skin and flat chest I would find it a bit daunting with all those hairy chested Turks showing off their masculine bodies’

‘You have a point I think.’

‘They all look so manly with their thick beards and dark hairy chests.’

‘You obviously look carefully at us Turkish men.’

‘Well, you cannot miss all that black hair.’

‘You would like to have hairy chest I think.’

‘Sure I would love to but clearly not going to happen so perhaps I leave out the beaches.’

‘Not everyone has black hairy chest. Look at me, mine is now grey.’

‘I see that but even though you only have your two top buttons undone I can see your chest must have been dark at one time and now its grey but a lot of hair. Lucky you.’

‘Wait a minute I have an idea.’

And with that he put down his scissors and walked over to the door locking it. ‘Now let me take off your cover and follow me to the back of the shop. Don’t worry. From what you said you will be happy trust me.’

Sam had no idea what the guy was talking about but got up and followed the guy into the back room.

‘So you like hairy men and even noticed the hairs sprouting out the top of my shirt so I now take off my shirt and you do the same.’

At first Sam thought the guy had taken leave of his senses but part of him wanted to see how the full chest hair looked like even if he was going to show nothing.

Sam stripped off his shirt feeling very self conscious.

‘I see what you mean young man, not much hair to show. Would not be well receievd on a Turkish beach I think. This is more like it.’

The barber slowly took off his shirt and Sam’s eyes were on stalks. Not only was the barber covered with a thick mat of chest hair but it came up all across his shoulders and down his arms to his very fingertips. It was almost like a gorilla. The hair was salt and pepper with a dark area around the navel getting greyer as it rose up over his chest and tits. The shoulders were thick in white hair.

‘Now that is a Turkish chest for you.’

‘Good god that is amazing I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as hairy.’

‘I think you like it judging by your eyes. Sadly my wife hates it she would prefer I was like you.’

‘Then she is totally wrong it looks great on you and I just wish I had some of what you have.’

‘You really would like to be hairy would you not?’

‘There is something really special about hairy and Turkish and arab men. They look so masculine.’

‘Hairy bodies are for men. Hairless chests for boys.’

‘Yeah but I am a man.’.

‘A man who would like to be hairy.’

‘Sure would.’

‘So would you like to touch my chest and feel the hair?’

‘Can I?’

‘Well I have asked you so yes, see what it is like.’

Sam gingerly put his hands lightly on the barber’s chest and felt the thick curling mass of hair.

‘Now come on boy just giving a little touch is hardly being a man. Run your hands over and deeply across my chest so you know what a hairy chest really feels like. Let your hands become entangled in the hair. Let me feel your hands.’

Sam started to move his hands deep into the hair letting the grey thick hair curl around his fingers. He had never felt anything like this. The sensation of touching and rubbing had started to make his cock so erect it was sore. He felt he could say nothing to this older man that he was becoming so aroused and just hoped his tent was not too obvious.

‘Why don’t you move your hands up under my pecs, the hair is thicker there just under my tits. You see how thick it is there?’

‘God I never felt anything like this before.’

‘Looks as if you are enjoying.’

‘Well you said I should move my hand around.’

‘So while you are at it why don’t you try and find my nipples among the hair. That’s it, I can feel your fingers just touching my nipples. So while they are there I’d like you to give them a tweak. Get each nipple between your fingers and give a squeeze.’

Sam did not know what to do so very gingerly teased them

‘I said give them a squeeze not just a brush. That’s better a bit harder. Us Turks like to have good big nipples and some squeezing helps make them bigger. Now move your hands up to my shoulders. See how the hair continues across my shoulders. And you know it goes all the way down my back. You’d like to feel that as well no doubt.’

‘If you are asking. I have rarely seen a hairy back before.’

‘Well I tell you what, come into me, press your chest against mine and put your arms around my back and let your hands rub up and down my back and at the same time you can feel my hairy chest rubbing against you, so it almost will feel for you what a hairy chest you could have.’

Sam did as he was told and put his arms around the barber, the barber doing likewise and pulling in tight

’See my back is almost as hairy as my chest so let your hands rub into my skin.’

‘Christ it’s amazing,’ Sam replied as he started to move his chest tight up against the barbers hair letting the hairs rub against his skin

‘How does that feel?’

I feel as I rub against you as if I have a hairy chest. Its just what I have always imagined. I am almost feeling like a bear even with no chest hair but all your hair makes me feel as if its mine.

‘That’s the idea. Now I seem to think there’s a bit of a pole rubbing against my thigh. Feels as if you have a hard on.’

‘Not just a hard on but my cock is aching with all this rubbing.’

‘I hope you are feeling something more than a pole against your thigh.’

‘Shit is that your cock it feels more like another leg.’

Taking one hand away from Sam, the barber pushed Sam’s hand down between them

‘So feel that.’

‘Christ its huge.’

‘Of course it is. It’s pure Turkish thick cock. All us men have a good 9” and not just the length but thick and cut as well.. That cock of mine needs to get out and you can see properly so unzip me and take it out.’

Sam carefully unzipped the massive bulge and put his hand inside to feel the throbbing dick. ‘You need to undo the belt and let my trousers down so you can lift it out. It’s too big to just take out like this.’

As Sam let down the trousers so the meaty prick bounced upwards. Sam could not believe the size. If this is what all Turks have then I want one he thought to himself.

‘So now I have let you feel all my hair, I need a couple of favours from you.’

Firstly you get down on your knees and suck. My wife hates a blow job but I love it and only men know how to do it properly.’

‘I might choke with trying to suck.’

‘Trust me once you let your mouth open and breathe carefully this will slip down the back of your throat.’

The barber undid Sam’s zip and slid his trousers down over his cock which was tenting in his pants.

‘Not a bad dick but it could be bigger. I think you would like a thick dick like mine, yeah?’

‘I sure would.’

‘So get down and feel this big chopper into your mouth. I want to feel my cock all the way down the back of your throat. Take hold of my heavy balls and pull them down as you start to lick my head.’

Sam sat on the floor and took hold of the barber’s heavy balls.

‘Now pull down tight and move you head in. Get your mouth full of spit to cover my head.’ Holding the Barbers balls Sam started licking the glistening head covering it with more and more spit running his lips around the full helmet.

‘That’s good but now I need to feel your mouth get deeper. You don’t need to take the full length but go as far as you can without chocking.’

Still holding the balls Sam opened his mouth as wide as possible and moved it slowly down into his throat. It was massive but having such a thick member in his mouth was a real turn on.. The barber took hold of Sam’s head and moved it further into his cock.

‘Good boy you are doing this well now start move your mouth up and down my shaft. Let me feel you sucking up and down. Christ that feels good but I need to stop you there as there is now the second favour I need of you. Take your mouth out of my shaft and stand up.’

Looking Sam in the face he said

‘My wife hates being bum fucked but I love arse fucking and your arse is now ready for a fuck. Let me see that arse of yours.’

The barber let his hands move across Sam’s cheeks and started to push them apart to expose his hole.

‘Look quite tight to me but with all your spit you should be able to take.’

‘I’m not sure I can take your prick’ Sam said.

‘Don’t worry I’ll be gentle and I’ll just let a good gob of my spit onto my shaft so it will be easier. Now bend over as it will be better for you.

Sam wanted to feel the barbers cock insider him. He wanted to feel a real hairy man stick it all the way up..

The barber keeping Sam’s cheeks as far apart as possible guided his cock to the hole and with a gentle push started to move his helmet in.

‘Christ it’s huge. I’m really not sure.’

‘Just relax, be a man like us Turks and once in you will want the full length trust me. Now be a man. Pushing a bit more the full helmet entered his arse and then Sam felt he could relax a bit. It felt so good he started to shove his arse back towards the cock.

‘I want to feel those thick pubes of yours up against me and also feel all that body hair rubbing against me as you grind your cock.’

‘I’ll put my full cock inside you and the give you a moment to rest before we do the next part. This next one with be a changer for you. You will become a man just like all us Turks. Now stand up and squeeze your bum so you feel me deep inside you.’

‘Now let’s turn you to look at the mirror so you can see yourself and I start to fuck you harder.

‘Good you can see yourself with that smooth chest and feel my hairy chest against your back.’

‘It feels as if I have the hairy back when you are pressed against me.’

‘So you’d like to have a hairy chest and back would you?’

‘Seeing you is exactly what I’d love to have.’

‘Good I hoped you might say that. So are you ready for me to start a harder fuck and then come inside you cause there’s plenty of spunk in my balls and I want you to feel it shooting all the way up.’

‘I want you all and now even though that prick of yours is so big my arse is aching to be fucked by it.’

As the barber starting to move his cock in and out down the length of Sam’s arse he moved his arms to the front around Sam.

‘This arse of yours is made for me and boy am I gonna fuck

Let me start rubbing your arms with my hands while I fuck ok?’

‘Please I want to feel those hairy manly arms all over me.’ Sam was almost begging

As he rubbed his hands over Sam’s arms, Sam was suddenly aware that those smooth arms of his were sprouting hairs and not just blond hairs but dark almost black hairs, long and curling from his shoulders all the way down to the tips of his fingers

‘What is happening my arms are now looking hairy.’

The barber replied as he continued to let his cock run the full length of Sam’s arse.

‘You said you’d like to be hairy. Looks good and manly does it not?

‘But they are not just becoming hairy they look more muscular’.

‘Who wants to be a skinny man. We all want to be real men don’t we?’

‘Well yes’

‘So now let me run my arms across your smooth chest and see what I can do for you.’

As the barber ran his rough large hands across Sam’s chest he thought it at first looked like a shadow across his whole chest and then as he looked down he realised it was hairs not just slowly sprouting out of every pore but quickly and looking like a forest of curling black hair all the way cross and down even on his shoulders. Not only around his pecs and navel but the entire chest was hairy. His whole chest was larger with now broad shoulders and dark skin and he had a 6 pack he’d never had before and such a big pair of pecs all covered in coarse hair. It was like a perfect Turkish man’s chest.

‘Let me bring my hands up to your nipples which I can hardly see for hair. You gave mine a nice pinch so let me do the same for you. All Turks love their nipples played with.’

As the barber started to work his nipples so Sam groaned with pleasure moving his arse in and out against the barber.s cock.

‘Christ that is amazing it so turning me on. Squeeze them harder’

Good I like to squeeze Turkish nipples. And you have a really big pair with extended nipple heads. Is that better? These will hsow nicely through all your shirts and everyone can see what a big pair of Turkish tits you have.’

‘It’s fucking fantastic.’

‘You like your new chest?’

‘It’s like a dream. I feel much more a real man. My arse feels bigger and more round and am I right is saying its hairy.’

‘It’s very hairy, all the way inside that nice crack of yours and you now have a big bubble butt and bigger hole so my cock sits well inside you.’

‘I’ts no longer sore and I want you to increase your rythmn I’m so wanting you to come inside me I can feel those thick pubes of your rubbing against my hairy arse. Shit it’s great.

‘Don’t worry “m coming round to put my hands on that cock of your but first I need to rub my hands over your face and head so close your eyes and just enjoy me thrusting faster and faster inside you.’

The more the barber thrust the more Sam pushed his arse back to see the full length of the thick shaft. He wanted every inch as he felt the barber’s hands rub against his face. As he rubbed he could feel that his face was no longer smooth but it was almost as though there was a brush in between his face and the barbers hands. His head felt different and that trim he came in for was as though he had had a very close cut even more than a number one.’

‘Now open your eyes. Look at yourself and the man you are’

The face staring back at him was no longer the wholesome blond Brit. The face he looked at in the mirror could for him almost have been a criminal. He was completely bald, shaven with a shiny top but from the top of his ears there was a thick black beard and moustache. So thick he could hardly see his mouth. The beard was at least 3inches long and took up all his chin and neck all the way down to where it met his hairy chest. He had a brown face, a squashed nose as if it could have been broken in a fight and thick bushy black eyebrows. He looked exactly like a middle eastern thug, a Turkish thug but he looked a man and man that no one would tamper with. He looked every part a man who would dominate but here he was being now aggressively fucked and loving the large cock inside him.

