#colour combination for dress for mens

[conkreetmonkey]

Red Dead Redemption 2 was so real for creating the most in-depth, realistic clothing system I've ever seen in any game, and exclusively using it on burly, unhygienic men.

You choose every layer, every accessory, with dozens to hundreds of each to choose from. You can go in and fine-tune minute details like whether or not to roll up the shirt sleeves, or button the collar, or whether to wear your pants under your boots. These clothes get dirty in real time depending on what you do in the game. Mud, dust and blood linger unless washed off. Every garment has a warmth rating based on its material, and the game calculates what temperatures an outfit is suitable for based on the combined total. Dressing too cold or warm for the weather causes health debuffs.

You can choose which way he parts his hair, and whether he gels it. If you eat too much he gets bulkier and gains a double chin, and if you eat too little he can go underweight and get all bony and sallow. Both of these states come with stat changes. His hair and beard grow in real game time, and you need to routinely style and shave his facial hair if you want any style other than a full Santa. You need to bathe him regularly or people will start commenting on his BO, and he'll start visibly appearing filthy long before that. He sunburns in the sun, and in the heat he becomes slick and glossy with sweat.

This shit is IN DEPTH. It blows the customization systems of actual fashion-centric games like tf2, Monster Hunter and Splatoon out of the water in every regard. They honestly look basic in comparison. It's a paradigm shift for sure once you experience RDR2's level of customization. Everything else starts to feel smaller.

The player character all this customization is applied to, and I simply cannot stress this enough, is a 36 year old, 6'3" smoker weighing well over 200 pounds, with facial hair thicker than a sheepdogs, forearms like gnarled tree trunks and a dark, dense forest of body hair covering every reasonable surface. His skin is pocked and marred with scars from a rugged, nomadic lifestyle, and his teeth are the colour of cornbread. He has a thick southern accent, is a known mean drunk and knows how to skin pretty much any North American animal. He has never worn deodorant, flossed or moisturized. He eats canned beans, fruit and the like by simply pouring them into his mouth and gulping, often while walking or riding a horse at full gallop.

I can think of NO better use case for such customization. Not some fresh-faced little twink, not some busty anime babe. Just a gross, hairy, unwashed homeless dude with crippling self esteem issues and a chest broader than a barrel laid lengthwise. A non fashion-centric game, certainly a non-fashion centric character, but for some reason the best clothing and customization system ever concieved, bar none. What the fuck.

[bunnys-kisses]

hi bunny! i was wondering if you got an order for sourdough bread and blueberry muffins with a side of hard lemonade for toto? i think tumblr has been eating my asks! but if you did already get it ignore this!! love the writing and i loved the past two toto works 🫶🏻🫶🏻🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

bakery menu

want to submit your own orders? then check out the menu! there are tons of things to order and various wonderful servers. i do fandoms beyond f1 if something else strikes your fancy! as for this one, i see what your brain is cooking and i'm so sorry that your original order got eaten by the monster in my inbox! but thankfully this got through and i love the combination! i have grown a fondness for toto as i am part of a discord with other amazing people that's focused on him <3

sourdough bread ("i'm going to breed you.") + blueberry muffins ("i don't think it'll fit.") + hard lemonade (possessive behaviour) served by toto wolff (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, age gap (20/50), wife!reader, breeding kink, size kink (duh), pregnancy, missionary position

toto found your antics amusing. he knew it was just the kind of person you were. you were raised in a household where hugging and kissing on the cheek were normal! toto wasn't going to get mad at you because you were more touch-y feel-y than most.

he found it cute, because you were always so affectionate towards him. you constantly wanted kiss and toto's arm around you. you want to bury into his chest and make a home out of there. you wanted to be close to him.

it wasn't you he didn't trust. it was men.

it was a hands-y mechanic at a party. he was closer to your age and made you laugh, which only left a surge of jealousy in your husband's chest. the mechanic seemed new. so he probably didn't know that you were toto's wife.

you chatted with him happily and toto felt the jealousy surge up further. he finished the drink in his hand before he put the glass down and went to 'rescue' his wife.

"schatzi." toto said, putting on his best smile. he didn't want to scare off the mechanic. he came up to you and placed his hand on your lower back. the size difference was noticable.

you were toto's little wife, you looked up at him and smiled, "ah, honey! this is the new mechanic!"

toto smiled back at you, "i know, my love." he looked at the mechanic and raised his eyebrows, "i know you'll be a great addition to the team this season. it is lovely to finally meet you. this is my wife." he said bluntly, "mrs. wolff."

you perked up, "oh my god, i'm so sorry! i only introduced myself as my first name. this is my husband!"

the new guy's eyes went wide for a moment before he said, "oh... i see." he then cleared his throat, "um, i'll be right back then!" then swiftly left the situation.

you frowned a little and said, "i wonder what that was about." you looked up at your husband, "he seemed scared."

he rubbed the top of your head before he leaned in and kissed you on the apple of your cheek, "mm, i don't think so, schatzi. why don't we go find george and lily?" two people that toto could trust.

-

that evening, toto made sure to show his wife how much he loved you. those large hands on your behind as he got you up onto the shared bed you have. he watched you get out of the dress, exposing your body to him.

your nude form was for his eyes only.

the glittery gold ring on your left hand was evidence of that. your pretty signature with the last name 'wolff' was another. he could get lost in your beauty as he yearned for you. it was a deep throb in his chest at the sight of you.

the pretty nude colour bra and the bright yellow panties you wore. both looked perfect on your skin. and only made toto undress faster, he didn't want to keep mrs. wolff waiting.

he got his button-up onto the floor, and the undershirt. you rubbed your soft thighs together and he drank in the sight of you.

"a woman like you should be illegal. i'm worried if you get more beautiful, my love." he got onto the bed and took off the undershirt, "i'd have to lock you away."

he said it almost jokingly. he trusted you of course, it was other men that couldn't be trusted.

you giggled and took his belt off. the leather felt expensive in your hands. it soon was on the bed and toto quickly got undressed as well before he was on top of you. his hands on your panties before he showed them down your thighs.

"i'm going to breed you." he said softly, "i want to see you with my child. a proper mother." his nose was up against your jaw, he could feel your pulse as it quickened.

your core got hotter as you struggled to get your bra off. you replied, "then come on now, my dear husband." you took him by the face to meet your gaze, "let's make a baby."

he thought the wind was knocked out of him for a moment before he grabbed a hold of your bra and got it off your body, leaving you fully naked to him. he got on his knees with your legs wrapped around his waist.

a heated part of him wanted to fuck you the old fashioned way. on your back so he could admire every inch of your skin.

"but, i don't think it'll fit." you remarked with a slight giggle.

he replied with a smile, he looked handsome as always. "oh don't worry, schatzi. it'll fit." toto was a big man all over. big hands meant two things, one of those things was that his the tip of his cock was familiar with the beginning of your cervix.

and that he easily bruised your poor sweet hole.

but, since you two got married. it had been easier for him to fuck you, to sink inside of you. to feel you inside and out. but now with you under him, he slowly got his cock into you. one hand on your hip and one around his cock.

he got it all the way to the root and then had both hands on your soft hips. you were beautiful under him, your breath hitched and it made toto's cock twitched.

the beautiful, amazing mrs. toto wolff.

he started to move against you. his hands felt so large on your hips as he moved against you. he hunched over you to admire every inch of your heated skin. he could feel the praise bubble up in his throat.

no mechanic, no driver, no man was going to take you from him. he made a promise to love you for all of your days. and he was expecting for that to last for many years.

you held onto the covers under you and let him move your body back and forth. the stretch felt good. you remembered the days when you'd be bruised for a few days afterwards.

"i want you to have my children, schatzi." he said with a softness in his voice. the pleasure raced up his spine as he continued to move against you. you felt perfect to him, like a dream come true.

you moaned a little louder, in the comfort of your shared bedroom. husband and wife tangled up in one another. you placed your hands onto his chest as he continued to rut against you.

his cock hit all the right areas, it made you feel flushed at it all. it was a heated feeling throughout your body.

you tried to meet his pace, but everything felt so much. your heart was racing and you could feel it in your gut. you moaned a little louder, "please honey."

he continued to work your pussy, making sure that you felt good. how could he not want that? you were his wife. not that little mechanic's wife. you were his.

"i know, angel." he said softly, "i'll make you feel good." he leaned in to kiss you on the lips. such a delicate thing under his touch, he could feel the fire in his stomach as he moved against you.

the most perfect living thing. to have sex with you was a feeling that excited toto. to have you anyway he could. he pleasure you as much as you pleasured him.

you were his heart, the thing that kept it beating. to keep going, to keep winning.

you whimpers were cute, you were close. and toto continued to make love to you.

"toto."

"i have you, my love."

you clutched onto the covers under you. your back arched at the intensity as you came around his cock. you whined a little bit and tensed up. toto took this as a chance to pick up the pace and really work his dick into you. he came soon after and made sure to get himself in as deep as it would go.

he was trying to get his wife pregnant after all. a few hard thrusts and his cum drooled into the back of your womb. a good sign if all goes well. toto felt flushed, the sweat down his back as he eyed his beautiful wife.

no mechanic cane get too hands-y if there was a proper baby bump in the way. a sign that toto had staked claim of you as if the ring he bought you wasn't enough. plus, you'd make a beautiful mother.

he pulled out of you and curled up against your stomach. he rubbed soft circles and stayed close to you. he was breathing heavily as were you.

"my beautiful wife." he said as he kissed your stomach.

-

you were all smiles at the party toto threw months later as a way to socialize for the upcoming crew of mercedes. to start out on the right foot. a promise of a good season.

even now, six months pregnant with your first child. you were still all smiles and laughter. instead of a glass of wine, you had been pouring yourself sparkling water to still be part of the celebrations. the dress you wore highlighted your rounded middle.

but now that you were pregnant, toto had to keep a close eye on you. your center of gravity had been all screwed up since your belly sprouted. he didn't need his wife taking a tumble.

he easily caught the sight of you waving hello to the mechanic from last year and giving him a big hug. he also noticed that the mechanic's hand was a little to close to your behind for toto's liking.

if it wasn't glaringly obvious that you were taken already, give the ring, the house and now the baby. he knew he was going to have to talk to the other man before the season started.

toto didn't mind that you were the type of person who loved a good hub, it was who you were! but, it was toto's job as your husband to make sure that you remained safe. <3

[cherryredlove]

☆ eiffel tower ☆

Modern! au Cregan Stark x reader x Jacaerys Velaryon SMUT

Includes Cregan x Jacaerys smut

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• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

Baela and Rhaena always host the hottest parties of the summer. Invitied alongside your best friend Helaena, you meet two handsome men who seem equally interested in you as you are in them.

Word Count: 2.5k

Themes: SMUT, 18+, threesome, p in v, oral, eiffel towering, cum eating, alcohol consumption, cigarettes

also just imagine cregan in the pics has dark hair ahah

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The hot July night is thick with the mingled sounds of the party—a seamless mix of bass-heavy music, laughter, and shouts cutting the air. You feel the vibrations through the floor as you push your way through the crowded living room of Rhaena and Baela’s apartment. They live in a swanky flat in the city centre of King's Landing. It's their birthday, and, as usual, they’ve gone all out. Neon lights bounce off the walls, casting a colourful glow that makes everything feel both surreal and electrifying.

You'd worn your favourite sexy black top and bootcut jeans, making your ass look fantastic, as your flatmate Dyana had so kindly informed you. Bangles jingling, you make your way toward the makeshift bar in the corner, your eyes scanning the throngs of people dancing and talking, searching for a familiar face. Finally, you spot her—Helaena, your best friend, is lounging on a couch, deep in conversation with a couple of guys from her art class, while sipping a bottle of Asshai beer. She waves at you enthusiastically, a smile stretching across her face.

“Hey, you made it!” Helaena shouts over the music, wrapping you in a quick hug. She smells like lavender and vodka, wearing a blue skater dress, a familiar and comforting combination. “I was starting to think you’d bail on me.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you reply, your voice barely audible over the thumping beats. You lean in closer. “This place is insane.”

Helaena laughs, nodding in agreement. “You should go say hi to Rhaena and Baela later. They’re out on the balcony, holding court as usual.”

As you nod, you can’t help but feel a little out of place, surrounded by people who seem to know exactly where they fit in this chaotic scene. You were a bit of a party animal too with Helaena, but the party here was madness. You grab a drink from the bar—something pink and fruity that burns just enough to remind you of its potency—and take a long sip, letting the alcohol warm you from the inside.

You seek out Baela and Rhaena. Both of them look divine in gold shimmery tops. They scream a little with excitement when you see them and hand some sourz shots for the three of you to do together.

After, you’ve been chatting with Helaena for a while, legs crossing over eachothers as you lounge on some chairs, when your attention is caught by two guys approaching. Even in the dim light, they stand out: one tall and dark-haired with broad shoulders, the other with brown curls, high cheekbones, and a rougish smile. They're both stunning in that unfairly effortlessly cool way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Hey, Hel,” the first one says with an easy smile. His eyes flick to you, holding your gaze a moment longer than polite. “Who’s your friend?”

Helaena grins, ever the mischievous meddler. “This is Y/N,” she says, gesturing toward you. “Y/N, meet Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Velaryon. They’re Baela’s best mates from uni. You guys both study politics and history with her, right?"

Cregan gives you a nod, his smile widening into something warmer, while Jacaerys offers you his hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, his voice a low, pleasant rumble.

The conversation flows easily, the four of you finding common ground in shared interests and mutual acquaintances. Cregan regales you all about his recent backpacking trip through the Highlands, the beautiful scenery and his close scrapes with the law, while Jacaerys leans closer, drawing you into a discussion about your favorite bars and places in King's Landing. You find yourself laughing more than you have in weeks, the tension you carried into the party slowly melting away.

As the night deepens and Helaena ends up sneaking off with a mysterious girl named Sara who Cregan knows, the three of you drift outside to the balcony, the cool air a welcome relief from the heat inside. You lean against the railing, the city sprawled out before you while Cregan sparks up a cigarette for you. Below, the streetlights flicker like stars, the hum of traffic a distant lullaby.

“So, what do you think of the party?” Cregan asks, his voice low and inviting.

“It’s amazing,” you admit, taking a sip of your drink that Jace had grabbed for you, a Starfall Screwdriver. “You two must be close with Rhaena and Baela.”

“Yeah, we’ve known them forever,” Jacaerys replies, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. His gaze is steady, intent. “They throw the best parties.”

You nod, feeling the warmth of their attention settle over you like a physical presence. There’s something about the way they look at you—like they’re seeing you, really seeing you—and it makes your heart race in a way you can’t quite explain. You aren't blind to their eyes and where they're looking.

“So, Y/N,” Cregan begins, a playful glint in his eye. His arm rests on your shoulder after taking a drag. “What’s your deal? You seeing anyone?”

The question catches you off guard, your mind scrambling for a response. You hesitate, unsure of what to say. The truth is, your love life has been a series of near misses and almosts, leaving you jaded at a young age.

“Not really,” you finally reply, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. “I’ve been kind of focused on other things lately.”

Jacaerys leans closer, his expression thoughtful. “Like what?” His hand brushes your thigh, and you clench slightly. Cregan smirks, and Jace takes a long drink of his beer.

“Like work, mostly,” you say with a shrug, feeling suddenly self-conscious under their scrutiny. “And, you know, just figuring things out.”

Cregan exchanges a glance with Jacaerys, something unspoken passing between them. You feel a twinge of curiosity, wondering what they’re thinking.

“What about you two?” you ask, shifting the focus away from yourself. “Any girlfriends I should be worried about?”

Jacaerys chuckles, shaking his head. “Nah, we’re both single. We're too busy having fun, I guess.”

“Though we do have something in mind tonight,” Cregan adds, his tone teasing, almost conspiratorial.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What’s that?” Jace looks amused at your obliviousness.

Cregan and Jacaerys exchange another look, this one filled with a kind of mischievous energy that makes your skin tingle with anticipation. You have the distinct feeling that whatever they’re about to say will lead to a very interesting night.

“Well,” Jacaerys says slowly, his eyes locked onto yours, “we were actually wondering if you’d be interested in something…a little different tonight.”

Your heart skips a beat, the possibilities flashing through your mind. You find yourself leaning in, caught in their magnetic pull.

“What do you have in mind?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Cregan’s smile is all charm and challenge. “A threesome,” he says simply. “You, me, and Jace.”

You blink, your mind momentarily short-circuiting at the proposition. Of all the things you’d imagined, this wasn’t one of them. And yet, the idea sends a thrill coursing through you, igniting something bold and adventurous that you didn’t quite realize was there.

