#cadillac key | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

your-highnessmarvel · 6 months ago

Text

Insatiable

AN: No one asked for this but the Butcher brain rot is crazy and i can't stop myself. Alas, I couldn't resist so welcome to the madness. Anyway, I went insane and absolutely wrote a devoted piece to this man. Jesus help me.

Warnings: dub-con (use of sex pollen-ish mind control), smut, fingering, language, and Butcher is a warning in and of itself.

MINORS DNI Below the cut

"I'm not wearing any underwear."

The admonition echoed in the habitat of Butcher's Cadillac like a bird's call. Even the sound of leather on leather, as the man sitting beside you slowly turned to examine you, wasn't loud enough to get the stupid ringing out of your head.

This had all started off like a bad scab you thought was healed but wasn't, and now it was bleeding all over your favorite pink pull.

Hughie and MM had uncovered a rightful piece of Temp V hideout; a Supe's mansion on the Upper East Side who, just happened, to be throwing one of his renowned "XXXchange" parties for Supes and their pets (this was how it was described on the e-vite MM hacked).

This Supe, still unknown to everyone because he kept the mansion under a random woman's name, was supposedly a Seven-in-the-making, as Hughie put it. If he could prove himself, he was next in line for a comfy beige seat in the Tower. So hence, him keeping and distributing Temp V to teens and young adults who didn't know any better.

So what had been Hughie's grand ol' plan? Bring you in. As the newest Supe member of The Boys, no one had yet seen your face. No one even knew of you. You were a low-level "barely considerable" Supe...as Butcher had put it the first time he blew the hinges off your front door.

Your power wasn't really a - well, a power at all. It was mostly an advancement, an intellectual add-on, or a sixth sense. You could read lies. More coherently, because someone with a beard and a giant stick up his ass didn't understand correctly--you could tell when someone was lying.

You weren't really an attribute to the team when it came to brute force. You left that up to Annie and Kimiko. But you had your perks, and since you were still under Vought's radar, you could slip through the cracks and get intel for the Boys.

Now why was Butcher with you, the most notorious Boys' member? Well, one might say he was eager to see your 2-hour fight training in practice, but really, it was because he "didn't trust a dumb twat with highly sensitive information and tech". His words.

So he'd garnished a Tommy Bahama blouse with pink flamingoes and palm trees and a matching set of swim shorts, sunglasses, and a stupid bright pink bucket hat that was way too small for his big ass head.

And now here both of y'all were, headed to the Upper East Side, dressed like a hooker and a pimp. Annie had insisted on this get up, a tiny, tiny pink skirt, a white bikini top, and a pink cover up with flip flops to finish off this fucking look. Because apparently, no one would let you in if you weren't A) a Supe and B) not dressed like a House Bunny.

"So you're tellin' me," Butcher drawled as the New York skyline darkened, "that your bare pussy is suction-cupping my leather seats?"

You crossed your arms. "I'm sitting at an angle."

Butcher slapped the wheel. "You should've told me earlier!" he laughed. You frowned in return when he swivelled that giant head of his towards you. "Come now, if you're not wearing panties, why should I, eh?"

"You wear panties?"

He hummed, regaining control of the road as the car slipped passed the last townhouse to enter Mansion Ville.

"I like you, little Truthteller," he mumbled to himself. "Thought you were a bit worthless at first, but you might just prove yourself tonight!"

You didn't dare answer the last bit, instead focusing on the details Annie and Hughie gave you before you flip-flopped your way into Butcher's passenger seat (and did absolutely not suction-cup his leather seats).

The idea was to go in and place a few bugs in and around the mansion in key locations. You could try to figure out who the Supe was or even find out where he stashed his V, but it didn't matter. The Boys would find out over the bugs.

The mansion Butcher parked the Caddie in front of was like a cookie-cutter version of the 90s PlayBoy mansion.

"Alright, love," Butcher sighed, killing the engine and stepping out, rounding the nose of the car to open the door for you. "Give 'em a nice peek of that minge, eh?"

You blushed from head to toe, a torment of fire assaulting your skin until Butcher caught on and chuckled low in his chest, helping you step out the car with his hand.

You still hadn't gotten used to the crass words that could tumble out of his mouth like vomit.

He guided you to the entrance, where a man dressed in black boxers and a black neck tie asked for your invite number, which you recited from the one Hughie gave you.

Then he asked, "And which is Supe and which is pet?"

You blushed even hotter. "Um." Your throat got sticky and dry all at once. "I'm the Supe and he's my... um, he's my-"

"Her pet," Butcher interrupted with a wide smile, the sunglasses hiding the glint in his eye that was surely showing. That ridiculous bucket hat made him look almost two heads taller than you as he bent down to whisper in your ear, "bark, bark."

You groaned inwardly as you lead him into the foyer, where a sprawling staircase lead to a mezzanine and a mahogany banister and a wide archway gave way to a mess of bodies in the living room.

"Oh my God," you mumbled, turning away from the onslaught of legs and arms and slithering bodies like a pile of snakes.

"Oh, nuh-uh," Butcher chuckled, grabbing you by the shoulders, steering you right into the mass of party-goers, moaning and groaning and thrusting into one another or bouncing on top of each other like mad dogs. "If you want to play the part, you have to look the part." His mouth was right next to your ear, and for some reason, the breath caressing your skin sent a slowly gliding shiver down your spine.

Why was this happening?

You felt the flesh melt where his fingers lay, clutching at your shoulders, pulling your coverup off of you.

"Butcher," you said, stopping his hand.

He shook his head. "Show them what you got, mama," he whispered again, the rough of his beard tracing against your cheek. He scooped the coverup off your shoulders and threw it across the room, leaving you in your bikini top.

Butcher had never seen you so exposed before. You'd always worn pants and t-shirts around the safe house, so watching all that bare skin available to his hungry eyes flipped a switch in his head.

A woman, tall and elegant, cream skin and sultry black eyes, approached you before Butcher could do something stupid. He straightened up, lifting the sunglasses from his nose.

"Miss, look at you," he cooed.

Miss was naked. Someone had left a bite mark on her right breast, just above her peaked nipple. She was so long-limbed and beautiful, and the sight of her naked body made you turn away instinctively.

"I like you," she said, voice low and husky, like a purr.

"I like you too, sweetheart," Butcher answered, the heat of his body completely leaving you as he zeroed in all his attention on the naked, wanting lady before you.

She huffed. "You're great too," she answered, and when you turned, her lascivious brown eyes were settled on you. "But it's her that I want."

Butcher gasped and then erupted in laughter, taking the bucket hat off his head and putting it to his heart. "Woah, I never imagined I'd see this in my lifetime."

The other woman smiled slowly and you gulped. She was pretty, but she was also not part of the mission.

So you back-peddled.

You put a delicate hand to Butcher's arm, digging your nails into his skin, and put on a lovely, sweet smile for the offering girl. "That's nice of you," you said, voice sultry like a wet candy cane. "But we're more interested in watching." As you said this, you dropped into your act as best you could, mustering up the strength not to blush but to play the part of the sex-obsessed Supe.

She brightened up at this, gesturing to Butcher. "Well I could fuck him while you watch," she suggested.

Butcher's body tensed up against you and he turned to you. "Please say yes," he mumbled.

You smiled, throwing him a glance. "Both of us are watchers," you corrected, watching as she bowed her head, a lustrous gleam in her eye.

"It would've been a pleasure," she said before walking away.

When she was climbing onto another woman's lap, Butcher grabbed your bicep and brought you into a corner, sheltered in the dim lighting of the room, smothered under the moans and groans and the sloppy sounds of...intercourse.

"You were this close to fulfilling a fantasy of mine," he groaned, and when you looked up, he looked more angry than turned on.

"We're not here so I can watch you have sex with a woman, asshole!" you gritted between your teeth. ''We're here to plant bugs and find some V."

He huffed, rearranging his Tommy Bahama. "I'm obeying just because you're wearing this outfit," he grumbled, following you as you led them into the next room.

A kitchen, stock full with boxes of canned beverages and food platters.

"Okay, here." You pointed to the dinner table in the adjacent room, a teakwood marvel that surely housed a few meetings or two.

Butcher expertly placed a bug under the table.

You meandered safely through the house, planting bugs in various living rooms, meeting rooms, and spare bedrooms. Whenever some couple or lone masturbator dedicated their attention to you both, you pretended to watch, Butcher enlacing you in his arms.

It's only then you noticed how tall, how big this man was. He was easily dwarfing you by just standing there, your head against his chest, his fingers drawing lazy circles against your exposed spine.

When the onlookers would pass, he'd chuckle as you pushed him away like he was a booger wall.

But the more you traveled in the house, the more people seemed to stare, wanting, questioning. So you ended up holding Butcher's hand, at his command: "Wouldn't want the lovely ladies stealing you away, eh?"

And hand holding turned into his arm around your shoulders, the tip of his very long fingers ghosting your breast.

"Let's go upstairs," he whispered in your ear once he'd bugged up the toilet.

"Ew, no."

He sucked his teeth. "I mean," he gritted, pushing you up against a wall when a man with a considerably large strap on made his way towards you. Butcher bent down, squeezing the breath from your lungs as he grazed his mouth on your bare shoulder. He pressed a featherlight kiss, all while observing the passing man, dragging his lips up to your ear. "We should go bug up the rooms, eh? Maybe see if we can find this cunt's V supply?"

You nodded, a wicked shiver pebbling your flesh.

Butcher blew cold breath onto the thin line of saliva he'd left on your skin. "Cold?"

You swallowed hard. "Let's just go."

He chuckled as you grabebd his hand and led him back to the stairs, galloping up to the second floor.

Truth is, you'd never imagined Butcher like this. He was so arrogant and he loved to make people jump out of their skins by how uncomfortable they were with him, but you'd chopped it up to the old chip on the block; Butcher pushing people away to keep himself safe.

So when the Boys had initiated you, you'd figured it'd be best to steer clear from this tyrant of a man. He was way older than you anyway, and he was always calling you every name in the book except your government given one. And he was always dismissing your ideas, so you'd always assumed he had an image of an immature little girl in his head.

But he'd dreamed of you more times than he cared to count. The messed up parts of his brain, where most of it was left behind in his old life, conjured up hauntings of you every night. Of those soft, plump lips whenever you'd eat cherries. Of your legs in your pajama shorts and your giggle when Kimiko signed something stupid. Of that perfect little body of yours.

"Okay, in here." You interrupted his chain of thought, the one that was going to crash into a puddle brains that would eventually leak out of his ear.

You lead him into a room, which turned out to be some kind of antechamber with a hearth and a giant portrait of a small, bald man.

"He looks like a mouse," you muttered.

But Butcher froze, tearing his hand away from yours. "Oh, fuck me," he groaned, putting his sunglasses and hat onto the low table. "That's the fucking Seducer."

Your skin crawled. You turned, examined Butcher's expression as he leaned against the far wall. "This cum guzzler is the one trafficking V?" he thought to himself, just as you asked, "who's the Seducer?"

Butcher turned to examine you across the room, lit by a few lights in the sconces. "He's the world's number 1 date raper," he answered, frowning. "This guy can intoxicate the female species into a mad heat, like dogs."

"What?" You frowned.

Butcher walked a bit closer, turning his head to watch you out of one eye, like a bird. "Yeah, he secrets this hormone on a whim and boom, bitches go mad for his dick."

"Oh." You swallowed, turned to push the handle of another door, leading to a darkened room fit for a king. "I think this is his room."

Butcher muttered behind you, "Lucky guy if you ask me."

"Trouble getting women, Butcher?" you asked absentmindedly as you entered the dark room, lights from the lawn outside filtering milky-white through the windows, illuminating your path like a trail of snow.

Butcher followed, closing the door behind you. "Not really," he answered, immediately pulling cubbards and drawers open. "The ladies love me."

"Oh, yeah I bet," you muttered, pulling open the wardrobe. A loose floorboard creaked loudly and you froze, turning to meet Butcher's eye.

He scrambled to where you stood, pressing on the floor and repeating the awful creaking sound.

"Pants jizzer must be keeping the V under his floor," he mumbled, pressing until at least 6 floorboards rose from the ground on one end, a whole door to the underside of the Seducer's floor.

"Bingo," you giggled, helping Butcher pull the damn thing open. But there was nothing there, only an empty black space that could've fit maybe two people, gaping at you like a dark maw. "He must have transfered them," you whispered.

"Or he's trafficking other things," Butcher replied darkly.

Just as you were about to close the floorboards, a loud thud rang out in the antechamber. You froze, listening, until a feminine giggle made you and Butcher lock eyes.

"Get in," he whispered, motioning to the black pit under your knees.

"In here!?" you whispered tightly.

Whoever was on the other side was making their way towards the room, painstakingly, and this was not the place you and Butcher needed to be found.

"Yes, fuck, get in," he insisted, and your heart thudded so loudly, so harshly against your throat you thought it would burst right out through your chest.

Shaking, you got into the little space, falling onto your back because you couldn't see where this thing ended. As soon as you got your hair out of your eyes, Butcher was tumbling onto you, closing the floorboards a millisecond before the bedroom door burst open.

Sound was immediately muffled, like being underwater, and the only thing you could hear was your breathing. Butcher's breathing over you. Your heart in your throat, nauseating you, the adrenaline rushing like a flood in your veins.

Butcher's chest heaving against yours, the entire length of him pressed up on you like a heavy blanket.

"Get off," you whispered, feeling the heat of his forearm next to your head.

"There's no space," he grumbled, his voice catching on your cheek, your neck, as he tried to maneuver himself every which way that meant he wasn't pressed up on you, but he was just so damn big, like hiding with a grizzly bear, that whenever he tried to move, he just ended up being half on and half off you.

"Fuck it," he grumbled, pressing one hand under your thigh, wrenching a gasp from your throat as he placed himself comfortably between your legs.

The pressure of him on your bare bottom half made you freeze, heart hammering like an angry drum against your ribcage. The way you were positioned, thighs wide open, knees bent each side of his waist, made the skimpy little skirt bundle up onto your tummy, leaving you completely bare.

"Hush up, little thing," Butcher whispered in your ear, holding himself up on his forearms as not to crush the breath out of you. But his voice was wretched, pulled and tight, no doubt reacting to the heat he could feel through the thin fabric of his swim shorts.