‘Now you look like a man. Makes me even more horny to fuck you like a brother Turk. I need to cum soon but first let me put my hands of your cock so you come at the same time.

The barber moved his hands down to grip Sam’s cock who was still staring at his new face.

‘Now look down’

Sam looked and what had been a good 6 incher before was now 9” and thick like the barber with such a forest of dark pubes. Now Sam looked just like a masculine tough nut Turk. He was ready to come just staring at his new tool and he could feel the barber’s cock in him pulsating ready to shoot his load of cum.

‘If you are ready we both cum but I tell you this is a new beginning and you will feel at first for a short time a bit different but don’t worry it’s all part of what you want.’

‘I hope so.’ shouted Sam, ‘Just let me have everything you have and let me feel your pubes right up against my hairy arse as you cum so I am about to shoot.’

And with that the barber

Shouted ‘Fuck you Turk be one of us.’

As Sam felt the spunk shoot up his arse so his own cock exploded, arches of cum hitting the mirror and running down, great creamy drops.

When he opened his eyes after his orgasm everything seemed a bit cloudy not just his eyes but his brain. He was struggling to think what to say in English. He thought he knew what to say but he was rapidly forgetting words and instead other words of a foreign tongue were in his mind

‘I feel …. ‘He managed to say in English but even those two words he noted were in a much deeper voice and with a strong accent. It did not sound like his voice.

‘Tell me what you are thinking in your preferred language.’ The barber said

Sam said in a rasping deep voice in Turkish ‘That was a fucking great fuck.’

‘Yes Samir only we know how to fuck like real men. Welcome my Cousin.’ This was no longer Sam looking at himself in the mirror, it was now Samir.

‘Tell you what cousin I look fucking great. A hairy Turk with a huge dick and now you and I have a Turkish coffee and cigarette and then I fuck the living daylights of you. One favour deserves another. We keep it is the family eh?’

‘I get you good job in nightclub Samir.’

‘Sure Cousin, I like a good fight. No one gets on the wrong side of me.’

‘A tough Turk and a good fuck.’

‘Yeah but now time for you to turn round and I give you a good Samir fuck’

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Text

Habits 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Andy Barber, Cole Turner (Professor AU)

Summary: your life is thrown into chaos after a night out goes awry.

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all.

The incessant beeping stabs at your brain. Goddamn. You must have left your alarm on!

Your head swims at the thought of moving but you can’t listen to that anymore. You flail your arm out, goosebumps rising in the cold air, as your hand catches on something.

“Ermph,” you grumble at the bite on the back of your hand.

You open your eyes bur just as quickly close them. No. You shudder and peek out through the slits of your eyelids. It’s bright. Too bright. Oh shit.

You make yourself look completely. There’s an IV inserted in the back of your hand, the beeping from another machine at your bedside. Your throat is raw and your mouth tastes funky. Every inch of you hurts.

No. It can’t be real. You’re in a hospital. You stare at the ceiling and try to remember last night. The lights, the music, the crush of bodies...

Damn it, Mercedes, that pill definitely doesn’t mix with alcohol.

You sit and wait, unsure of what else to do. The nurse comes to check on you. She asks you basic, rigid questions. There’s little empathy in her touch or ‘how are you feeling?’ She explains that you were brought in with alcohol poisoning.

After checking your reflexes, your blood pressures, and heartbeat, she detaches you from the IV. She suggests you stay hydrates and not to kindly says to avoid alcohol. She tells you you’re cleared to go and leaves.

You’re embarrassed. You can’t believe it got to this. You always said you would never get that bad. Worse, you’re all alone. Mercedes isn’t here. You wonder if she even knows what happened. What if you hadn’t been brought to the hospital? What then?

You walk out in your mini skirt and the hospital gown. Your shirt is completely missing. You have only your purse and clunky heels, both of which stink.

As you sit on the bus, you want to cry. Your loneliness sets in. And reality. You could’ve died and it would’ve been all alone in that hospital room. Aside from that, you wouldn’t have even known. It all just would’ve been gone.

You get off at campus and keep your head down. You wind around Greek Row and enter the dorm building. You climb the stairs with an effort as your stomach lurches. There’s a hot pain inside of you that just won’t go away.

By the time you get into your dorm, you’re nauseous. You’re too empty to vomit. You dump your things in your room and tie on your fluffy robe. You go to get a glass of water. You need coffee but not that instant acid you keep in your cupboard.

It’s early. Too early for Mercedes. You don’t even know if you could face her. You’re angry and yet it isn’t your fault. You vaguely remember the bartender telling you to stop. Then it’s all muddy.

You finish the water and get in the show. You can wash away the grime of sweat, alcohol, and other things you don’t want to name, but the same lingers. You can’t blame anyone but yourself. It’s not like you didn’t have a million warnings.

As you get to your room, you hear your phone buzzing. You sit on the bed and pluck it out of your purse. Shit. It’s your mother. And, you remember, your emergency contact.

You answer on speaker.

“Mom--”

“What the fuck is this!? I wake up to a goddamn voicemail from a hospital?! Are you insane?” She shrieks. “Coral. You are so fucking lucky I’m not driving down there right now. Is this what you’re doing with your fucking life? When I'm paying for you to get an education! When I have to work in two hours just to pay for your fucking party nights?!”

You sit and shrink down as you take in her furor. You just stare at the phone. You deserve this but it’s also not unusual. Your mother only ever communicates in wails and roars.

“I would say I can’t believe you but you’ve always been a fuck up,” she barks. “Get your shit together, girly, or it’s over. Got it?” You hear her huffing and puffing angrily. You cower instinctively, even though she can’t hit you through the phone. “Don’t fucking call me.”

She hangs up before you can even try to apologise. The sorrys and tears only ever made her worse. You drop your phone and cradle your head.

You have class. Not until noon. You planned it well. You could go out, get lit, and have enough steam to make it through the week one snooze fest. Nope. You’re not getting any sleep.

You get dressed; a cropped sweatshirt and leggings, and pack up your knapsack. You’ll go get a coffee and something light. Crackers or whatever. Anything more and you might dissolve into the mess you are.

As you walk across campus, you try to think. It’s so weird. You remember patches of last night but nothing connects. And there’s something that’s missing. You don’t know what but it tugs at your brain. There was something else...

The cafeteria is closed but the cafe is open. You get your coffee and a plain bun. The cashier looked at you oddly as you asked for a breakfast sandwich with no fillings. You sit and nibble as you stare blindly across the empty tables.

God, you feel hollow. Like you’ve been gutted.

What do you do now? Where do you go? Is this the point when you change? When you hunker down and live a boring life? That sounds awful. Is that what it means to grow up? You have to live with your head in books and drag yourself through every dull day.

You don’t want to be your mother. You don’t want to be angry and resentful because you ended up in a dead-end office with an asshole boss. Well, if you’re not going to that, maybe it is time you got your head on straight. If you’re going to be a PR lawyer, you can’t be waking up in a hospital bed with a pumped stomach.

And you’re going to need to get some new friends.

#habits #andy barber #cole turner #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #dark cole turner #dark!cole turner #andy barber x reader #cole turner x reader #series #drabble #ghosted #defending jacob #au #professor au

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istarveforplatonicptnstuff · 7 months ago

Note

Pookie, what do you think of ptn characters being self aware au?? I need another platonic for that😍😍😍

Pookie 😿 The way that I wanted to answer this right away, but I ended up thinking about it for half a day, since today I had to finish counting tears in a plastic bottle (life update, today was my GRD and they had me recite 50 STEPS 😀 Changing patient gown and iv infusion + insertion 😢 But I SLAYED because I got perfect and one mistake in the other 😎) - Idk about ya'll but... You probably found out about the game based on the ad that had MISS 🤭 MAAM 🥰 Zoya... You guys don't understand the GRIP 😩 it had on me when I saw the ad for the first time... So, after watching THE ad that saved LIVES 🤩 including mine ofc 😊 You downloaded the app, despite having ZERO experience playing a tower defense game... 😶 That was me, highkey projecting rn... 😔😔😔 - So after days of getting used to the game, you started watching the interrogation since you were quite curious about the sinners backstory... 🤔🤔🤔 After finishing part of Hella's interrogation, you started to notice weird things happening in the game.

- If you put Zoya as your display character, she starts getting too real about asking you how your day was. And telling you stuff like; You better level me first 😤😤😤 because I'm the only who can protect you bbgirl... 🐺 Girl... This wasn't here before 🤨 so you definitely looked it up, but to no avail... So you probably felt special... 😍😍😍 Like, for me??? 🥺 Oh my gah 😱 I'm never letting you go POOKIE 🤭 Though you got jumpscared by the way Zoya suddenly responded with, That's right... I'm your pookie now... 😈 Making you press the home button on your phone due to how much you are FOLDING rn... 😳😳😳 Zoya canonically RIZZING you up pookie... *Sighs in not being able to relate because I'm not You pookie... 😞* But lmao imagine saying words like, Pookie 😍, Rizz 😏, and Bbgirl 🐺 to THE Zoya, like this is sending me rn... The way that I giggled a lil bit too hard writing this, feeling a lil EMBARAZZED picturing how Zoya would probably react to this... She's probably amused at you fangirling about her character, gives me FANSERVICE queen vibes like??? 😳 She knows how to play her role TOO well... 🥵

If you decide to put Adela as your display chara... (Though, what you know about my POOKIE Adela??? 🤨 Maam, I probably need to see that I.D for verification that you are INDEED another Pookie of Adela's... 🧐🧐🧐 /j I SEE 👀 you that one Adela pookie in my comments rn... So, this one's for you 🥰 and a lil bit of a spoiler pooks, if you see this rn... I'm writing another installment to our fav hair stylist soon...) - Adela would DEFINITELY give you good advice about hair... Me thinks my girl Adela knows FASHION 💃 Because, you cannot convince ME that this girl doesn't know how to dress up, like??? Her default outfit? SLAYED THE BOOTS DOWN 👢💥 So, rest assured you guys chose the right girl to display because this girl DON'T play around with both SERVING looks and SLAYING in one setting like girl... Me thinks if you like asmr, and had it on playing in the background and she hears and sees how it relaxes you... She probably would replicate it, like girlie had a secret career brewing and thought that we didn't notice??? 😯 Pookie, at this point, if you want to sleep or just relax... Hop on the game rn... Adela's doing 💈✂ barber shop 💇‍♀️ asmr... 😴😴😴 Adela havers be having a good night sleep, being blessed every night with her calming atmosphere... (Average Adela fan spotted, I will YAP when I hear her name...) Her voice lines would make you feel that you guys were besties from the start, or it's either like she's your mom friend and you guys get to hanggg around when she's not too busy SERVING the customers 💅

Not the soul siren 😭 but if you guys put her as your display character and you eat in front of her during a break... Sis will ROAST you like she's a copy of Gordon Ramsay, but more CUNTIER 💋 Girl acts like you are one of her 5 star chef and DEMANDS that you eat something else... 🙄 Babes really think you're rich 💳✨ and have MONEYYY to eat ✨exquisite✨ food... Only the best food for her caretaker. Girl really said that like you was her maid or something like??? WHAT? 😭😭😭 Lowkey judges you like you're BROKE or smth, same thing applies if you're actually not broke or like... College student tingssss, which makes it even WORSE because sister manages to convince you to buy her skins every time or pull copies of her... Pookie, I think she's a secret marketing agent of AISNO... 🤨 Girl WILL be obsessed with you the moment you max her, forfeit all moral possessions for her, and HER exclusively... 🤐🤐🤐 Sis does not leave you alone even after all that... She's hard to please 😞, in short but she warms up to you when you show significant improvement in your life... It's giving... Strict asian parents vibes 😶 Though, for realsys she isn't mean but like she's hard to predict pookie... I think she's kinda more on the practical side of things... When I mean practical, like your cooking skills... Critiques you as if you're in culinary school... 😃 Tough love for you pookie 💔 But dw, she'll change... When you manage to impress her with your cooking skills, of course 😇 Extra An: Pooks, if ya'll want more... 🤭 Comment which characters you want to see in this series or request other stuff that you want to see... The more KRAZY 🤪 it is, the more likely I am able to EAT 🍴 it up (Though, your pooks wouldn't be active much/still brewing some ideas 🧍‍♀️) TOODLES!