“I—” You start, then pause, choosing your words carefully. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

Jacaerys steps closer, his presence enveloping you like a warm, inviting shadow. “No pressure,” he says, his voice gentle but edged with excitement. “But we think you’re amazing. And we’d love to spend the night making you feel that way.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, the heat between you three palpable and undeniable. You consider their offer. They're both hot, both your type, and they both fancy you. The decision weighs on your mind, and yet, somewhere beneath the surface, you know exactly what you want.

Taking a deep breath, you meet their expectant gazes, a slow smile spreading across your lips. You down your drink. “Alright,” you say, your heart racing with anticipation. “Let’s do it.” They both smile, and their grip on you becomes a tad tighter.

“Great,” Cregan says. “How about we head back to ours? We live in a flat just a couple of minutes away.”

You nod, feeling a heady mix of nerves and thrill. As you follow them through the party, weaving through the throngs of people and neon-lit haze, you feel your heart and pussy begin to thrum.

• • • • • • • • �� • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The ride to their apartment is a blur of laughter and anticipation, the city lights streaking past like shooting stars. You sit between them in the backseat of the cab, your legs brushing against theirs, the proximity sending shivers up your spine. Cregan brushes your neck lightly with his knuckles, and you tense when Jace's hands move upwards from your knee to your inner thigh. Feeling both of their mouths so close to you, their hot breath and their longing, heated gazes makes your pussy clench, excited.

When you finally arrive, the apartment is everything you imagined—a stylish blend of modern and cosy, the kind of place that feels lived in and loved. As soon as the door closes behind you, Jacaerys presses you against the wall, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s all fire and passion. You melt into him, his hands gripping your shoulders tight and keeping you upright.

Cregan’s hands find your waist, pulling you from the wall and sandwiching himself behind you, his touch firm and grounding as he leans in to whisper in your ear. “You alright?” he asks, his voice a low murmur that sends shivers down your spine. You can feel his hardness press into your ass from behind. You kick off your shoes and let Cregan pull your jeans down.

You nod, your breath hitching as Jacaerys trails kisses down your neck, his hands deftly unzipping his jeans. “More than alright,” you manage to say, the words a breathless promise. Jace rubs your thighs with his heavy hands and Cregan gropes your tits, pulling his shirt over his head.

You each undress, hands reaching out when not removing clothes to grasp at each other and kiss hotly, all tongues. You're not sure who you're kissing or who's kneading your ass when they guide you toward the bedroom.

Pushing you gently onto the bed, Jace turns to Cregan and kisses him, Cregan moaning lightly at the touch. Your pussy explodes ablaze at the sight, whimpering as the pair advance on you like wolves.

Cregan yanks your legs towards him, opening them and sighing at the sight.

"Oh, Jace, look at her," he smirks. "Already soaking wet and we haven't even started."

Jacaerys laughs lightly, kneeling besides your body as Cregan swipes a finger through your pussy slick. That draws a hot moan from your parted lips.

"Will you be good and let Cregan look after you?" Jacaerys asks, your eyes glued to his hardened cock that brushes against your tits as he leans down. You nod, moaning as he kisses you, and places your hand on his cock to stroke it.

Cregan takes his cue and sinks his mouth down onto your heat. You whimper loudly as he softly licks up your slick and begins sucking lightly on your aching clit. Encouraged by your reaction, he eats your pussy more fervently, devouring any juices and engufling your labia in his hot mouth.

Jace moans as you stroke his cock, Cregan watching the sight from between your legs. You reach down with your other hand to grasp Cregan's dark hair, pulling slightly. His eyes roll back and you notice his hand is between his legs, jerking his huge cock at the sight of you and Jace.

It's too much for you. You feel like you'll explode. Jacaerys grabs your tits and tweaks your tender nipples, and you moan, arching your back and feeling the start of an orgasm creep up on you.

"Come on Princess," Jace gasps. "Cum for us." He spills a thick white rope of cum over your tits. Cregan, eyes wide, eats your pussy with such vigour that he yanks an orgasm from you, and you howl as you cum. He jerks himself as he cums on your thighs.

Panting, you watch as Cregan approaches Jace. You would have expected yourself to be satisfied by now, but watching Jace lick the cum off himself and Cregan inflames your pussy once more. You wobble upwards, kneeling on the floor and engulfing Jace's cock with your mouth as you jerk Cregan's cock. The pair moan into eachothers mouths at the touch.

Leaning down, Cregan pulls you gently by the hair onto all fours. Your eyes widen as you realise what he means. Your mouth opens involuntarily as he makes you suck his fingers, chuckling to himself.

"You reckon she's ready?" Jace asks him. Cregan nods, eyes dark and glinting.

"Oh yes, her pussy's a mess. Look at how good she is, sucking my fingers," he removes them, smirking as you whine. "Don't worry girl, you'll be able to suck all you want."

He nudges his cock by your lips, and you swallow it whole. He begins thrusting lightly, moaning heavily at how good your mouth feels wrapped around his cock.

You startle when you feel Jacaerys' hard cock press against your pussy lips, gently easing inside as your eyes roll back. You feel so full as he settles deep inside you.

Jace begins thrusting against you, hitting that sweet spot deep inside that very few can reach whilst Cregan uses your hair to push you deeper onto his cock. Breathing through your nose, you sink down until his cock is deep in your throat, making a strangled moan come from his lips. You can feel the hot licks of pleasure build again inside as Jace rubs your clit as he pummels your pussy and gives you a healthy slap on your ass, watching it shake. His hands grab your hips and squeeze, leaving bruises that will spark some intense memories later.

Cregan huffs and you can tell he's close to finishing, so you swallow hard as his cock hits your throat again. He cries out and you feel ropes of salty cum filling up your mouth and throat.

You climax at the feeling, Jace's fingers carrying you over the edge as he pulls out and cums across your back. Your pussy flutters as you cum hard, collapsing on the floor as the two men pant and join you.

All three of you lie there, softly breathing and exchanging sweet kisses and looks. Cregan stands first, hauling you up to the bathroom to wipe you down whilst Jace grabs you some water each.

Sandwiched between them in bed again, you feel yourself drift off to sleep as Cregan and Jace hold you tight. You can only hope the next time with the pair will be even better.

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AN: hope yall enjoyed that. i definitely prefer writing modern aus for some reason. any requests send them in, lmk if you want more like this!

[smuttyaf]

The Ultimatum

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩.

wc; 14.2k | fifth part to the business

i can’t express how much i appreciate the love i’ve been getting from the series! so because of that, i decided to combine two parts together for this post (teehee) that means extra manipulative!h & extra smut. i hope you all enjoy!

tw: gaslighting, coercion, degradation, tad bit of edging, and bdsm. don’t read if it makes you uncomfy!!

Is it conceited for you to embrace the stares that wander over your appearance?

Men fit in muted suits and twinkling time pieces, letting their adventurous eyes drink in every stride of you entering the lively scenery. Cleavage bouncing with each step held by the floral stitched dress gracing your body in all the right places; slit down one side to reveal your smooth legs and expensive heels.

The warmth of Harry’s hand nestled along your waist has greedy eyes stab jealous daggers with each passing movement in the room. You can’t help the smirk that tugs along your lips. Even if all these men's eyes are set on you, Harry is the one who loves your look the most just as much as you love all his strategic ways.

The familiar scent of his cologne relaxes every nerve from being around his magnetic presence. He moves through the room with grace, head bowing every few moments acknowledging acquaintances and colleagues. Every stretch of skin over Harry drips class and elegance, from his styled curls to Saint Laurent suit, all you can do is admire him.

He clears his throat to draw your attention to him, peeling your chair open with eyes twinkling as you take your seat and let him position you better along the table.

Your gaze surveys the group of men before you, stern faces with loose smirks, it has knots tightening in your stomach. Harry's body rumbles next to you, turning your focus to him with a timid smile, your shy expression has his eye dropping into a wink, hands clasping together looking towards the men.

“Finally! He shows up!”

The circle breaks into laughter, you join in faintly at the sound. There’s a dealer set in the middle of the table continuing to shuffle the deck while distant chatter still fills your ears. Shoulders relax against the cushions of the stool, fingers curving over your pouch as your tongue runs along your bottom lip.

“C’mon, you know this city and it’s shit traffic,” Harry counters, fixing his cuff links while his feet rustle against the chair legs.

“If that’s what you want to call it.” Sneaky grin shining from the man parallel to you who stares at Harry.

The undertone of his comment sends blood to course furiously, cheeks beginning to warm as you sit up straighter in your chair, eyes trailing to the poker chips littering the table in different colours. It distracts the sound of Harry kissing his teeth with his hands drumming against the cushions of the decorative spread.

“Enough, are we playing or what?” He avoids, eyebrows peering up at the ginger employee shuffling the deck of cards.

“I’ll go for another round, how bout’ you Gio?” Bald man with tattoos all over his scalp looks towards the man at the end of the table.

He shrugs in return, his hand raising up for a waitress to trail towards the group. A bouncy brunette appears as Gio looks around the table.

“Marcallan for the men… and you darling, what would you like?” Nervous smile spreads on your lips from being addressed. Finger reaching behind your ear to tuck hair away, sight flicking between Harry and his friend.

“Anything from the Château line, please.” Smiling at him and the waitress, Gio runs his tongue over his teeth as he nods his head.

“And that wine for the lady, thank you dear.” Hand going into his breast pocket, pulling bills out and gracing it to her.

Your eyes turn back towards Harry, he nods his head towards Gio, appreciation caught in their gaze before they’re looking towards cards flying across the table for their own deck.

“I’m feeling lucky tonight,” Harry cracks, arms slinging along the spread with a charming smile looking over his group of friends.

“I wouldn’t speak so soon,” Slim man with long nose twirls his empty glass of ice cubes, cheery grin spread along his features.

“Yeah, so far Johnny is leading this,” Deep voice of the pudgy man next to Harry laughs. It barks in grunting breaths with his face going red. Your view on your boyfriend whose expression reads disdain.

The snicker next to you breaks your attention. Short black hair gelled with hazel eyes dancing in the light, his smirk is sinister being satisfied with his winning streak. Gaze catches with yours, looking over your features with his tongue peeking out and running across his lip. The exchange stirs your sight to Harry, nails curling into the leather of your bag swallowing heavily.

You didn’t know what to expect when Harry invited you to this fundraiser for the evening, but this definitely wasn’t it.

Italian accents and expensive apparel hold your vision when you look around the table. Whether silver and gold shine off their bodies, every peek of their appearance radiates money. All men are groomed and styled with sophistication that adds to the ambiance of the room.

Voluminous jewels hang off the chandelier, waiters walk around holding trays of food or flutes of champagne, guests roaming amongst the floor carrying the flow of the party. The scene is one of glitz and glamor; sparkling liquor, upbeat band, and everyone dressed to the nines.

It’s a beautiful sight of the finer things in life, women flashing their magnificent accessories while men flaunt their luxurious suits and polished dress shoes. A breathless sigh slips past your lips with spine flexing recognizing people from local television.

Despite working at Jasper’s and always encountering famous men, you never got used to them being in your presence. Even if it was dancing for them, the fact you either grew up watching them on the big screen or just reading about them in the weekly news, it still surprises you how you’re able to surround yourself with popular figures.

“Gonna introduce us to your friend here?” Voice beside yourself questions. It rings your ears as your focus remains on the green table.

“Right? Styles, where are your manners?” Teasing tone adding into the space. The attention being on you stirs your heart to pick up in pace, shaky fingers and fluttering lashes look back up at the group.

“This is Y/N, my girlfriend,” Harry's hand finds itself on your naked thigh, sight looking over your timid frame as he smoothes it down the expanse while all the men study your appearance. “So don’t stare too long.”

The night unfolds with drinks flowing and locker room chatter, nasty jokes with suggestive winks leave the poker table a roaring mess. Amused hands clapping at men winning more money or spilling humor. Your once darting eyes and racing heart calms down, acknowledging every word spoken and laughing at every dirty pun. It’s relieving how funny and easy-going the group of his friends are, they carry you into conversations and even get you to join the game.

With the alcohol running through your system it has the hours spent at the party go by in a breeze. Harry’s touch nestles itself by your side, view checking on you enjoying yourself. His reassuring touch and attentive demeanor increases the affection between you, it has you smiling at him genuinely throughout the party appreciating him.

But beside those nurturing moments, you learn in the hours spent over colourful chips and liquor more about the men Harry involves himself with. What you grasp from their innuendos are gruesome jokes about beating someone to the bone or how pleasing it is to see their oppositions dead. Your heart swells with sadness, not only that they find it funny but that Harry was laughing along. It wasn’t amusing to you as it was to him.

That would be the moment you drown out the truth and toss back the rest of your wine, and by the time the glass touches the coaster Harry orders another, pleased you’re compliant with the conversation. Deflecting gaze and clenching heart wanders amongst the mingling people and jazz band. It’s in your tispy state you notice luring eyes of women set on Harry, drinking him in with all his glory that it sends a surge of jealousy through you. Fingers tighten around his as your sight focuses back on him, glossy eyes and straight teeth shine with ignorance about the brutal truth of the relationship.

By the time you’re on your fourth glass, the group settles into calm crackles of past memories; whether it’s about stumbling upon a glory hole or reminiscing about life back in Italy, it subsides your slow pacing heart from the previous conversation.

“So I’m tired right, I got blood gushing from my head and I just busted my ass four blocks to get to Harry’s. I barge into his place, he’s there with Kenzo and Charlie watching sports, you know how this man is always watching sports right!” You giggle in amusement invested with the story.

“And I tell him; I need your help, I can’t tell you what it is, you can never ask me about it later, and we’re gonna hurt some people, and Harry, completely unfazed as ever goes, whose car are we taking?” The group erupts in laughter, as the man you learn to be Mateo, recounts his story.

Harry laughs with nails scratching against your skin, the view of him soothes yourself with warmth adoring him. Curls in waves combine with his amused laughter, skin folding by his eyes completely entertained with the story. The rowdy laughter carries on until there’s someone patting on his shoulder, salt and pepper roots with thick beard catching your sight.

“Styles! Nice to see you!”

Your jaw immediately tenses, nose wrinkles and cheeks blossom under the lights. Teeth clench down on each other as your heart begins to burn, this certainly wasn’t someone you expected to see tonight. Christian Bale in front of you and shaking Harry’s hand as if…

“Christian!” Harry cheers, going to greet him. At the same time his grip tightens around your knee your fingers trail towards your mouth, teeth nibbling on your nail with nerves raking through.

It’s in your movement that your familiar client catches your eyes, flash of surprise crossing his features before a pleased smile spreads.

“Where are you going? Stay for a game,” Harry chimes, hand gesturing to the poker table. The fact he’s even proposing that causes your fingers to curl into his anxiously.

The gesture is noticeable to him with gaze surveying your nervous appearance, before looking back to Christian who shakes his head.

“No, no, I was just on my way out.” Nodding towards the exit doors. Decline of the offer has Harry bow his head in acknowledgment, straightening up in his chair. “It was nice to see you before our meeting.”

“Likewise, get home safe.” Harry concludes the conversation with a genuine smile.

You’re extremely grateful that he passes up on the offer as he leaves towards the exit. Shallow breaths course through, searching eyes watch with teeth tearing away from acrylic, you draw your hand down and share a passive smile.

If you could wipe the sweat that trickles down your temple as if an sitcom, you would. Your heart never stops its thundering beats, discovering your boyfriend and regular client being friends? Colleagues? Whatever it is, it doesn’t sever the ache that grows in your chest.

“I think we should call it a night too,” Harry wonders, head twisting to look at you with a charming smile. “How does that sound?”

With the amount of liquor in your system and having witness that scene before you, the need to feel your blankets and its comforting material is one you pleasantly desire. The ends of your lips twist upwards as you nod.

So, a few minutes after Harry orders the valet  for his Porsche you both bid the group farewells. Each man stands shaking Harry’s hand while they bring you in for a hug, respectable actions that leave you fond of the gesture.

The drive back to his penthouse is small talk about how the night went and if you enjoyed yourself. In the quiet space, your sight is caught on the moving buildings passing by in blurs, mind stuck on Mr. Bale while your voice conceals the uneasiness coursing through.

Christian has been your client for two years now, you see him every other week if he’s not on vacation or filming. Despite him being your regular, there is a cordial connection between you both; times he will confess to you problems in his life after too many drinks, or respecting your decision to not push the boundaries of your work position. Even though there’s a non-disclosure agreement binding the both of you, should you tell Harry your relationship with him?

The thoughts brewing are ones that have your back ruffling against the leather seats. How many of your other clients are connected to Harry? You’re so dizzy from the alcohol in your system, you can’t recall if you glazed over any at the party. But it doesn’t even matter in the end, you’re in distress regardless, the possibility of your clients having connections with him but don’t know who you belong to as they watch you dance. A shiver of guilt courses through.