The noise overhead intensified; a moan, a few garbled words, thudding.

"They're going to do it while he lie here," you whispered, hands balled up by your sides.

Butcher chuckled silently, breath fanning your neck. "So we really are voyeurs."

You smiled, holding back a giggle until a heavy thud caught your attention and the voices suddenly got a bit clearer. They were right over you.

A woman's voice floated through. "How ever I can serve you, Seducer."

The last word made your insides coil in fear. It looked like this woman was answering a command from the Seducer himself, the man who owned this house, who trafficked all the V and worked with Vought.

"Fuck," Butcher muttered. "This is worse than I thought."

"Why?" you asked silently, your fingers trembling against your thighs.

You felt him bend forward, his body tight like a rod. "This is going to hurt, love."

And just as you were about to ask what he was about to do, a soft pang echoed in your lower belly, like someone had tied a rope to your bellybutton and pulled. You squirmed, the thudding overhead leading back to the bed.

The pulling again, making you heave in a breath, squeeze your eyes shut. "No, no, no," you muttered, feeling an ache build between your legs, a force pull through your veins like molten honey.

The Seducer was using his power. And it wasn't just affecting the woman he was with... it was starting to affect you.

You felt yourself clench on nothing but air when the ache throbbed against your clit, like an invisible vacuum seal had closed over it, and you lifted your hips off the floor slightly.

Butcher immediately grabbed your hip, bringing you back down forcibly, sending a new wave of heat, of ache, of hurt through your body just at the touch of his bare fingers on your bare hip.

"Don't," he breathed, his word clipped. "Don't do that."

He could feel the heat of you through his shorts, just how impossibly hot you were, probably dripping from the Seducer's power, and the little control he exhibited around you was pulling quite taut.

"It hurts, Butcher," you gritted through your teeth, hands settling on his shoulders for support as another wave of need, of painful, painful need, throbbed through your body like a pulsing nuclear explosion. Your legs tightened around his waist, nails digging into the fabric of his Tommy Bahama. "Make it stop," you pleaded, heaving, throwing your head back, bucking your hips to get the pain to stop. Just stop.

Butcher huffed, cradling your face, his insides in turmoil with his brain. God had given him such a gift right now, a chance to take you, mark you as his, finally fuck that perfect little body--and he didn't know if he was man enough to stop himself.

You groaned in pain, subconsciously grinding your bare pussy against his thigh, searching for any kind of friction, of relief. Your skin was so hot, sweat beading your forehead as you braced through another wave of this unknown ache, throbbing relentlessly against your clit, deep inside you, just grazing your g-spot.

Your fingers balled into fists against his shirt, your face finding his chest, and you sobbed, "Make it stop, Butcher, please, it hurts."

You weren't aware that your hips had started grinding against his thigh, the knee he'd placed between your legs for leverage. And just the fact that he could feel his shorts getting soaked had him straining against the stitches of his sanity.

"There's only one way," he breathed against your ear. You sobbed, heaving, breathing raggedly, grinding so hard on his knee it was almost pathetic. "Are you sure you want to try?" he asked, voice trembling.

You sniffed, hung onto his neck for dear life. "Please, anything, this is--ah--this is unbearable."

He bent his head, mumbled for God to forgive him, and then pressed a deep, hard kiss on your lips, pressing you back into the floor completely. Somewhere above him, he heard a woman moan loudly, but the only thing that registered to him was the way you clung to him like a pawing animal.

A strangled moan, quiet and restrained, left your throat, caught behind your teeth as he ravaged your mouth.

"N-no," you mumbled. "No."

He pulled away, kissing your jaw, your neck until your were humping his thigh like a woman gone mad.

"This the only way, little Truthteller," he murmured in your ear, dragging his knee away and feeling your entire body go stiff against him.

A whine, like delicious music, lifted to his ear and he groaned inwardly. He had to convince himself he was doing it for you, but half of him was delighted at the idea of finally having you. Like a meal he'd been mouth-watering over for some time, and now it was fresh and warm right in front of him.

"I need," you muttered, groaning through another wave of the Seducer's power, your hips bucking into nothing. "I need..."

"You need to cum, little dove," Butcher whispered, caressing the side of your face and you shook your head.

"No."

"Yes, love," he muttered, tracing the line of your neck, down your chest until he softly cupped your breast.

A quiet moan rippled along your throat like a symphony to his ears. He played with your hard nipple through the fabric until he pushed it aside and replaced his thumb with the warmth of his mouth.

"Fuck," you whispered, pushing against his shoulders. "This is wrong." Your voice was so thin.

Butcher lapped at your nipple like an ice cream cone. "Want me to do this to your pretty little pussy?" he mumbled, and the crass words sent a hot wave of need pulsing painfully between your legs.

His other hand skimmed down your side, over the swell of your hip, and down to where you needed him most.

When he swiped a slow finger across your soaked folds, the grunt that left him was purely predatory. "You're so fucking wet," he whispered, to the accompanying sound of your panting. He brushed his thumb across your clit, holding you down as you jolted, flicking his tongue against your nipple.

"Butcher, please," you begged.

"Billy, love," he whispered, raising his head to kiss the corner of your mouth, brushing his thumb against your clit once more to capture your gasp in his kiss. "Call me Billy."

You gripped onto his shoulders, feeling the wide, powerful muscle of his right hand playing with you.

He pressed three fingers flat against you and you bucked, searching for more, as he circled slowly, starting you off.

"Say it," he commanded quietly, circling your clit faster.

"Billy," it came out as a whine and he groaned lowly, capturing your lips and kissing down your throat. The way his fingers played you like a harp wrenched a pornographic moan from your throat and immediately, Billy put a hand over your mouth, the skin between his thumb and forefinger snug under your nose.

"Quiet for me, little Truthteller," he whispered.

He moved his fingers to your entrance and slipped one in so easily it was almost embarrassing. He cooed at you, gliding his finger in and out so slowly it was almost arrogant. "So fucking wet, this perfect little hole."

You keened, squeezing your eyes shut at his crude words, searching for more friction until the heel of his hand pressed snuggly against your clit.

Your hips moved on their own, bucking against his hand as he pumped his finger, faster and faster until your pants turned into hyperventilating and your legs started to close around his hips.

"Got my whole hand drenched, pretty love," he whispered. "That perfect little cunt can handle another finger?"

You preened against his hand, your sounds muffled against his large, meaty palm and he chuckled at you.

The second finger was a tighter fit, his thick digits spreading you and squelching into you slowly.

"Ah, there's my girl," he moaned in your ear. "Fucking my fingers like a good girl."

You wanted to tell him to quit teasing, to bring you to orgasm as quickly as possible because the heat stirring under your skin was insatiable, but you didn't understand how much Billy was enjoying himself. He didn't know when he'd get a chance to have you so willingly spread open for him again, or if he'd ever get the chance again. So he savored this moment like a dying man's last meal.

He let you adjust to his fingers, fucking them into you, palming your clit before he thrust in another finger, opening you wide to him. You gurgled against his hand, muffled moans and pleas stuck behind his palm.

He didn't miss just how tight you were around his fingers, how snug and warm. "So tight, my little love," he cooed, thrusting his fingers in and out slowly, enjoying the way your hips bucked.

The sloppy sounds of your cunt sucking on his fingers drove you mad and a hot, painful knot formed in your belly, pulling and tugging at your insides.

He felt you trembling, your orgasm on the horizon, and he lifted his hand off your mouth, capturing your lips in a warm, sloppy kiss.

"Want you to cum with my name in your mouth," he mumbled, almost incoherent in his chase for your climax. He pressed his thumb to your mouth, opening it, listening to your panting, your quiet moans as he fucked his fingers into your cunt, pressing down on your clit, rubbing it with his palm.

"Billy," you breathed. "Billy. Billy." Like a mantra, a prayer.

"That's it, my pretty girl," he whispered, thumb on your tongue, fingers fucking your pussy until that knot in your bely tightened impossibly and your legs went numb. "Cum my pretty dove, gush all over my hand, come on now."

He grunted against you, and somehow, that guttural, manly sound made stars explode in your belly and you came, shuddering his name quietly, over and over and over until the pleasure had seeped out of your veins and you crumbled back to the floor. You felt his fingers slip out of you, his wet hand pull your knee apart, press against the meat of your thigh, spreading you wide, wide open.

He slithered down your body like a snake, pushing you up against the confines of this box until you felt the warm breath of him against your clit. When he lapped at you, humming around your hole like a satiated man, you mumbled his name, searching with your hands until you grabbed onto the thick strands of his hair. Panting, you mumbled his name again.

"Just having a taste, love," he mumbled, sucking on your over-sensitive clit until the heat came blasting through you again, all over, like you were under the Seducer's spell again.

"Fuck," you gritted, biting your lip, caging in the awfully loud, guttural moan that wanted to spring free.

Billy grabbed onto your hips, holding them down, his forearm over your belly like an anchor.

"One more, little Truthteller," he mumbled, flicking your clit with his tongue, his beard scraping on the inside of your sensitive thighs.

"Billy, please," you whined softly.

"Always wanted a taste," he said. Not a lie. "Always wanted to tongue-fuck this perfect hole." Not a lie.

He pressed his tongue flat to your clit, sucked and nibbled on it until he pressed his tongue right into your cunt, fucking you with his tongue like he'd promised. The mix of his hot breath, his tongue inside your walls, his thumb working on your clit made all your senses flush full of adrenaline. Bucking against his face, you rode his mouth until another flash burst through you and you came all over his face, grinding down on his nose until the last waves of your orgasm had left you.

When he climbed back over, kissing your belly, your nipple, covering you with his warmth, you were just a numb shell of the girl you were when you walked in here.

Billy kissed your jaw, your neck, stroking your hair as you regained your senses.

Whoever had been overhead had gone. It was completely silent. And it left you wondering if that last wave of need had been the Seducer's spell or Billy's.

"We should go, love," he whispered. "Before I stuff you full of my cock and have you cumming on it for the third time."

His filthy mouth brought you back to your body, cold and sweaty and oh so comfortable with two orgasm singing in your veins.

"Yeah," you whispered as Billy pushed the trap door open, peaking out to make sure the coast was clear, and then hopping out. He helped you out with his hand, gentle and calm, smoothing down your hair, covering your nipple, patting down your two-inch skirt.

"I've made a real good mess of you, love, eh?" he chuckled, standing and taking your hand. "Was I a good pet?"

#billy butcher #william butcher #butcher the boys #billy butcher smut #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher x you #billy butcher brainrot go brr #billy butcher the boys #butcher x reader

2K notes · View notes

bohemianblasphemy · 2 months ago

Text

It Will Come Back

Billy Butcher x Reader

“Don’t you hear me howling babe?”

Content: unprotected sex, lil bit of fingering and hair pulling, Feral Butcher nailing reader against the wall- enough said.

All that he could think of was you.

The way that you had consumed his being, his desire for you never faulted and god, was he in deep.

Pacing back and forth, his eyes on the counter focused on the black screen of his phone. He needed you, craved the presence and taste of you.

Stopping in his obsessive motions, “fuck it…” he mumbles to himself and takes his phone in his hand.

Billy typed at his keyboard, your name blaring at him on the top of the screen.

Billy: you home right now?

You: yeah I am, you okay?

Billy: need you, now.

He felt the familiar strain in his jeans, the mere thought of you making him harder than you would ever imagine as he anticipated your reply.

The flick in his wrist turned faster than the speed of sound as he felt his phone vibrate, indicating your response.

The words ‘Come over x’ paired with a lewd photo of you in your bathroom mirror- cladded in only a matching bra and underwear set made him groan softly at the sight of you, The image burned into his pupils. He didn’t think twice to grab his keys and race out the door to crawl back to you.

His knuckles turned white from the grip on the steering wheel, weaving in and out of traffic and filtering out the angered beeps of horns from other members of the public.

Butcher did not give a fuck.

Billy could see your apartment come into view, his Cadillac pulling up to the curb with an abrupt holt- parking and striding to your door.

His knuckles rapped on the wood, his impatience filling him to the brim as he waited for you to answer. As soon as he heard the soft click of the handle his eyes averted to your figure before him- still cladded with the matching lingerie set but with the added silky dressing gown, making the tent in his jeans all the more tighter.

Pushing past you he slammed the door shut behind him, turning to face you. His eyes turned black with desire, raking over the way you stood there mirroring his lustful gaze.

Billy couldn’t wait any longer- without saying a word he paced toward you and took you by the waist, backing you up against the nearest wall.

His lips attached to yours, pushing his tongue past your lips almost too desperately. The shared groan of relief you both gave to each other- finally being able to satisfy the craving of each other’s taste.

“Too many fuckin’ clothes…” he grumbled as he pulled away from your mouth, tugging on the knot that held your robe together and pulling it off your shoulders and looking down at you once more.

A low growl left his lips, a predatory glint in his eyes as he ripped off your underwear in one swift motion.

“Billy!” You gasped watching his toss the now broken material to the floor.

“You’ll be right, you got plenty of ‘em…” he whispered trailing his fingers around your hips before dipping his fingers between your thighs, feeling your warm, slick cunt on his digits.

“F-fuck…” you breathed out, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you savoured his touch.

He groaned as he coated his fingers with your essence, dipping them inside you slowly and pumping them in and out, hearing your soft breathy moans in his ear.

“God love I need you, I need to fuck you- now.” He practically howled as he withdrew his digits from you, sucking the wetness off his middle and index fingers.

“Turn around and bend over f’me…” he commanded, watching you comply.

Billy reached for his belt buckle, undoing the flimsy bit of leather until it loosened enough for him to unbutton his faded jeans, pushing them and his briefs down enough so his hard cock could spring free, twitching as it stood at attention.

You turned your head around to look at him, watching him as he pulled your hips close to his- his hard length in his hand as he stroked it softly, guiding himself to line up with your pussy.

The head of his cock ran up and down against your delicate folds, bumping your clit and feeling your body jolt as if you had been shocked by electricity. In a swift and steady motion, he sunk himself into you- a desperate growl erupted from his chest.

“Oh billy…” you panted, feeling him pump in and out of you and slowly picking up the pace. The grip he had on your hips was firm, enough to leave bruises.

His hips collided into yours with fervour, the slapping sounds of skin and groans filling the hallway of your home.

Billy brought his hand and laced his fingers through your hair, tugging your head back.