#path to nowhere x reader #path to nowhere #platonic ptn #ptn #ptn x reader #platonic path to nowhere x reader #Cabernet x reader #platonic cabernet x reader #ptn adela #adela x reader #ptn cabernet #ptn zoya #Zoya x reader #platonic zoya x reader #platonic adela x reader

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ricardian-werewolf · 4 months ago

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Take Me to War - Chapter II: Humbly beg the death upon my knee

Part I

Summary:

Cecily-Anne awakes in Ser Gwayne's tent and must come to terms with where she is in this new world. It is within it that she will come to form a new friendship and realize the depths of her grief.

TWs: Suicidial idealization, grief, child death, incest mention, abelism, mention of rape (though not committed)

Tag list: @lordbettany @fauxraven @rmelster

Cecily awoke to the clanking of chains.

Chains, which by all accounts snaked around her wrists. Jangling them did nothing except force her to realise how tightly she was bound. In short, she was not a noblewoman kept here for her safety, but a prisoner. The thought and realisation filled her with fear. As a highborn woman, she was protected by a social code of purity - had she come through that cut wearing a serving woman’s gown, the horrors would be inconceivable. But seemingly on part of her fine dress of black velvets and wolf fur, she had been spared such horrors - for now. Raising her head, Cecily found her snood that held her hair back to have been torn off. Her braided coiffure tumbled down her shoulders. She had been tied to some sort of central tentpost and rested upon a woven rug bearing the image of a tower with green flames bursting from its roof.

Studying it, Cecily felt confusion rise in her. Not once at any point had she seen someone’s family heraldry bear such a symbol. As an avid studier of heraldry herself (Her own being the white stag of Richard II on an emerald green backing with ivy leaves at its feet). Lifting her head, she could hear the sounds of men carousing and making merry. Evidently the battle must have gone in their favour, perhaps?

As Cecily looked about once more, she noted the candles flickering in their sconces, settles upon which furs and rugs had been thrown to make a more comfortable space. A mirror and washbasin with a finely carved jug sat nearby. The mirror was a cut of fine glass backed (she assumed) in silver, and bore gold detailing. Whomever’s tent she was in was certainly wealthy. As she shuffled in a circle around the pole, Cecily noted the bed and its posters laid with yet more imagery of the same tower below her feet. She could only guess at the kind of fabric the bed-curtains were, though she assumed either satin or velvet. Cocking her head to one side once more, she heard the sound of two men arguing in what sounded like English, though it was certainly more heavily accented. A Northern twinge to it. Hope stirred in her chest, which she frantically squashed. No good Yorkshireman would ever have the daughter of the Lord of the North tied up like some common ne'er do-well. The tent flaps (made of stiffened oilcloth dyed deep green and edged in silver with goldwork thread made out to be tiny flames) parted and two men stepped in. One was more weary than the other, with dark hair and eyes. He carried a bottle of wine or spirits, which he uncorked and took a generous swig of. The other man spoke little, and as his shadow of a valet stepped into the room followed by squires of the body, Cecily watched.

“What do we do with her, then, Ser Hightower?” The man hissed as he drank. The other - Ser Hightower, shrugged. Cecily froze as his eyes flitted to her, and she noted his age. Young, he was. Perhaps about ten-and-seven if not a year older. A knight, then? Of which order? She saw no familiar garter-belt about him or mantle-chain of office. He certainly wore spurs, yet not of gold but of burnished silver. Across his front of his chestplate was that same tower, and the name stuck.

Hightower. His name was of a noble family. Unlike Cecily-Anne who held no legal last name, she could say she was of House Plantagenet. Through both sets of her family, thanks to her parents being first cousins and ensuring a papal dispensation was needed to wed. Shaking her head silently, Cecily turned back to half-watching as the body-squires and barbers tended to this Ser Hightower.

Was he a poor knight then? No, his tent could not have been so lavishly furnished as such. Perhaps he was someone who preferred his material comforts over his godly ones. She wondered if he prayed as much as he ought to. What surprised her was no signs of crucifixes or depiction of the mother Mary or Holy Host. In fact, no priest had come to take Compline with the men or offer the Host in mass. Perhaps it was not yet Sunday. She did note however seven small figures in an alcove of the tent over which a glass image hung of a star with seven points.

“Have you no priest?” She spoke at last, coughing it out. Both men wheeled to look at her.

“W-what?” The first man asked. Cecily ignored him, holding Ser Hightower’s gaze.

“No, no Septons have been on this expedition, My lady.”

Well at least he is not calling me a wench. Delightful. I wonder how this other man is faring, seeing as he is deep enough in his cups to call about a guard.

“Septons?” She replied. “Of what order of clergy is a ‘Septon?’ “ Cocking her head again, Cecily sniffed. “One of the friars?”

“Nay, My lady.” Ser Hightower spoke again. “They are of our priestly order and raise poor boys to follow the faith.”

“So they do be priests.” She raised a brow. “Have you nuns?”

“Septas.” The other man coughed. “My lady.” He added after a long, cold pause. Cecily hungered to ignore such a slight, and settled herself back against the pole. “Tell me your conditions of capture, please.” She raised her head to glare at both men.

“C-conditions of capture?” The other man murmured.

“We have no reason to view you as a prisoner, M’lady.” Ser Hightower spoke. “These ropes were to keep you from getting up and further injuring yourself.” He signalled to a squire who slashed through the ropes holding Cecily in place, and stepped back. Cecily rose to her feet unsteadily and gripped the tent-pole for support. Somehow, this did not feel right to her eyes and ears. Women such as herself in positions of little to no power when left with monstrous men, were often raped openly and if not that, brutally wounded, sold into slavery or worse evils. While she was Highborn as she had reminisced on earlier, her household did not exist in this place. She could not simply claim to be of some family either, seeing as she knew none of them.

“Leave us, Ser Cole. I have reason to speak to the lady alone.” Ser Hightower spoke to the other knight, who nodded. As he passed her, he turned his head and spat at her feet. Cecily’s hands balled into fists and she nearly moved to punch him. However, barely it seemed, she stayed her hand.

As soon as Cole was gone - Cecily would have to watch her back - she found herself faced with Ser Hightower. The knight took a seat upon a settle piled high with furs and leaned one of his elbows on his portable writing desk. His emerald green eyes stared at her, and Cecily sat herself on a cushioned pouffe. Glancing down, she found her skirts to be torn and the velvet edging frayed.

“Once we reach King’s landing, I shall have my steward fetch you new clothes. There is a place near the port that sells very fine fabrics.” Hightower turned to his letter and Cecily shifted forward. She did not watch him per-se, but she was curious to see the writings of his hand in this foreign place. It seemed as though the people spoke English, but there was an accent to it that she had noted earlier.

“Oh..” She paused. “Thank you.” She inclined her head. Where was he going with this? She was only ten-and-five, he was ten-and-seven years. A proclamation of marriage had not been offered, at least not yet. Knights of noble households did not take strange women into their care. Perhaps he meant to replace her wardrobe before having her packed off to… a nunnery? She shuddered at the thought. Although there was none of her family left, she hoped to God that her grandmother would at least be going a little mad on her behalf.

The idea of Gran-mére Cecily tearing apart that nunnery for her brought Cecily-Anne the first relief she’d felt in days. She half expected the old woman to come charging through the tear she had stumbled through and rescue her.

Sadly, that would not be the case. As soon as the letter had been dispatched to a place known as Oldtown, Cecily was re-shackled (for her safety according to Ser Hightower) and “gently” escorted from the tent by him to a waiting carriage on four wheels that looked nothing like any litter Cecily had ever sat in. Long, grand and consisting of no windows - which made her wonder what the blasted thing was like in summer - Cecily was put inside at once, her chains unshackled and dumped onto a soft bed of satin in that same deep green as everything else. The wood inside was dark oak with pearl inlay and heavy curtains were kept apart by splendid cords of gold.

Seated across from her was a woman, with white-blonde eyebrows and arresting violet eyes. Drenched in the same green as the curtains and bedspread, she almost seemed to disappear into the fabric. The door opened again and Ser Hightower stuck his head in.

“Apologies, Your Grace. This is the lady I wrote to you of. Her name is…”

Cecily swore under her breath. The bastard had not asked her name!

“Cecily-Anne, Duchess of Gloucester.” Cecily rubbed her hands together. And princess royal, lady of Middleham, etc. She added silently to herself.

“Lady Cecily-Anne.” The woman spoke, inclining her head. She had a nervous air to her, but one not unfriendly or unkind. Cecily noted her hair tucked into a heart-shaped hennin adorned with a crown of gold and emerald stones.

“I am Queen Helaena Targaryen. Ser Gwayne; my uncle, has elected you to be my lady in waiting…. As my family believes I am no longer able to care for myself and require more proper… feminine company.”

Her slow way of speech would have concluded to Cecily that this woman was slow or stupid, had she not been much the same. Cecily gave a gentle smile in return and inclined her head.

“I thank you for this acceptance, your Grace.”

Reaching across the expanse of space, Helaena squeezed Cecily’s hands tight in her own and gave the other woman a beaming smile. “You are the first light of life I have felt since my son was killed. Please, call me any name you so wish.” Helaena giggled, the grief in her eyes fading a little with each passing moment.

At that second, the wheels of the litter jerked into motion and they were off. From the patterned lattice screens surrounding the litter - or wheelhouse as Cecily learned it was called - she began to see Westeros in all of its late summer glory. Gwayne and his retinue of knights accompanied the carriage on its slow procession from the battle of Rook's Rest back towards the capital. To pass the time, Cecily found herself falling into the role of ladies maid as Véronique de Crécy had been to her mother, with ease. Helaena was an easy soul to charm and adored nothing more than kindness and attention. Her fascination with bugs and propensity to say the most hilarious things off the cuff had Cecily relaxed within moments. Cecily delighted in showing off her new gowns that were going to be sent, and listening to Helaena speak all about her children and her dragon, Dreamfyre.

“Do Targareyens really place a dragon egg in the cradle of their babies?” Cecily breathed as she and Helaena sampled a picnic lunch packed by one of the cooks. She simply couldn’t believe that dragons existed, and that the lady she was now serving had one as her steed!

“Indeed.” Helaena replied with shocked cheerfulness. “Do you not have dragons where you are from?”

“Nay, they’re just stories.” Cecily answered as she bit into a hard-boiled egg smeared with summer mustard. She examined the grapes on her platter, dark purple ones with a seductively sweet bite when chewed. “Are these not for wine?” She examined them in turn.

“Yes, but they’re my favourites. Aegon says I have a confuddled taste and concedes it is due to something happening before I was born.”

“And Aegon is…?” Cecily paused in sipping her wine.

“My brother.” Helaena responded as she smeared more preserves onto her bread slice. “And my husband.” She added as Cecily bit into her selection of preserved salted pork. Cecily coughed, half bent over as she struggled to process the words she was hearing.

“By the saints!” She breathed. “I-is that not violation of some rule of incest your…” She paused. “My parents were first cousins, but the idea of my father marrying my aunt…” She shook her head. “How does your church not think it sinful?”

“The Seven turned a blind eye to it.” Helaena explained. “It is… strange. He is my brother and I have born him three children and lost one. Yet, I know naught else. My mother who you shall meet as soon as we reach the Red Keep married the king. Her father was the king’s right hand and she was only ten and five at the youngest!” She bit down on a pickle as she spoke and winced at the sour taste. “Eugh. Aegon says these are good for my health. I detest them.”

“May I?” Cecily asked, holding out her hand. The jar of pickles was passed to her and in reciprocity, Cecily handed Helaena the stewed plums. She hated plums with a passion and gobbled up the pickles. All of this was washed down with sweet wine sweetened with strawberry syrup. For afters were sugared violets and little balls of fried dough filled with flavoured preserves.