By the time you get home, Harry and you undress and slip between the arms of each other, and by the time he’s completely wrapped up in you, you forget the man that races your mind. In the morning, Harry is already out the door leaving you to wander around his penthouse all afternoon before heading to your own home, caring for Cleo until it’s time to get ready for work.

Your week goes back to what it regularly is; upkeep of your appearance, different decorative robe, and withering under Harry’s touch. It completely slips your mind about your encounter with Christian, going about your life smiling at the postman from another bouquet or spending your time lodging around Harry’s living room until he gets home.

It’s another one of those days, legs crossed over each other with a magazine in your lap. Eyes drifting over the newest pieces in the Fendi collection while The Real Housewives drags along in the background. The chime of the elevator rings in the space notifying you of Harry’s arrival.

His dress shoes echo heavily amongst the polish floor as they cross the room, the severe sound of his paste has your head trialing up from the glossy booklet.

“Hi baby,” Cheerful voice greeting him, your eyes watch him make his way towards the bar.

Harry decides to ignore you with lips flat and jaw tensing. It’s when seeing the sight of him that you swallow heavily, and when glasses smash against the counter top it makes sweat begin to crease in your palms.

“Is everything okay?” Are your next words, nails curling into the shiny paper as you continue to watch him. He walks across the room, same hash footsteps that halt with his body sitting next to you.

Teeth bite down into your bottom lip as you continue to roam over Harry’s features, it reeks pure anger. Your heart pounding in your chest with toes curling in on themselves trying to control the stress overtaking you.

Maybe it’s another bad day at work? Maybe Johnny pissed him off like he always does? Maybe his anger isn’t directed towards you? So, with that glimmer of thought, your hand stretches out to place the magazine on his lap. Nervous smile peeking through as you look towards him.

“Isn’t this coat beautiful, I wonder if they have it in store?” You suggest, gaze catching between his forest eyes and the brown fur coat embroidered with the Fendi logo.

Harry looks towards the magazine, sight roaming over the image before his hand is closing the book and slapping it onto the center table. The ringing of the glass rattles every vein pulsing through. His actions focus your attention with tears beginning to swell.

He stares at the flowers adorning the surface, hand raising the glass to his lips as he swallows back whisky. The tension in the room is thick and uncomfortable, the expression written over his face is one you’ve never witnessed before. It’s why your nails curl into your pantyhose already leaving faint tears.

Harry clears his throat when pulling the drink away from his lips, tongue peeking out to wet flesh just as his eyes lock with you. Connection holding an eerie exchange that has your mouth run dry.

“You know when you joined me for the party Sunday night, I wondered what made you so flustered when Christrian introduced himself.” The mention of your client has your throat squeeze, tears now stinging your vision.

“Still, I thought nothing of it. He has his fame with his movies, his starlight, whatever… you see I thought that was the reason but no, no, no, that wasn’t why you got flustered, now is it?” Your chest now rises quickly with each breath.

Harry’s mad, screw that, mad is not even the word; he’s vexed, furious, absolutely outraged with eyes wide and each word coming out in an angry spew. The sight is haunting compared to the one you’re so use to.

“Since you don’t know, Christian and I are invested in the same stock, sometimes we have meetings going over bullshit graphs and other stupidness to fund. And when I thought that our usual meetings would go how they normally do, I was surprised when he brought you up.” Your skin is practically radiating more heat than the sun at the moment, you’re caught and sit in front of him in complete shock. “Asking me how I could’ve possibly been able to spend a night with you, how he’s been trying to… well, I don’t even want to say.”

“Harry I’m so sorry—”

“—Oh! So now you’re sorry, not when he smiled in my face and shook my hand?”

You’re the reason why he’s enraged and looking at you with such shame. A storm of tears pounds behind your eyes with nails now ruining your stockings, it was taking everything in you not to cry in front of him.

“Harry, I can’t say anything, I’m under contract.”

Those words have a bitter laugh floating in the air, condescending and threatening that your gaze falls towards the leather cushions. The ice cubes in his glass rattle against each other straining the atmosphere.

“Choose right now, your job or me.” Eyes go wide as they look back up at him. Your mouth wobbles as you swallow nervously.

“What?” Brows push together as your fingers unclench themselves around your knees.

“Right now, choose.” Heart pounds against your chest with thunder, tears begging to fall over your waterline as you look at him in surprise at the ultimatum.

All Harry does is stare back with his intense gaze and clenching hand. The emotions coursing through nearly make you faint, this was all too much, especially right now.

“B —Baby, Harry, I think we should just talk about this,”

“—That’s your answer.” Cutting you off with eyebrows high in question. Once again, your expression wavers with confusion and sadness. Mind still trying to process the events happening.

Your stuttering face has Harry pulling away from your presence with another amused laugh, hand slamming his glass down on the table before he’s leaning forward. The clattering objects make your body shake and tears begin to trickle from your eyes, fingers leave your legs to wipe away the sadness roaming down your cheeks.

You watch Harry begin to loosen his tie, knees raising him off the couch as he moves across the room again. His motions have you immediately following after, heels clicking behind his rushed steps trying to catch up to him.

“Get all your shit and get out!” Harry sneers, stomping up the stairs with yourself following behind in anxious beats.

His words have your heart tearing in half, cry leaving your lips as you try to ignore the water blurring your version and trailing down your skin.

“What? No!” Grabbing at Harry’s hand once reaching the landing, the gesture has his fingers jerk away from yours and continue his venture towards the bedroom.

Marching down the hall until swinging the door open, immediately going to your side of the dresser and beginning to toss your shirts and blouses across the floor, some trailing onto the bed as he empties your things.

“Stop! What are you doing!” You sob, bending to pick up the clothing and trying to shove them back in its place.

“You want to stay at Jasper’s! Fine, go ahead! But I won’t be with you anymore!” His voice booms over you, stinging words cutting deep that has another wave of tears shredding.

“I never said that!” You weep, hands trying to collect his who continues to throw your things. Actions so rushed and furious that he’s not even paying attention to your crying frame.

“It’s clear!” Harry tugs another drawer open tossing all your garments across the room.

“Well I’m not going!” Fingers catching onto the fabric in his hands that leave you both fighting over the piece.

“I don’t want you here! Get out!” Harry's voice roars over the sob that leaves your distraught frame.

You never heard Harry this way, and you’ve never seen him this angry either, and the fact he’s throwing you away as if nothing is leaving you completely broken. Every moment with him has been special since you met, and now the fucked up reveal of your secrets is shattering all that you once were. It’s stomping on your heart and playing in the smashed pieces.

You’re sure the eyeliner and mascara you put on this morning is running all over your cheeks, still your chest heaves heavy breaths as your hands trail up his arms to try and halt his movements. This is not what you want, this is the last thing you expected to happen, and it’s more devastating that it’s unfolding like this.

“H —Harry, please, just stop, you can’t mean this.” Soft voice wavering as you tug on his blazer, nails digging into his skin roughly to get attention.

And it does, his sight cold and jaw clenching from the view of your appearance. The draw down your frame looks as if he’s ashamed, like he doesn’t even want to look at you right now. It’s the sight that makes you want to apologize over and over again.

“How is she in bed? Is she as sweet as I imagine?”

Crack lips part, lashes fluttering with brows drawing together; all your features resemble pure shock at the reiteration of Christian’s words. Now you stand in this room that once held such love and affection be swallowed by heartbreak. Chanel, Prada, Armani, gifts that Harry presented for your own space in his life; they now grace the floor as if a memory long forgotten.

“She always told me she never does those things, kinda’ offended she didn’t reveal to me her added profession.”

Olive eyes shine with distaste looking at your withering appearance. Jaw tensing and fingers still clenching around your shirt. Another shaky breath courses through, examining eyes and twitching mouth not knowing what to say.

“You don’t know how badly I wanted to beat the livin’ shit out of him. The way he describes you, talks about you. I had to bite my tongue hearing everything.” Nails relax against his arms with your lips pressing tightly together. “I’m disgusted.”

His words aim to bruise, leaving sadness to blossom in the hollows of your heart. Everything is falling apart right in front of your eyes and all you can do is let tears continue to run. Why didn’t you tell him? Why didn’t you say something?

“So choose, Jasper’s or me.”

“You.”

Nodding up at him, the ends of your mouth tug into a timid smile with your hands drawing down to cradle his fingers. His nostrils flare still angry, still completely furious.

The answer doesn’t ease the tension in the room, instead it heightens your decision, the one you should’ve said before fumbling over your words. Shining rays of light pass through the window, brightness gracing over the clothes flung across the space amidst the battlefield of sadness and rage.

“I —I choose you, I’ll leave Jasper’s, I —I’m sorry.” Fingers encasing around his as you step deeper into his presence. Harry retreats into the dresser, chest flexing with grip contracting around the shirt in hand.

Cold eyes don’t break sight over your sniffling appearance. Intimidation radiates from his towering posture that cradles your worried frame. Even fully clothed, Harry eyes undress every vulnerable twitch that courses through, lashes batting up at him heartbroken and needy, always so needy.

“You quit tomorrow.” He demands, hands dropping the garment and gripping the underside of your arm. “You’ll move out of your apartment, stay with me and be my good little doll. Is that clear?” Now it’s your turn for your body to tense. Tear stained cheeks and paint smeared eyes bow under Harry’s gaze.

“Now I don’t want this happening again. I shouldn’t have to do this to show you what you really want.”

His grip over your arm has you stumbling backwards towards the bed, knees cushioning your seated position as Harry’s other hand goes towards your neck, holding your gaze as he looks over you.

The room captures two lovers; one manipulative with his calculating actions, while the other is victim to the love prayed over with affection and money. His behavior is overseen by your emotions so easily embraced by him. It’s why you stare at him in virtue despite everything that has transpired in your life already, the one that’s now completely devoted to Harry.

“I hate to make you cry… but you look so pretty.”

Thumb spreads over your skin as his head cranes down, lips gazing over each other as his eyes continue to examine your hesitant frame. He loves the way your breath quivers as he moves closer, body shifting against his grip as he looms over your frame in complete awe of you.

“It’s gonna be okay, baby. You know I’ll take care of you, I always do… and with Jasper’s, that place holds you back, you know that, don’t you?” Fingers shaking your head playfully with his sight still never trailing off your bitten lip and doe eyes. “You’ll love it here, keep my bed nice and warm. Won’t you, darling?”

“Yes.”

Though agreeing with everything Harry says, the feeling of your heart trying to repair itself cracks even more at the obligations being set in place. Restrictions now apply over your life to be with him. It’s scary, and alarming, and you should really catch your breath and think over everything he’s saying but you don’t, not with his hand cradling your skin and eyes drawing you in.

“No more dancing, no more clients, just me.”

Nodding your head again with deep breath releasing, your fingers curl around the material of your velvet dress. Heart paces with sorrow realizing you won’t be wrapped up in your long tulle robe, receive generous tips, or have your girl talk surrounded by vanity lights.

“If I find out about another one I’ll kill them. Swear to god I will.” Chest quivers as his words float along your face. Intense stare watching the way you swallow heavily and bow your head at him.

“I’m sorry.” Soft voice slipping past your lips as the storm behind your eyes calms down. Fingers that once ruffled against your dress rise up and close around his wrist, lashes batting up at him with a shaky smile.

“Only you, it’s only ever been you.”

Harry tightens his grip around your jaw. Sight still surveying your anxious frame, his other hand runs down your face before tucking hair away. The ends of his lips tug up at the same time he’s shaking your head playfully, again.

Just like always, his demeanor radiates satisfaction at your attention. Heart growing fond of you surrendering yourself, complying to every requirement. Harry falls more in love with the way he can control you, how you’re now his entirely. He’s happy knowing that he’ll come home to your pretty self waiting for him and ready for anything he proposes, all because you’re just that dedicated to please him.

It’s why his head lowers, lips connecting against your bitten ones. The grip over your jaw sliding down your neck, rubbing the skin roughly as tongues link together to dance. Ignorance of the heated scene passing over both of your minds while his hand tightens.

The bourbon on his tongue adds to the intoxicating sensation that runs through you whenever you taste him. It’s the type that you want passing through your own veins just loving it that much, loving him that much. Harry cares about you, isn’t it obvious? He wants what’s best for you, that’s why he’s making you leave Jasper’s and have you live with him to spend the rest of your days.

His hand curls around your neck, mouths parting as his sight goes back to examining your face. There’s still pink roaming across the hollows of your eyes, cheeks a mess of black liner, and daze still twinkling up at him.

“Show me how sorry you are.”

Darting sight looks between his smirk and preying self, knees pushing off the bed to fall to the floor with connection never breaking. His hands follow every motion of your head as it nods at him, your fingers going to his belt and immediately beginning to undo it.

Thick bulge pressed tightly against his zipper revealing how turned on he got at the heated exchange. Your hand releases him from his boxers while your other tugs the rest of his slacks down, mouth not waiting to accept him graciously. Shallow taste of salt on your tongue as it twirls around his head, eyes blinking up as you apologize in his favorite way.

Lips bubble with spit as you roam down his length, clear fluid coating him in the rush of your descent, the urgent need to display how sorry you are shows.

Your mouth parts lowering yourself around him, tongue laying flat along the underside craving out every pulsing vein beneath erect skin. The warmth of you wrapping around his cock has a relieving sigh pass through him.

“Be my perfect girl.” Fingers massaging your scalp as you continue to swallow him down. “Show me how sorry you are.”

Harry watches every bob of your head, plump lips sucking him and feeling your throat relax and accept him effortlessly. Connection shimmers with obedience as you prove to him how guilty you feel for thinking you wouldn’t choose him over anything.

Acknowledging his comments your mouth descends down his cock even further, neck contracting around his length as your nose tickles his pelvis, moan stifles against him at the way he stretches your throat. The effect of him between your lips already has your pussy throbbing, wetness beginning to coat your folds falling into his every tactic.

The hand placed on his thigh moves towards his dick, enclosing around it and gliding with every bob of your head, added pleasure being received happily as his fingers curl into your locks.

“Just like that,” Harry coos, hips thrusting into your motions as you continue swallowing him down.

Shivers of delight course through happy you’re pleasing him. It’s reassuring hearing his groan over your movements. Knees shuffling across the floor, strands of hair shifting with every dip and saliva causing his cock to glisten in the light.

It’s beautiful how it shines, mini air bubbles roaming along the nerves pulsating along your tongue. It was a sight to see, a sight you adore. It’s why your body tries to contain yourself from the sparks igniting. You’re happy to apologize to him, happy to show him that he’s the only one for you.

The expressions of pleasure slipping from Harry uplifts your spirit, you’re back on his good side, and you want to remain there. The look of disgust that once crossed his face is one you never want to see again, especially his words. You’re supposed to be his good doll, not one to lie or deceive him. That’s why you’re on your best behavior, doing anything to prove yourself.

“I’ll do anything to show you that you’re the only one I want.” Fingers tightening around his length that has him groaning from the look over your face, eyes caught on your forgiving frame that he can’t help but smirk. Palms now hold your face up in his favorite place. “You always treat me so good, I’m sorry baby.”

Hand continues to roam down his cock in twists, easily sliding with spit as your gaze doesn’t break. Needy eyes and pouty lips, it’s Harry's favorite image of you; and with your makeup all streaked down your cheeks, he wants this moment to be photographed so he can save it in his wallet to show how devoted you are to pleasing him.

His grip over you halts your movements, fingers roughly carrying your face towards him as your knees flex with gasp falling from your lips, his actions have your hands contract and draw away.

“Show me.”

The words guide your movements to reach behind your back. Nails catching on your zipper to draw it down your frame. Fitted dress falling down your body as your heels are next, toes slipping out of your pumps and touching the heated wood, and with each movement of you shredding off your panties and stockings, Harry is there watching your every move while he strokes himself.

The soft skin of your curves sit on display for him to admire. Swelling breasts so perfect and round, thighs so deliciously smooth and begging to be in his hold. God, Harry is in love with you. Every vulnerable inch of yourself is exposed for his greedy eyes. It’s why he begins undressing himself; dress shoes kicking off, slacks joining the mess on the floor, and every button of his dress shirt revealing inked skin under your gaze.

“Turn around.”

Following his command, you do. Eyes staring at all your clothes thrown over the space, nails drawing down your thighs eagerly as you hear ruffling behind you.

“Get on the bed, face down.”

Legs bend, knees ruffling against the sheets while your spine curves in. The side of your face is comforted by your slick blouse as your hands reach out in front of you, fingers curling around loose garments with your pussy set on display.

Harry’s steps shift amongst the floor, palm sliding to your lower back shoving you deeper into the bed as the head of his cock drags down your creamy folds.

“Look so pretty like this baby.” Dick pushing past your lips and spreading you wide. Your mouth hangs open, a satisfied moan trailing into the air of Harry stretching you out with all his length. “I love when you tell me you’re sorry.”