“I’m fuckin’ addicted to ya, this pussy belongs to me…” he growled in your ear biting down on your earlobe, earning a strangled gasp from your lips.

He could feel his orgasm bubbling inside him; short pants and deep, sloppy thrusts as he rubbed on your clit- feeling your walls pulsate around him as you too reached your peach.

You called out his name, feeling your thighs shaking from the shocks of your orgasm and feeling Billy’s cock pulsate and coat your walls with his cum, groaning in your ear as he came down from his high.

Slowly pulling out of you, he turned you back around - bringing you in for another deep kiss. He wanted more, craved for more of you.

“I ain’t done with you yet…” he breathed out as he pulled away from your lips.

“We’re gonna ‘ave a long night sweetheart…”

#billy butcher #the boys #amazon the boys #billy butcher brainrot go brr #billy butcher x reader #the boys tv #billy butcher imagine #karl urban #billy butcher smut #billy butcher x reader smut #billy butcher x y/n #billy butcher fanfic #billy butcher the boys #billy butcher x you

149 notes · View notes

isa-loves-you · 1 year ago

Text

♡Michael Schmidt has a crush♡

You were a sophomore in college, even though you live in an apartment off campus you still visited your mom almost everyday to check on her and to eat.

One night while you were visiting your mom she brought up the people who lived a couple of houses down "the young man knocked on my door this morning, asking if I would or If i knew someone who can babysit his sister at night". The reason why she brought this up is because you were looking for a job, with being a college student you needed the money and nights were perfect since you only have three classes a week. "He's a cutie, he would be perfect for you" you mom called out as she walked into the other room "cute doesn't matter I just need a job".

It's been almost a month since you started watching abby. She was the best kid you have ever babysat for, and she loved you which made your job so much easier.

"Hey y/n, can I ask you a question" "what is it abs" you stopped coloring to look at her. "Will you marry Mike, so you can live here and I can see you everyday"

You were a bit taken back by the question, how did she know that you liked mike?. "I'm really flattered that you want to see me everyday, but I don't think your brother likes me like that" you flashed her a smile to ease the tension but she just shrugged her shoulders and went back to drawing.

Ever since you started watching abby you found yourself infatuated with Mike. He wasn't a very open person but for some reason mike would open up to you, your mom was right he was a cutie.

It was almost midnight until you heard keys jingle and the front door unlock. Mike threw his keys on the small table by the door before looking for you. "Hey I made peanut butter stir fry, do you want me to make you a plate" you asked while already making a B-line to the kitchen."oh no it's okay, I can get it myself you already do almost everything here" you turned to Mike grabbing his arm and pulling him to the table "oh please making a plate is not going to hurt me, now please sit down".

Mike sat down and watched you shuffle around the kitchen to make him some to eat. Mike would never admit to himself but he liked having you around, he loved that abby adored you, sometimes he thimks she likes you more than him. He really wouldn't know what he would do without you, you now became his reason to get up everyday, too look nice, and too be happy.

After mike ate he walked you to your car while talking to you "I get my paycheck tomorrow so would it be okay if you stopped by after class to pick it up?" "Yeah no problem I'll stop by around 6". You stod there justing looking into his eyes, even though Michael's face told a story of a hard life, his eyes showed compassion. You would be a fool to not fall in love with him.

Once you left, Mike got ready for bed. He took the pills he always takes, replayed the tape he always plays, and looked at the Nebraska poster he always falls asleep looking at, but something was different. You were the only thing he could think about before the sleeping pills kicked in.

His dream started out like it always does, his mom spills her coke and tells him to keep track of Garrett. As soon as he sees Garrett in the back of a strangers Cadillac he takes Chace after it. No matter how hard he runs, he can never catche up with the mysterious car.

Mike stops to put his hands on his knees and catches his breath. Giggling. He hears Giggling.

Mike looks back up to now see a field of grass. This wasn't his dream, this is different from his normal nightmares. There in the field stood a happy abby, laughing holding hands with a happier y/n. Mike feels his heart pick up speed.

"Mike!" Abby ran towards her big brother with open arms. Mike catches his sister while y/n walked twords the two of them. He flashes a smile in y/n's direction "I've missed you mike", you kiss his cheak and hug the siblings tight . If he didn't known that this was a dream he would have thought that he died and went to heaven.

"Mike Wake up, I'm hungry". Abby jumps up and down on her brothers bed until she hears him grown,"okay okay abby give me a minute". He stands up and makes his way to the bathroom while abby returns back to the living room where she watches her cartoons and color.

Once mike sets abbys plate in front of her she immediately digs in. "Abby would you be okay if I started to date someone?", the young girl replies without even thinking about it "only if its y/n, she likes you". Mike looked at his sister shocked "well who else would it be, because I like her too" he says trying to play it like he knew this whole time.

It was almost 8 when you entered the house and abby ran up to give you a hug. "Hey hun I'm sorry my class ran later, I tried to call but no one answered" Mike came out of abbys bedroom with a relieved yet anxious look on his face. "Abby go to your room, I need to talk to y/n about grown up stuff" she looks at you with big eye to try to get you to let her stay "it will only take one minute, I'll come in there to say goodnight before I go".

Abby walked to her room with a sad and betrayed face. "Um here's you're payment, you'll be here tomorrow right" "Yeah, couldn't miss it for the world.".There it was, your smile. Oh how he couldn't wait any longer once he seen your million dollar smile.

"I know this might be sudden and very out of line, but could we maybe go out sometime"

You were surprised. "Yeah that sounds great, I would love to" you were stumbling over your words a little bit from being flustered. You two stood there with awkward smiles on your face, if you weren't in his house you would have been screaming from happiness.

"I better go say goodnight to abby before I go it's getting late" you stepped closer to Mike to get to the bedroom. "Y/n '' before you could respond to him, he placed his hand on the back of your ear and placed his lips upon yours.

It felt like a thousand minutes passed by in those five seconds, and you didn't want it to end. It wouldn't have ended if a certain someone spoke up.

"Yay I was right, y/n does like you mike!"

#mike schmidt x reader #michael schmidt #mike schmidt #fnaf #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #Michael schmidt x you

711 notes · View notes

olliesallamericanbitch · 1 month ago

Text

Prologue - Who is Y/n?

Synopsis: Meet yourself. Oh well, this version of yourself. You get your own wikipedia page!

Chapter One

Wikipedia

Y/n Vanderbilt

Born: January 1, 2001 (age 24)

Nationality: American

Occupation: Fashion Designer, Entrepreneur

Known For: Founder and CEO of Biltmore, Heiress of the Vanderbilt family and fortune

Biography

Y/n Vanderbilt is an American fashion designer and entrepreneur. The young direct descendant of the Vanderbilt family, she has gained recognition for founding Biltmore, a luxury fashion brand known for its elegance and modern silhouettes.

Despite her illustrious family name, Y/n has been lauded for her efforts to build her empire independently, though critics often attribute her success to her family's wealth and connections.

Vanderbilt grew up in Queens, New York, attending public schools and later studying at the Politecnico di Milano. She launched Biltmore in 2020, combining her love of design with her meticulous business acumen. Her brand quickly gained traction among celebrities and influencers, earning her a spot on Forbes 30 under 30 in 2022.

Personal Life

Known for her poise and exclusivity, Y/n keeps her personal life largely private, sparking frequent speculation in tabloids and gossip columns. In interviews, she has stated that she avoids relationships, citing fears of vulnerability and exploitation.

Her new connection to the Formula 1 world stems from her mother, a key investor and team principal in the General Motors/Cadillac Formula 1 team. While Vanderbilt has attended several races in the past, she remains tight-lipped about her interest in the sport, dismissing it as "a family obligation" despite rumors of closer ties to some of the drivers.

#formula 1 smau #fanfic #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #olliesamericanbitch

113 notes · View notes

babyisa1 · 9 months ago

Text

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ jealousy/TOM

warnings: smut, blowjob, p in v, singular mention of „slut“, unprotected sex, overall a little rough but fluffy ending!

9:56pm

„im going to get a drink, do you want one?“ you ask, the both of you sitting on the corner couch in a club downtown. „no thanks baby“ tom replies, sending you a soft smile as you get up and walk towards the bar. the place was pretty crowded, and the beat of the music vibrated off of the walls as the colourful flashing lights illuminated off of your figure.

you sat on a bar stool after ordering your favorite cocktail, sex on the beach, when you feel someone tap on your shoulder. „hey y/n, god i havent seen you in years!“ a familiar voice exclaims, as they sit on the stool beside you. your face lights up when you see ethan, an old school friend. „ethan?? what are you doing here!“ you reply, pulling him into a warm hug.

time passes, and the two of you have been catching up for about 20 minutes, completely unaware of tom eyes piercing through both of you from the other side of the club. his jaw clenched and the sunglasses in his hand almost snapped at the sight of you and how close you were with the stranger, trying his best to keep calm. any sense of control he had completely dissapears when he catches the man whispering things in your ear while placing his hand on yours, making you giggle.

he storms towards you both, pure rage flowing through him. „who the fuck is this?“ he exclaims, making you jump. „fucking hell tom you scared me“ you remark, taking another sip of your drink. „answer my question!“ tom almost shouts, becoming impatient. „calm down! this is ethan, just an old school friend. we were just catching up“ you reply, a concerned look on your face.

tom sighs out, still not satisfied. he grabs your hand, pulling you towards him. „cmon lets go“ he mumbles, attempting to take you with him as he walks away. to his dismay, you pull back, not wanting to leave. „we only just got here tom! whats gotten into you?“ you respond, trying to escape from his strong grip which just tightens. „i said lets go“ he demands, sending you a look that told you that you werent going to be able to walk for a good couple of days.

you sigh out, grabbing your purse as you wave goodbye to ethan, who has a „good luck with him“ expression on his face. tom drags you through the crowd of people, out of the busy club and onto the path outside, the cold night air hitting you both.

wasting no time, he rushes over to his cadillac, rummaging in his pockets for the keys. „get in“ he mutters coldly, as you open the passenger seat door and sit down, closing it behind you. tom slams his door shut, making the whole car shake. you didnt dare to say anything in an attempt to not worsen the situation. he let out a frustrated sigh as he started the car, turning out of the parking spot.

tom speeds down the highway, driving 20mph over the speed limit. he wasnt stupid though, he took a route that he knew didnt have any speed cameras. „tom, slow down! do you want to get us fucking kille-” „shut up, we will talk when we get home“ he cuts you off, his hand tightening on the gear stick as he pushes it forward.

about 10 minutes later, he pulls into the driveway, silence filling the car as he turns off the motor. he gets out, walking over to your side and opening your door. you take his arm as you both walk towards the front door, opening it.

he swiftly pulls you into his embrace, pushing you against the door which slams in shut in the process. he crashes his lips on to yours, darting his tounge into your mouth and lapping his wetness around yours. „mm..you shouldnt have flirted with that fucker“ he muffles in between kisses, his hand snaking behind your neck to deepen it. you kiss him back, struggling to keep up with the fast and rough pace of it.

he breaks the kiss, catching his breath as he bends down and picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder. he slaps your ass harshly as he walks over to the couch, causing you to hiss in pain. „you obviously haven’t learnt your lesson from last time liebe“ tom mutters, before letting go of you on the couch as you bounce slightly from the drop.

you gaze up at him with doe eyes, faking your innocence when tom knows you are anything but that. „msorry.. he was just a friend i promise baby“ you reassure tom, however he doesnt seem convinced. he grabs your chin, squishing your cheeks slightly but not enough to hurt you.

„no other guy gets to talk to you like that, understood?“ he snaps, letting go of your face. you glup, nodding as his hands reach for his belt. „youre gonna be a good girl and let me use that pretty mouth of yours?“ he taunts, his belt already clanking as it hits the floor along with his jeans. „yes tommy“ you respond obediantly, nodding eagerly as his clothed cock just centimetres away from your face.

he swiftly pulls down his boxers, as his cock springs free and slightly hits his abdomen. god, he was massive. his tip was red and nerdy, pre cum leaking out of it. the enticing smell of his sex lingered in the air, increasing the growing heat between your legs. he groans in satisfaction following the release of his cock, gazing down at you to see it covered the whole length of your face.

he pumped his dick a few times, his hand sneaking behind your head as he pushes you closer. he rubs his tip against your pink lips, smearing the pre cum over them. „open“ he demands, as you quickly oblige, wrapping your soft lips around the crown of his cock. you swirl your tounge around it, causing tom to let out a low grown, before flattening your tounge on his shaft and sinking your head down it. you hollow your cheeks, gagging slightly as his tip nudges the back of your throat.

„fuckk.. such a pretty slut, taking me so well..“ tom mewls, his head lolling back as your warm mouth engulfs him. you moan at his praises, bobbing your head up and down slowly. he grips your hair, forming two messy pigtails as he uses them to guide you. he forces himself into your mouth faster, forming a rough pace as a mixture of your saliva and his pre cum escapes and drips down the corners of your lips.

you place both of your hands on toms thighs, bracing yourself with each harsh thrust. your eyes pricked with salty tears as you felt the oxygen quickly slip away, smudging your mascara. „mm fuck- m‘close!“ he moans, his thrusting becoming sloppy. you help him chase his orgasm through massaging the underside of his dick with your tounge, causing loud squelching noises.

tom lets out a prolonged groan, holding your head in place as he coats your throat white in his hot cum. he pulls his cock out of your mouth, causing you to gasp for air. „shit- you okay baby?“ he breaths out, chuckling. you nod, smirking playfully as your eyes glint in lust.

his loving expression soon turns back to a merciless one, his tounge sneaking out to play with his lipring. he picks you up effortlessly, walking you over to the back of the couch before putting you back down and bending you over. with your ass rubbing against his cock, he hurriedly lifts your dress over your head before quickly unclipping your bra with ease. your tits fall free, and his hands fly to play with your nipples. you gasp, and he uses this as an opportunity to turn your head towards his and slip his tounge in your mouth. your back was flush against his chest as he rolled and pinched your nipples, leaving you a whimpering mess.

you were squirming in his hands, your panties probably soaked by now. you grind yourself against his cock out of impatience, before feeling a strong stinging on your right ass cheek. tom slapped your behind harshly, an annoyed expression on his face. „dont be s’fucking needy, this is a punishment for your behaviour earlier remember?“ tom hisses, his hot breath on your ear spreading goosebumps all over you.

you let out a sigh of relief as tom yanks your panties down, revealing your dripping cunt, his mouth watering at the sight. he rubs his cock between your warm folds, gliding effortlessly before nudging your sensitive clit with his tip. „mm..“ you moan, finally feeling some type of friction.

without warning, tom slams his length into you, a buldge forming in your stomach. „jesu- fuck!“ you almost shout, almost falling forward as tom quickly gathers your hair in a makeshift ponytail and pulls you back towards him. „god- so fucking tight“ tom breaths out, forming a rough pace.

your ass jiggles with each thrust, as toms cock deliciously rams against that gummy spot inside you. tom yanks your hair to the side to gain more access to to your neck, before planting sloppy open mouthed kisses up and down it. „only i can fuck you this good.. shit- isnt that right?“ he growls, drilling himself into you.

you can do nothing but nod, the intense pleasure preventing you from forming proper words. both of your bodies were coated in a thin sheen of sweat as he fucked you relentlessly, one of his hands gripping on your hip so tightly it would for sure leave marks.