It seemed like no time at all before they were back on the road and rolling over more of the dirt-packed and stone-riddled expanse of Westeros. “What reason is there for such large carriages?” Cecily asked as she watched the candle-lamp swing from side to side. A darkening sky heralded a storm with the crack of lightning. The sight of it flashing across the heavens reminded Cecily of an earlier time, another place where she had sat in her bedroom window up in the western tower of Middleham Castle. Rubbing against her arm then had been Ned, her dark haired, freckled twin. He had clutched her hand tight in his and the two of them had held their breaths.

Their father had said that if one counted the time between the flash and bang of thunder, they could determine the location and direction of a storm. Then, there had been the waiting period and the yelps of joy both of them had let out when the proverbial bang did come. The flash of lighting across the night sky that one summer where Ned hadn’t been as sickly had made his dark eyes turn milk-white. It was as if the stars they had loved to create constellations of their own had taken her brother’s soul for a single, shining moment.

Then those stars had faded, gone out like candles in the night. He was up there now, dancing amongst those beautiful, alien lights. Him and Maman and Papa. And Cecily was down here, stuck somewhere between Heaven and Hell. She pressed her hands to her forehead and began to weep.

“Oh..” Helaena breathed. She had settled down for the night with her pet snake, which she now replaced in its basket and crept over to Cecily. “What is it? Did the lightning frighten you?” She asked, her voice so maternal and soft that Cecily only wept harder. Fetching a blanket from the bed, Helaena drew the material around Cecily’s shoulders and pulled it tight, then leaned against her.

“I noticed you do not like to be touched. Neither do I. I think this should help.” She explained. Cecily sniffled, and reached her hand hesitantly towards Helaena, who after a moment, gave it a bone-crushing squeeze. “My mother, father and twin brother are all dead.” She confessed in a whisper. “I was reminded of them with the lightning storm.” She hiccuped. “My father died only ‘ere this morn, and my mother went this past April. My brother went in the winter. He was only ten.”

“You said you are ten-and-five, yes?”

“Yes.” Cecily coughed.

“I am truly sorry for your loss, sweet girl. W-when women like us know loss such as this at such young ages, it can be difficult to bear. My son Maelor was murdered in his cradle by assassins. I was forced to choose between him and his older brother.” She squeezed Cecily’s hand again. “I wonder often if the Seven do wish to test my faith and my love for my children with such horrors. I have wondered also why I do not go mad. You must be too.” She looked into Cecily’s eyes and the other woman recoiled in understanding.

“Y-yes.” Indeed, Cecily did wonder why she had not gone mad. Some days it felt like a good, merciful thing to do. Allowing herself to go mad would have meant her father could put her away somewhere. It would allow her a quiet death at her hands or the ones of her guard. Yet the church said to take one’s own life was sin. Did God not look upon her and Helaena and understand their pains? Was this just one test in many they were set to face?

Another flash of lightning, another boom of thunder. The door to the wheel-house opened and Gwayne poked his head in. In the low candlelight with the two women wrapped in blankets, he swore they looked like witches come to cast some spell upon him and this country.

“Your Grace.” He inclined his head. “My lady. We will be stopping for the night on account of the weather. The wheelhouse will keep you dry.” He nodded at Cecily. “If you need anything, please use the bell cord and I shall have a maid sent.”

“How big is this carriage?” Cecily asked after Gwayne had left. Helaena had turned to lighting the candles, which cast a warm golden glow over the room, and turned to face her. “It is large enough to carry us, a retinue of servants, luggage, a garde-robe and kitchens. In short, it is a moving palace.”

“Remarkable.” Cecily was amazed. “Where I hail from our wheel-houses are able to only carry perhaps one noble lady and her children. It is closed by wooden slats and drawn by horses.”

“Draft-horses?”

“Nay, we use others. At least I believe so.” Cecily replied as she rang the bell-cord. A maid came in, richly dressed and curtsied. ‘M’lady.” She had the comforting accent of a northern English woman, and Cecily started. It seemed that her homeland was seeping into this place in more ways than she expected.

“I would like to be readied for bed, please.”

“If ‘er ladyship wishes to follow ‘me, ‘ll ‘ave ‘er ready in no time.” The maid paused. “‘beggin your pardon, m’lady.” The maid curtsied. “‘Er Grace allows us to be much more open about our appearance and mannerisms as ‘he ‘mall folk.”

“Smallfolk?” Cecily inquired. “Ah. Common-people.” She surmised, and rubbed her hands together. “Well, As Her Grace’s lady in waiting, I am inclined to ‘gree.” Her voice was slipping back into its older more rough-and-tumble northern accent with the French roots and Latin pronouncements.

It felt like home.

Helaena gave her a warm smile, and for the first time since arriving into this strange land of dragons and politics, Cecily smiled back. No malice or pain shone in her eyes, and she found herself beginning to feel at home more than perhaps she had ever been since her brother and mother had died.

As she crossed herself and knelt before her bed, the rosary-chain in her hand, she prayed silently to her mother once more.

Maman, Thank you for bringing me to a place as close to home as I can be. I hope that you and Ned and Papa are happy, wherever you are. She opened her eyes and glanced at Helaena who was talking to her snake. And keep a little Targaryen boy in your sights. I feel as though he and Ned would make wonderful playmates.

Cecily crossed herself again and rose to her feet. She returned the crucifix and rosary to her pocket, then clambered into the turned down bed. She watched as the maids reached for tapers to extinguish the candles, and in the darkness, mused on one thing that had been made apparent by a mere day’s travel.

Ser Gwayne Hightower had been the lever and servant to her whims and had accepted them wholeheartedly. She had him to thank for her position. In the morn, perhaps she would ask the cook in this carriage to make him something sweet. Until then, she would sleep, and dream of boys with brown hair and freckles like stars, and somewhere out there, a mother who held her close.

Somewhere out there also was a father who had died in a battle to keep his throne, and one who deserved to know she was at peace.

#wyn rambles #house of the dragon #gwayne hightower #gwayne x reader #ser gwayne hightower #ser gwayne #freddie fox #helaena targaryen #helaena the dreamer #aegon ii #alicent #queen helaena #hotd helaena

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fuckyeahfightlock · 5 months ago

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While I'm thinking of it, I wanted to suggest that if you haven't yet read them, why not pop one or more of my novels in yr cart for Prime Day*?

At Night in the Floating World

. . .in sumptuous suites, amid trailing puddles of silk and fervent whispers in the night. . . Government operative Nick Barber—an insomniac ex-soldier banking his earnings to fund a nebulous future—becomes entangled in revolutionary intrigue and enchanted by a seemingly unknowable, living artwork known only as Xie. . . .during stolen after-hours encounters, through an exchange of ever-more-intimate letters. . . Beneath Xie’s luxurious gowns, priceless jewels, and ornately-painted face lives a man—Brighton James—with a talent for story-weaving, a hunger for beauty, and a need not for rescue, but for escape. . . .in clandestine meetings fraught with the danger of exposure. . . As a one-world government balances repressive class distinctions and close controls on personal wealth and behavior by elevating leisure time to an art in designated pleasure districts. In a high-rise called the Icehouse—the glittering heart of these high-style centers of art and culture, and home of the celebrated urban geisha called Xie—a web of intrigue is exposed, tangling its denizens in gilded threads pulled taut with tension. As the world teeters on the brink of deadly revolution, Nick dives ever-deeper into political danger, while Brighton swims toward the surface of a threat much closer, much more personal.

North Hope Cove

The only surviving victim of a newsworthy tragedy, lighthouse keeper Daniel Howard has found comfort in his quiet life of peaceable routine, minimal contact with the outside world, and useful work. What he likes less, but has learned to live with, is that the cliffs surrounding his light station have a tragic history as a location for suicides. Soon after learning his beloved lighthouse may soon be automated--potentially forcing him back into the world he does not trust—Daniel discovers another significant potential disruption to his peaceful life: a man at the cliff’s edge. The man is Justin Strongbow, a widower who inherited the inn he and his spouse co-owned, but with no wish to maintain it, and who has had a lifetime struggle with extended episodes of deep depression. One man unable to forgive himself for a perceived failure, the other unwilling to burden another with the weight of his troubles, yet they are drawn to each other and–despite the stormy present–to the possibility of brighter days ahead.

The Ides: An Extraordinary Affair of AJ Raffles & Sherlock Holmes

Gentleman of leisure Bunny Manders is running from a gambling debt—and the men to whom he owes it—when he chances upon former school chum AJ Raffles. Bunny learns Raffles is a brilliant criminal—a gentleman thief burgling high society—and they rekindle a mutual affection. In a rustic village, the reunited lovers meet detective Sherlock Holmes and his companion Dr John Watson. To rescue Bunny from financial ruin and physical harm, Raffles weaves threads of deceit, romance, and robbery to dazzle Holmes and intercept a delivery of precious gems. But intrigue can have tragic consequences, and before Raffles and Bunny can return to London with their prize a new disaster looms, so Bunny must rush to save Raffles from a violent end.

*They are not on sale or otherwise discounted because I am self-published and have already priced them as low as is reasonable.

#writing is easy #publishing is hard!#my writing #At Night in the Floating World #North Hope Cove #The Ides #diva hustle #every day I'm hustlin

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eva-knits12 · 8 months ago

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Chris Evans Characters In The Delivery Room

Steve Rogers:

You have an emergency c-section with James, so Steve was in the OR with you.

You had a placental abruption because the cord was wrapped around James' neck.

James was in incubator in the NICU, yet pulled through.

Steve stayed with you the entire time you were in the hospital.

He was the first one to hold James as soon as he was out of the incubator.

You were the second.

You breastfed James.

Steve drew this.

Steve's with you when you give birth to Sarah Anne and Margaret Louise.

You home birth Sarah and Margaret.

Steve helped you through each birth.

In his day, dad's were not allowed to be in the delivery room, or even be in the same room as their wives when they were giving birth.

Times have changed.

Steve gets to hold and bond with all three of his kids.

He got to hold Sarah Anne and Margaret Louise right before they were cleaned up.

Seeing you give birth just doesn't phase him.

Steve wouldn't trade it for the world, and he got to spend his kids first few moments bonding with them.

He was even the first one to feel their first kick.

Ransom Drysdale:

Ransom is more nervous than you are.

Did you mention that you're the one that has to push the twins out?

Ransom rushes you to the hospital the second you have the first contraction.

He calls the doctor.

Ransom isn't going to wait until your contractions are closer together.

He's taking you to the hospital NOW!

"Ransom, calm down!"

"CALM DOWN?! HOW THE HELL CAN I CALM DOWN AT A TIME LIKE THIS?! YOU'RE IN LABOR! YOU'RE MY WIFE!"

"Ransom, it's only the first contraction. It'll be a while before they become closer together."

You're more much more calmer than Ransom is right now.

The wheelchair is in the car, and the infant seats are loaded in there.

So is the hospital bag.

So is the stroller.

Ransom made sure that EVERYTHING that was on the list was in the hospital bag.

You're checked in, and Ransom puts the hospital bag in your lap.

He wheels you to your room.

Early in the morning, you're wheeled to the delivery room.

Ransom changes into scrubs,

You have the hospital gown on backwards to make it easier to give birth.

Ransom almost faints, but manages to keep it together for you.

He even cuts the cords when the twins come out.

Harlan arrives first, followed by Katherine 25 minutes later.

Ransom tears up when Katherine is born, but you can't wipe the genuine smile off of his face.

Ransom gets to hold them after you.

He even gives both Harlan and Katherine skin-to-skin contact.

Ransom takes the three of you home after a few days.

Ransom wouldn't trade it for the world.

Andy Barber:

Andy took care of you when you were pregnant with Joy.

You had hyperemesis gravidarum when you were pregnant with Joy.

He won't let you lift or carry anything.

You're off your feet as much as possible.

"Honey, I'll take care of the laundry. You shouldn't be lifting that heavy basket."

"Honey, let me bring in the groceries. You shouldn't be lifting those heavy bags."

"Sit down, honey. I'll unpack the groceries."

You go into labor on March 6.

Andy starts to time your contractions.

Andy rushes you to the hospital.

You give birth to Joy, and Andy is in the delivery room.