Whimpers spill, head rotating in pleasure as your hips jerk with each pound of his. Harry draws out slowly before thrusting back in roughly, each strike filling your pussy just the way you like. It never mattered what position you found yourselves in, he was always reaching parts of you that had your toes curling, and the fact that he’s pounding away not even allowing you to adjust sends a greedy sensation through you.

Harry is using your pussy just the way you like; fucking you however he pleases like the doll you are to him. It’s exhilarating, it’s mind numbing, leaving you light headed and addicted to every strike opening you wide.

“That’s right… take my dick.” Deafening slap roaming against your ass. It has your teeth biting into the silk and push against his thrusts with adrenaline coursing through.

“Baby,” Nails curling tightly into your shirts, while his grip over your hips controls you to accept every hungry pound.

Harry surveys your jolting frame, flexing back and shoulders craning as your arms roam higher up the sheets. Fingers drag and curl around the piles of mess lying across the sheets, plump lips hanging open in adoration at his urgent thrusts.

You look so beautiful like this, are his immediate thoughts floating in his mind; the way you grant him pleasure within the depths of your body that he loves to sink into, so beautiful.

Every delicious sound of your voice crying out in a whimper or moan just drives his hips even more, hands slipping up your neck and shoving your head into the blouse, hungry growl leaving him as your eyes squeeze shut with your pussy quivering around him. God does he love you so much, don’t you see that? Don’t you feel it? With every rock of his hips don’t you feel the electric pulse of him, how he’s so hungry craving more of your sweetness.

It’s the smirk that carries across his lips with knowledge that you know, you have to. Because with every coat of your nectar sliding down and accepting his cock he can feel your walls tighten and release; skin folding between your brows, knuckles going white from your grip over the sheets, pussy accepting every assault that you admire so much. Yes, he’s sure you know.

“Tell me you’re sorry.” He demands, chest parallel to your shoulders as he mounts you into the bed.

Harry’s hips have your body bouncing into the springs, face squishing and wheezing sighs of air passing through the thin material of your top. He’s so intoxicating the way he fucks you into the bed and shows you were you belong.

“I’m sorry!” Moaning while your fingers drag down the bed in agony at the ticks of your climax crawling through your foot.

“I’m so, so, sorry,” Voice going hoarse as your thighs quiver, eyes fluttering open to see lace and silk engulf your vision.

“Mhm, don’t you want to be my good girl?” Thrusts never halting as he continues to pound away at your cervix.

“Yes, god, yes!” Head straining against his hold as your stomach clenches with nerves.

Harry continues going, erratic thrusts of his cock in your drenched pussy, the sound of his hips plummeting your backside meets with every groan and whimper trailing in the air. The sounds drawing from the room float all the way into the hallway, each other's appetite being fulfilled in the messy foundation of your relationship.

“That’s my perfect girl,” Harry hums, lips pressing into your bobbing head as you completely unravel around him.

Hypnotic pulses sting down your spine as your head twists in his hold, teeth bite into the sheets as your pussy quivers all around him. Chest heaves as your mind goes completely blank, every thought and emotion is wrapped in him, loving everything he does.

“Oh my god, Harry,” Whining while you go sore around him as he continues his torment.

“That’s it baby… I feel you.” He breathes into your ear, hand releasing around your neck, the hold of you around his cock adds to him moaning into your sweating skin. “So good for me, just the way I like.”

Hips slowly dive back in, motions changing from their rough propelling paste to affectionate loving strokes. So exhilarating and passionate as he feels your body go limp around him.

It’s in the way your mouth parts, salvia stringing between your plump lips that Harry groans heavily against you. The mess of your hair mattes against his, the smell of your shampoo filling his nose as your back ruffles against his chest. Ticking sensations coursing through still leaving you feeling drowsy with your climax consuming you.

The dazed expression crossing your face is a captivating site, one that has Harry spilling into you, long moan brushing over your face as he relaxes into your body. Two hearts in the same room trying to regulate their breathing as they come down from the adrenaline that once pierced you into the sheets.

You feel Harry go slack, cock slipping out as he rolls off your body. You still breathe in shaky breaths, waist falling into the mattress as your thighs ruffle against the garments with limbs twitching from the waves of your release still coursing through.

As your mind continues to wander itself through fog you don't realize Harry sitting up in bed and putting himself back together, feet shuffling across the floor as he walks around the bed frame.

The noise catches your attention first before the sight of him entering the bathroom, and even despite him just fucking you brutally into the sheets he still looks upset.

“Clean up this mess and get ready for dinner, reservation is for seven.” Is all he says, the bathroom door slamming shut ending further conversation, only meaning that your apology isn’t accepted.

For thirty minutes you sit across from each other and let silence eat you up. Nails picking the skin around your cuticles, teeth biting into flesh while Harry on the other hand is extremely relaxed. Poised, professional, and avoiding your presence as if you’re not even there.

It’s over dinner that you realize, no matter how many times you try to shine your pearly white teeth or strike up a conversation, if Harry is in a bad mood that means you suffer in the projection of his feelings.

You can’t even be surprised by his anger, it’s really what you expect. You lied for days just for him to find out from Christian himself, and to make it even worse, he talked about you in a way that even made your skin crawl.

Harry avoided you for the rest of the night; no eye contact, no kisses, and no cuddling once in bed. It sinks your soul knowing you’re the reason behind the way he’s treating you at the moment, but it’s only right you endure this. It’s your fault.

That’s why you aren’t surprised when you wake up to the text from him reminding you of what’s needed today. The one thing you never thought would happen so soon. No more decorative feathers, no more giggling and suggestive talks, no more tips and dancing, no more Jasper. Three years gone, the memories you have are ones you hold dear; it’s why it pains you right now.

Looking at yourself in the goblet mirror adoring the dresser, that was previously pulled apart in a furious rage, tears prick your eyes recalling all the fond moments. Girls helping out with makeup, advice on which robe to wear, gossiping about clients, god, you’ll miss it all. But, it’s better this way. It’s better to have Harry take care of you, it’s nice really. You don’t have to worry about other men touching you, or whispering what they would like to do if given the chance. Sure, the money was nice and all but, Harry gives you anything you ask for, so maybe it isn’t that bad. Maybe, it’ll be okay.

“Miss, the car is ready for you.” Knock at the door awakening you from your thoughts. You inhale sharply, fingers running through your hair nervously as you nod at yourself.

“Okay, I’ll be right down!” You call, back turning and grabbing your coat.

The drive to Jasper’s is quiet, the streets outside the truck don’t puncture the memories that you reminisce about. Working your ass off at such a young age from waitressing to odd jobs, Jasper’s was a breath of fresh air despite the downside of dancing and late nights, you began to live a life of luxury, the life you always dreamed about. You did it by yourself, on your own and you’re proud about that. You could’ve given up at any moment but instead you pulled through, and now look, you found someone who’s going to take care of you.

Despite the tension between you and Harry at the moment, it’s obvious he wants to keep you by his side, should you really object to that? You spend the majority of your time with him, he always takes you out to dinner, buys whatever you want, and shows you love whenever needed (disregarding the current circumstance) so it really isn’t like his suggestions aren’t true. You’ll be better off with Harry, you know deep down this slippery slope that it will get better, and once you move in it’ll be easier just to please him. It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.

Once Harry's team helps you out of the truck and to your familiar destination the surge of anxiety scorches through. Heart beating erratically, fingers fidgeting in your coat, eyes move in every direction as you tug your way to his office. It pains you to be in this situation, and you would do everything to not stand here right now facing the same door that welcomed you with open arms but now it’s too late.

Your palm curls around the golden knob and an uneasy smile tugs at your lips, seeing Jasper’s low eyes and ruffled hair. It only brings back so many memories, ones that you’ll remember forever.

“Y/N! My sweetheart!” Jasper stands, walking around the desk and opening up his arms.

You immediately go towards him. Hands wrapping around his back and ingesting the smell of coffee and cigarettes. Weirdly it calmed you down, settling the uneasiness through you as you lay against his chest.

The first time you ever met Jasper there was always a loving connection between you both, as if father and daughter. Southern accent and tired look never giving off irritation or displeasure whenever around. Always treating everyone with such kindness and respect, he never changed since you first met him, and that’s what you like most about him. Jasper is Jasper.

“My dear girl, it feels like forever since I last saw you,” Pulling away he smiles, crooked teeth and chapped lips shining as you bow your head in acknowledgment.

“I know, I know, I’ve been really busy lately.” You confide, eyes darting between him and the birds that roam outside the window.

Jasper sighs looking over your frame before stepping back. His hand gestures to the chairs seated in front of the desk. You immediately oblige, legs crossing over each other with hands curling together in your lap. Now you wish you could nestle in his chest just like a few seconds ago, burrow yourself into the coffee smell and forget the reason why you’re in this office.

“Yes, I see, you've been taking your vacation days quite often.” The words only elect an anxious draw of breath. Now your palms begin to grow with sweat, and you swear your ears start to ring from your mind racing.

“Yes, sir. I just thought… I —I… um,” Stuttering not knowing what to say or where to direct your attention. Your heart is going crazy in your chest, pounding so hard against its cage that you might pass out. “I found someone.”

You basically whisper those words but Jasper, he hears and he smiles. It’s one that knows the secret without having to hear the reveal. You’re sure it is written all over your face, and with the grin that tugs across his lips, you calm down just a bit.

“Is it Styles?” You blink with mouth parted and pain quaking throughout your bones.

“Y/N…” He sighs, hand brushing through his messy hair as he leans back in his chair. “I looked through your client log, I’ve seen Styles was your regular for about two months or so until he stopped returning; in that same time you begin using your vacation days. It quirked my interest so I decided to go through the security cameras during that time frame and…”

Your whole entire body goes hot, ears burning, and stomach turning, quite frankly you want to throw up. You’re stupid to forget about the hidden cameras in the room. God, of course this happens to you. Of course your boss saw you in every imaginable way within the two months Harry spent still coming here. You want to curl into a ball and forget this even happened.

“Dear…” Jasper breathes again, concerned look written all over his face despite your raging appearance. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Those are in there to protect everyone, and we’re humans, it’s natural, so don’t think too much about it, alright?”

You nod your head timidly as your leg begins to bob, you drop your head and try your best to not let tears run down your cheeks. You already went through a crying fit yesterday and you’re not going through another one again.

“You already know my thoughts on you Y/N. You’ve been my star since you walked into this place. I just want you to be safe.” Chin tilting your version to look back up at the concerned boss who was like a father to you. This couldn’t get any worse. Having to leave everything you know behind, this absolutely sucks.

“I know Styles… I know the life he lives isn’t the best and it’s definitely not the happiest. I just want you to fully understand what you’re getting yourself into.” Jasper leans forward, hand reaching out for yours which you don’t hesitate to give. You don’t hold back anymore, letting the tears trickle down slowly as you breathe in, throat straining from this moment, the one you still can’t believe is happening.

“I’ll be fine, Jasper. I know I will.” You nod with reassurance, free hand swiping away the tears that still spill. His fingers curl around yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles trying to sooth you but, when that isn’t enough he steps around the desk, body engulfing your shaking frame as you try to regain some composure.

“Grace and I are always here, you know that darling. You don’t gotta worry.” Hand patting your hair as you nod into his stomach, nose sniffing through the space.

“I know…” You sigh. Peeling away from his presence, a small smile on your lips as you look up at him. “This isn’t a goodbye, I promise.”

Jasper nods his head softly, tired expression still lingering as he looks over your frame while he continues to run his hands over your locks. The action soothes you. The storm brewing inside calms itself, the current subsiding and the tears that once roam down your cheeks halt. Your heart quiets down, chest relaxing with head drawing away from him as you wipe away any streaks.

You stand to wrap around him once again, breathing in his usual scent just hoping the clock can turn back time and things can go back to how they once were. Jasper rocks you, letting all the pulsing veins in your body rest and ease your shaking body to a halt.

“I’ll miss you.” You breathe into his chest before looking up at him. The smile you adore shines brightly as he pats your lower back.

“This is home darling, you’ll always know where to find me if needed, alright?” Jasper reassures. Nodding up at him once more, you pull away and offer a genuine grin.

Departing from his touch there’s a sense of loneliness spreading through. Giving up your work and home to live with Harry, in hindsight, there’s nothing wrong with having him take care of you, if anything you should be happy that he’s willing to do that. It shows the love he has for you but, why in this moment does it feel like you’re giving up your life; not on your terms but his.

When closing the chestnut door the walk down the familiar hallway is bittersweet. Intricate designs plastered on every inch of the walls, gold fixtures shining against the dim light before you reach the elevator and ring it back to the main floor.

Every chime is one you cherish no matter how stupid it may seem, the sound is sentimental and will forever be ingrained in your memory from the many nights your tall heels would stand in the moving machine. Your eyes dance around the revolving mirrors and lit up numbers, your fingers tracing over the covers and drinking them in as it will be the last time you’ll probably press them again.

The ding of the elevator thrusts you out of your thoughts and through the doors, it’s to your surprise once leaving that ginger hair and beaming smile greet you. The sweet aroma of her perfume wafts your senses as she pulls you into a hug, fur and strands of hair prickle against your skin as you lean into her touch.

“Hey babe! You’re working with me today?” Grace asks while pulling away, happiness written all over her features.

“Uh… no actually, just had to speak to Jasper,” You say, concealing the truth with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Don’t blame him, I barely see you anymore,” She jabs, hand gently shoving you which leaves you shaking your head in response.

“I’m busy, what can I say?” You shrug raising your hands up playfully to surrender.

“Yeah, busy being under Harry any chance you get,” It’s her turn to roll her eyes and nudge you with her hip. “But, hey! Angelo actually got me a booth tonight at his club, why don’t you and Harry come!” Grace suggests. Hazel eyes and white teeth shine with excitement at her offer.

You’ve never been with him in that sort of setting before, and honestly you don’t know how he’ll be either. But, you both are also not on great terms, so maybe a night out with some drinks and dancing will do you both some good.

“Uh, yeah, that actually sounds fun. I’ll ask him.” You beam with fakeness. “I actually should get going now, the car is waiting for me.”

“Okay! Hope to see you tonight!” Grace grins, pulling you into another hug before going to her destination.

Nodding your head timidly, you watch her orange hair bounce down the hall until her body disappears. A shaky breath escapes as you turn towards the entrance, hands fitting into your pockets as you push the doors open. The brisk air sweeps through as you tug your way towards the truck. Sincere smile spreads as Elio helps you into the vehicle before getting behind the wheel.

“Should I inform Mr. Styles that everything went as expected?” He calls from the front. Your hand tears away from their place and swipes away the lingering strands of hair combing over your face.

“Yes, it went well.” You sigh, eyes looking out the window as the car begins to move. The French pillars trail out of your version, leaving your heart splitting down the middle at the conclusion of your life.

“Actually Elio, can you do me a favor and ask Harry something for me?”

Surprise is an understatement with the fact you're walking through the club with music thumping your ear drums. Harry’s hand is secured tightly amongst your hips while the floor shakes from the erratic beat coursing through. With all the bodies shuffling through the room, you’re happy Harry’s team is pushing people through the mess directing you where to go.

You didn’t think he would agree to coming out tonight, but when he did you couldn’t have been anything but ecstatic. You threw on your tightest dress and curled your hair just the way he likes, also opting to wear the perfume he complimented on how irresistible you smell. Tonight you were going to win him back the way you know how.

“Yay! I’m so happy you came!” Grace screams over the song while pulling you into a hug.

“Oh my god!” Lucy joins, wrapping around you both. The feeling of another body being engulfed in the circle only means it’s Clarissa. The grin on your face spreads wider at the moment, head knocking around until they all pull apart.

“Hot lil’ thing aren’t you,” Clarissa remarks once pulling away. Her hand collects yours to twirl you around and display your appearance, the action only leaves you laughing as you smile at your friends.

“Thank you, thank you,” Rolling your eyes playfully as she releases her hold. The fitted black garment hugs your curves deliciously while your heels accentuate the length of your legs.

“But… everyone meet Harry,” You say, sight darting to him as you let your arm wrap around his waist, head leaning onto his chest as he smiles stiffly at your group of friends.

“Hello!” He nods to each, colourful strobes shine over everyone in the reserved area as all your friends introduce themselves.

“This bottle of Don Julio isn’t gonna finish itself!” Grace screams, picking the lengthy bottle off the table and raising in the air. It makes you giggle before turning to Harry with eyebrows raised.

“Let’s have fun tonight, yeah?” You say, hand running up his stomach before turning towards Grace who's already pouring shots for everyone.

After that, the night is in full swing; neon lights flashing over sweaty bodies, alcohol either being passed around in short glasses or poured into mouths messily, confetti shoots in the air every few moments as music blasts through the speakers.