„you“ thrust „are“ thrust „mine“ thrust tom breaths out between each harsh snap of his hips, making his possessivness very clear. your moans mirror each slam of his cock, your hair becoming messy and sticking to your face from the sweat.

„mhmm.. fuck- tom!“ you reply, struggling to form words as the tip of his length keeps abusing your favorite spot. his hands graze over your skin from your hips and spread your ass, pushing himself deeper in you. you clench around him in response, earning a loud groan from him.

„fuck baby- do that again“ tom mewls, the sudden tightness clearly having an effect on him. you somehow find the energy to repeat what you did, causing his pace to become inconsistent and sloppy. you grip tightly on the leather couch, feeling your high approach.

„shit m‘gonna cum!“ you manage to blur out, the pleasure slowly building up by the second. tom angles his hips upwards, hitting your g spot juusstt right. „cmon baby.. cum all over my cock“ he groans and he finally sees white, his orgasm washing over him as he shoots ropes of his hot cum into you.

you let out a high pitched moan, sounding almost pornographic as your orgasm hits you like a truck, falling forwards as your knees buckle. tom exhales sharply through his teeth, his movements coming to a halt. „shittt“ he breaths out, watching his cum spill out of your cunt as he slips out, a ring of cum appearing on his cock.

you both chuckle as you gain your breath again, relishing the pleasure. tom walks a few steps to the open kitchen, grabbing a paper towel before coming back and wiping you. you whimper slightly, feeling slightly overstimulated. „sorry baby“ he giggles, turning you around and pulling you into a gentle hug.

he rubs up and down your sides lovingly, pressing soft kisses in your hair. moments later he pulls away, stroking you hair out of your face and gazing into your droopy eyes and fucked out face. „you okay? did i go to rough?“ he asks while planting a warm kiss on your nose.

„not at all.. i have to talk to other guys more often if it means you’ll fuck me this good“ you whisper, smiling brightly. he chuckles, taking your hand and leading you upstairs.

„cmon, lets get cleaned up sweetheart“

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

i realised i kinda use clubs as a setting pretty often ;-; i will lit marry u if u like or reblog, this is only my 5th post i think :)

#tokio hotel #tom kaulitz #bill kaulitz #2000s #georg listing #gustav schäfer #smut #tom kaulitz smut #fanfiction

160 notes · View notes

mynameis-noe-body · 1 year ago

Note

Okay, for marquis de gramont we can get reallll toxic. Both the reader and Vincent are angry with each other and are tying to make one another jealous at the event. Because they’re very kinda delulu and possessive they kill the people they're using to make the other jealous and confess their feelings

Thank you so much for this request, my dear anon. I hope you'll love this. 🖤

I am your slave

Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont × you (F/GN)

Rating: Teen & Up Audience

Status: Complete (one shot)

Author notes: I used Google translate for the Russian and French sentences. Let me know if it's incorrect!

Obviously. You muttered the word under your breath, chewing its bitter taste, testing its sound on the tip of your tongue as you watched, disarmed, as the Marquis made his triumphal entrance.

The most influential families of the High Table had gathered at the Hotel Mademoiselle de Condé for a gala and business evening. Those weren't rare events, but that didn't make them any less sumptuous. Money flowed freely, as did the champagne, the drugs, the caviar. And the lovers. Yes, they were purchasable too. Women and men of supreme beauty, unattainable, sometimes sons and daughters who were given away, exchanged, lent — everything, in exchange for favors.

But the Marquis — Vincent — never had to ask anyone for anything.

With a gallant gesture he opened the door of his 1970 Cadillac DeVille and offered his arm to a woman. And not yet another high-class whore that he would have refused to touch even with the tip of his little finger, no. The woman who accompanied him that evening was a creature of rare beauty, perhaps someone's protégé. Perhaps his protégé. She was graceful, elegant, she flaunted a cascade of golden curls that would make Venus herself envious. And you, you felt flooded with anger.

"Champagne" you ordered, snapping your fingers. They served you immediately. You too had your power, and you had never hidden it. You knew, deep down, that it was one of the things that attracted him. Your shy elegance fiercely contrasted the anger that could ignite in your heart. The strength of your hands, the fury in your eyes, the power you wielded ruthlessly. Yet, in his arms and in his bed, you were capable of the deepest love, the most total devotion. He was bewitched by it, and inebriated. Therefore, he loved to instigate every jealousy in you, just to have you desperate at the end of the night.

Vincent didn't even glance at you. He shook dozens of hands, ordered food and drinks, laughed with his colleagues and friends. And he ignored you. At least until, from the door of the luxurious hotel, taking off his Armani coat and handing the keys of his Ferrari Portofino to the doorman, Mr. D'Antonio entered.

"Santino!" you exclaimed, with a smile so bright it lighted the entire dining room. Many turned, if only for a moment, to watch you gallop towards the man, with a hem of your beautiful dress grasped between your fingers to reveal crystal heels that echoed off the walls.

Santino opened his arms, and welcomed you with a loud kiss on the cheek. "Meraviglia! Look at you — beautiful, you are beautiful."

Santino was warm, welcoming, purely Italian. And charming, in every aspect of his person. He knew how to make any woman feel like the most beautiful in the world. He gallantly offered you his arm and ordered for you. His laugh was loud, contagious. His exuberant nature amused you. You had been friends for years now. You had worked together, sometimes — often you had worked for him. And he appreciated you. He was generous in his payments. And above all, Vincent was morbidly jealous, because D'Antonio had no qualms about making blatant advances on you, even in front of all those people.

Vincent was daydreaming about murder. God, how he hated him. And yes, he had planned to take that beautiful Parisian home with him, one of the new acquisitions of his organization, now that he saw you... you were his favorite. Oh, bullshit — you were the only one. Since he had met you he had no longer been able to keep faith with his numerous lovers. One by one, they had extinguished his desire, and you had ignited his. Or they were fallen dead, because you killed them. Many of them, to be honest. And every time he learned of one of your murders, his desire to possess you — body and soul — violently took hold of him. He didn't want to give in, not that easily. But now he understood how difficult it was to resist you, while your hand caressed the muscular shoulder of that penniless Italian. That coward. The mere thought that you could enjoy yourself under his fingers made him vomit — so much that he poured what was left of the wine into the boulle and twisted his mouth in a grimace of disgust.

With my bare hands, he thought. He crossed his legs and wrapped himself in his double-breasted jacket, brooding. I want to kill him with my bare hands around his neck. He would have done it. He was Vincent Bisset de Gramont, the Marquis and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. He could have attached Santino D'Antonio to a pole and set him on fire to make him feel a tenth of the physical pain with which, due to that jealousy, he himself was now burning.

The young woman he had brought with him caressed his face. Or at least, she tried. But he grabbed her wrist before she could touch his cheek. He looked at her with the same hatred. "Go take off that lipstick" he hissed, through clenched teeth. "You look ridiculous."

She obeyed, humiliated, and reached the bathroom. Of course, she didn't expect to meet you anytime soon.

As soon as you saw her walking away towards the toilet, you took your chance, followed her and closed the door behind you with a sharp slam, waiting for her right there, outside her niche. She, surrounded by that shiny hair, those brilliant eyes, those scarlet lips, had raised a single eyebrow in an inquisitive manner.

"And you are?" she asked, passing a cloth over her lips, cleaning them from that bright color.

You inhaled deeply. "You know who I am."

She allowed herself an amused smile. "Ah," she had commented, smugly, "nomer dva."

You thought that, before speaking, she should have made sure that you didn't speak Russian.

▪️▪️▪️

"Dance with me." Vincent took your hand, intertwined his fingers with yours and dragged you before you could respond, or refuse.

He had chased you as soon as you left the bathroom. The Marquis had immediately noticed your flushed chest, your freshly washed hands, your disheveled hair pulled back with a mechanical gesture of your hand, your pupils as narrow as pinpricks. Magnificent. On the dance floor, he had first twirled you once, before grabbing you and holding you against his chest; one hand — the right one — on your back, the lower part, the other intertwined with yours and pressed against his chest, on the beating of his heart. And his face in the corner between your neck and your shoulder.

You huffed, trying to maintain composure. "They're all watching us" you whispered in his ear. He smiled against your skin. "You'll make us look ridiculous in front of the High Table."

"Mon amour. I am the High Table." Vincent left the ghost of a kiss on your neck before making you sway in his arms. Another pirouette, and there you are again in his inevitable grip. "I could order half the men in this room to lick the floor where you walk, and they would do it for me."

You barely held back a small smile. "I can not stand you." But you settled a little more against his chest. The soft, slow music lulled you gently. "And what do you think of Santino? Would he kneel for you too?"

His nails dug into your side, making you flinch. You met his icy eyes in mid-air. So cold, so beautiful. "The Italian. That's it then, you like him."

"He's a charming man."

"He is rude, and vulgar. So pompous."

"And you're not?"

You almost heard him growl. Vincent shot a terrible look at D'Antonio, across the room, who was watching you swing on the dance floor with dark, annoyed eyes.

"You shouldn't be here with me" you added, coldly. "Your woman? Where is she?"

He laughed heartily. "Oh, please. We both know she won't make it out of that bathroom alive. How long did it take you to kill her?"

But you didn't answer. You never responded to his curiosity... it was your game.

Vincent grinned. The kiss on your neck now became passionate. You felt his soft lips caress your skin from your bare shoulder to the tip of your chin with five deep, intense kisses. "You drive me crazy."

This time, you smiled happily. "You are sick."

Vincent looked deadly serious, hovering over you, his back straight and tall to tower over your beautiful figure. "I will have monsieur D'Antonio's raw heart served to me on a silver platter. I will kidnap you, lock you in a dungeon, make you die of hunger and thirst if necessary — anything, as long as you admit the truth."

He was scary. Exciting. Terrifying. Beautiful. You blushed, panting slightly. "What truth? What the hell are you talking about?"

He smiled. He leaned down and whispered in your ear. "That you love me, mon amour."

"I —" yes, you loved him. And you loved the way he made you feel. You loved that hateful jealousy you felt for him, and that he felt for you. You caressed his face with an unexpected sweetness. Your eyes were large, languid. Vincent felt his whole body tremble like never before... "I'll tell you. Not now, though. Tomorrow morning. Now, take me home, and make love to me."

He stopped. He smiled, looking younger than he was. So happy. With a ridiculous low bow, he offered you his hand. "Je suis ton serviteur."

#marquis de gramont #vincent de gramont #Vincent Bisset de Gramont #john wick #john wick fanfic #john wick fandom #marquis de gramont x reader #Vicent de Gramont x you #Marquis De Gramont x you #bill skarsgård

231 notes · View notes

cadillackeyfishers · 3 months ago

Text

Cadillac Key Replacement

Locked out of the vehicle as the only car key you have is lost, broken, or it stops working! If you are stuck inside Fishers, Indiana, or in the surrounding areas, and have a Cadillac car, make sure that this emergency and others will be solved in a timely manner, even if it is midnight or a public holiday. Just contact Cadillac Key Replacement.

#cadillac key #ignition car key #ignition repair #car key replacement #car key programming #car key copy

1 note · View note

adore-laur · 1 year ago

Text

PINK VELVET

— an italian getaway full of sunshine & surprises 💗

——

SALERNO, ITALY

Crystalline blue waters sparkling under the sunshine, ornate architecture standing high among the cliffsides, and mopeds burning rubber on the cobblestone streets—it's all pure, unadulterated bliss.

Sharing that bliss with your boyfriend enhances the experience. Both of you have been staying at a villa rental for a few days already, and the surrounding greenery and stucco buildings on the precipice rocks of the Tyrrhenian Sea bring a much-needed sense of privacy. It's a getaway for your third anniversary with Harry, and while it's a more extended vacation than usual—two weeks to be exact—the mellow atmosphere makes you feel like you could stay in Italy forever.

Harry said he plans on wooing you with the foreign language, having bought a book filled with romantic phrases at the airport's souvenir shop. You're dreading it because once he starts, he won't stop.

It's four in the afternoon, and you're getting ready to kayak off the Amalfi Coast. The heat will be sweltering, especially out on the open water, so you put on jean shorts over your swim bottoms, leaving just your bikini top on. Harry is standing in the doorway of the master bathroom and tying the strings of his swim trunks. He's wearing a white tank top that you know will be taken off eventually.

A cooler packed with snacks and drinks is by the front door. Once you reach downtown, the journey to the kayak launch takes about fifteen minutes, so you and Harry will drive in the vintage Cadillac he insisted on renting and park on the street before walking the rest of the way.

"Ready?" Harry asks, giving your ass two pats as he walks by.

"I guess," you say flatly.

He smirks and steals a scrunchie from your makeup bag to put around his wrist. "That's enough out of you."

You hoist the cooler over your shoulder, sling a beach towel over the other, and then stroll through the spacious villa rooms toward the door. When you open it, a blast of humid air immediately hits you. Harry brushes past you while jingling the car keys, a drawstring backpack on his back. You lock the door before heading toward the luxurious car you don't want to know the cost of.

Harry swings the passenger door open for you like a gentleman, but you decide to mess with him by ignoring his gesture. You open the driver's side door and smoothly crawl over the console until you're in the passenger seat. Harry slowly shakes his head, reaching forward to pluck your bikini strap with his fingers and lightly snap it against your skin. He throws his backpack under the seat before sliding behind the steering wheel.