He cuts the umbilical cord.

He went through this whole song and dance with Laurie, so he knew what he was doing.

He's also in the delivery room when you give birth to Penelope.

He got you to the hospital straight away, on account of your diabetes.

Andy wouldn't trade this for the world.

Colins Shea

Colin goes through the list every day until you go into labor.

Cole loves talking to your belly, singing to your belly, rubbing cocoa butter on your belly, and feeling Harper and Robbie kick.

You planned a water birth.

When you go into labor after your doctor's appointment, you're more nervous than Colin.

Colin is the one who rushes you to the hospital, and gets his brother because his brother is a cop, and he wanted to make sure you guys got to the hospital safely.

Eventually, Colin helps you get into the birthing pool, and he's in his swim trunks.

Damn, does he need to be shirtless right now?

Colin is behind you, and you start to push.

Harper Marie Shea is born.

Four years later, you give birth to Robert James Shea on December 4, 2014.

Colin was also in the birthing pool with you when you were giving birth to Robbie.

The Shea clan is now complete.

Jake Jensen

You're 38 and a half weeks along with the girls.

Jake leads you back to the couch, and places pillows under your feet and under your head.

You're making sugar cookies for your niece's bake sale, but Jake takes over, and manages to finish them without burning.

Dinner was a whole different story.

Jake orders pizza.

Later that night, you have your first contraction.

Jake gets you to the hospital early the next morning.

You start to push.

Anna Eve is born first, then Elsa Marie is born a few minutes later.

Jake faints in the delivery room.

A few days later, you and Jake go home with Anna and Elsa.

They're the best Christmas present.

Johnny Storm

Johnny is in the delivery room when you give birth to Jake.

Johnny keeps it together, knowing that his son will be born soon.

Your contractions start, sooner than expected, and Johnny calls the midwife.

You have a home birth, because your house is basically fireproof.

A hospital just isn't!

You have the nursery set up, and you give birth right in your and Johnny's bedroom.

Jake is cleaned up by the midwife.

Johnny was behind you the whole time.

It was important that Johnny didn't get too excited.

Your mind goes back to the Superbowl when you and Johnny just moved in together.

He almost burned your house down!

Now, he managed to keep it together because you needed him right now.

Jacob Allen Storm is born on November 7.

He looks just like Johnny!

"IT'S A BOY! GO TEAM BOY!"

Of course, it's a boy.

Johnny was always on team boy!

You never told Johnny, but you were team girl.

Aunt Susan was team girl.

You pump your milk, and feed Jake from a bottle.

Jake just couldn't breast feed.

You and Johnny are more in love, and fell in love with Jake the second he was placed in your arms.

Pete Brenner

Pete is working from home, and when your contractions start on March 16, Pete springs into action.

Pete has the hospital bag packed, the car seat is loaded in the car, so is the stroller.

On March 17, you give birth to Zoe Eve Brenner.

He's missing out on the festivities, but the birth of your first child is something that he's not missing.

He calls your parents and his parents with updates-every hour!

"She's ready to go into the delivery room! Gotta go!"

Pete is in scrubs, and is telling you when to breathe, when to push, wiping the sweat from your forehead, saying soothing things.

Three years later, you give birth to Mary Elizabeth Brenner.

Mary is born on July 5.

Pete is behind you, then, too.

Pete was the first one to hold both girls.

Pete cut the cords.

Pete loves being a dad.

He loves being a girl dad!

Cole Turner

Cole delivers the twins, while he's rushing you to the hospital.

Your contractions are at two minutes apart, and when he sees how far your dilating, you're at ten centimeters.

Cole removes your pants and your panties, and he tells you to start pushing!

Lucas Jeffrey is born first, then Dawn Eve is born.

The twins are healthy.

Cole didn't help deliver the twins-he actually delivered them!

Yep, the same place where you got a flat tire, and met Cole was the same place where you gave birth!

The ambulance arrives, and Cole follows.

The twins make you and Cole feel complete.

Cole loves being a dad!

He reads to the twins every day!

You also read to the twins.

You and Cole take the twins home after a few days.

Cole and you fall even more in love.

Cole loves being a dad, and he loves his twins!

Ari Levinson

Ari is ready to go!

He gets you in the car in record time.

You're in the hospital in no time!

The car seats are loaded in the car, so is the stroller, the diaper bags, and the hospital bag.

Ari loves talking to your belly, and rubbing cocoa butter on your belly.

You don't want to get stretch marks.

Ari is behind you, and eventually Zachary Andrew is born first, then Elijah Matthew is born.

He cuts their cords, and he gets to hold them.

Of course, twin boys are much different than twin girls.

You and Ari decide to have a bris for the boys, because Ari's Jewish, and you want to keep a few traditions.

Five years later, Lillian Eve is born.

Ari is behind you, and he cuts the cord. He's the first to hold Lillian.

Your and Ari's heart are full of even more love.

The boys also love Lillian, and they stop arguing.

When it's time to feed Lillian, the boys won't let you or Ari feed her.

Zachary likes to hold her, while Elijah likes to feed her from her bottle.

The boys never argue over who gets to feed Lillian because of their arrangement.

Of course, they're super protective of Lillian.

Ari loves being a dad, and spending time with you and the kids.

#chris evans #team chris #steve rogers #andy barber #ransom drysdale #colin shea #jake jensen #johnny storm #pete brenner #cole turner #ari levinson #chris evans characters

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serial-serializednovelreader · 6 months ago

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Nova’s Notes - North and South - Chapter 2

After the wedding, Margaret heads home with her father, who was also at the wedding. Her mother is noticeably absent, due to not having money to afford a new gown — despite it being her only niece’s wedding. Mrs. Shaw does not guess this is the reason, due to her only complaints being consumed by “I was in an age gap marriage” (I am paraphrasing, but this is kind of what it says!) and unable to remember what it’s like to be poor.

It seems that Mrs. Shaw thinks that her sister, Maria (aka, Mrs. Hale) got the better end of the husband bargain, with him being handsome, only eight years older, mild-mannered, and most importantly, they loved each other. However, as it shows later in the chapter, Mrs. Hale thinks Mrs. Shaw got the better end of the bargain, because she got a rich husband and now has to want for nothing material.

What can we glean from this? Both sisters are very similar and have “grass is greener” syndrome. They let their anxieties consume them rather than being happy with what they have, and, at least in Mrs. Hale’s case, it does affect those around her.

Margaret does not seem to mind that her mother is not there, as she has been needed by everyone in the past 48 hours and getting to meet her mother in the comfort of their home is preferable to the hustle and bustle of the Shaw/Lennox clan. In reference to how busy they have made her, she says she had to play the part of a “Figaro”. After some research, I found this was a comic character from several plays, operas, and serialized newspapers that was a barber-turned-valet. I believe the symbolism comes from the character being a busy servant that was very much in demand from how useful he was, though feel free to correct me/dive deeper into this.

While Margaret is happy to be going home, she is sadder than she thought she would be at the prospect of leaving Harley Street and notices something is different about her father sleeping in the carriage beside her. Not only has his hair (once a rare blue-black) gone gray, his face is also still anxious even in sleep, which it never used to be in waking. She tries to discover the cause of this change and wonders if this has anything to do with Frederick not being in England anymore.

Because of the way she laments about him and his situation, I can only assume Frederick is her brother and because of “terrible affair” as a navy man, he is unable to come back to England, though he does write to his family occasionally. The issue is Margaret was not there when the incident happened and only got a partial story from her aunt: all she can hope to do is comfort her parents and ease their anxiety.

Margaret is excited to return home, of course. She is back in her element with the forest and returns to her old habit of tramping along the underbrush, breathing in the fresh air. However, not all is well at home. As aforementioned, her mother is not happy with her situation and while she does not take it out on Margaret, she does take it out on Mr. Hale.

Mrs. Hale constantly compares how the bishop treats Mr. Hale compared to how he could be treated if they moved elsewhere. I tried to find some context on how this system works between the parish priests and the bishop — as I’m not Catholic myself and have no personal knowledge of this — but I could not find much. I’m assuming this is the Catholic church we’re talking about, since they reference a bishop and Mr. Hale as a parish priest. Of course, please feel free to add onto this. All I can conjecture is that because Mr. Hale is a parish priest in a small town, this does not afford him much connection or wealth. My understanding is that the bishop is aligned more with the government, so he could — in theory — give Mr. Hale those connections or move him to a better position if he tried for it. He has done so with other priests (less qualified than Mr. Hale, in his wife’s opinion), but has not budged with Mr. Hale.

However, Mr. Hale does not want this: he’s happy with what he has at Helstone and the increased pressure from his wife causes him to “shr[i]nk”. Margaret does what she can to make her mom happy in their home, rather than also pressuring her father. Why does she take her father’s side in this? I believe it’s for a number of reasons:

1) Margaret is more like her dad than her mom — she doesn’t long for the rich, fancy life that her mother does and that is one of the things she misses least about her life on Harley Street. She also have a more mild temper and can empathize with her dad.

2) She loves her home by the woods — if they get a “better living” (as her mother put it) that would likely involve moving to a more central part of the town — or a different town entirely — and she wouldn’t be able to spend her time outside in the forest or walking to different cottages all day.

3) While this isn’t a new change in her mother, perhaps she believes she can talk her out of it easier than her father, even though he is mild-tempered. After all, just because Margaret is mild-tempered does not mean she doesn’t have a determined streak; indeed, we’ve already seen evidence of it and so she assumes her mother can be reasoned with easier than putting more pressure on her father.

4) The request itself is bound to lead to more; “grass is greener” people are usually never satisfied. Perhaps Margaret has seen this before in the past, where her father has given her mother what she wants and it has only led to her asking more of him. Maybe she hopes to nip it in the bud this time since it’s obviously gotten worse and is negatively affecting her father.

Keep in mind, these are theories on my part; we don’t know the exact reason as of yet, but I think it’s interesting to think about the reason why she takes her father’s side!

We can also trace the source of her mother’s discontent: “the time of the mutiny in which Frederick had been engaged.”

Ok, so that does tell us a lot here. While in the navy, Frederick took part in a mutiny and was likely exiled from England (from the limited understanding we have — more is likely going to be said later). Now — if this is what happened — the penalty for mutiny is usually death in those times, so it’s a pleasant surprise he made it out ok. Later passages state he’s in Rio (Rio de Janerio, Brazil, I’m assuming?) currently and the few letters he does send, Margaret does not know the full news of. Why would her mother start to resent their home for this? Many understandable reasons:

1) Obviously, the house carries many memories of Frederick. Having daily reminders of your son that can never come back to this home and you can never see again (with you in too delicate health to travel — which she is) is painful.

2) Perhaps the neighbors closest to her were not very sympathetic when they found out about this mutiny. Mrs. Hale had hoped they would be a listening ear and instead the Hale family became the center of gossip in that part of town (that she knew of). Maybe the other part of town brought her gifts and became that listening ear. But doesn’t that seem backwards for the “richer” side to be nice and the “poorer” side to be gossipy? Yes, it does, but everything is about appearances. If I had to guess, both sides were probably gossiping, but the “richer” side did their part of bringing gifts to seem sympathetic and Mrs. Hale took that as actually being sympathetic. From what we’ve already seen of her, she values material things (gift-giving is probably her love language lol) and this would win her over. This is a lot of reaching I know, but it could be possible, right? The only reason we don’t hear about it is because we’re in Margaret’s POV and she doesn’t know anything about what happened when Frederick’s mutiny took place.

3) Similar to the first point, sometimes when you’re somewhere with an extremely bad memory, you want to leave that place and will justify your reasoning with whatever you can. Think about the feelings Mrs. Hale must’ve felt when she opened a letter to find that her son was exiled and would not be coming home. Did she even find out from him, or was it a generic navy office letter? Sometimes, people cope by wanting to start somewhere fresh and this could be a product of that.

4) Being “poor” is what got their son into this situation in the first place. He wouldn’t have had to become a navy officer if they had more money, right? He could have taken up a different position, such as a merchant. Perhaps in a misguided attempt to “fix” this, she is trying to better their situation. Of course, it is too little, too late to actually change anything, but she still wants to try for her daughter. She is already trying to match her with a handsome tradesman from the other part of town she wants them to move to!