The atmosphere in the booth is an energetic thrill, everyone getting along by singing and dancing, laughter and cheers filling the air as liquor takes over everyones system and leaves them in a good mood.

It’s in the flashing message board bringing another bottle that you realize how intoxicated you really are. The lights blinking at you seem to shift slowly, the music sounding through the space drowns out in a blur of noise as you stumble your way towards Harry, half empty Patron in your hand as you step in front of him.

“Open please!” You giggle up at him, fingers swinging the drink in hand while wiggling eyebrows.

“I’m good love,” Harry smiles down at you, his fingers finding their place on your hip as you pout at him.

“No! Tell him he needs to loosen up,” Turning your attention to Angelo who laughs at the exchange, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on,” You huff, rolling your eyes yet slipping deeper into Harry’s warmth. If he doesn’t want to take anymore shots then you surely will, you raise the clear bottle to your mouth, lips parting and happily willing to accept the liquor till you feel his hands tear it away from your hold.

“Trust me darling, you don’t need anymore,” Harry points out and passes the bottle to Angelo.

It only has you pouting, you wanted to have fun and you wanted Harry to loosen up some more, but you’ll accept his decision with another eye roll and trailing back over to your friends who are even more drunk than you.

“Bottoms up!” Lucy screams as she pours Clase Azul into your mouth, the amount so much you have to clasp your hand around her wrist to tear the bottle away.

“Ew,” You laugh, after swallowing the sickening amount, leaving Clarissa to chuckle at your reaction. Eyeing Grace across the section, you gesture for you to come towards you.

Happily complying she joins between the three as lights flash across your glistening bodies. The white and blue bottle gets exchanged between your friends, all taking shots before placing it on the table. As the neon strobes continue to flash and confetti fills the air, the DJ yells into the mic something inaudible until the song he puts on has the crowd cheering.

“Ah! Catch me slidin’ in a Benz, I ain’t looking for no man,” Clarissa screams her body turning towards you as her hips begin to sway. You can’t help the laugh that leaves as Lucy turns and grins at you.

“Ain’t recruiting no new friends! Louie bag filled with bands!” Grace is next as she dances behind the blonde, her head swinging seductively as she moves to the beat.

The energy is so ecstatic between the group that you find yourself joining in. Hips swiveling into Clarissa’s as your hands find themselves venturing toward her neck, fingers carding through her hair as you match the rhythm of her. The comfort of her palms trails down your sides, teasingly tugging the bottom of your dress up as you grind against each other.

“Get it, Sexy! Get it, Sexy!” Lucy cheers along with the song, her body leaning over and tapping your thigh as you and Clarissa manage to grind yourself lower towards the floor.

Laughter leaves both of your mouths as you continue circling your hips against each other, your head knocks back against her shoulder as you let the alcohol consume every motion while the song continues to thunder in your ears.

From your dazed out state to blurry vision, the rough grip over your hand tangled in Clarissa’s hair rips itself away as you stumble over your feet, nearly falling, as you’re being pulled out the booth and down the stairs. The movements are so fast you barely even catch yourself tripping down the flight and across the floor.

“Ow, stop,” You whine, feeling the pain in your wrist increase as the sight of Harry’s curly hair tug you through the mountain of bodies.

The crowds of people brush past you in a rough breeze, elbows and drinks hitting your moving body as you continue to be pulled away from the rambunctious scene.

“Harry you’re hurting me!” Yelling over the music as you try to twist around in his hold, still that doesn’t halt his motions as he continues pushing through the crowd.

It’s when cold air hits your skin and fills your nose do you breathe in a sigh of relief. Your hand jerks out of his grip as you look at him completely furious. “What the fuck are you doing!”

Yet, Harry ignores you, his body struts down the sidewalk past people throwing up or walking around slouched over their friends. And, instead of watching him continue to move further down the path you immediately follow, heels clicking against the cement as chatter and car horns fill the street.

“Hello! Can you talk to me please,” Drunkenly calling out for him as you trail behind like a dog, his footsteps rushed and harsh as the familiar black truck comes into view.

“Get in. Now.” Every word is a bite of aggression but in your drunken state you barely pay any mind as he holds the door open and watches your sluggish body climb into the vehicle.

“What’s your problem?” You mumble, back fitting into the leather seat as you watch Harry peel his phone out of his pocket, still ignoring you.

His voice rings through the space only leaving you to direct your attention to look outside the parked vehicle, vision shifting in slow twists that has you groaning. Hand rises to your forehead in frustration that it feels as if the car is spinning even though it’s parked.

The jostle of the truck shifts as the door slams close, your head peels up to see Elio in his familiar place as the car roars awake. The vehicle immediately peeling off, leaving the street lights from outside to flutter in.

“Why are we leaving?” You’re back to slurring over your words as you turn towards Harry, confusion evident in your expression while he looks cold as ever.

“The hell was that?” He hisses, eyes burning holes in your appearance but you can’t even tell from the alcohol shifting your vision, which leaves you giggling at his response.

“What was what?” Laughing faintly as your hands pull down the end of your dress.

“You’re a mess.” Harry scoffs, head shaking as he turns to look out the window.

Even drunk those words struck a cord within you, brows pushing together as you sit up in your chair and cock your head to the side.

“No, I’m not, don’t say that!” Your voice raising as your jaw tenses, the alcohol in your system fueling anger as you look at him distraught.

“Don’t say that? Look at you! Dancing and touching your friends like that, are you serious?!” Harry’s voice is booming over yours but in your state you don’t even care, you let your tone rise higher. The both of you look at each other livid.

“I’m having fun Harry, I’m at the club,” You respond, hands tearing away from your dress and crossing over themselves amongst your chest.

“It shows you have no class! No morals!” He snaps, nose flaring and hand slamming against the window of the truck.

“No class? No morals? Do I need to remind you where we met! Fuck you! You’re so insecure!” You’re shouting, chest rising heavily as your face screws up.

The laugh that leaves Harry is menacing, with his head shaking in disbelief, a cheery smile tugging across his lips. “Insecure?”

“Yes, insecure and jealous! What’s so wrong with me dancing with my friends!” You wouldn’t be surprised if your voices were heard outside of the car, and you actually feel bad for Elio having to hear the exchange of words. “Fuck! You’re making me so mad!”

“How do you think I feel?”

“You’re the one who started this!”

As the usual sight of Harry’s building fixes your version you’re immediately sitting up and tugging your dress down. The truck comes to a halt; you don’t wait for Elio to help you out as you peel your door open and begin making your way towards the entrance. Your ears burn with anger as your nose scrunches up, heels smacking against tiles as you press the elevator button erratically.

“Stop acting like a child,” Harry hisses once meeting your body, his key pressing into the sensor to allow access to the elevator for his penthouse.

“Fuck you,” You utter, eyes still staring ahead as your step into the machine.

Harry waves off Elio, his body retreating next to yours as you both stand in complete silence. Your heart thumps loudly in your chest as your head shakes in pure frustration.

The chime of the elevator dings and your body immediately rushes through the open space of the living room, hair swishing against your neck as you practically speed walk through the room.

“Get over here!” Harry demands, voice rough and loud but you don’t listen, you keep your pace and venture up the stairs.

“Leave me alone!” You call back, his heavy footsteps sounding behind you as you walk down the hall.

“You’re not going out with your friends again!” He shouts following your body as you enter the bedroom.

“Like I’m going to listen to you,” You scoff heading towards the closet until Harry is gripping your waist roughly and turning you towards him.

“You’re running thin with me. Watch your fuckin’ mouth.” Each word a whispered hiss as he looks at you darkly. His hair framing his forehead as his lips press together, jaw tensing and hold growing tighter.

“I can’t stand you. You’re so controlling.” Your only response, as your eyes watch his dilate before his touch is turning you around roughly and pushing you into the mattress abruptly.

“Controlling? I’ll show you controlling.”

Your moving arms are caught in his hold as he tugs them behind your back. His other hand reaches down and pulls your dress over your hips to reveal your backside. Body moving against his hold as your head turns around seeing him in your peripheral vision.

“Harry,” You mutter, his palm roaming over your backside before it’s landing a smack amongst your skin.

He only grunts in response, hands smoothing over your ass before placing another slap. The harsh feeling over your backside has you biting into the sheets with pain and pleasure coursing through, the anger that once filled your body subsides as you fight yourself from moaning against his touch.

“You’ve been such a bad girl lately? What’s gotten into you?” Harry states, another harsh smack reddening your skin as the grip holding your hands together tightens.

Teeth graze the material of the sheets, eyes rolling at the adrenaline coursing through at each slap as your head relaxes into the mattress. Your chest breathes in deeply, fingers curling in on each other as your thighs shake against the bed frame.

“What’s your colour?” Harry demands, another furious strike coursing through your body. Your eyes squeeze shut as you whimper into the sheets.

Instead of answering you just bury your head deeper into the bed, mouth releasing the duvet as you bite back moans dying to trail out.

“Don’t hold out on me baby,” Harry chuckles, so deep and sinister that your spine crawls at the sound. “I know you like this.”

Teasing voice so sexy that your toes clench against each other amongst the pad of your heels, breasts caving deeper into the blanket while your hips jerk up at the deafening sound cracking against your cheeks.

“Fuck,” You cry, teeth biting into your bottom lip as a rush of thrill courses through and has your pussy throbbing.

“What’s your colour?” He asks again, his hand sliding between your cheeks and feeling between your legs to touch your heat.

The feeling of him taunting you by rubbing over your clothes or bruising your skin red is an addicting one, it has you rustling against the sheets praying for more even though you should be fighting these feelings.

“G —Green,” You breathe into the sheets so quietly that it only beckons another rough slap to welcome itself across your skin.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you love, speak up louder, what did you say?” Luring tone in his voice only has you groaning at his tantalizing ways.

Another smack meets your cheeks so harshly that your spine shoots up and heels chime against the floor. You’re sure your skin is bruised in different colour hues from the amount of strikes that he applies across your skin; and with the alcohol in your system still pumping through your veins, you can’t help the lengthy moan that slips out.

“Green,” You squeak, head shifting amongst the sheets as the feeling of the grip over your hands relaxes. His palm smooths over your backside once again before diving between and feeling over your covered folds.

“Tell me baby, why do you like making me upset?” Harry asks, fingertips dragging down your pussy with aggression that has you shuddering.

“I don’t,” You sigh, thighs quivering against the bed frame as you fall deeper into his touch.

“That’s what you think? Two days in a row you’ve been giving me problems. I don’t like that.” Fingers slipping between your panties to feel your pussy nearly soaking from the exchange of his actions.

“Harry,” You moan, eyes fluttering when you feel the pads of him grace your clit.

“Huh? What was that?” Hand tearing away from between your legs and roaming back up your scorching skin.

“S —Sir, I’m sorry sir,” Body shivering from his touch roaming up and down your exposed flesh.

“Still not good enough.” Harry’s voice deep and gruff as his hands fit under your tight dress, feeling over your heated skin before he’s tugging it over your head. “Come on darling, I know you can do better than that.”

“I —I’m sorry, Mr. Styles.” Words still slurring from the alcohol in your system to his mesmerizing aura.

“That’s my girl. Now, be a good doll and turn around for me.” The sound of your dress falling to the floor is heard as you turn around under his hold, eyes connecting on his dazzling ones that shine with the moonlight pouring through the window.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” Harry’s body looming over you as his hands dance up your sides, sliding amongst your clammy skin and feeling over your erect nipples. The touch is so slow and daring that you can’t help but whimper. “I hate when you upset me.”

His fingers grip your round flesh while his eyes skim over every curve and dip; your body flexes along with the shadows in the dark room, fingers feeling against the sheets below as you don’t dare break contact, not with the way he’s looking as if he wants to devour you.

“That’s why right now, you’re my toy. My little toy that’s been so nasty and filthy lately.” Hands drawing back down your sides, sinking past your hips and towards your pussy once again. “So dirty dancing like that on your friends.”

Your teeth bite into your bottom lip, thighs spreading wider accepting his touch while your head buries itself deeper into the mattress. His words only fuel the slick coursing through your pussy.

“You want to be a slut… so, I’ll treat you like one.” Fingers now slip into you only causing a moan to trail out. His lengthy digits thrust into you roughly that have your eyes open wider as he stares longingly at your reaction, smirk tugging at the ends of his lips.

“Play with you however I like… use you just the way I want.” Digits driving out just to plunge back in, the ends of his fingers curling deeply into your pussy that your mouth hangs open in surprise. Harry just started penetrating you and already your stomach was tickling with static.

“Teach you how to be my good little doll, hmm?” Harry continues, brow raising in question as his smile is still sinister from the expression crossing over your face.

As one hand is pleasing your throbbing pussy, the other lands one backhanded slap across your cheek completely surprising you but not enough that it doesn’t stop you from moaning softly and runting your hips against his motions.

“You’re pussy is mine to play with, do you understand?”

Your head bows urgently as you suck in a deep breath, lashes fluttering up at him as his tongue peeks out of his mouth to smooth across his bottom lip.

“Yes, Mr. Styles.”

Pearly white teeth shine at your doe expression continuing the rough thrusts of his fingers. Sweet nectar coating him with each curl that leaves you keening high in your throat.

“It’s mine to use and abuse,” Harry states, suited body covering over you as he examines every twitch in your face consumed with pleasure. “Your pussy belongs to me.”

Every comment is tingling your spine and has your lashes batting up at him so in love. Each word is degrading and brutal, words that should have you distraught but they don’t, they have another moan leaving your mouth as you accept the his urgent stroke of his fingers.

“Fuck, yes, Mr. Styles.” Your own hands curling into the sheets, thighs beginning to shake and head lolling back.

Harry surveys every inch of your skin that twitches and squirms from his hold over you. He admires watching your stomach quiver, and the way your pussy pulses in his palm has the erection in his pants press painfully against the zipper.

“Mhmm… I like how things are turning around now.” He smiles, digits leaving you to rub your slick all along your folds, spreading you wide as your thighs contract around him.

A whimper falls from your bitten lips as the warmth of Harry leaves. His hands go to undress himself, and as every piece of expensive clothing trails off and reveals the inked skin that you love so much, you can’t help but reach out and touch the tattoos roaming amongst his love handles.

“Gonna start being my good girl?” Harry demands, his body adjusting around your frame as he begins to tap himself along your folds.

The feeling has you shuddering, blinking up at him between your legs as you raise up on your elbows to get a better look. His cock rubbing against your clit, muscles tightening while he still stares as if wanting to ruin you.

“My personal fuck toy.” Letting himself slip between your walls and stretch you out heavenly. The sensation of him filling you up reveals a pleasant sigh as your thighs spread wider around his hips.

“Yes, Mr. Styles… you fuck me so good,” You whine, fingers trailing down his pelvis as he lets his hips glide in with ease.

Harry hums in acknowledgment, his hands finding themselves around your upper thighs, driving into your pussy tenderly letting you feel him expand your walls and sink right against your cervix before drawing back and repeating.

“Mhm, who makes you feel like this darling,” Head craning down as your vision shifts from between your legs to his face coming into view.

“You, only you.” With the quick response your other hand curls into the sheets as your body jerks against the mattress.

“That’s right… you and that dirty mouth of yours,” Breath fanning over your face as his grip along your skin tighten enough to leave bruises, the feeling has you gasping at the pain. “Gonna show me some respect.”

The pace of his thrusts increase leaving his hips to smack against yours. It causes your mouth to hang open and nails drag against his skin at the rapid speed now driving into you. The intense feeling of his cock spreading you wide has your mind a clutter of thoughts.

How can he stretch you out so heavenly yet look at you purely amused by his actions over you? How can he effortlessly pleasure every crevice of your pussy that craves him? How can he fuck the shit out of you yet still have you craving for more? He’s so addicting, so captivating, so intriguing, you’re in awe; you’re in love.

“I’m not one of those little boys you’re used to playing with. You will learn respect.” Eager hips diving into yours that your head falls into the sheets, eyes locking with the chandelier that shifts with every pound of his hips.

“Y —Yes, sir.” Knuckles going white as your spine curves towards his flexing stomach.

“Shut up,” Harry bellows, his hands leaving your thighs; one covering your mouth while the other wraps around your throat.

His harsh words don’t even bruise your feelings, it only has you moaning into his palm with tears beginning to prick your eyes. The blissful pleasure he was making you feel wasn’t even something you can explain.

“You’re such a fucking slut,” His hand releasing your throat to smack you, leaving your vision to trail away from the diamonds that float above and towards his face. Bottom lip between his teeth as his brows push together.

“And I’ll use you just like the one you are.”

Sweat trickles down every expanse of your limbs, bed sheets sticking and the frame of the bed smacking against the window. The tattering sound of it repeatedly hitting it fills the room as your legs hang in the air, shiny heels glistening in the moonlight as you continue to moan against his hand.