The engine roars to life. Harry's hand places itself on your headrest, his body twisting around so he can carefully reverse down the circular driveway. You take his hand and set your interlocked fingers in your lap. He glances at you and smiles, his hair blowing beautifully in the wind and the sun casting a golden hue over his face.

When you arrive downtown, Harry parks along a random street. He removes his hand from yours and claps once. "Okay, here's the game plan. I reckon we should rent one kayak for both of us. It'll be cheaper and more fun, and we can work together like—"

"Absolutely not."

"Pardon?"

"I'm sorry, but being stuck in a kayak with you sounds like my personal hell. You'll somehow manage to tip us over or get us lost." Harry can live in a world of his own sometimes. You really want to avoid ending up stranded in the deep, expansive ocean.

"Baby," he says, looking at you with wounded eyes. "What if I drift away and we lose each other? I need you. I'll do all the work while you sit back and relax."

You can't possibly say no to him when he looks like a literal Greek god basking in the Italian sun, his lips irresistibly pink against his tanned skin.

"Fine," you surrender. "I'm not letting you do all the work, though, because we'll probably end up in a different country. Also, I'm sitting in the front seat. Deal?"

"Sì, amore mio," he says, passion dripping off his tongue. "And, um... I may have already paid for just one kayak when I booked the reservation yesterday. Well, singular ticket."

"You're unbelievable." Stepping out of the car, you stretch your limbs while Harry puts his backpack on and grabs the cooler. You hold onto his free hand and begin walking to the beach. Many people are out and about—vendors selling gourmet cuisine, kids riding bicycles through the alleyways, and tourists stopping at attractions.

At the waterfront, kayaks are stacked on racks, shimmering under the sun. Since Harry booked a reservation ahead of time, he walks toward the man who appears to be running the operation. You watch them shake hands and converse. Harry knows enough basic Italian to navigate through any language barrier yet to come.

Eventually, they both wander over to you, and the man caresses your hand and kisses your cheek. You smile and shyly mutter an Italian greeting. The man then excitedly leads you to the kayaks, taking a maroon two-seater from the bottom rack and dragging it toward the water. While following him, you notice only a few people are on the beach today. Only a couple of other occupied kayaks drift in the ocean, looking like mere silhouettes from where you stand.

"You know the rules, yes?" asks the man as he pushes the front of the kayak into the shallow water.

"Yes, I've done this before. I'll teach this guy," you say, pointing at Harry while draping your towel over the seat.

Harry smiles mindlessly, placing the cooler and backpack between the two seats. The man briefly leaves to grab life jackets and oars, leaving you and Harry to get into the kayak. You let him go first since he's sitting in the back. As you grip the side so it doesn't rock, he removes his tank top and hands it to you before steadily climbing in and bending his long legs to fit in the restrictive space.

You're next. Harry plants his foot in the sand to keep the kayak balanced and then offers his hand to grasp. Once you're situated, you sigh relievedly.

"This sucks," Harry mutters, nudging his knee against your back. "I can't even see your face."

"You could've solved that problem if you got us two kayaks."

"Yeah, but I wanted to be close to you," he says, sliding his shoes off. "Just look behind you every once in a while so I can get my fix."

You laugh, looking at the water that endlessly expands past the horizon. The man comes back with two life jackets, and you clip one to your body as sturdy oars are placed across your and Harry's laps. The man gives a thumbs up and slowly maneuvers the kayak away from the shoreline.

"Grazie!" Harry shouts, waving to him as the both of you drift further from land.

"Ciao! Stai al sicuro!" he shouts back.

The destination of the cliffs is a short one; their imminent height is visible far out to the left of the coastal village. You begin paddling, alternating sides to stay on a straight path, while Harry opens the cooler to take out a package of crackers and a bottle of water.

"Please tell me you know how to properly paddle," you say, taking a break to sip some water while the kayak naturally rides the ripples.

"Obviously. I'm kind of the backbone of this kayak, so I know what I'm doing," Harry replies with faux confidence, still not picking up the paddle.

"That's funny, considering I'm literally doing all the work right now. Get to paddling, or I won't turn around so you can get your fix."

"Calmati, bellissima," he murmurs, snatching a handful of crackers before finally helping.

A comfortable silence ensues, with only the sound of water splashing and the slight creak of the kayak that comes with each movement. Harry whistles a tune every so often. A content smile pulls at your lips.

However, it doesn't last long because if there's one thing Harry loves to do, it's acting like a child sometimes. He disrupts the long stretch of peace by pretending to tip over the kayak by rocking slightly back and forth in his seat, gasping like he's not doing it.

"Harry, I swear," you say with a nervous undertone, holding on to the edge of the kayak so you don't actually tip over into the vast ocean, infested with who knows what. "You're like a five-year-old!"

He listens immediately, apparently noticing your anxiousness. He settles back in his seat, stretching his legs next to your body and nudging his foot against your thigh as a silent apology.

"It wasn't me. I think there's an animal under us," he says, playing with your hair to distract you. It doesn't help, because you know that there are probably massive creatures swimming below you. He knows one of your biggest fears is drowning, so he should feel like a jerk now after his little charade.

"Are you going to sit there and braid my hair, or can you help me get to our destination before it gets dark?"

"Sorry," he murmurs, grabbing his paddle and helping you turn left toward the rock formations. They aren't too far away now.

"We're almost there," you encourage softly, dialing back your slight attitude. Harry is quiet, so you turn around to see him pouting softly. "Why are you sulking?"

"Am I being annoying? You sound annoyed with me," he says, avoiding eye contact and setting his paddle down.

"No, honey. I just want to get there as quickly as we can and swim for a bit. We have wine tasting after this, so we can't dilly-dally."

"Dilly-dally," he repeats, laughing at your chosen phrase. "Okay, I'll behave. Kiss?"

You capture his lips with yours, tasting the tomato and basil crackers he's been munching on. He kisses you back and reaches out his hand to push some hair behind your ear. Pulling away, you see the cliffs only about two hundred feet away. You both begin paddling again in serene silence.

At the side of the cliff, you stop the kayak by a large, flat rock that peeks out of the water and appears safe to stand on. You hold onto it; the waves are more active in this area, and you tie some rope around the post provided. You assume it's there for other kayakers and cliff divers to take advantage of.

Once you climb onto the rock, you offer your hand to assist Harry and pull him up. "We made it!" you exclaim, lifting your arms. Harry high-fives both of your hands and bends down to kiss you.

You unclip your life jacket, then do the same for Harry. Free from obstruction, your arms naturally loop around his waist for a hug. He embraces you, his large hand cradling the back of your head. You stay like that for a while, watching waves crash against the rocks as the sun starts painting the sky with blue and orange streaks.

"Wanna do something stupid?" you say into his chest before lifting your chin to look at him mischievously. He has more freckles due to the hours spent sunbathing.

Harry peers at you with furrowed brows. "What?"

"Let's jump off that rock," you say, pointing your finger behind him.

He turns you both around, still trapping you in his arms. A tall, cliff-like rock surrounded by several smaller rocks makes it easy to reach the top. You don't wait for Harry's answer and pull your shorts down, revealing your cherry-red bikini bottoms. Venturing your way up, you glance back at Harry. He grins and immediately follows suit, walking behind you with outreached arms in case you slip.

At the top, you both stare at each other with knowing smiles. This is exactly where you're supposed to be.

Out of nowhere, Harry experiences a burst of spontaneity and quickly lunges forward, cannonballing off the cliff and into the water. He emerges after a few seconds, shaking his hair and letting out a loud holler, probably caused by adrenaline or the cold water.

You shuffle toward the edge and get ready to jump. Harry's gaze never wavers as you daintily leap off, plugging your nose and closing your eyes on the long way down. When you hit the water, a powerful sensation rushes through your body. You glide to the surface and find Harry swimming toward you, his drenched hair plastered to his skin.

The water is at an uncomfortable temperature, so you move briskly to climb back up on the rock the kayak is tied to. Shortly after, Harry lifts himself up, droplets dripping from his body. You dry off with the towel, then hand it to him. Once he finishes, you take your phone out of the backpack and tell him to pose. He presents both middle fingers, sticking his tongue out with a smile. The breathtaking evening view in the background makes the picture ten times more perfect.

"Let's head back," you say after soaking in the skyline. "The wine tasting is at six, and it's a little after five right now."

Harry nods, and you both put your life jackets back on before situating yourselves in the kayak. You untie the knotted rope, push off the rock, and then head toward the coastline. He helps paddle the whole way there, kissing the back of your neck every so often.

Bliss, bliss, bliss.

——

After returning the kayak and packing all the stuff in the car's trunk, Harry says he's going to find a nearby bathroom so he can change into his outfit for the wine tasting. He hands you one of his sweaters out of the bag—a gray crewneck. It's your favorite and still smells like him, no matter how often you've worn it.

You have no idea what outfit he brought; he manages to take it out and quickly runs into a shop while you're distracted by the lively village. Waiting with anticipation in the car, you cozy up, growing tired from the strenuous paddling and calming atmosphere around you.

Five minutes pass before Harry appears, and you immediately laugh at the sight of him. Not because he looks silly, but because his outfit is too fancy for less than an hour of wine tasting in some restaurant's cellar.

"Harry," you say breathily, taking in his outfit. "I'm wearing a sweater, and you're wearing a suit. Where did you even get that?"

It's a bubblegum pink suit left open over a plain white button-up. White dress shoes are on his feet, and he must've fixed his hair in the bathroom mirror.

"Eh?" He spins around. "You like it?"

"You look very handsome, but now I feel severely underdressed. Why didn't you tell me to pack a dress?" You obviously don't have the time to go back to the villa and change, but you're curious as to why Harry didn't say anything about the apparent dress code for tonight.

"I wanted to surprise you, darling. Plus, I know you would be worried about spilling wine on something nice. It's a private tasting, so no one will see you but me and the chef I mentioned."

Harry had booked a wine tasting with a man he'd met when he last visited Italy, the friendly owner of a family-owned restaurant in the village. He has always been able to leave unforgettable impressions on everyone he meets, so the man gladly moved some things around so that he could have you two come to the cellar for an intimate experience.

You sigh, realizing there's no point in arguing. They won't care, so why should you? You have no doubt that Harry will make you feel comfortable once you get there.

"You're right. Hopefully, he doesn't care that I look like I just crawled out of a lake."

"Basta. Sembri un sogno," Harry says, grabbing your hand and tugging you out of the car.

You assume he said something incredibly charming. Your face naturally warms as you distract yourself by picking nonexistent lint off your sleeve before walking the bustling street toward a restaurant called Dahlia. The man Harry knows is waiting by the arched front door with a jovial smile.

"Ciao, Signore Styles!" he greets enthusiastically. "Ah, la tua ragazza. Benvenuto!"

Harry shakes his hand. "Che bello rivederti. Questa è la mia ragazza, sì. Cominciamo, va bene?"

"Yes, yes. Seguitemi, cari."

The two of you follow him through the small, packed restaurant and descend a narrow flight of stairs that leads to a wine cellar. Harry is behind you, his hands on your shoulders to ensure you don't take a tumble. His dress shoes click against the polished wood with each step.

At the bottom, you turn down a dim hallway. Endless wine bottles are meticulously stacked on shelves against the walls. There's a table and chairs, and two wine glasses and napkins are already set neatly on the surface. There's even a plate of bread.

You sit, and Harry does the same. He immediately begins shaking the napkin out and placing it in his lap, like he's done this a million times before. You cross your legs and angle your body toward him, admiring his features in the low, yellowish lighting from the antique wall sconces. He grins handsomely.

The man brings over two bottles of expensive-looking wine, and you think of your preconceived notion of what wine tasting would be like—rolling hills and vineyards in the countryside, getting wine drunk with middle-aged moms wearing patterned blouses, gossiping about their cheating husbands.

Where you are right now is undeniably better. Who wouldn't want to be in a cramped room with their boyfriend, who's wearing a pink suit and looking at you like you're the only thing that exists?

The man fills the wine glasses with an adequate amount of blood-red liquid, then stands back to observe your reactions. Harry spins it around in his glass and sniffs it, acting like he's all fancy. You want to laugh at him, but keep it inside so you don't seem disrespectful. Instead, you bring your glass up to your mouth and take a small sip, tasting wild berries and a hint of an unknown aromatic herb. Harry sips his next, eyes locked on yours the entire time. He smacks his lips after swallowing and exhales, obviously pleased. You roll your eyes at him secretively. He's acting like he owns the place, and it's shameful that you find it attractive.

You rip off a piece of bread from the loaf in front of you and eat it, the buttery dough instantly melting on your tongue. Harry smiles at you, resting his hand on your chair as you rip some more off and offer it to him. He puts it in his mouth and mouths a silent swear, then picks up the entire loaf of bread and inspects it like he's Gordon Ramsey.

"I need the recipe for that," you whisper humorously.

Harry, of course, takes it literally. He beckons the man to come closer and places a friendly hand on his shoulder. "La mia ragazza adora cucinare il pane. Potrei avere questa ricetta per favore? Questo è sorprendente."

"Ovviamente! Tornerò," says the man while hurriedly going upstairs.

You turn to Harry with confusion, needing help understanding the exchange.

"He's getting the recipe for it," he explains. "You can make it before we go home."

"Harry," you say with a sigh. "Stop being so nice. I could've just found an online recipe. What if it's a family recipe that's super important to him?"

"Stop worrying, my love. He doesn't mind."

Before you can respond, the man returns with a tattered recipe book. He opens it to a bookmarked page and sets it in front of you. "Fai una photo, caro. Fammi sapere com'è quando lo fai," he says, pointing at the bread drawing—not a picture—on the weathered page. Was this recipe from medieval times? Goodness gracious.

You can't understand him, so Harry takes your phone out of your pocket and snaps a picture of the handwritten words on the paper. You can't believe this man you just met is so willing to give you a recipe from his own restaurant.

"Grazie," you say shyly. Harry smiles at your sudden bashfulness, scooting closer to you and kissing your head.

The wine tasting continues for the next hour. Throughout the various sips of eclectic flavors, Harry amps up his lovable antics—slowly and dramatically reeling off flavors he gets from the wine and spinning the liquid in the glass so quickly that it spills onto the napkin in his lap.