5) A bit unrelated, but I also think she’s moving her worries about Frederick onto worries about their living situation. Kind of like how you can feel anger when you’re actually sad, her whole “we need to be more rich” isn’t actually the problem she has; the problem she has is “we need our son back”. Having more money or influence wouldn’t be able to bring their son back — it can’t — but channeling those worries is (what she thinks) a better use of her time because it’s something she can actually control.

6) Her maid, Dixon. Later in the chapter, it describes Dixon as seeing Frederick as her favorite and cleaning his room once a week as if he was coming home, despite her never doing housework. Sweet, right? Well…I see Dixon as causing more tension in the house than good because she resents Mr. Hale for taking her and Mrs. Hale away from their cushy lifestyle at Beresfords House (where Mrs. Hale grew up) and she sees herself as a “protecting fairy” against Mr. Hale. If Frederick was her favorite and Mr. Hale’s situation is what led Frederick to be a navy officer…yeah, I imagine Dixon often laments about their living situation and how perhaps Frederick would still be there if they were living somewhere else (that’s not guaranteed, of course, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t say it!!). Having someone constantly whisper disparaging things about your husband and his house is not a good idea — almost an Iago to your Othello, if you catch my drift. Again, it’s not entirely related, but I think it does link back to Mrs. Hale’s resentment of the house.

After reading this, you may think one or the other side is “more correct” — and that’s fine if you do — but I think both sides are valid and just need to communicate. It’s not Mrs. Hale’s fault she resents Helstone and it’s not Mr. Hale and Margaret’s fault that they love it. What they need to work on is communicating as a family and reaching a good compromise that suits everyone.

Margaret does attempt to do this by taking her mother on daily walks, which works for a bit until autumn sets in and her mother’s health is affected. It’s hard for Margaret to engage with either of them at this point or find much of anything to do; her mother doesn’t like being read aloud to (go off, I guess?), and encouraged her husband to spend all of his time in his study with parish affairs rather than fun card activities, so no family game night either. He doesn’t even go to visit his parishioners (which Margaret could probably be a part of), because his wife discouraged that as well (not to be mean, but I’m starting to see why maybe they weren’t the nicest to her after Frederick got banished, she doesn’t seem to engage with them very much?!). The books they have on hand for her to read are ones she has already read — or just very short. In other words: this girl is about to start singing “When Will my Life Begin” from Tangled. /j

So, she tells her mother about life in Harley Street, but it often leads to her mother comparing their homes again and Margaret longing to ask about Frederick. But she has a conundrum: around her mother, she thinks she should ask her dad instead and then the reverse happens around her father. She procrastinates this difficult conversation and I can kind of understand why. Her parents both seem like delicate people who get anxious easily; now that she has noticed how “old” her dad looks, I imagine she’s noticed a similar change in her mom and doesn’t want to risk damaging their health. Additionally, their emotional health seems pretty unstable as well and she probably sees that in a new light as an adult and doesn’t want to risk destabilizing that.

Margaret does seem to notice that her father seems…off. He’s not only more anxious (which can happen at the slightest of causes), he’s distracted too and he’s the first to snatch up letters whenever the postman arrives. So does he have news of Frederick that he’s not sharing with either of them? It sure seems that way.

BUT enough gloom! Margaret’s a fall girlie and she’s determined to sketch what Helstone looks like, since she learned art with Edith. It’s a fine October day when a housemaid announces Margaret has a visitor: Henry Lennox.

My honest reaction:

This guy again?! He did say he would be checking up on her…

Jk jk, I’m eager to see what this meetup is going to be like and it’s going to be super hard not to read ahead!!!! But I won’t, because I like being surprised and giving my reactions/analysis as it comes.

In the meantime, I want to sum up a bit more about Margaret’s mother and father, since I think they are characters we’ll be seeing for the foreseeable future. Again, using bullet points because I went long.

Mrs. Hale:

Ambitious

Loves her family

Deep sadness for her son

Apathetic to the parishioners

Hates fun (jk but seriously what is her deal — no reading, backgammon OR visiting schoolchildren??)

Controlling towards her husband

Dreams of grandeur for her daughter

Married for love — happy at one time

Delicate health

Not inflexible (walks did help temporarily)

Overall, not a glowing character review, but like with Mrs. Shaw it’s early and she’s not heartless; she does describe her as kind towards her daughter and did marry for love, so at one time she was a more tender person than she seems to be now. The whole “apathetic to the parish” thing did happen before Frederick though, so I attribute that to her having come from a more well-off family and not understanding the importance of these visits. Perhaps she also wanted to keep her husband closer to her — although you’d think she would do that by actually engaging with him, but ok? Overall, like every other Gaskell character, she is not black and white and we cannot paint her as such. I hope to learn more positive traits that I can add here because I do seem to be just bashing on her, but I am trying to find good things to say!

Mr. Hale:

AnxiousTM

Aging

Mild-tempered

Quiet

Tries to please his wife

Determined streak

Bottles up issues

Content with his life OR

Does not like confrontation

Easily depressed/distressed

So, it’s unclear whether he won’t better his living situation because he doesn’t want to confront the bishop or because he’s actually happy with Helstone. Due to his anxious personality (can relate btw), I would *guess* the former, but it could very well be the latter — or both! For someone who is anxious, it is very difficult to walk up to what is the equivalent of (I’m assuming is) your boss and saying “Hey, give me a better living situation right now! I’m better than the other parish priests you hired!” His wife makes it sound easy, but…idk from my standpoint, that is quite the opposite!!! However, if I saw that my partner was as miserable as Mrs. Hale so obviously is (and for more reasons than just the living situation thing), then I would at least consider it. Again, it’s a complex situation, and I feel like both of these characters are not helping each other by not communicating and continuing to ignore the other’s needs. In that sense, Mr. Hale is also in the wrong for just kind of shying away from the conversation, instead of telling her no OR having a deeper conversation about this. I want to add more to Mr. Hale’s character chart other than “anxious” but we don’t hear much from him in this chapter, so hopefully we get more of him soon!

One more thing: I made some important additions thanks to someone in my reply section, so if you want to peer review/correct me, I may have actually already done that in the reblog section, so please check that out first! I also explain why I’m reblogging it over just editing this post. If I didn’t address it, feel free to add on and I’ll edit the additions post!

I think that’s it: see you next week North and South fans!

#north and south #north and south weekly #margaret hale #novas notes #long post

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gimmiesophiebaek · 1 month ago

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VBPS (Benedict’s Wedding)

Rated: G Staring: All of the Bridgertons + partners (Daphne’s married, Colin’s married, Francesca’s married)

Party #6: Benedict and Sophie’s Wedding (2019)

“It’s my wedding day!”

Benedict shouted at the top of his lungs, bolting out of bed as though he hadn’t just spent half the night sketching by the nightlight.

His voice echoed through the corridors of "My Cottage," the quaint Wiltshire home that he and Sophie had so lovingly restored. It was their haven, their perfect slice of countryside, and today, it would witness their vows.

From downstairs, a collective groan rose up. His family had come to expect this kind of early-morning enthusiasm from Benedict. Ever since he and Sophie had gotten engaged, it had become something of a tradition. Every family gathering began the same way: Benedict’s exuberant announcement that it was his wedding day—whether it actually was or not.

"Benedict," Colin called out in a tired, teasing voice, "for the love of God, it’s too early for this."

Undeterred, Benedict threw on his dressing gown and practically skipped down the stairs, finding his mother in the kitchen, overseeing preparations.

"Mother!" he exclaimed, rushing to give Violet a kiss on the cheek. "Is everything in order? Sophie will absolutely insist on doing everything herself if she thinks for a second—"

"Everything is under control, dear," Violet interrupted with a soft smile. "Sophie is taking care of herself this morning. You needn’t worry."

"But I’m the groom! I should be helping!"

"Benedict, love, if you help too much, you’ll only make a mess of things." Violet chuckled.

That earned a hearty laugh from Francesca, who had just walked in, carrying a tray of breakfast pastries.

"She's right.” She asked as she placed the tray down. “You’d trip over yourself and ruin the whole affair."

Benedict feigned offense, but the excitement still lit up his face. Francesca gave him a rundown of the day so far.

"Everyone is here except Eloise. She’s staying at the inn with Sophie and Posy for the night."

"Posy is here?" Benedict blinked. "Well, that’s a surprise."

"Indeed," Francesca smirked, "but as for Anthony—" She didn’t need to finish. The family shared a knowing laugh at the mention of their older brother, who, true to form, was running late.

"Hyacinth mentioned he’s getting a haircut. At a barber," Francesca added with exaggerated shock, her eyebrows arching. "Apparently, he wants to look decent for the photos."

"Perfect!” Benedict clapped his hands together. “A clean-shaven Anthony is a sight to behold. I hope someone’s ready with a camera."

He wandered over to the window, gazing out at the rolling hills that Sophie so dearly loved. The lush, green landscape stretched out before him, reminding him once again of why they had chosen this place. Sophie, with her country roots, never felt at ease in the bustling chaos of London. She’d grown up in the Norfolk countryside, and the idea of a big city wedding never appealed to her. She wanted their day to be something that reflected who they were, not a grand spectacle but an intimate celebration in a place that felt like home.

Benedict understood. His art could be made anywhere. But Sophie—Sophie was the very center of his world, and this place, with its quiet beauty, was her sanctuary.

His thoughts turned to how much they’d been through together. Sophie had faced down her stepmother, Araminta, and secured her rightful inheritance with grace and strength. She’d fought hard for her independence, carving out her own path while standing by his side, not as his shadow but as his equal. Benedict couldn’t help but admire her more every day.

And yet, she still found time to help him with his commissions, offering sharp insights and critiques that only made his work better. She was more than his muse; she was his partner in every sense of the word.

"I can’t believe it.” He turned back to his family, his grin widening. “Sophie Baek is going to be my wife today."

"Yes, we’ve heard," Colin teased from the doorway, still bleary-eyed but amused. "And if you shout it one more time, the whole of Wiltshire will know, too."

Benedict didn’t care. It wasn’t every day that someone fell in love at first sight and then actually got to marry that very same person. He had found his match, his muse, his best friend.

Continue on AO3

(note: Sorry I didn’t post a couple of chapters but I will post the invites for those chapters shortly)

#bridgerton fanfiction #benedict x sophie #benedict bridgerton #sophie baek #violet bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #colin bridgerton #penelope featheringon #daphne bridgerton #simon basset #eloise bridgerton #francesa bridgerton #gregory bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #posy li #benophie fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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compos mentis 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: cut my life into pieces, this is my worst villain.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Andy shows you to the guest room. It’s big. Much bigger than your own.

Rather, yours is overcrowded with collectible figurines of women in big gowns and books about vintage fashion. When you were less exhausted, you would cut out the pictures and make collages. It’s been ages since you did anything more than lay around.

He leaves you to take it in. The bed frame is birch, the bedding all white, without a single wrinkle, the nightstands match the bed, and there’s a beige rug across the floor. There’s a book shelf against one wall, a window in the other, and an armchair in the corner. Simple but nice.

You roll your tank across the floor as you hear Andy coming up the stairs. He peeks in as you turn to see him carrying your mom. He nods as he passes by. A door opens further down the hall. You feel too unsettled to lay down even if you are tired.

He returns and peers around the door frame as he taps with his knuckles.

“Here, I just realised you don’t have any clothes here,” he holds a folded tee. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks,” you keep your tank on the hardwood as you cross to him. You take the shirt and clutch it under your arm.

“The bathroom’s right across the hall,” he points with his thumb over his shoulder. “Did you need some water or anything?”

You shake your head, “thank you. No, I’m alright. Just need to... rest.”

“Of course. Any extra blankets? The AC too much?” He asks.

You shrug, “I’m fine.”

He smiles softly, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be overbearing I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“That’s okay,” you assure him and back up. “Really, I can handle it.”

“Alright, but please don’t hesitate to ask for anything, alright, sweetheart?”