Harry could do anything and you would see no wrong, maybe it’s manipulative, maybe it’s controlling but it feels too good that you can’t resist; and why would you want to anyway, he’s the only one to ever make you feel things you never felt before. Like for example right now, the way your thighs begin to shake and spikes of pain course along your calves, only he can do that.

“You’re mine to use, mine to ruin.” His palm releasing from your mouth to land another slap across your cheek, it has you whimpering in response. “Understand me?”

Your lashes flutter as chest heaves drastically, mouth parting and pelvis quivering as you feel your climax barreling in.

“Y —Yes s —sir,” Stuttering as you look at Harry with complete devotion while he basks in it. “Sir.” You whisper, head bobbing with each rough assault to your pussy.

“What? You’re gonna come?” Harry grins, hands meeting your throat and squeezing tightly as he fucks you into the mattress.

“Please, sir, please, can I?” Voice hoarse as your lungs strain for air.

It’s the greedy smirk and shaking head that has your stomach clenching crazily, waist retreating against his furious ones as your fingers tug against the sheet.

“P —Please, Mr. Styles can—”

“—Shut up!”

Grip grows tighter as he continues to pound away. Every rock of his hips pierce your plush walls, and with each jerk of your body up the bed does it remind you that you’re nothing but his toy at the moment, nothing but his doll that he’ll use to his liking.

That’s why tears now flow down your temples, legs shaking against his hips as he toys with your body however he likes while you restrain yourself from releasing all over him.

“Want to be my good girl, then take it.” Face inches away as he watches the tears continue to stream down.

And you do, you suck in your abdomen as your quivering thighs try to close around his waist and accept every fatal attack. Teeth biting into your bottom lip as your throat wheezes for air.

“Play with you however I please,” He grunts, eyes searching your face that begs for oxygen that turns him on even more.

Harry’s hips continue to plunge inside your pussy and bruise your cervix; and with your tight walls twitching around him pleading for release it has his head sliding to the nape of your neck.

You feel him spill his seed into you, a beautiful moan slipping past his lips and along the sweaty skin of your neck as his grip relaxes.

Just the feeling of his come seeping into you has you moaning out, fingers tugging away from the sheets and drawing down his back as his hips don’t stop their torturing movements.

“Please sir, can I come, please,” Whimper tugging through your ruined throat as your lower half now begins to shake from the fight you put up.

“Yes, darling.” The one word you’ve been dying to hear has your stomach relax as you let go and release yourself all over his cock.

Creamy wave of arousal expelling over the thickness of him as his movements never slow. Wet kisses pepper themselves along your neck, his hands by your head feeling over your messy head of hair, while your body continues to twitch and contract around him.

Your grip around him relaxes, hips flexing against his own until he begins to pace himself, slowly rocking into your pussy that makes your chest settle.

“What’s your colour?” Harry asks, head rising and looking over your face. Dizzy expression overcoming your features that has him tugging his hand away from your locks and run over the heated skin.

“Green, sir,” Blinking up at him while swallowing heavily. The answer has Harry nodding, tongue peeking out of his mouth before he’s leaning back on his knees.

Thrusts come to a halt, his cock slipping out that has your mixtures spilling from your folds to drip along the sheets. It’s in the warm atmosphere that you both manage to catch your breaths, chest shallowly welcoming the air as sticky fingers roam up and down the expanse of sweaty skin.

“You’re so good to me baby,” Harry comments, his hands trailing up your leg to begin undoing the strap of your heels. When hearing them smack to the ground do you sigh in relief of having your feet free of the curved platform.

“Mhmm…” You mindlessly hum as you watch in complete awe of him undoing the next one.

“Always perfect for me.” His head running against your calf as he presses light kisses into the skin there. Your favorite words swelling your heart that it makes you get up on your elbows and gesture for him.

“Are we okay now?” You ask, letting your hands run across the skin of his chest.

“Yes baby… just no more surprises, I don’t know what I’ll do next time. Okay?”

“Okay.”

[inky-duchess]

Etiquette of the Edwardian Era and La Belle Époque: How to Dress

This is a new set of posts focusing on the period of time stretching from the late 19th century to the early 20th Century right up to the start of WWI.

I'll be going through different aspects of life. This series can be linked to my Great House series as well as my Season post and Debutant post.

Today will be focusing on the rules of clothes with this time period.

A Cut for Every Occasion

As you may know, the wealthy elite and their servants lived extremely regimented lives and every aspect was governed by careful rules. They would be expected to wear the right outfit at the right time, every minute of the day. Any misstep would be noticed at once and be subject to scruntiny.

In the circles of the elite, one would be expected to change for every occasion. One simply wouldn't wear the same outfit they've been lying around the house in to attend tea at somebody's house. Fashion in this era was dictated by the clock and by the event diary of the wearer.

Ladies

Women of the upperclass would be expected to change at least six times a day. When she would rise for a morning of repose around the house, she would simply wear a house gown or a simple blouse and skirt. If planning a morning stroll, she would change into a walking suit which is a combination of blouse, skirt and jacket along with her hat usually of tweed. If running errands or paying a visit to friends, she would wear another walking suit. If riding, she would wear a riding habit and a hat. If hosting tea or taking tea in her own home, she would change into a tea gown with is a lighter more airier gown more comfortable for chilling in. If attending a garden party, one wears a pastel or white formal day gown accompanied by a straw hat and gloves. For dinner, she would change into an evening gown which would be more elaborate and show off a little more skin than her day wear. After dinner and ready for bed, she would change into her nightgown.

Female servants had an easier time of it. A housekeeper and lady's maid would simply wear a solid black gown for the entire day. A cook and kitchen maids would wear a simple day dress for working with an apron. Housemaids would usually wear a print dress with an apron and cap, changing into the more formal black and white attire you would associate with a maid.

Gentlemen

The gentlemen had an easier time but they too were subject to changes throughout the day. Men were expected to wear a suit. The most popular day time suit was a sack suit. These were comprised of plain and loose fitting jackets, worn over a starched shirt with a high collar, waistcoat and straight trousers with ironed creases. These suits were exclusively wool with cheaper ones made of a wool and cotton blend. Grey, green, brown, navy were usual but sine younger men preferred louder colours such as purple which was a trend for a time in the 1910s. These suits were worn about the house or in the city accompanied by a coat. Men would change into tweed if shooting or walking. For garden parties, a gentleman would wear a light coloured suit, usually white and a straw hat. For dinner, a man had two choices: his tails or his dinner jacket. A dinner jacket was for less formal suppers say if dining at home. This was a collection of a jacket, trousers, waistcoat, a bow tie, a detachable wing-collar shirt and black shoes. Lapels of these jackets were edged with silk or satin. Tails were worn at a formal dinner party, at White Tie events. This was made up of a tailcoat, white piqué waistcoat, a starched dress shirt with a pique bib and standing wing collar with a white bow tie. Trousers were lined with trim to hide the seams.

Male servants were soared changing. Footmen would wear their livery around the clock which would resemble white tie to a certain extent or mimic court dress of palace servants. Butler's would wear a variation of a gentleman's evening suit throughout the day. When a male servant is dressed, he usually stays that way. However, a valet or a footman may be taken to pick up during shooting parties where they would wear tweed walking suits.

Jewellery

Jewellery was an important sign of status in society. Upperclass women of this time has access to untold caches of sparklers but there were rules concerning their use and meaning. Earrings were usually clip ons as women of high status would not pierce their ears. Simple, understated earrings were worn during the day with more ostentatious sets were worn in the evening time. Broaches were popular at this time, usually worn at the throat of a gown or blouse or walking suit or affixed on hats. Large stoned rings were worn over gloves while slender bands were worn under. Jewellery was intricate and understated amongst old money whole the nouveau riche went for chunkier stones and larger settings. Tiaras were only worn at White Tie events, held after six pm and almost never by unmarried girls. One would not wear a larger tiara than that most senior lady present. Men would wear tie pins, cufflinks and pocket watches to match any occasion be it for a jaunt on the town or at a formal evening party.

Hats

Hats were a staple in this period. Anybody respectable from any class wouldn't venture out of the door without a hat.

Men would wear hats when heading out but always remove them when entering a building, and never wear one without removing it for the presence of a lady. The bowler was seen as more a servant's headwear while a top hat was reserved for gentlemen. Flat caps would be only seen on gentlemen at shooting gatherings or in the country, they were popular among the common class for any informal occasion.

Women had more stricter rules concern hats. Hats for women were more a day accessory worn while out and about. A woman would not wear a hat in her own home even when entertaining and nor would any of the other female occupants if joining the gathering. A woman would not remove her hat when attending a luncheon or tea or any activity. Hats were held in place by a ribbon or sash tied under the chin or by a hat pin, which is essentially a large needle thrust through the hair. This was the period where women's hats became more ornate and rather large, leading to some critisism. Among servants, housekeepers and lady's maids would not wear a hat while indoors and working but a housemaid or cook or kitchen maid would cover their hair with a cap with housemaids changing into a more elaborate one come evening time. Male servants would not wear hats unless travelling or outdoors.

Gloves

Gloves are a staple in this period and worn only at the opportune time. Among servants, only footmen would wear gloves and usually only when serving. Butlers would never wear gloves. Female servants did not wear gloves.

Men did wear gloves, usually woollen or leather while outside or riding gloves when out on horseback.

Women wore gloves whenever outside. Day gloves were usually wrist length, with evening gloves stretching to the elbow. During dinner, evening gloves would be removed at the first course and laid across the lap, replaced at the last course when the ladies leave for tea and coffee after where the gloves are then removed again. Gloves are always worn when dancing and at the theatre or opera. If one is sitting in ones box and sampling some chocolate, one can remove their gloves for that.

Hair and Makeup

Make up was a no-no amongst the upper crust and for their servants in England and America, as it was seen as licentious but in France, the use of rouge was accepted. Perfume and cologne were acceptable but excessive use was frowned upon.

Hair was dressed by one's lady's maid. Bouffant updos were popular in this time period for married women. During the last years of this period, women began adopting the 'bob' but this was seen as radical and sometimes scandalous. Unmarried girls could wear their hair down, often with accessories like a bow to adorn their tresses. Servants would always tie up their hair and never be seen with it down or uncovered (though this depended on their job).

Men would comb their hair, slicking it back for dinner. Most men were clean shaven but if they wore beards, they were usually well groomed. Hair was kept short for grown men and teenagers but young boys may wear their hair longer whilst in the nursery.

[ellecdc]

The Drink Snob

mafia!Remus Lupin x fem!reader | 3200 words

p1 // p2 // p3 // p4

CW: mentions of spiked drink (no one drinks it), reference to past spiked drinks, complaining about misogyny, bad reputation of American tourists in the UK (I'm sorry!)

The short of it was: it had been a long day.

The long of it though, by God, was that you really, really needed a drink.

You got to your favourite pub which was only a brisk 7-minute walk from the university; a tiny, hole-in-the-wall Irish pub which probably had several thousand identical pubs lined across the UK but that didn’t matter, dammit, because this one was special – this one was yours. You chuckled at the irony that you had moved half-way across the world to England only to sit yourself in an Irish chain pub that you’d likely be able to find back home a mere 6000 kilometers away.

You relished the feel of the warm air hitting your rosy cheeks after marching your ass down to the pub in the biting wind in naught but a long coat and a scarf. The warm air stung but in all the best ways as you shucked off your outer-layers and plopped down on a stool by the bar, unawares of anyone else within your vicinity other than the bartender promised to serve you your drinks.

“Alright there, Lass? What can I get for ye?” The fellow asked and you could have kissed him right then and there.

“Can I have a negroni and your tallest pint please.” You asked, hoping the desperation in your voice wasn’t noticeable – the fact that the bartender didn’t comment on the odd combination of drinks let you know that is was noticeable. No matter – you were desperate, what did you care?

Turns out you should have cared more.

“I’m sorry but I must tell you, that is an awful combination of drinks.” A lilting voice came from your left side. You groaned audibly and held your hands up to your temples like blinders to avoid even looking at the voice who dared to speak to you after such a day.

“S’pose its good nobody asked you then.” You muttered darkly. You didn’t make a habit of speaking to people this way often – people already spent enough of your time in the UK mistaking you for an American on account of your accent anyway, you needn’t add fuel to the fire by adding to an already bad reputation.

“Please tell me that you’re ordering for a friend. You’ve surely just ordered for someone who’s meeting you here?”

You knew better – you really did. You don’t let strange men in bars know that you’re alone; make them believe someone could show up to save you at any minute. But dammit, you’ve been fending off jackasses all day – what’s one more?

“Apparently, I live to disappoint men, sir, so no – both drinks are for me. Is that quite alright with you? I didn’t realize I had to pass this decision by the board.” You spat, finally turning your what you were sure was a burning gaze to this mystery guy on a stool to your left.

You hesitated in your ire for a moment: the man was quite a bit larger than you had pictured in your mind – not large in a particularly broad way but the man seemed to be excruciatingly tall; he sat basically spilling off his stool, while still managing to look elegant in doing so. He was dressed sharply but not in a way that made him stand out – respectable but forgettable, he blended into this bar well. Or he would if he hadn’t been so fucking handsome.

He had warm, honey-coloured curls that seemed to artfully fall in front of his face, and eyes to match. You’d never seen amber coloured eyes before, but you couldn’t seem to pull your gaze away from them. You did – by god you did – because the rest of the man was too enticing not too. He had a chunk missing out of his left eyebrow which was arched mischievously at what you assumed was your attitude with him, and his crooked smirk matched. He had a few scars littering his face – most were small, but there was one large one that crossed the bridge of his nose, and another nick on the right of his upper lip that may have continued onto his lower, but you didn’t want to get caught staring at his mouth. And of course, of-fucking-course he’d have a dimple. Why wouldn’t he? Could this day get any worse.

“What was the thought process, then?” He asked, his smirk growing deeper.

“What?” You guffawed. He couldn’t seriously be doing this; people didn’t do this, right?

He gestured between the two drinks sat in front of you with his own – a rum and coke if you guessed correctly. “Why those drinks, specifically? They don’t exactly pair well together.”  

You stared dumbly at this hot, audacious man. You hoped he’d decide you weren't worth the breath and move along. He only stared back at you.

“There wasn’t any.”

“Hm?” He queried.

“There wasn’t any. Thought process, I mean.” You muttered, taking a sip of the negroni. “I like both drinks – usually separately, but I’ve been dreaming about getting my ass down here since practically 9:30 this morning and I couldn’t choose which I wanted first and I knew that I planned on getting at least a little bit tipsy in order to pretend I didn’t have a completely mind-fucking day so I thought ‘fuck it, I’ll order both’ and I thought since it was no one’s business but my own what I put into my body that I could get away with it but clearly, I was wrong.” You felt winded after your mini rant as you looked back at the man. He seemed genuinely entertained at your story, though his eyes grew a bit softer.

“Thinking of drinking at 9:30 am, hm?” He pondered out loud. “You know, that’s usually the sign of a problem; one might call it alcoholism.”

You barked a laugh. “Yeah, you call it alcoholism, I call it Gilderoy Lockhart.”

“Ah, so boy-problems then, is it?” He asked in a laugh.

You shot him a warning look. “It is not like that.”

“I didn’t mean to offend.” He offered with his hands in the air in mock surrender. “Tell me what it’s like then.”

You sighed dramatically. “It’s really not that big of a deal, I’m just mad about stuff at school.”

“Ah, you’re a student, then?”

“PhD candidate, but technically, yes.” You offered, downing the rest of the negroni.

“Very neat. What’s your focus?” He asked again as you began sipping on your pint, trying not to grimace at the change in drink. You're sure you failed.

“Music.”

“Hm, I didn’t know one could get a PhD in music.” He queried.

“Music theory, but yeah.” You offered, moving your drink back and forth between your hands.

“And that brought you here? To England? Why not stay in Canada – if that’s where you’re from, pardon my assumption.” He quickly apologized.

You smirked at his correct assumption – thankful that you didn’t come off ‘too American’ today.

“She goes wherever the wind takes her.”

Your statement was met with silence, so you turned to see the man had frozen in his movements and stared at you incredulously.

“Are-are you quoting Disney movies to me?”

“So, you did get the reference.”

“I did, I just fail to see how Pocahontas relates to a PhD program in England on music theory.” He mutters, looking up at you from the rim of his drink.

“I finished my Masters, then the wind changed.” You offered with a shrug, “It brought me here.”

He seemed to study you for a few moments before coming to the conclusion that you weren't going to elaborate further. “And what does this Gabriel fellow have to do with the winds of musical theory?”

You snorted indelicately. “Nothing. He just, I don’t know, it sounds stupid now that I try to say it out loud.”

“None of that, now.” The man said gently with the same smirk on his face, “a smart girl like you doesn’t strike me as the type to overreact to male foolishness.”