Anything to see you smile.

After what feels like gallons of wine, you and Harry thank the man for his graciousness and ask if he could drive the car back to the villa since driving back yourselves while tipsy would be idiotic. Harry offers to pay a hefty amount for the favor, and the man happily obliges, saying he will drive it back when he finishes closing the restaurant. Harry hands him the keys before you leave, shaking hands and kissing cheeks with the other chefs on the way out.

You're both wine-drunk—arguably the best kind of drunk—and stumbling on clumsy feet with cheeks that won't stop smiling. It's dark out now, and the streetlights guide you to the Corvette. Harry calls for a taxi, speaking in full Italian, which makes you weak in the knees.

Harry removes his suit jacket after hanging up the phone, leaving the white button-up in all its glory, his tattoos and chest hair peeking out from the few buttons undone. You take your belongings out of the trunk, set them on the ground, and then stand beside Harry. You kiss his chest, nuzzling your cheek against it and closing your eyes. He rubs his hand along your back and begins swaying with you under the streetlight.

You look up at him with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, admiring his matching appearance. "How do you say 'pretty' in Italian?" you ask, getting lost in his gaze.

Harry pouts, thinking. "Patatina," he replies after a few seconds.

"You're patatina," you say lovingly.

He snorts at your cluelessness, smearing a kiss on your forehead.

"What?" you ask, looking at him with confusion. "Is that not what it means? That's not nice, Harry. What did you just make me say?" You gasp. "Is it something dirty?"

He's still giggling, with crinkled eyes and deep dimples carving his face. You poke his ribs to get him to answer. "Sorry," he says, breathing out a final laugh. "No, it's not dirty. Patatina is a term of endearment I read about in the book I bought. It means little potato."

You stare at him with a deadpan expression, thoughts about why you decided to date this boy running through your head. "Little potato... it's actually kind of cute," you admit, shuffling closer to Harry's warm body. "If you're a patatina, what am I?"

"Cipollino," he murmurs, cradling your face. It translates to 'little onion.' The book said it pairs well with patatina, and we're, like, a pair."

Your nose scrunches. "But an onion, out of everything? That's probably the least romantic vegetable. I want to be rhubarb or something, you know? They taste sweet, and I think... I think I'm pretty sweet. Right, Harry?" The wine is making its way to your dizzy head.

"Correct," he says. "And I'm patatina, not Harry."

"Shut up."

"Kiss me, then. Shut me right up."

You don't question him, lurching forward to give him a searing kiss, fingers hooking in his belt loops. He returns the kiss with the same, if not more, passion. You can taste the residue of wine on his cherry-colored lips, opening his mouth with your tongue to suck on his.

You suddenly hear tires rolling up and turn to see headlights shining on your figures. Great timing, taxi. You part from Harry's swollen lips, short of breath, and hastily pick up your stuff. You hope no one witnessed anything too wild.

Harry hands the driver a wad of cash before he climbs in the backseat. You follow suit. The vehicle drives off into the night, and your head rests on your lover's shoulder the whole way back.

——

The villa looms exquisitely under the starlit sky. You're relatively sure you fell asleep five minutes into the drive. Harry helps your sleepy body out of the car after grabbing all your belongings, then walks you up the driveway. He sets you on the outdoor sofa surrounding the fire pit before disappearing through the sliding door. The whispering breeze makes you shiver and burrow deeper into his sweater, which still clings to your figure.

Harry returns with two wine glasses and a bottle of... cranberry juice?

"If I have any more wine, I'll puke. So, cranberry juice?" he says, his voice rising to a higher octave.

"Sitting by the fire and drinking cranberry juice out of a wine glass with you," you say dreamily while scooting over to make room for him. "I can't think of anything better."

You soak up his company. When he went inside, he changed into grey sweatpants and a matching hoodie, and he looked like such a boyfriend. It's ridiculous. He's always so inviting and lovely. You find yourself wanting to touch him and absorb the warmth he exudes.

Sleep overtakes you again while you're tucked into his side. The next thing you wake up to are silk sheets on the king-size bed. You instinctively curl up to Harry's body beside you. He must have opened the vast bay window that provides an impossible sea view because a beautiful breeze flows over your skin. It has you sinking further into the mattress.

"Want me to get your pajamas?" Harry asks quietly.

You sleepily shake your head, perfectly fine with sleeping in his sweater. However, you do slide off your shorts and bikini bottoms.

You're dozing again when Harry clears his throat. You open your eyes, feeling his heart rate speed up under your cheek.

"I have something special planned for our anniversary tomorrow. It's in the evening, so we have time to do other things. Just letting you know."

"That makes me nervous, but I trust you."

"Tomorrow will be even better than today. I promise."

"Can't wait." You yawn. "Goodnight. Love you."

"I love you more than anything," he says, lightly scratching your back.

You grumble an incoherent response, drifting off to your dreams, which always pale compared to life with the man next to you.

——

The following morning's ambiance consists of Harry's snoring and glorious sunshine pouring through the wind-blown curtains. You must've slept like a rock because the bedside clock reads nine-thirty. You decide to abandon the soft sheets and let Harry get more sleep.

You wrap yourself in your satin robe and pad down the hallway toward the kitchen. One glance at the oven, and you remember the bread recipe from last night. It'd be a pleasant anniversary surprise for Harry, considering his surprise for you is shrouded in mystery. Plus, making bread is oddly therapeutic—the kneading, the delicious smell, the endless possibility of flavors. Luckily, all the simple ingredients are in the pantry, so you can start making the dough.

By the time it's in the oven, Harry is still dead to the world, and the time is nearing eleven. Some days, he'll wake up at the crack of dawn to go on a stupid run, or he'll sleep until noon on the weekends after a long week of work. There's really no in-between.

While the bread bakes, you clean up the mess on the counters before sitting at the kitchen table to aimlessly scroll through your phone. Another twenty minutes pass before you hear feet shuffling against the hardwood floor. You glance up to find a puffy-eyed Harry rubbing his face. He's wearing black swim trunks, and that's about it, except for the sunglasses on top of his head.

He bends down and kisses your cheek. "Buongiorno, mio piccolo cuoco," he says, his voice as raspy as the slight mustache above his lip that seems to have grown overnight.

"More like good afternoon." You shut your phone off and set it aside. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mm, the best I have in ages," he answers, scratching his stomach. He then smiles lazily, his eyes looking more awake. "Happy anniversary."

"Three whole years. I don't know how I've gone putting up with you this long."

"Hey. I can go back to bed if you want," he says, pointing his thumb toward the bedroom.

"No, stay," you plead softly. "By the way, I'm making that bread recipe. It's my present to you for being an average boyfriend."

"Being sassy this morning, are we?"

"You love it."

"Got that right," Harry mutters, nosily peering into the oven. He sniffs the bread dramatically and whistles impressively before shutting the oven door. The mouthwatering aroma reminds you of wandering the Italian streets yesterday.

"Going for a swim?"

"Yeah. Join me?"

"I will once the bread is done." You stand and send him on his way with a peck on his lips. "Go ahead. I'll make you a fruit platter."

"Dragonfruit, please?" he requests, opening the sliding door that leads to the infinity pool.

"Got it. Don't forget to put sunscreen on!"

He gives you a thumbs up, leaving the door open to welcome the pleasant breeze. You grab hot pads and take the finished bread out, setting it on the cooling rack before turning the oven off. While it cools, you change into a swimsuit, tie a chiffon wrap skirt around your hips, and then arrange a platter.

You gather the cubed fruit you've both been eating the past couple of days—cantaloupe, watermelon, strawberries, and, per Harry's request, dragonfruit. He wanted to buy some after his wonderful mother grew it in her garden. Then, you precisely arrange the fruit in a circle on a floating breakfast tray that can go in the pool, keeping the middle open for slices of buttered bread. You sincerely hope it tastes close enough to what you ate yesterday.

Lastly, you fill glasses with orange juice before carefully heading outside to keep Harry company. You see him floating on his back, arms open, and eyes closed. You set the platter down on a table and tiptoe to the edge of the pool.

To hell with it. You're going to scare him to get him back after trying to tip the kayak yesterday. It's only fair, right?

He's oblivious to everything around him, a peaceful glow on his face. You almost feel bad for deciding to disturb it—especially on your anniversary—but what good is a relationship without a bit of havoc?

You mull over what you could possibly do to frighten him. Maybe throw a cantaloupe piece at him or pretend the car came back destroyed. These are two vastly different ends of the mischief spectrum, and ultimately, the latter is the obvious choice—and the most fun.

"Harry?" you say quietly, changing your expression to make it seem like you're distraught.

"Yeah?" he replies, keeping his eyes closed.

"Um, your friend from yesterday just dropped the car off. Harry, it's—"

His eyes snap open, picking up on your wavering and anxious tone. He stops floating and swims over to where you're standing by the edge.

"What's wrong? Talk to me. Did something happen? Are you okay?" he asks worriedly, his eyes darting between your face and body to check for any signs.

"The car," you whisper, mustering up fake tears. Harry instinctively holds your ankle, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. "It's destroyed. It looks like it got into an accident. What are we going to do?"

"Seriously? What the hell? How... I don't..." He heaves himself out of the pool and begins walking around the villa toward the driveway. He looks like he's about to punch something, so you suppress your laughter and decide to end the game.

You grab his wrist, spinning him around. He stares at you with panic, and now you feel bad. "I'm kidding, baby. I'm just messing with you. The car is fine. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you repeat, clasping his cheeks and laughing.

His jaw drops. "You're so mean."

"I'm just getting you back for yesterday. Them's the rules."

"Yeah, but you've been quite sassy all morning, hmm? First, you called me an average boyfriend. Then you didn't even kiss me good morning. That hurts my heart."

"You were completely passed out. How would you have known if I kissed you good morning or not?"

"I can always tell. They bring me back to life."

"Shut up," you scoff, grabbing the platter. "Here's some fruit and homemade bread as a peace offering. Take it or leave it."

"Feed me in the pool, and I'll consider your offer."

"Fine. I'm not getting in, though. I want to sunbathe for a bit.

Harry dramatically rolls his eyes and dives back in. When he emerges, he swims to the edge. You sit down with the platter and let it float next to him before putting your feet in the tepid water. You pick up a slice of bread and hold it to Harry's awaiting mouth. He places your legs over his shoulders, his arms hooking around your upper thighs.

Someone's needy today.

He tosses the bread into his mouth, his eyes rolling back like they did in the wine cellar yesterday. He borderline moans at the taste, his jaw flexing with each chew. After he swallows, he leaves grateful kisses on your thighs. "Deliziosa," he murmurs, paired with more nipping and kissing. You know he's not talking about the bread. The 'a' he added to the end of the word makes it feminine. He's not slick.

Before you both get carried away—wanting to save your pent-up tension for later—you feed him a plethora of fruit before deciding to make both of you an actual meal. You're starving, so you'll catch some sun later.

Harry whines at the loss of contact. You use your foot to push his chest until he's floating on his back again. He throws you a peace sign before you head back inside.

As you whip up a quick breakfast, you watch your boyfriend from the door, appreciating his sunkissed body and tattoos. You smile and think about how time has flown by with him in the most remarkable way.

Three years, and hopefully a lifetime more.

——

You're nervous.

You don't have the faintest idea what Harry's surprise is. All he's said is to dress nicely and not eat anything yet. Maybe he's taking you out to dinner? Or perhaps you'll walk downtown together and stop at vendors. You're stumped. He's annoyingly good at keeping secrets.

It's nearing seven as you add the finishing touches to your makeup. Harry is in the bathroom spraying cologne on his neck, looking casually handsome in a flowing, off-white button-up. He's paired it with matching cotton shorts and sneakers that need washing. You keep telling him to clean them, but he ignores your pleading and claims the dirt gives them character.

A short cherry-colored dress with puffed sleeves adorns your body. Red lipstick to match. Hair loose. The necklace Harry bought you for your last anniversary is glimmering against your neck.

Harry comes behind you in the vanity mirror as you apply a final coat of mascara and starts soothingly scratching your upper back. He can probably sense you're feeling nervous, knowing you don't particularly like surprises. However, you think he looks undeniably handsome, with his new tan and stubble pulling you into his coziness. Somehow, just looking at him eases your nerves.

"Gorgeous," he whispers.

You smooth any remaining wrinkles out of your dress. "Thank you. I'm almost done."

"Take your time," he replies, squeezing your shoulders. "I'll start the car."

You make sure your makeup is smudge-free and then shut the bedroom light off on your way to the front door. Harry is waiting by the passenger side of the Corvette with a distracted look on his face. When he finally sees you coming, he opens the door for you. This time, you accept his gentlemanlike gesture.

He drives to an unknown destination, taking the backroads. You can't even guess where you're headed since everything outside the villa is unfamiliar.

Ten minutes later, Harry slows down and turns right toward what appears to be a small seaside forest. He drives along the path leading through the trees until a hidden beach area eventually reveals itself. He parks the car while you're speechless at the sight before you. The only things on the sand are a round table with two chairs surrounded by tiki torches.

No one else is here. If Harry tells you he rented the entire beach, you'll kill him.

"I rented this portion of the beach for the night."

Of course.

"You're ridiculous," you say, taking in your surroundings. "Thank you, Harry. This is a wonderful surprise."

He ducks his head bashfully. "C'mon, let's eat."

You follow him to the table and sit on the wicker chair across from him. In front of you is a plate of stuffed ravioli with a side of roasted asparagus, cooked just how you like them. Harry has vegan fettuccine Alfredo with peas—a lot of peas. A gagworthy amount.

"I'm floored right now," you say, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. "I can't believe you did all this without me knowing."

"I'm a sneaky guy. There were lots of secret phone calls while you were in the shower or swimming in the pool.

You take your sandals off and enjoy the cool sand between your toes. "Yeah, I bet. I'm not even going to ask how much it costs to rent this part of the beach."

"It's not important," he says. "Let's eat, shall we? And talk me through this little outfit you have on. Why on earth haven't I seen you wear it yet?"

Then, both of you eat, talk, and watch the waves glide on the shore. The sun is dipping past the horizon, turning the sky a violet shade with splashes of fading orange. You talk Harry's ear off about random stuff in your life and humorous anecdotes since the trip started. His body naturally leans toward you to give you his undivided attention. He listens the entire time, eyes on you with his chin in the palm of his hand, except for when he pops some spearmint gum into his mouth after finishing his truckload of peas.