You turn and put the shirt on the bed, “okay. Thanks.”

He lingers in the door. He’s watching you. His gaze hangs over you like a shroud. Slowly, he reaches for the handle and shuts you in. At last, you can breathe. Well...

You slip the tube from around your nose as you change. You sit as you pull on the tee, keeping your flowery cotton briefs on. You loop the tube around your ears again and set it right. You feel woozy from the effort.

You turn off the light and shuffle cautiously through the dark. You put your tank to the side of the bed and stretch the tube. You lay down and let your eyes close. Your fatigue descends faster than you expect.

There’s some noise from outside your walls, but you don’t think much of it as you drift off. You wake up still on your back. You’ve trained yourself not to move much lest you get tangled up. All the water you had with dinner has you squirming.

You drag yourself up and fix your tube. You stub your toe on the take as you get out of bed and groggily stumble around. For a moment, you go into autopilot and collide with the end of the bed, thinking it to be much smaller. You’re not at home, you remind yourself.

You wheel the tank behind you and open the door. You cross the hall to the open bathroom and dip inside. You park the wheels under the tank and do what you need to, the seat cold, the tile even colder.

You wash your hands and look at yourself in the mirror. You don’t do that often. Under your nose is chafed, your lips are chapped, and your eyes are sunken. You’ve never been pretty, just sick. You always wanted to be beautiful like the glass women you kept in your room. You don’t know why you’re thinking of that now.

You shut off the light before you open the door and step out into the darkness. You don’t get far as you hear a grunt and your tank lurches over a bump. You stop and squeak as the shadow backs up and grumbles. A switch flicks and the overhead light glows.

You face Andy in surprise, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise--”

“No, no,” he grimaces and wiggles his foot. “I shouldn’t be creeping around in the dark.”

He chuckles and pushes back his hair, it’s tussled, and his beard has uneven lines in it. More concerningly, he’s almost naked. He only wears a pair of grey boxers. His chest is thick with hair that trails down his stomach, and his shoulders are rounded with muscles. He somehow seems even bigger in that moment.

You lean back, about to tip. You’ve never seen a man like that in the flesh. You’ve never been that close to such a bare man. Even when you see it on screen, it makes you squirm and heat up.

“It’s... It’s... I’m sorry.”

You turn and hit your tank with your leg. It slips and wobbles before it clunks over. You trip over the wheels and tumble forward. You squeak as a tight vice closes around your arm and keeps you from hitting the floor.

Andy pulls you steady to your feet and you turn to stare at his hand. He’s touching you. No one touches you. Only your mom and she only does that when she wants to make a show. You stare at his knuckles and he slowly lets go.

You stand frozen. He bends down to lift the tank back to its wheels and he looks it over. He turns his ear towards it.

“I don’t hear a leak.” He says.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you insist and grab the handle. “Thanks.”

“Hey, but what about you, honey? You okay?”

“Yep,” you cough and veer the tank across the hall with you.

You don’t look back. You're embarrassed. Especially as you shut the door and realise you’re in little better state than him. You have the tee shirt and your frumpy underwear on. Oh gosh, that’s horrible. He saw you like that.

💚

You wake up and get dressed in the same clothes you wore the night before. All in all, you’ve been awake for most of the time there. Strange places make you wary. Even hospitals, as often as you’ve been there, keep you on edge.

After you get your meds from your belt bag, you sit on the bed and stare at the window. Your mom will be up eventually and you’re sure she won’t want to hang around unless Andy is there. He must have work, right?

You hear movement in the hallway. It could be her. You hope it is. You listen to the footsteps descend the stairs and minutes later return. There’s a back and forth in the hall and through the house once more. Yet you don’t hear voices.

A knock comes at the door and you make your way over. You’re not surprised to find Andy on the other side, only disappointed. He’s in a pair of slacks and a button-up. He must be near ready to go.

“Hey, checking on you,” he puts his hand on the door frame. You glance at it. You won’t be able to close it. “Everything okay? I put coffee on.”

You nod, “okay. I don’t drink coffee. Thanks. Too much caffeine.”

“Oh, I should’ve remembered that,” he puts his other hand on his hip. “Well, your mom isn’t doing too well. She’s hungover. I did mention about the wine.”

“Uh, I... I’m sorry,” you frown.

“Sorry? Why?” He tilts his head, “you don’t have to apologise for her. It’s the consequences of her own behaviour.”

You shrug. You guess it’s a habit. You’re always the one apologising to the nurses or the service workers or just the last person she decided to argue with.

“Yeah...” you murmur.

“Well, I can make you some breakfast? I have some muffins. You like blueberry?”

“It’s okay. I’ll just wait for mom,” you pick at the hem of your shirt.

“Alright, but I think she might not be up for a while. Even then, I don’t know if she’s going anywhere.” He glances over his shoulder. “How about, I’ll leave a muffin out for ya and you can have it if you get hungry? I got a short day, I won’t be gone very long but you get full rein of the house when I’m out. Keep your mom safe, huh?”

You blink at him. You can’t quite process what he’s saying. More his tone than his words. He’s talking to you in this sickly sweet voice. Is he trying to be fatherly? You don’t need a dad and he didn’t need you either.

“Right, I...” you shift on your feet. “I’ll just lay back down. My head hurts.”

“You sure you’re not hungry? I can get you some coffee before I go?” He offers.

You shake your head, “no thanks, “ you wisp out, “er, have a good day, Andy.”

“I’ll try, sweetie,” he surprises you as he moves his hand from the door frame swiftly. You can’t react as he reaches for you. He cradles around the back of your head and leans in to kiss your forehead. “You too.”

He pets your head before he pulls away. You’re too stunned to speak or move. You squeeze the handle on your tank and your chest starts to split. You have to breathe!

He steps back with a grin and turns to strut away. You watch after him. Was that... well, no, it’s... it can’t be anything. He’s just being him? He’s with your mom now so technically when they marry... that’s it.

You just don’t know any better. You’re stupid. You’ve never even dreamed of having a man interested in you that you confuse the most innocent things for more. It’s not that. He’s being nice. If anything, he just feels sorry for you like everyone else.

When he disappears down the stairs, you finally get some sense back. You shut the door and go back to the bed. You’re dizzy and a bit queasy. You lay down and watch the ceiling. If your mom isn’t up in an hour, you’ll have to go find her.

You can’t stay like that. Despite the shadow of exhaustion that always follows you, you’re restless. You get up and make sure the bed is tidy. You fold the used tee shirt and check to make sure you tank hasn’t left any marks on the floor or carpet.

Alright then, that’s enough waiting. You peek into the hallway before you emerge. You go down to the door where you think she is. You can’t remember which one now. You knock and wait. She doesn’t answer so you hit the door harder, making yourself flinch.

You hear a grumble. You stand in indecision. Should you just let her be? Well, you don’t want to be here all day. You rub your forehead then rip your hand away. Right there, where he kissed you...

You drop your hand to the door handle and push inward. Your mother is shrouded in darkness, the curtains are drawn, and she groans. You sniff and stay close to the threshold.

“Mom, are you okay? It’s almost nine--”

“Go away,” she gurgles.

“Mom, we have to go home.”

“Oh, shut up. Go. Fuck, my head is pounding,” she rubs her head and writhes.

“Mom?” You squeak. She can be harsh but she doesn’t swear at you like that. “Can I help--”

“Leave me alone,” she rolls her back to you, “you’re making it worse.”

You frown and look at her. You were just trying to help her. You know you’re useless but you don’t mean to be. You back out and roll the tank with you. When you close the door, you jump at the figure along the edge of your sight. You turn to Andy as he stands just down the hall.

How long has he been there?

“Told you, she’s in rough shape,” he says. “Well, good and bad news. My case for this morning got pushed. Lawyers put in a request so I’m gonna work from home so if you need anything, I’ll be around.”

“Oh, uh, right,” you hunch and shrink toward the wall.

He nods and smiles softly. You’re both silent, stuck in a strange valley of uncertainty. He clears his throat.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that, you know? I’ll... I’ll tell her that.” He says.

You shake your head frantically, “no, don’t do that.”

“But she shouldn’t--”

“Please. She’s just not feeling good,” you insist and roll toward him. “It’s fine. Just... I need to sit down.”

He lets you pass and you dip back into the guestroom. You click the door shut and heave out a long breath. You just want to be at home. Everything here feels so weird.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #compos mentis #defending jacob

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princesssarisa · 1 year ago

Note

Is there a concept you'd like to see for a Barbie doll that hasn't been done before or only at a small level?

Maybe a series of Barbie dolls based on opera heroines. They once did it for ballet, with the Classic Ballet Series that offered dolls of the Sugar Plum Fairy from The Nutcracker, Odette from Swan Lake, Juliet from Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet, and others. So why not opera too?

I'd like then to release at least 10 dolls. For example:

Carmen (Carmen), Violetta (La Traviata), Pamina, the Queen of the Night (The Magic Flute), Mimi, Musetta (La Bohéme) Susanna (The Marriage of Figaro), Tosca (Tosca), Cio-Cio-San (Madame Butterfly), and Rosina (The Barber of Seville)

I'd also suggest Lucia (Lucia di Lammermoor) because she's so iconic, but Mattel probably wouldn't want to sell a Barbie in a bloodstained wedding gown.

It will probably never happen because the market would be so niche, but I'd buy them.

#barbie #opera

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fortheloveoffanfic · 2 years ago

Text

Prettier When You're Mine

Andy Barber x reader

Summary: One year into working with a young, bright and beautiful junior prosecutor, Y/n, who bears an almost uncanny resemblance to Andy’s late wife, Laurie, he finds himself developing feelings for her. Though, when she brushes off his advances, Andy proves that he’ll do whatever it takes to recreate his family. Disclaimer: 18+ This work contains dark themes, including stalking, dub-con, infidelity and manipulation. Read at your own discretion. Masterlist Playlist Chapter 4

Chapter 5

A doctor's visit leaves Y/n unsettled. When Y/n tries to open up, Andy misinterprets her vulnerability for a covert advance, leading to a fallout that may kill any hope of a romance between them.....or force Andy to move forward with his plan to make Y/n his. Warnings: Medical references, harassment

The waiting room was cold; muted colours and boring art decorated the quiet space and the air reeked of what she assumed was hospital grade disinfectant. In a bid to busy her hands and distract herself and get some work done, Y/n scrolled through a file that Andy wanted to discuss when she got to the office after her appointment. Despite her best efforts though, she simply couldn’t seem to focus; she’d been reading the same paragraph for at least fifteen minutes and hadn’t retained a thing, instead she’d memorized a poster on the wall that listed the importance of safe sex and had awkwardly waved to the receptionist twice.

By the third, clumsy half wave, Y/n sighed and set her phone down in her lap, shifting her gaze just in time to see a young couple walking in through the automatic front door. They must have been about her age or a little younger, and the woman was visibly pregnant. Tightly, Y/n smiled when she caught the young woman’s eyes and as she felt something odd stir in her chest, she averted her gaze. Jealousy? She wasn’t sure if that was the right word.

It was more like……familiar ache. A dream that was just out of reach.

Once again eager for a distraction, Y/n picked up her phone and that time she found that there was a text from James that she hadn’t realized had come in.

“Hey! Sure you don’t want me to pick you up?”

Y/n smiled at the message; he was always so sweet and protective of her and she never failed to forget how lucky she was. “No, its okay.” At the end of her response, she included a little smiley face emoji to soften the tone.

“Its no trouble,” that one came in first and another quickly succeeded, “Sorry I couldn’t come with.”

“Its just a routine pelvic exam,” she chuckled at his obvious concern; despite her telling him all week that she was okay with going alone, James had insisted that leaving her to go on her own was the equivalent to not caring at all, but his boss had been adamant about the company’s latest project having a strict deadline and had barred time off with the exception of an emergency- Y/n had decided unilaterally that a routine procedure done by millions everyday was absolutely not an emergency.

“Your first one!” He sent shortly after Y/n’s last message before sending another, “At least let me pick you up from work later.”

“I would love that,” she typed quickly, letting the message go off just as the receptionist read her name off a clipboard.