He seemed honestly interested in your answer, at least, the most interested anyone has ever seemed in your ramblings about your toe headed fellow PhD’er. You tried facetime’ing your friends from home about him many-a-times before, and they listen but they don't get it. And your schedules don’t align and with the time-difference one of you is always either just waking up or going to bed. But this random, handsome guy in your bar making fun of your drinks has done nothing but listen so far and you really wanted to get it off your chest.

So, you did.

You told him how your morning started terribly as you ripped a hole in your stockings and only noticed once you got to campus and you usually don’t dress this formally to campus, but you were guest lecturing for Minerva and you know professors didn’t technically have a dress code, but she always looked well put together so, dammit, so were you. You explained that your mother always was the superstitious type and had you carry an emergency pair on you at all times, so you were thankfully able to change, but only after you spilled coffee on your blazer and had to shrug that off for the day and the lecture halls are ridiculously cold always; you know these stone buildings were built before electricity but surely with the great minds this school has churned out, they could find a way to keep the warm air in and cold drafts out?

And if all that hadn’t been bad enough, the other PhD candidate working under McGonagall is this absolute bell-end that you're almost positive has plagiarized half of his written work because everything he spews is absolute nonsense. He’s rude, and condescending, and spoke over you throughout all of your lectures to wax poetic about different Opera’s he’s performed in across the world - that you swear to God you will fact-check one of these days - that had absolutely nothing to do with the course content. And then, and then, he had the audacity to suggest you were only here because the school was required to accept a minimum number of foreign students and since you were, quote, just a woman, you also checked off their minority requirements too.

“People don’t get accepted here because of their nationality or their gender or their status as a minority. They’re supposed to get here because they’re good.” You muttered, finishing your pint you hadn’t realized you had guzzled during your rant

“And how’d Gavin get in, then?” He asked. You choked on the last of your beer.

“Fucked if I know.” You sighed.

A few more pints were placed in front of you as you continued to rant about the ins and outs of being a scholar in the world of music [for Christ’s sake, what was I thinking? I’ll never work a day in my life.] The man interrupting only to say that switching back to liquor would be a choice you would regret in the morning, and who were you to argue?

And he listened. He scoffed at some parts when you quoted Gilderoy suggesting something ridiculously altruistic that he’d done for the less fortunate while being nothing but condescending, he sprinkled in a few you’re kidding me’s, and even asked you to repeat something he couldn’t fathom the first time.

“See? I knew it. A smart girl like you wouldn’t overreact like that. Sounds like you’re perfectly justified in your ire.” He said.

You hummed as you finished your last pint. You felt thoroughly warm and heavy which was your intention of coming to the pub in the first place. You looked over to notice that the man – whose name you still hadn’t got – was still holding the same drink he had when you first arrived.

“Who are you here waiting for, then?” You asked him.

He looked confused for a moment. “How do you know I wasn’t just in desperate need of a drink myself?”

You nodded toward his still half-full cup in his hand. “Because you really haven’t been drinking.”

He narrowed his eyes and smirked at you. “Observant, aren’t you? Clever girl.” You rolled your eyes at the compliment.

“I was supposed to meet a business associate, actually.” He offered as he looked behind you towards the bar door. You turned to take in the rest of the bar yourself; it didn’t seem like the sort of place one would meet a business associate. The bar was dimly lit and somewhat claustrophobic; it didn’t offer a lot of privacy to talk business. You liked it because it was small - you’d be able to see everyone who was currently in the building with one sweep of your gaze save those who may be in the washrooms, and you could see out onto the street from your seat at the bar.

“I think it might be safe to say they stood you up.” You offered with a smirk as you turned to look back at him, only to find him already looking at you.

“I think you might be right.” He offered, looking you up and down.

You couldn’t help but admit he was quite attractive – and not just in his honey-blond curls and mischievous smirk and long limbs way, but he seemed clever, smart, and clearly he was a good listener. You sort of hoped he’d offer you his name, maybe even his number. You wouldn’t mind waiting around for a business associate of his with him again sometime.

You had no such luck.

He began to stand with an expression that bordered regret crossing his face.

“It appears I must be off.” He offered with a sad smirk as he placed some bills down on the table. You weren't quite familiar with the bills in the UK yet, but it seemed like an awful lot of money for the one drink he had at the bar that was still unfinished. You took notice of said drink as you came to this conclusion and got a weird feeling in your gut as he took the drink by the rim and brought it to his lips.

“Wait!” You said as you grabbed his arm. He tensed immediately and you pulled your hand away as if it burned. “I’m sorry. Just, is that the same drink you had when I first arrived?”

He looked from the drink back to you with furrowed brows. “Yes, why?”

You pointed to the drink he still held in his hand. “It’s old.”

He smirked. “Are you a drink snob, miss orders-two-incompatable-drinks-together-and-drinks-them-at-the-same-time?” You rolled your eyes and snatched the drink out of his hand as he brought it to his lips once again, which earned you an indignant ‘oi!’

“No, you berk, what I mean is, this drink is old. It’s warm to the touch, the ice has all melted and it should be as flat as a board but it’s bubbling, like, a lot.” You said as you held it in front of his eyes. He watched you for a few moments before you continued.

“It looks like someone put something in it.”

His gaze shot back to his drink where, sure enough, his should-be-flat diet coke was fizzing wildly as it began to turn a slightly murky shade.

You watched as he gently plucked the drink from your hand and casually put it back down on the bar and shrugged on his jacket.

“It appears you’re right.” He said in monotone. “Looks like we both ought to take our leave, hm?”

You nodded and followed suit; replacing your jacket and scarf you had ripped off unceremoniously as you had entered and headed for the door. The alcohol made you wobble for but a moment, but you were quickly righted by a gentle hand pressed to your lower back. Mortified, you put your best foot forward and marched out the door, hoping your embarrassment wasn't to evident in your cheeks.

You had to admit, you were beginning to panic. Why were you trusting this man? You had spent the last – you checked your watch – nearly two hours talking to this man whose name you still don’t know completely unaware of what was happening around you, and it turned out that there was someone here drugging drinks.

What if it’s him? An unhelpful part of your brain supplied. Why would he spike his own drink and then almost drink it? You argued back.

“You should be more careful.” You offered in what you had hoped to be a playful manner, but it came out strained. “Do you know of any reason why someone may want to spike your drink?”

He seemed to consider your question as you both walked somewhat briskly down the busy street to the subway station.

“No reason that would be suitable to share in the presence of a lady, I’m afraid.” He offered with a wink, leaning down slightly with his hands in his pocket. This answer didn’t make you feel any better.

“Any particular reason why you’re familiar with the signs of a spiked drink?” He offered back.

“I have a feeling most girls would be able to answer that.”

“Hm, perhaps. But I do not believe all would be as quick to catch it as you were.”

You didn’t answer him; you decided you had shared more than enough with this stranger tonight, and you were officially feeling all sorts of uncomfortable with the situation. You were mostly uncomfortable with how not uncomfortable you felt. It felt easy, walking with this stranger, as if you’ve been walking down dreary streets of London together for ages and this was just another Tuesday.

He stopped suddenly and flagged a taxi. You scowled at how quickly a cab stopped for him and his long as arms.

“Here, it’s too muggy for such a lady to brave the underground.” He offered as he opened the door. You began to protest, you had a tube pass through school for a reason, but his hand was on your lower back again as he gently led you into the car and closed the door before sticking his head in the window of the front passenger seat and tossing a handful of bills at the driver.

“Anywhere she wants to go.” He said, stepping back to the middle of the sidewalk and waving you off.

Between the alcohol, your nerves and being disarmed by the attractiveness of this man, you simply spouted the address of your flat to the driver and turned your face forward. The whole evening seemed otherworldly – like you were missing a big chunk of information of what happened tonight, even though you could account for every minute of it.

Your suspicions would have been proven correct if you had turned around to see your mystery man again, who was now accompanied by two other similarly dressed men - one with an unruly mop of brown curls and a shorter man with long black hair tied back haphazardly - who began chasing a fourth man in earnest down the street in the opposite direction.

Continue to part two here.

[lebedame-wegelagerin]

And here, as promised to the dear @vinceaddams come a lot of extant Garments from my recent Visit at the German National Museum in Nuremberg. I am trying to give as much Information about each Picture as I can though unfortunately not all of the Pictures were taken by me and I could take Pictures as extensively (including Info Signs) as I would have wanted, lest I be abandoned in the Clothing Section. Also the whole Section was awfully dim, which made it rather difficult to read some of the Signs. The last three Pictures were taken in a different Section, thus the more pleasant Lighting.

Servant Livery, bavarian Court, mid 19th Century (left); Servant of the Count of Cannotreadhisname, first half 19th Century (right)

Woman's Folkdress, Lötschental/Wallis (Switzerland), Museum dates it 1830/1905 which is an awfully broad Range, but maybe it was altered later; shows wonderfully how late 18th Century Styles were preserved in european Folkdress that came to be in the 19th Century proper

Various Men's Garments throughout the 18th Century, as there are Closeups of each, the respective Detailinformation will be provided further down.

Men's Spencer, c. 1810s-1820s, Linen and Cotton, the Sign didn't say it explicitely but due to it's Placement in the Exhibition and comparable other Pieces I have seen, I think this is more of a common Man's Piece of Clothing.

Three Men's Shirts, various Shoebuckles, a cocked Hat, a Periwig and what I assume to be a Hair Bag. This Display Case had a rather badly illuminated Sign, so sadly I have no further Details about the Pieces.

Justeaucorps, c. 1695, Wool, Silk, Metal Trim.

Waistcoat, c. 1695, Silk, according to the Museum it was worn together with the Justeaucorps, which seems to be a nice Colour-Combination.

Breeches, 1790-1800, Silk. Very pretty Pair, but the bad Lighting doesn't really let it show.

Habit à la francaise, c. 1790, Wool, Silk, Embroidery (What a Material Specification...). I really like the Combination of those subtle dark on dark Stripes and the Embroidery.

Tailcoat, c. 1790/1795, Cotton, Silk, Linen, really peak 1790s Look honestly.

Very wide Court Panniers, with Pocket Hoops and Crinoline in the Background. Alas no Detail Information for this and the next two Pictures.

Frontal View of the Pannier. I suppose I have to get one of those at some Point, if only for how extra they are.

Three Pairs of Stays, two from the Front, one from the Back. Sadly I don't feel confident enough to Date those and I have no Pictures showing the Info Signs well enough.

Lots of pretty Dresses that were exhibited in another Section of the Museum. The right one is a Robe à l'Anglaise, but that's all I can tell.

Another beautiful Anglaise, notable for being preserved in its Entirety with original Ruffles.

More pretty Dresses. Unfortunately due to Time Reasons I have no Pictures of the Suits displayed across the Dresses in the U-shaped Display, though I have to say one of them had a very much not authentic Lacebib hanging from the Neck...

That's all the cool Clothing Pics I have, at some Point I will return and take loooots more Pictures from all the Angles too. Also at some Point I might write to the Museum about the Lighting, there surely is a better Solution when having your Objects barely visible with unreadable Signs while still protecting them from UV-Rays.

Bonus-Pic 1:

Me, in historical Dress, c. 1750 (minus the Shoes), standing in a historical Kitchen.

Bonus-Pic 2, for the Boat-Crowd:

Beautifully detailed Modell Sailing Ship, early to mid 17th Century if I remember correctly. Interestingly enough all the little Sailor Figurines on it were very much early 19th Century in Style, so I assume the previous owner had those added at some Point, before the Museum acquired the Model in the late 19th Century. (The Incongruence sadly wasn't addressed on the Info Sign, so I might contact them about this too.)

[noirflms]

MEETING YOUR PARENTS + JJK MEN

— - main m.list !

. ° 𖤐 ₊ GOJO SATORU !

he has always looked forward to the day you introduce him to your parents and now that the day has come , he is blissful to be able to meet them. satoru’s aura was literally screaming sweet flowers and you were baffled at the amount of time he took out to look good for your parents when you had told him to be casual with everything but there stood your 6’2 boyfriend dressed in trousers , a black linen shirt and the similar pendant like yours and you are in utter shock with how presentable he looks ( he even has his hair slicked back ). But he stops breathing the moment the two of you are standing at the door of your parents house , he has gone stiff like cardboard , and you can hear him mumble words that you can’t decipher but he is thinking about , ‘what if your parents don’t like him?’ , ‘what if he isn’t able to impress them?’

But all his worries wash away the moment your mother opens the door and grabs the tall man into a hug. your figure engulfed in the arms of your father and suddenly the gojo is fitting right in , unlike how he felt within his clan — he felt at home. your mother has come to adore him , while your father finds pride in him ( the old man was even impressed with satoru to say the least ) , your parents were utterly glad to know you had such a childish boy with you to keep your inner child alive , and last to say but not the least , they were happy to call him family.

. ° 𖤐 ₊ GETOU SUGURU !

he is nervous , he had tried to run the moment you were both standing in the front of your parents house , but he didn’t , and when you knocked on the and the moment it is pulled open and geto feels all his nervousness wash away , for the smile your parent flashes at him , he feels at ease , he is brought to a weird level of comfort he can’t describe. He is pretty formal with both your parents , even though they tell him not to be so formal , he can’t help it and they laugh when he slips up every now and the. the 6’1 male is actually quite intimidated by your other parent , and you could laugh at the way they two of them are having a civil talk sort of things but it makes you smile because he seems to be able to communicate with them.

And it is not hard to tell that both of your parents adore him , they love him , they were very comfortable with him because apparently they showed him your baby album on the first visit itself. he was helpful around the house , telling them stories of his work every now and then , even told them he wishes to keep you safe and loved all the time and he would give you the world. at dinner getou and your other parent are both drunk while you sit and laugh , and you feel happy , that you made the right choice with getou , and both your parents seemed to connect with him.

. ° 𖤐 ₊ NANAMI KENTO !

first of all is that he is utterly shocked at the fact that you had grown up with two fathers , and curiosity got to him so now you both sat in the confines of your fathers home and it will be a bad thing to leave out the fact that both your fathers were super rich , and he was shell-shocked at the house they were once standing in front of. he was dressed in different clothes rather than his working ones and you were proud at the colour combination you were able to put together. your biological father was crying the moment he saw you with a significant other while your step father was happy to see you happy and all grown up , and they had taken kento pretty well , telling him to make this his home just fine and he did so too , finding peace in the place.

both your fathers are utterly in love with kento because they have come to completely ignore you but you’re fine knowing kento is loved by both of them , a small smile is on your face at the sight of the three males talking and kento’s eyes catch yours and you haven’t seen him smile so much in his life. and time passes just fine , you are helping you dad cook while kento sits with your father watching you help your dad and he hears your father mutter to him , keep them happy , they’re all that we’ve got. and he promises himself to never let you cry , to always keep you smiling.

. ° 𖤐 ₊ HIGURUMA HIROMI !

you’re adopted , he knows that fact pretty well but knowing your were adopted by two mother was something so hard to take in but he accepted it nonetheless , and meeting them , oh , boy he was utterly ready to meet them , such a smug bastard he is with your mothers. the moment you are greeted at the door by your mothers , the first thing they do is pester him with questions if he is keeping you well or not and you are calming both your mom and ma and to Hiromi , it was amusing to watch but he calms all their worries and both the ladies are happy to know he loves you so. they take him in so easily that he finds like he doesn’t deserve this , he doesn’t deserve you and knowing you were so happy with these women who weren’t even your own parents , all he wished was to keep you safe and happy.

he effortlessly talks with both the women , even told them he is a defence attorney and they were elated at that and you didn’t know why. your mom loves him but oh , you ma cherishes him already , pulling his cheeks , calling him nicknames that were mostly reserved for you. but in all , the women are ecstatic at the fact you were happy , loved and growing in such a beautiful environment with a man so sweet , gosh they love this man more than you , and you know they do.

is worship all these men , I think I made Hiromi ooc 😭😭 and including all types of parents leaving none behind!

NOIRFLMS 2023 ! All rights reserved, plagiarism is a crime , ask before translating. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

[alipeeps]

Episode 31

The race to be the first to sacrifice yourself for Wen Xiao... on your marks, get set... GO!

How is it? Well... that's never a good expression on a doctor's face...

Oh my fucking heart....

I was right, Baby Bro didn't die. Just dematerialised for a bit.

It's interesting how since the confirmation that his demonic power is gone, Zhao Yuanzhou has started dressing in much lighter colours... lots of white. Which ngl is a little worrying given that white is the colour of mourning in Chinese culture... (oooh or is it that he's wearing white/combinations with white because Ying Lei died?)

Fucking called it.

Of course there had to be some kind of threat to drive the plot for the last 4 episodes.

A plague again? What d'you want to bet it's to do with Wen Zongyu's experiments?

Wait up, Wen Xiao's foster dad is missing?!