After you finish rambling, you wait for him to start talking your ear off. He can usually drone on and on about anything for hours, but right now, he's just sitting and staring at the sunset.

"You're quiet," you point out, gently poking his arm with your fork.

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

He sighs longingly before saying, "I know we still have more than enough time here, but I kind of don't want to leave. I love it here so much. This is the happiest I've ever been."

Your heart melts. "I feel the same way. I could stay here forever and never get bored of it. Especially with you by my side."

Harry finally looks at you, his eyes holding something unreadable yet powerful. He stands abruptly and reaches his hand out. "Let's walk for a bit," he says with a tone that kicks your anxiety into high gear.

You grasp his hand, and he leads you along the shoreline, your feet getting wet whenever the tide washes up. It's quiet except for the pesky seagulls, crashing waves, and salty breeze. Where you are right now makes you want to bottle up the memory so you can keep the feeling forever, replay this trip, and relive the most joyous moments of your life.

Harry eventually stops, facing you with both hands holding yours tightly. He looks... pale. Are his hands shaking, or are you imagining things? Is he about to pass out from sunstroke? Did he eat too many peas?

He clears his throat and visibly gulps, squinting at the sky and exhaling quickly. His feet shuffle nervously. An incomprehensible thought zings to the front of your brain.

Is he about to do what you think he's about to do?

"I might cry and possibly throw up, so please bear with me," he says, his voice shaky.

You just stare at him, unable to say anything. Then he begins lowering himself on one knee, and you just about go down with him.

He removes his hands from yours and takes something out of his pocket. It's a velvet ring box, pink and delicate.

You gasp as Harry opens his mouth, his watery eyes trained on nothing but you. "I love you with all my heart. I'm weak for the things you do, and it consumes me to the point where I feel like I might burst from loving you so much. Every word you speak or smile you give me makes me fall for you deeper and deeper. And you love me back. You love me better than anyone. And I realized when we first met that you're someone I not only want in this life but also need. You're the only one for me, and I'll take care of you, support you, and love you so thoroughly until you get sick of me. I'm rambling now, so I'll shut up and cut to the chase. I want to be your husband. Will you marry me? Please? Il mio cuore è solo tuo. If you want it, it's yours."

Harry finishes his speech by opening the ring box to reveal a silver oval-cut ring that takes your breath away. A tear trails down your cheek as your lips wobble. You nod your head what feels like a thousand times. "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you. Holy shit."

He laughs beautifully, his eyes squinting so much that the captured tears in his waterline spill over. He stands and shakily puts the ring on the correct finger. It fits perfectly.

You cup his cheeks and bring his face toward yours. "I love you," you say while kissing his flushed and tear-stained cheeks. "You're so sneaky. I wasn't expecting this until you looked like you were going to pass out in front of me."

"Be glad I didn't throw up on your dress."

"That's true." Suddenly, everything hits you. Harry, we're going to get married."

He smiles with unbridled happiness, nodding before picking you up and running into the sea. The splashes he makes strike you with cold splatters, and you squeal, but it quickly turns into uncontrollable laughter when Harry spins you around and dips you toward the water. You squirm with resistance and manage to escape his arms. He stumbles from the waves but remains upright, then stares at you intensely for three seconds before kissing your lips like they're his life source.

"My fiancée," he says, kissing down your face to your neck. "I adore you."

"Can we"—you whimper breathily—"go back to the villa and celebrate? Some wine, dessert, and... maybe some other things."

He can't propose to you while looking this good and expect you not to jump his bones.

"Sì, mi amore."

——

At the villa, palpable tension lingers in the air and throughout your body. The adrenaline from what just happened is still coursing through your blood as Harry makes a beeline straight to the master bedroom. It's only right to follow with shallow breaths and a hammering heartbeat.

Approaching the bedroom, you see Harry already taking off his shirt. You walk over and lie on the bed, waiting for him to initiate the celebration. You're usually the one who likes to be in control, but being the sexually dominant type calls for preparation and the right kind of mood. Now, at this moment, all you want is to writhe in pleasure on silk sheets and feel Harry's touch everywhere.

You're already impatiently aroused because of Harry's teasing on the drive back. His fingers were stroking the inside of your thigh, traveling up, up, up until they reached dangerous territory. He'd start to pull away after realizing how wet you already were, but you would trap his hand with your thighs, making him groan. Two could play at that game.

Now, Harry saunters over to you in nothing but his cotton shorts. His tanned skin looks tempting in the muted lamplight. The rest of the lights are off, and the moon is brightly shining in the indigo sky.

"Ready for me?" he asks lowly, hungrily glancing over your body.

You nod and bend your knees. Harry lies on his stomach and gets between your legs, his hands gripping your upper thighs with fervor. He must've put his rings on when you weren't looking. He knows you love the feeling of them. You're not picky as to where.

"Gonna let me take care of you?"

"Please. Please, Harry."

"Patience, my love. Let me see you."

"I'm right here. Do something. Please, I need you."

He shushes you with a soft timbre, scooting closer to where you need him the most. He lifts your dress, bunches the material up by your stomach, and then readjusts his grip on your thighs. His lips trail closer to your lace underwear, and he looks at you under his eyelashes. His eyes ground you, make you nervous, and leave you spellbound. Maintaining eye contact with him is hard when you know you'll come undone way too quickly from just his intense gaze. You're not giving him the benefit of that. Not tonight, at least.

Instead, you stare at the vaulted ceiling and gasp when his lips graze over your underwear. Soft, purposeful movements have you closing your thighs around your head as a reflex. Open-mouthed kisses over your wet lace drive you crazy. You're clenching and internally soliciting for him to just do something.

"Stop teasing," you say firmly, still not looking at him.

"Don't be bossy."

"I'm not being bossy. You're my fiancé, so you're supposed to be nice to me."

He moves your underwear to the side. "Yeah? Does my fiancée want me to be nice to her? I'm always nice, baby. I'm always good for you; you know that."

"You are. It's true. The nicest man I've ever known. No one has even come close." You squirm with impatience. "Just take them off."

Harry doesn't waste any time, propping himself up to slide the material down your legs. You lift your ankles above his head to fling them off, then plant your feet back on the mattress and spread them wide open so he can resume.

His mouth immediately latches onto your clit, sucking it, and his nose fits perfectly above it. You moan loudly, your back arching and your hands grasping his neck. You have to look at him now and watch him take care of you like only he knows how. When you do, it's like a sight straight from heaven. His brows are drawn in, his eyes shut, and his pink lips bring you pleasure in the most intimate way.

Harry continues sucking before soothing his tongue along your entrance. Without warning, he removes his mouth and replaces it with his fingers. He dives two of them in, curling them in a way that makes you inhale sharply. His mouth occupies itself with kissing the inside of your thighs, biting little marks so you can remember this experience.

The feeling of both his fingers and mouth is overwhelming, and your hand can't help but involuntarily pull his hair.

"God," he mumbles against your thigh. "Do that again, baby."

You pull harder, and a deep, raspy moan leaves his mouth. He begins kissing across your body while his fingers continue to bring you to your peak. He adds a third as he nips your waist, his head exploring under your bunched-up dress. He props one arm up to hover himself over you. You look at him with lustful eyes, your mouth parted, and soft moans escape when he hits a particular spot. He smears a messy kiss on your lips, and you try your best to return it as his fingers thrust in and out of you.

An orgasm quickly forms in your lower stomach. Harry massages your clit with the pad of his thumb to bring you there, knowing your body and when you're about to let go like the back of his hand. He grinds against the bed to soothe his own arousal. He's been hard since your act in the car, having felt your thighs clench around his hands, his fingers so close to his favorite spot. He apparently couldn't help himself.

When Harry hits that final spot that has you crying out, you arch your back and let go. Your eyes squeeze shut as you moan from the delightful pressure freely flowing out of your body.

Harry places his mouth back on yours as you finish, removing his fingers from inside you and gripping your hips, leaving a coat of your arousal on the love bites left there. Your body is strong enough to lift yourself on your elbows and leave marks on Harry's neck. He grunts when you bite the sensitive skin below his earlobe and grinds against the bed once more, stilling and then shuddering through a fierce release.

Oh. He came from that one touch.

He falls flat on the bed, cupping himself and breathing heavily. There's a damp spot on his shorts. It's a filthy sight.

"That was embarrassing. I'm sorry," Harry murmurs, his cheek pressed against the pillow. "I thought I'd be able to last."

You brush some sweaty hair off his forehead. "It's fine. I don't have to do any work now."

"Hilarious," he says monotonously. He suddenly jumps up from the bed and shuffles to the bathroom, confusing you. You hear him wash his hands and then turn on the jacuzzi. He returns with a clean pair of boxers and smoothly lifts you from the bed. Your dress covers your exposed state, yet it doesn't hide the slick feeling between your legs. The warm water will feel amazing.

Harry gently sets you on the sink counter as the tub fills up. He grabs a washcloth and dips it under the faucet before cleaning you. It's comfortably silent, with only rushing water in the background.

When the jacuzzi is adequately filled, Harry helps you stand and remove your dress. Once naked, you quickly go to the bathroom while Harry removes his boxers. He then leads you to the jacuzzi to sit down. When he climbs in, you cling onto him for a cuddle as sleepiness washes over you. Harry presses a button to turn the jets on. Everything feels so lovely.

"I can't believe you said yes," he says.

"You knew I would. How could I possibly say no to you after a speech like that?"

"Dunno. We're, like, together forever now." He rubs the ring on your finger. "Well, not yet. But when we actually get married, it's a lifetime with each other. It's wild to think about, but I want nothing more."

"I get what you mean," you say, scrubbing the red lipstick stains on his neck with the pads of your fingers. "I want this with you too."

When you softly rub around his lips, he kisses your finger and looks at you with disbelief. You pluck his swollen bottom lip with your thumb, then lean in to plant a truthful kiss there.

Everything with him is so simple. Every touch is meaningful. Every unspoken word holds the weight of a million words. Every laugh leaves you teary-eyed with a heart full of love.

He is pure love. What he gives so naturally is exactly what he is.

Once your skin turns wrinkly and the water becomes lukewarm, you and Harry get out and dry yourselves off. He retreats to the bedroom to grab pajamas. When he returns, you put on an oversized shirt and walk out of the bathroom after draining the tub, running toward the bed and bellyflopping on it like a kid. Harry shuts the bedroom light off and flops beside you, letting out a long and blissful sigh.

"I'm hungry," he says.

You snort. "You ate a million peas not even an hour ago. How are you still hungry?"

"Sex makes me hungry. And stop making fun of my love of peas. Hey, can you get the cantaloupe? I'm knackered."

His rapid change of topics makes you laugh. "Anything for you, pea boy."

You hear him faintly whine at your new nickname for him as you stroll into the kitchen. You open the refrigerator to grab a bowl of cantaloupe cubes and then return. Harry's eyes are fluttering shut, and his limbs are spread out on the mattress. You climb over him, sitting against the headboard, as he blindly reaches his hand for some fruit. He chews against the pillow, his cheeks squishing adorably.

"Thanks," he mumbles with his mouth full.

"Mm-hmm. I'm going to sleep. I'll put the bowl on the nightstand for you."

Once you've moved the cantaloupe, you scoot down and lie on your back. Harry keeps reaching for the bowl without moving his head, sometimes missing entirely and waving his hand around to find it. You eventually close your eyes, a smile making its way to your face when you realize you'll wake up tomorrow as an engaged woman next to your future husband.

Harry finishes all the fruit in the bowl and then turns off the lamp. He tugs you against his chest, and you exhale happily, his warmth effortlessly pulling you under into a deep sleep.

——

Two Weeks Later

After situating yourself in the airplane seat, you pull out your phone and open Instagram. You and Harry are on your way back from Italy. It was an unforgettable two weeks together, and not one day went by without you making new memories.

You had told only the closest people to you about the engagement—your parents and Harry's. No one else knows, so you decided to announce the news with an Instagram post. You wanted to wait until after vacation to worry about making phone calls and giving details about how it happened.

Now, you start creating a post on the fourteen-hour flight to California. You already know what picture to use—Harry cutely holding a bottle of wine along the lusciously green countryside, ready for a picnic date in a park. Also with an impressive mustache. Throughout the ten days after the engagement, Harry decided to grow his faint mustache into a full-fledged one. You don't know how it grew so fast, honestly. You also didn't know how to feel about it at first, but you're accustomed to liking it now. It makes him look mature.

How it feels between your thighs—well, that's a story for another day.

Harry has chosen to post a picture of the ring, gleaming brilliantly in the pink velvet box. And with him being the artsy, moderately strange social media poster, he had to add something extra to the picture—a paint swatch. Both of you spontaneously went paint shopping one day when you got bored in the villa. You had been talking to him for months about redoing the bathroom at the house, so you went to a local paint store to look at different options. Harry, being the sentimental and cheesy man he is, suggested painting it the color of the ring box he proposed with. You remember thinking the diluted pink would complement the white tiles and granite counter of the master bathroom perfectly.

You couldn't possibly refuse the idea, especially since it would always remind you of that special evening on the beach.

You had searched with him to find a color that resembled the box, all while goofing around and laughing at the bizarrely specific names of the swatches. You pointed to a light green swatch appropriately named Peapod and told Harry he should paint the kitchen that color since he loves peas so much. He pouted at you and dramatically walked down another aisle. Typical. And so sensitive about his peas!

Harry is sleeping beside you, his head snugly settled on a pillow propped against the airplane window while soft snores escape his mouth. You'll wait for him to wake up so you can both post at the same time. As for now, you rest your head on his shoulder to also take a nap. Harry stirs and drowsily slaps his hand onto your knee to keep you close.

You'll miss Italy's golden sunsets, good-natured people, and ethereal views. However, the thought of going home and beginning a new chapter with your fiancé doesn't sound too bad.