With gentle professionalism, the woman led Y/n to one of the exam rooms down the hall, in a more private part of the small clinic and upon ushering her inside, she’d politely read the instructions and asked if Y/n had any questions before leaving her to change out of her chic work dress an into a paper gown.

It wasn’t long after she’d hopped onto the bed before a graying, middle aged woman with a white coat thrown over seafoam green scrubs entered the small, cold room. “You must be, Y/n,” she smiled warmly.

“Dr. Eekle, hi,” Y/n smiled nervously as the doctor pumped a bit of hand sanitizer into her palms before rubbing it in and reaching for a manila folder and pen left on the desk shoved against the wall.

They went through formalities and as the older woman sank onto a metal stool. Adjusting the height accordingly, she went over some of the things the receptionist had earlier and then explained that she’d have to answer some questions first. “End of last period?”

“Uh…last Sunday,” just over a week before the current date, “It was short but I’ve always had an irregular cycle.”

“Birth control?”

“No,” Y/n shook her head.

“Any medications and have you had sex in the last two days?”

“Nope and no,” a shuddered breath seeped off Y/n’s lips as she found that she felt more exposed than she usually preferred.

“Ever had an STD or an STI?” Y/n shook her head no and Dr. Eekle asked a few more questions, scribbling her responses on the form before getting to the final one,”Are you currently pregnant?”

Y/n scoffed, suddenly a little peeved. She'd obviously been asked the question before at other doctor’s appointments, but right then, it felt like Dr. Eekle was prodding at a sore spot left after seeing that happy couple in the waiting room. “I just told you that I had my period last week.”

“Its just a formality; I have to ask, for legal purposes,” the doctor explained, maintaining her cordial tone.

Ashamed of her snappy tone, Y/n bent her head and fixed her gaze to her fidgeting fingers and the round diamond that made its home on her left hand a couple months ago. “Right, sorry,” she knew well enough the legal implications of not covering all protocol during a medical examination. “I’m not pregnant.”

“Are you sure?”

In a haste, the irritation welled up and doubled. Y/n’s head snapped up and she glared at the doctor and she clenched her jaw; the only thing keeping her in that room was the possibility of a last minute cancellation fee. By then, it had started feeling like she was being taunted- or worse yet, not trusted. How dare Dr. Eekle question her knowledge of her own body and situation? It was completely ludicrous! “I’m sure,” Y/n gritted, moving her hands to hold the sides of the exam bed in a white knuckled grip.

Apparently Dr. Eekle sense her irritation and quickly jotted down her final response before quietly instructing her to lay back and put her feet up on the stirrups. The rest of the appointment went by in virtual silence with the exception of generic questions and responses about the exam being traded, giving Y/n enough time to try to sort her thoughts and get her feelings together so it wouldn’t interrupt her work.

Later that day. “Hey,” Y/n’s voice in the doorway prompted Andy to lift his attention from the file in his hand.

Leaning back into the leather upholstered chair behind his large desk, Andy propped his elbows on the armrests, keeping the file open before him. “Hey,” he breathed, “Come in,” he invited, discreetly glancing at the time displayed in a little corner of the screen of his computer. He was about to make a comment about how she was an hour and a half later than she’d assured him she’d be- though his irritation was probably stemming from a more personal issue- but when Andy looked at her again, he noted the slight redness rimming her eyes, poorly hidden by make-up and her slight, occasional sniffle.

She looked pretty like that, was his first thought while the second was that something must be wrong for her to have been crying

“Is everything-”

“Brought you coffee,” she offered hastily upon sinking into one of the smaller chairs on the other side of his desk, “Dark roast, one cream, two sugars?”

Her usual quip about how he’d chosen the worst way to have coffee was absent, further adding to Andy’s newfound worry. “Yeah,” he reached over the populating the dark tinted, glass surface for the cup, “Thanks.” She didn’t seem to want to talk about what was bothering her, and not wanting to push her- yet- Andy took a sip from the hot take-away cup before asking if she’d managed to read the file he wanted her to.

Pulling her drink away from her lips, Y/n swallowed slowly, not meeting his gaze, “Uh…no, sorry. I meant to, last night but I ended up preparing a draft for your opening,” sniffling again, she reached into a plastic envelope folder that she usually brought to work and produced a couple stapled pages.

It took a beat before Andy registered that she was trying to hand it to him, he was too busy staring at her; completely enamored by the way the slight glassiness of her eyes made them seem brighter while the ever so slight puffiness of her face was cute. She must have been a pretty crier.

“And this morning, I meant to read it in the waiting room, but I kept getting distracted. Sorry,” she said meekly, seeming all small and vulnerable. The overwhelming urge to shield her from whatever had upset her so much.

The waiting room; she’d gone to see a doctor. A gynecologist, specifically. Andy had tried to get her to tell him why she’d been going, or even what type of doctor she was going to see, but Y/n had seemed adamant about keeping the information private. “Oh, its nothing, just a little check up for my insurance,” she’d said. Though, his own scouting had proven that she’d been lying. It had taken a bit of digging around in her office after she’d left one night the week before. She really could stand to learn it was safer to lock her desk drawers because that was where he’d found a card for a women’s clinic with the name of a doctor scribbled on the back. The rest had been easy after that; the next day, Andy had called saying that his ‘wife’ was busy but wanted to confirm that she had an appointment for the date and time that she’d requested her time off. The receptionist had been the one to let it slip that she’d be going in for a routine pelvic exam.

Knowing something so personal had been thrilling; every piece of information was a little power trip. A inch more of control.

But he was also a little pissed off that she hadn’t trusted him enough to just tell him.

“I almost forgot,” he lied, “How was your appointment?” He asked, setting the pages down without even looking at them.

Y/n hesitated, and he supposed she was flattered that he remembered, it was in the slight furrow of her brows and the way she hesitated before speaking. “It was- it was uh, it was fine. Thanks.”

Andy frowned deeply, wondering what could have possibly upset her- and who he’d have to hurt. “You sure?” Taking a leap of faith, he reached across the desk to grasp her wrist in what he hoped would be perceived as a soothing gesture. He used to be good with Laurie, and she was a lot like Laurie, ergo, Andy presumed that if Y/n would give him the chance, he could be good with her too. “We can talk about whatever is bothering you, if you want.”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” she tugged her hand away defensively and Andy reared back, raising his palms in surrender.

“I’m just trying to help, sweetheart,” she flashed him an odd look, the same one she did every time he called her that. It was still too personal, too presumptive; it was clear that Y/n wanted there to remain a boundary between them and while he would continue to be obscenely offended by it, it was imperative that he try to keep up the appearance of respect for that. At least, until he could deem his plan a success.

Despite her obvious distaste for how he’d chosen to address her, she huffed a dry chuckle, presumably because she didn’t want to stir any animosity between them, something which he appreciated. Andy even thought that it was quite telling, and it roused the urge to push her boundaries a little more. See how much she could take. But he couldn’t, not yet. “I’m sorry I just….I’ve got a lot on my mind,” from the minute she said the words, Y/n started tearing up, though, she blinked quickly to remedy the moisture.

“We can talk about-”

“I know, you said that,” she cut him off hastily. Shutting her eyes for a minute, she exhaled audibly and followed that up by moistening her lips. “Have you ever gotten to that point in our life where you feel like you’ve got…..ninety percent?”

“Ninety perfect?” Andy took a punctuating swing of his coffee and knitted his brows, “I don’t think I understand.”

She shook one shoulder, “You know, like you have everything you could ever want but one thing? That ten percent that….makes everything else seem so small.”

He did; Andy had money, his dream job and what sometimes felt like an enthralling amount of power. A channel for his aggression where he still got to come off as the hero. But he didn’t have the one thing-person- that he fell asleep thinking about; her.

“Yeah,” eager to establish that connection, he conquered, “That’s how you feel?”

“I didn’t before….I don’t think I did,” she shook her head, “Or maybe I always have but didn’t realize it,” she lifted her head and because he’d been staring at her so intently, their eyes met. For a few precious seconds, there was something real and true between them; affinity that he thought could be easily translated to affection. “I know that I have everything, I keep telling myself that I do-”

“But you feel like you don’t. You feel like that one thing would just…..make your life complete.”

“Exactly, yeah,” she agreed, “And its ridiculous, because I was fine before. I knew I couldn’t have it....at least, not the way I want to, and I made my peace with that,” Y/n sighed, and he could see the guilt creeping to her face, “But now I’m thinking; why not me? Is that selfish?” Their eyes were still locked with his and that was how he knew what she was talking about; him.

Finally, vindication.

“You can have it,” Andy leaned forward, urgency evident in his tone, “Its yours if you want it.”

Knitting her brows, she shook her head, “Its not that simple. It would….it hurt someone that I really care about if I said that this was what I wanted.”

Rising from his chair, Andy rounded the desk, taking a knee when he reached Y/n’s seat. Visibly confounded, she shifted awkwardly in the chair and gasped when he took her hands. They were so soft and small, a stark contrast to his. “Andy-”

“You can have it, that one thing. Its a little selfish, but sometimes selfish is what it takes,” he rubbed the back of her knuckles with his thumbs and she briefly stole a glance at their joined hands. When his finger grazed the stone on her left ring fingers, Andy let out a shuddered breath and it took everything in him to not pull it off.

She wasn’t wearing the look he expected her to, Y/n actually seemed bewildered. “I…I don’t think we’re having the same conversation right now.”

Andy shook his head, “You can try to hide it and be cryptic,” he reasoned, arching towards her a little, “But I know what you want because I want to.”

A scoff vacated her burgundy lips and Y/n briskly tugged her hands out of his grip, not noticing the soft clatter that resulted in his reluctance to let them go. “You do not know what I want,” she stood abruptly, chair falling backwards onto the carpeted floor with a thud as she did, “This is….completely inappropriate and I promise you we are not having the same conversation.”

Shit.

“Fuck,” he breathed, exasperated, embarrassed and more importantly enraged, “Y/n,” he tried to get her to stop packing her things away and hear him out, “I didn’t know-”

“Its okay,” she mumbled without looking at him.

“Its just-”

“I led you on, yeah?” She looked at his face, but didn’t meet his eyes, “That’s what girls like me do?”

“That’s not what I said,” he gritted, struggling to keep his cool amid the overwhelming amount of rage that had surged up in him when she’d pushed him away. If he scared her too much, it would make things harder later on; that was the only thought that kept him grounded.

But when would 'later on' come? He was growing pretty damn tired of waiting.

Y/n slung her handbag on her shoulder and haphazardly gathered her collection of papers, “You didn’t have to,” she shot back, tone short. “I’ll work on this in my office,” she offered next, tone flat and eyes fixed on the door.

Just as she started to move past him, Andy impulsively grabbed her arm and tugged her toward him, “You don’t have to run away,” he growled, making her jump, “I’m trying to fix this.”

“I don’t need you to fix it,” she ripped herself away, “I need you to give me some fucking space,” locking her jaw, she stomped towards the door, rather petulantly and Andy could have only likened her to a child throwing a tantrum. Even if he hadn’t outwardly agreed, Y/n was right; she had led him on, this was her doing.

The slamming of the door, which he was pretty sure the entire floor heard, signaled Y/n’s departure. Blowing a breath through puffed cheeks, Andy stepped forward, about to pick up the fallen chair- and maybe throw it through the fucking window- when he felt something under his foot. He stepped back and seeing what it was, Andy grinned.

Licking his lips and barely containing the rumbling chuckle that ran through him, he crouched to collect a familiar ring off the floor. A simple, round cut diamond on a yellow gold band. Not bad to bad for an heirloom ring, but not very worthy of a woman like Y/n. He always envisioned her with something a little more glamorous, like the sapphire waiting for her in his bedroom.

Righting the chair as he stood, Andy gave the ring one last look. It was like holding leverage in his palm, “So much for space, sweetheart.”

Tagging: @polytheatix @wintasssoldier @sapphire-rogers @ambreds @patzammit @sarahdonald87 @evansgal

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #andy barber #andy barber x you #chris evans fanfic #defending jacob #prettier when youre mine

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