Bliss, in all its glory, takes hold once again.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur #pink velvet

144 notes · View notes

silvcrignis · 2 years ago

Text

@wiickedxgood Remember this fucking MURDER in an open forum hfhfhhjb? He killed him in front of EVERYBODY

#x: Shitpost #c: Kelsey #c: Jörmungandr #c: Butane #c: Elise #c: Cadillac #c: Claude #c: Devil #c: Gemini #c: Carlos #c: Nicu #HEJRHYJ CLAUDE DOES NOT HESITATE BITCH EVEN IF UR HIS FRIEND #x: Dynamic: Give Me The FUCKING Keys! (Claude & Devil)#x: Dynamic: Great Kid BAD Judge Of Character (Claude & Cadillac)#x: Dynamic: Coffin Dance (Kelsey & Facile)#s: Does Your Dad Have A Dick Compartment?! (Elise & Baxter)#s: Our Love Is Gay (Butane & Daxton)

4 notes · View notes

goldencuffs · 27 days ago

Note

genuinely that snippet you linked in the latest ask gave me palpitations. the thing that carries me through it all is the fact that you once said damen and laurent will always have a happy ending for you. so yes, while i love meself some good ol angst, im absolutely looking forward to how you resolve that (BECAUSE YOURE SO GOOD AT IT!!! so excited to see what youre grace us with next, idec how long its gonna take ahahah)

omgggggg thank you so much!!!! 🥹❤️😭 i'm the same--as much as i love senseless fluff, nothing gets to me more than a story that's 99% angst and has that satisfying, happy ending 😮‍💨

AND YES while most of this fic is laurent sad and pining and damen being a dick, they do indeed have a very happy ending!!!! it made me cry when i wrote the outline LMAO

i really wish i could post more snippets but besides that opening scene damen and laurent haven't interacted much... yet. here's two seperate scenes just because!

"Look who's here," Coach said. There was the sound of backs being slapped. "Damen smelt your cooking and wanted to come right over. That's a credit to you Laurent."

Laurent didn't look up. "Aimeric cooked most of it."

"That's right, gorgeous, and there's plenty more where that came from. Believe me, I'm very skilled."

Coach laughed, as he did with most things Aimeric said. He didn't even seem bothered that Aimeric was openly flirting with his star player. He seemed charmed, actually, and Laurent's nape prickled. He didn't lift his head, but he did pull out an extra bowl and placemat.

Coach ruffled his hair as he walked past. Laurent threw him a brief smile, tried to make it seem natural, because his whole body was singing with tension.

Damen came close; Laurent smelt him before he saw him. Fresh, clean, woody--it was so familiar, Laurent's heart sped up, a subconscious response.

He looked up. Their eyes met. Laurent's heart kicked into overdrive.

Damen said, "Soup? Seriously? It's a hundred degrees."

And just like that, all his complicated feelings died in his chest. Laurent scowled and put the bowl and mat away.

❤️

So Laurent was surprised when Damen said, "Let's go out for dinner. I'm hungry."

"What?" Laurent said, pushing himself up on his elbows.

It was late; they had only fucked once today because Damen had been in training and Laurent had been in class all day. It wasn't a cool, breezy night like the other day; it was muggy and thick. Laurent's skin stuck to the sheets of Damen's bed.

"Are you fucking deaf?" Damen snapped. He was already dressed and showered, shoving that ugly baseball cap on his head. "Hurry up, you have ten minutes."

Laurent shot up; from experience he knew Damen would make good on his threat and leave him here. He yelped when Damen smacked his bare ass as he rushed past him on the way to the bathroom.

It was the quickest shower of Laurent's life; he had already taken one before he arrived here, so he didn't feel too gross by the time he stepped out again.

He rushed downstairs; Damen was already waiting, impatient, car keys in his hand.

"Can I drive?" Laurent said.

Damen huffed. "Funny."

The Cadillac was a thing of beauty. Laurent had grown up with fast cars his entire life. Coach obviously had a few, but Hennike and Auguste loved them too. Auguste had a Quattroporte. Hennike had had a vintage Aston Martin. When she had died, Laurent had fantasies of driving it for himself, but Coach had promptly sold it.

The Cadillac was special, though. It was rare to see Damen so excited about something, but Laurent remembered long, winter nights where they had huddled in bed together, going over all the specs, handles, and metrics of the car. Laurent learned about analog guages and different cuts of leather and even Bakelite by the time Damen had decided he had wanted to purchase it.

Except, Damen had taken Jokaste to buy the car. He had dumped Laurent three nights before.

Still, that didn't really affect how Laurent felt about the car. It was all sleek wood panelling and fresh, fragrant leather. It was pretty big too; he and Damen had tested that theory early on by fucking in the backseat.

"Don't cross your legs on the seat, for fucks sake," Damen snapped as they backed out of the driveway.

"I took off my shoes," Laurent muttered, already pulling out his phone.

#this is so nonsensical without context i know #but just know damen and laurent loathe each other but can't stay away either hehehehe #ALSO I LOVE YOU!!!!!#what an amazing message #im so grateful you feel that way about my stories omggg!!!#and i know people dont believe me but yes i always always always give a happy ending #otherwise i dont see any point writing it😭#asks

20 notes · View notes

billskeis · 9 months ago

Note

can you please write something for Tom where he's like sooo in love with the reader but also really in denial and a bit scared cause he's never been in love before/ felt like this? (I know this sounds mega kitschy)

i love your account so much, everything is so pretty on here!!

thank you my love, i hope i didnt disappoint c:

ᡣ𐭩 tom, a dummy in a denial

tom was your friend. your rock. you don’t remember how it happened, but as soon as the two of you met, sparks flew. not in the way that you think, god no! the two of you couldn’t ever imagine being anything other than friends. more than friends, right? well, so you think ..

as tom grabbed his car keys, he ushered bill to be at the doorstep in ten seconds or he would leave without him, “fuck! tom! i can’t find my rings..” with a scoff, tom rolled his eyes already beginning to open the front door, “just leave without them! we’re gonna be late.”

“what’s got you in a rush? it’s a goddamn house party..” bill skipped down the stairs fumbling to now put his shoes on. as tom ran his hand through his hair, he hesitates to respond, not really sure what DOES have him in a rush.

as bill waits for his older brother to respond, seeing as how he breaks out in a cold sweat he can’t help but realize now, letting out a small laugh, “oh..” “oh what?” “it’s cause you want to see y/n,” and tom can’t help but widen his eyes and so hard they might pop out of his eye sockets.

“what?? pshh, i don’t know what you’re talking about—i mean—me and y/n are friends, best friends!” bill pushes tom out the door as the two walk to tom’s new cadillac. “for someone who you consider a best friend, you’re so eager to see her.” tom sarcastically laughs at bill, “i am not!!” “yeah, lemme know when you’re done being in denial, tom, i’ve seen the way you look at her.”

upon arrival, both the kaulitz twins enter the house already booming with house music. loud voices and laughs were shared, dancing, engaging and talking, making out, drinking. but there you stood. standing there, solo cup in your hand, laughing with a couple of your girlfriends as you sip on the alcoholic drink.

you looked amazing, tom had to blink twice to truly comprehend it was you. what am i even saying—of course he knew it was you. you were no lesser than a diamond to his eyes. the way your dress hugged tightly around your curves, glossy lips and hair ever so shiny. you were his aphrodite.

“stop staring and let’s go talk to her!” bill exclaimed pulling tom by his arms, “what’re you doing?? stop!” “tom cut the bullshit right now before i slap you in the face—hey y/n! how are you??” he cuts himself midway as bill nagged at tom while pulling him to where you stood.

“bill! oh my god hi!! ‘m feeling good tonight, hi tom!” you wave at tom before pulling him into a hug, wrapping your arms around his body, not noticing at how he tensed up around your presence now. “hi y/n..” you tilted your head to the side, ‘hi y/n?’ what kind of a greeting was that?

you hold one of tom’s hands, running a thumb over the back of his hand. he swears his heart fell out of his ass as he choked on his spit but tried to conceal it, “you okay tom?” “yeah! perfectly fine! now where’s the alcohol??” he grabd a bottle immediately pouring himself a shot, downing it within the quick ten seconds of having poured it, fire trickling down his throat.

tom needs liquid courage. he’s never really realized that he’s felt a certain way for his best friend. she now makes him, nervous. like he needs to find the perfect words to say in order to put a smile on her face. as if he doesn’t already do that. but now, it’s different. he can’t fuck this up. he’s scared, alcohol will do the trick for sure!

“easy there tiger!” bill giggles as you look at his twin brother in confusion. bill can only shrug, as he walks off to go find georg and gustav who are already drunk off their minds dancing in the living room. you focus your attention back on tom who already seems like he’s had four more shots in the time that you only spent exchanging looks w bill.

with a gasp, you swiftly grab the bottle and shot glasses from tom and head towards the dance floor. you hold tom’s hands and give him a little spin. “seems like ya had fun with those shots eh?” “mmhm.. glad to see you y/n, been a while :),” and you perk up, smiling at tom who’s hip swayed in rhythm with yours.

wanting to spice things up a bit (with your bestfriend?) you hold tom’s waist, pressing it flush against yours. if it weren’t for the dim, flashing lights, you would see how red tom’s face is. and it’s not from the alcohol. he can’t help but open his mouth in shock, hiding his face in your neck.

“y/n..” “mmhm?” he whispers in your ears, tom now has his arms wrapped around your waist as you slowly danced with one another. arms engulfing his neck, you push it even further to your ear, almost sending tom into an orbit of emotion. but it seems as though the alcohol has caught up to him.

dizzy, he can only rock side to side now as the two of you stand. it’s now quiet between the two of you, with only music to fill in the silence. admittedly, tom speaks before he thinks as he mumbles a “god you are just so breathtaking tonight y/n..” well, that was a first, you immediately latch him off your body and hold his shoulders to get a good look at him.

his head is lolled down as it looks as if it’s being hung of his body. you can see a dopey smile plastered on his face as the rest of him is like putty within your hands, doing as it’s told while you simply hold him straight. oh, he’s fucking drunk, and he might puke. you remember the last time the two of you were out together he gets all giggly and loopy before needing to let it all out. the little details matter.

“oh no, we need to get some fresh air,” you hug his body against your side, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you make your way towards the balcony. shoving through the crowd of people, you are met with bill, gustav and georg who stop you in your tracks. “y/n! where are you going??” “to get your brother some fresh air!” jokingly, georg screams a ‘seems like you care about him!’ and you scream back ‘i do!’ without hesitance.

a coo is heard from your side as you look down to tom who’s body is slumped against yours. opening the slide door, he whines “aww, you care about me?” “shut up tom,” and he dramatically pouts before holding himself on the railing of the balcony, taking in the fresh, cold air to somewhat rid of his nausea.

you lean on the railway, looking at your best friend whose movements are extremely sluggish and slow. you pat his back, following by rubbing circles on it, feeling the cotton of his black t-shirt which, made him look really good. his hair was tied back in a low bun, as his sunglasses hung off the collar of his shirt. how could such a simple outfit make someone look so good?

after a few moments of silence being exchanged between one another. tom finally backs off the railing to bring back up all the shots he drank without eating prior to it, puking it all into a plant pot for, let’s say, plant purposes! you wince at the noises but can only hope that plant is a plant the house owner neglects and doesn’t see the puke.

spitting out the remnants, tom immediately feels better. but he can’t bring himself to face you, not after embarrassing himself in front of the girl he found out to have liked since the beginning of time. you notice this, and soften a gaze at his back, muscles defined through the thin fabric. with a tap of his shoulder, he hesitantly turns to be met with you holding out a water bottle.

thanking you, he immediately twists open the cap to drink the water, downing almost half the bottle. as he almost finishes it, he places the bottle onto the ladder attached to the railing, now holding onto it again, leaning his head on it as he stares at you. you were looking through the sliding door glass admiring bill, georg and gustav dancing. looks like they’re having an amazing time!

“oh god, i can’t believe how much i adore you..” you jerk your head to look at tom so fast you swore you gave yourself whiplash, “what!?” “oh fuck—sorry—i don’t know what came over me.. pretend you didn’t hear that.” you mouth hangs open in disbelief, pretend you didn’t hear that!? what is he talking about??

you step closer to him as he pretends to look away into the stars of the night sky, “tom!! look at me and tell me what you said..” your expectant, you wanted to hear those words again. you couldn’t believe it, the best friend whom you’ve liked for so many years might reciprocate your feelings. you hold onto that hope as much as possible. as his eyes dart in many directions but yours, you shift your head quickly enough to always meet his gaze.

“mmm fine..! i said i adore you..” “why thank you, i adore you too..” wanting to make a little joke out of it, seeming as though you adore him just as a best friend and nothing more, “no, no not like that y/n. god i can’t believe it took me this many years to realize how i truly felt about you,” and he licks his lips, becoming dry with anxiety. you cross your arms, “and what is it that you feel about me?”

“well, for starts, i love you. i love you so much y/n that i couldn’t see myself with anyone but you. why it took me so long? i—i don’t know i think i was scared?? felt as if my whole life i was incapable of loving or even being loved. my whole life i’ve been through materialistic relationships, temporary relationships, relationships with a motive.. was scared you were gonna end up as one of those so i, didn’t take the risk.. ‘m hearts never skipped a beat before until you. until you, i’ve never felt so content with life, i want to be your boyfriend but you obviously don’t have to say yes we just can remain friends—”

“tom!!” you interrupted midway through his rambling, he just stops in his tracks, “you didn’t even ask how i felt! you only assumed i wouldn’t return the feeling,” and he bites his lips, goddamnittomyoustupidfuckingidiotyoushouldveletherspeak. leaning even further into the railway, he awaits your answer. nervous, an uncomfortable pit forming in his stomach expecting the worse. “oh! i um.. ha, sorry..”

you inhale a deep breath, exhaling as you clench your palms together, “you dummy, i love you too. i guess i’ve always adored you, a lot. it’s also hard for me to convey my feelings, dunno what it is, but hey! glad we got that out huh??” you giggle, smiling at tom, who has a cheeky grin plastered on his face. in a world full of complicated girls, you were simple. easygoing. it was as simple as that. he couldn’t be any more happier over the fact that the one for him considered him as her one. you immediately pull tom into a hug, who then awkwardly asks you to be his girlfriend, and of course, you said yes.

“i’m so into you, y/n.”

“i know!”

i dont have the knack to write fluff anymore .. im soo sorry anon T_T

i was inspired off these pics , just imagine tom looking up at you with those with those eyes after finding out you liked him too , cute !

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x y/n #tokio hotel x you #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel fluff #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz x you #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz fluff #2000s #fyp #billskeis

129 notes · View notes