Ah shit and Bai Jiu's dad is ill with the plague.

Without his demonic power... is Zhao Yuanzhou susceptible to the plague?

A demon blood sachet?

So someone has deliberately used a sachet containing Fei's blood to spread plague. And who a) was aware of/had contact with Fei, and b) would pull some shit like that?

Answer: fucking Chongwu Camp.

(But if it's the same plague caused by Fei that they encountered previously, can't the same cure that Bai Jiu developed be used?)

Are they sealing off the city?

BECAUSE IT'S FUCKING CHONGWU CAMP!!

Oh what the fuck Fei is not dead?!! How is that possible?! We SAW him die!!

Zhou Dage once again performing his primary duty in the polycule of bringing food to people when they are locked in the library frantically researching....

Oh my fucking heart...

Oh damn. He has been estranged from his dad this whole time cos he thought he'd killed his mum. And he's afraid his dad's gonna die before they can clear the misunderstandings between them...

What the FUCK Zhou Yichen?!!

I have never - fucking NEVER - suffered through a drama that has so explicitly verbalised ALL the found family feels... apparently with the express intent of causing me PAIN!!! 😭😭😭

How did he survive? Wen Xiao.

And now he wants to repay that by saving her...

Because she loves Zhao Yuanzhou

(At least, that's all the show is allowed to say. We know better. Polycule supremacy!!)

Ugh, god, verbalising that love is not just wanting to have something for yourself, but rather wanting to care for it and see it thrive... even if not by your side...

Zhao Yuanzhou continuing to make it his life's mission to make sure Wen Xiao is warmly-dressed...

WTF Zhao Yuanzhou was that a fucking marriage proposal?!!!

Oh god, all the imaginations of them living a happy life together that he held onto to keep his inner demon core at bay... 😭😭😭

"Return to the wilderness"? Yeah that feels like you changed your mind at the last minute there as to what you were going to say... probably because you remembered you're going to sacrifice yourself to save her, right?

God the visuals of each of them alone, contemplating... and we know exactly what the two men are contemplating...

He's carving a monkey - sorry, a white ape! For her? To... remind her of him?

Fuck me that is a fucking badass move.

Ahhhh I have missed Xiao Bai's voice-breaking shrieking!

God I love this show. The humour is just...

Oh holy shit, I am dying. it got better and better and better. Fuck my "no gifs for these summaries" rule, I have to gif the whole fucking thing!

Oh goody, it's occurred to them to look into what the fuck Chongwu Camp are up to.

I swear, if it turns out they pulled a fake-out on us and Wen Zongyu also isn't dead, I will cut a bitch...

Uhhh where did Wen Xiao's foster dad go to? He was in the same prison cell with Fei.

Oh shit, I hope they haven't turned him into a demon hybrid?

Oh fuuuuck what's going on with Fei? That... that looks kinda like the ever-burning fire in his eyes?

Uhoh, Mr Fan is not chained up anymore. I'm guessing he's controlled/hybridised?

GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!! 🔪🔪🔪

He didn't die AND he's got the ever-burning wood and it's let him succeed in his demon experiments!!

Shit... was the Wen Zongyu we saw burn up actually his demon-hybrid with shapechanging powers?

Phoenix?

Oh fuck.

So he has also demonised himself?

So... he needed the ever burning wood precisely because he needed it to burn himself up and be reborn as the phoenix?

Ohhh shit and doesn't the phoenix have the power of rebirth? So... it's part of his plan to bring his wife back to life?

(I hope he succeeds in bringing her back to life and she is horrified at what he has done/become and immediately kills herself)

WHAT THE FUCK?!! How did the medicine they made contain demon cores?!!!

I thought his grand plan was to get rid of all demons? How does turning everyone - including himself - into a demonised hybrid achieve that?!!

You fucker!!

BROTHER?!!

Was Wen Xiao's dad his BROTHER?!

He's Wen Xiao's fucking UNCLE?!!!!

Oooh nice, was it all a plan? They snatched Wen Zongyu!!

What's going on?

Oooft what a reversal, Zhuo Yichen stepping forward to protect Zhao Yuanzhou.

Freeze that fiery fucker Zhuo Yichen!!

Ooof he's transferring the knowledge straight to him.

And now he can form ice out of thin air - just as the phoenix can create fire out of thin air - rather than having to freeze water.

Uhhh I don't like the look of that smoke...

What the fuck? Is this a dream?

Baize goddess and Li Lun? Is it... a memory then?

YING LEI!!

This is freaky....

God the fondness in his expression...

It's a trap. That's what the poison does? Traps you in a dream world where everyone is alive and happy so you don't want to leave...

Zhuo Yichen knows what's up.

Oh damn. He knows full well it's not real. But he just wanted to pretend... for a little bit...

But wait... what if THIS is the trap? What if it's baiting you into killing yourself to try and escape the dream?

FUCK, I was right... the poison was making them act out in real life what they were doing in the dream. They would have killed each other/themselves trying to escape.

Damn, thank goodness for Bai Jiu.

He would if he could, you fucker, and he's every right to. You manipulated and used him against his friends, sacrificed him to be possessed by a demon, poisoned him, and then used him to poison the entire town! Fuck you!!

So wait up, was Zhao Yuanzhou's loss of all his demonic power just temporary then? As Bai Yan had said, it will not be quick to recover? So has he got at least some back now? Cos he sure seems to be using his power in this episode!

Ah yeah, he's got some back. But nowhere near enough.

Okaaay so now they need Wen Xiao to see where his demon core is so they can remove it. Game on!

[rose-of-oz]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐌*𝐀*𝐒*𝐇 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐀 𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐒

❝ When Sophia had first signed up to be part of the USO, one of the many pretty girls singing and dancing on tiny stages to give the brave boys fighting in Korea some much-needed cheering up, she couldn't have imagined wanting to do anything else. After all, she'd been trying to get in as a chorus girl on Broadway for years, intent on pursuing her childhood dreams of dancing and singing under the blinding lights of the Great White Way, but as a poor kid from Washington Heights who was more often than not deemed too “exotic” for your average Broadway ensemble, she figured working in the USO would be the closest she could get. Besides, volunteering for her own kind of service overseas was also a perfect excuse to escape the recent breaking-off of her engagement and the whispers of her social circle surrounding her and her ex-fiancé, so she really couldn’t have imagined a better opportunity to have presented itself at that particular time.

But when, only a few months into Sophia’s USO tenure, the Army sends out a call for more nurses for their M*A*S*H units, she decides to do some good that doesn't involve singing the same old tired standards, putting the hours she'd spent watching her tía work as a nurse to good use by volunteering to become one herself. Granted, she doesn’t have one lick of actual practical experience beyond occasionally helping her tía with a home birth in tiny Washington Heights apartments, but Sophia likes to think that the same good memory that has allowed her to remember hundreds of song lyrics and dance steps has also allowed her to retain proper first aid techniques and which surgical instruments are the correct ones to hand to the surgeons when they ask for them. And either way, the Army is low on nurses and surprisingly willing to overlook a lack of an actual degree to get them - and so, after only a few months as a USO girl, newly minted Lieutenant Sophia Ramos breezes into the M*A*S*H encampment serving as her new home armed with her trademark collection of brightly-coloured dresses, red lipstick, and charming wit combined with a sharp tongue, feeling prepared to take on any challenge that this new profession might throw her way.

But nothing in the world could prepare her for what she experiences when she's assigned to the 4077th - two chaotic doctors who love nothing more than getting a rise out of their stuck-up bunkmate (whom Sophia befriends almost immediately), a bumbling commanding officer who usually leaves his psychic clerk to run the camp, a corpsman whose taste in dresses is almost as good as hers... and a sweet chaplain with cute glasses and a sweet smile, who brightens up Sophia's world in ways she'd never imagined could be done. Father Mulcahy is gentle, compassionate, and the perfect dose of calm to Sophia’s usual bright tornado, and despite the way Sophia has settled into the 4077th since arriving, becoming liked by everyone (except for one Frank Burns, but really, who cared what he thought) and even striking up an unlikely friendship with the camp’s strict-minded head nurse, all it ever takes is one late-night conversation or shy smile from the chaplain to unsettle her in a way she isn’t entirely sure she doesn’t like.

The Father - or Francis, as he eventually insists Sophia call him - is Sophia’s perfect man in so many ways: understanding, attentive, and unlike so many men she has met, sharing a disinterest in the kind of intimacy Sophia has never been willing to give. Yet due to their respective positions and the vows he made years ago, actually confessing how she feels to him feels all but impossible, especially when Sophia is convinced that the God she has also been raised to believe in will ever forgive her for the love she feels for a man He has already claimed.

Little does she know, Francis feels the exact same way about her, and has been having similar worries about what the Holy Father might think about these feelings. But eventually, attractions are confessed and the two enter into a secret, deeply loving and caring relationship… and eventually, they both have to wonder whether the two of them meeting and falling in love with each other, two stars passing in orbit at exactly the right time, was not part of God’s divine plan after all. ❞

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @auxiliarydetective, @foxesandmagic,

@artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand,

@ginnystilinski-reblogs, @luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @oneirataxia-girl,

@arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @gabbysdawsons, @dancingsunflowers-ocs,

@eddysocs, @lucys-chen, @manyfandomocs, @ocappreciationtag.

[captain039]

The lord and lady (Cooper Howard)

Cooper Howard x reader

Bridgerton and Cooper Howard is a muussstt

Warnings: Olden times, swearing, age gap, tension, slow burn, plus size reader, fat shaming, parental abuse, sexual things, eventual smut, angst, AOB (suppressed by vault tec)

I’m also gonna focus more on the AOB side, make it more AOB than I have been xD

I’m trying to use less Y/n but also failing lol

The ride to the centre of the ton is short, the overseer is placed right in the middle of this town in her lush castle and sick husband, and her rumoured out of wedlock fling Mr Maclean. Though their family is of high status the rumours surrounding that poor family could in fact fill this whole town if written. You see the Macleans ahead of you, their Daughter Lucy Maclean stepping out in a fresh new dress and headwear just like the rest of the 20 lady’s being presented today. Every year it is 20 lady’s that are to be presented to society, they are sure the numbers stay intact no matter the costs. If you haven’t secured a marriage by the end of the season or year, well nobody truely knows what happens to those poor souls. The men of course are left alone however you and your fellow women in arms are left wondering who will be next?

As you stand outside the Overseers presenting room you still find yourself nervous no matter how many times your teacher forced you to rehearse this till you were satisfactory. You smile to Lucy when she turns to face you her big eyes full of excitement and anxiety. You fear yours don’t show the same, you are tired, a sleepless night and now this. She gives you a small nod before her name is called.

One by one the ladies are presented, when it is your turn you fear you may throw up, but the glare your father gives forces your bile down in fear. You avoid eye contact and bow when you’re at the right length away from the Overseer her dress a bright blue adorned in yellow gems, an odd combination in your opinion but it has been the Overseers colours for century’s. The Overseer nods her head and you make your way to wear the already seen lady’s stand and hold your mother’s hand tightly.

In the way back you’re bombarded with horrid words and spat accusations at how horrid you were at the presentation. You force yourself not to cry as you look out the window while your mother tries to calm your father down. You hear the coach men shout and then there’s a rush past your window making you frown and look. There’s a man galloping down the Main Street on a brown horse. Your father yells swears at him before the coach moves again. The man whoever he was must’ve been in a great haste, perhaps his wife was having her child or he lost a bet at the local club and he was running away. You only wonder briefly before you go to feeling jealousy that he can ride away on a horse because he is a man and nobody would question it.

Your first ball is torture before it even happens. Despite this being what you were brought up to do your father constantly reminds you of what a failure and frantic, absurd mind you have for your painting and drawing, your love of books and being locked away in your room despite him being the one who had locked you in there in the first place. Even now he questions whether you are ‘pure’ like you could’ve actually escaped such a man to promenade where you pleased.

You’re dressed in a silvery cream coloured dress with clear gemstones, you wear a simple gem necklace and studs, your hair is done up and pinned with pretty gem flower piece to match the whole outfit. Small silver heels on your feet and dashes of makeup. If you are not to secure a match tonight or at least a suitor or caller you fear what your father may do.

The first ball is at the Macleans house, grand and overdone if you say as you enter the large estate. Guests huddle and chatter, tables are filled with flowers, treats and sweetened water. Despite the cold night it’s stuffy in the large estate. Your father is off quickly to drink with the other lords while your mother probably searches for your future husband. You hide by the drink stand getting some fresh lemonade before you’re approached. You’re thankful it isn’t a man and Lucy as she beams at you, big eyed and beautiful.

“Evening” she says grinning as she takes a drink and stands by you.

“Evening” you reply looking over the crowd.

“Are we scoping the options?” She leans in to whisper and you almost choke on your drink, you cover it with a laugh.

“I guess” you shrug and her face falters.

“I think my Mama may be doing it already” you say nodding in her direction. She’s talking to three young gentlemen whose back are turned to you.

“You could always marry my brother” she suggests and hesitate on your drink. Her brother is kind, a little odd and quiet but kind.

“Your brother is kind yes” you say and she elbows you gently.

“I won’t be offended if you say no, you know, he is rather quiet for a gentlemen” she chuckles softly and you just nod. The doors open once more, someone late to the party. This member makes your neck hair stand on end though as he enters in a ravishing blue suit with yellow bow tie. You frown a little at the Overseer colours, perhaps he is a member of the Overseers management. He approaches some lords and greets them with big smiles as they pretty much yell their celebration that he has arrived.

“Who is that?” You ask unsure if you’ve seen him or not.

“Lord Howard? You know him” Lucy says and it clicks.

“Oh of course! I didn’t recognise him from here” you huff softly. You gulp a little sipping your drink quicker. Lord Howard is the one man in the ton who truely interested you, his love for his horses, his adventures he goes on. Most of the young lady’s go to him for riding lessons however yours were cut short the moment your horse bucked you off and you embarrassed your teacher and father in front of the other parents and young ladies. It had been mortifying, you swore you broke something but all you got was thrown into your room and yelled at, your Mama managed to save you from a further beating seeing as you had just flown off a horse. You loved horses, you were fascinated by them, beautiful beasts able to carry a man at high speeds.

“Greeting young Ladies how are we?” Your mamas voice brings you from your thoughts and you smile at her.

“And he’s coming over” Lucy’s words make you snap your head though as the Lord approaches. Your whole body is on edge and everything around you seems to dull out except him.

You unaware he’s talking to you till you feel Lucy’s elbow in your side and snap back to reality.

“I’m so sorry Lord Howard” you say rushed almost fumbling over your words as you lay your glass down with shaky hands.

“It’s quite alright Lady Y/n, I was asking how you are both going?” He chuckles softly and your stomach does flips.

“I’m alright thank you, and yourself?” You ask wanting to hold your mother’s hand.

“Well thank you, my mare just gave birth to her first foal” he says with a proud smile that makes your heart thump.

“Oh how wonderful! Are they both doing well?” Your Mama asks.

“Yes quite, little colts got a fiery spirit for sure” he answers. You’re not focused, too focused on his neck for some strange reason. You find the place suddenly oh so inviting with the need to press your nose into his skin and breathe him in.

“Oh my dear daughter does love horses though she hasn’t had much experience with them” your mama gushes and his eyes find yours. He falters a moment sucking in a small breath, nose flaring.

“You should come by and see, never too old to learn how to ride, plus horses are better than people” he smiles and whispers the last part and your mind goes haywire. The thoughts of being on the ranch with him again, smooth kind words teaching you how to ride, praising you. You’d almost beg for his praise.

You excuse yourself suddenly and rush outside into the cold air where you’re able to breathe properly. Heavens what ever was that? Your heart is pounding, you feel yourself sweating.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You hear your father growl like some wild beast and you flinch when his hand grabs your arm roughly in a bruising grip.

“Running off when a lord was talking to you?! Are you stupid!” He snaps his face mere inches from yours.

“I’m sorry father, I wasn’t feeling well I didn’t wish to make a scene of sickness” you explain your head bowed and eyes on the ground.

“Stupid girl! You’ve already made a damned scene!” His other hand grips your chin roughly and you whimper at the contact.

“Get the carriage!” He snaps at the footman and he hurries off.

“Get in the carriage, you’ve ruined this night and any chance of a proposal!” He growls and you’re forced into the carriage. You see your father hurrying your mama but you also see him Lord Howard frowning at your parents then looking to you in confusion and concern.

Next part ->

[fatboyfiction]

Opposites Attract

Chapter 1: Chemistry

They had met online, having connected by sheer luck while browsing through their local selection of fat men. Pritchard liked the looks of Marshall immediately, all 220 lbs of him. His corn-coloured hair and blue eyes combined with his beefy arms and broad shoulders made him the all-American wet dream, and Pritchard was smitten with the beefcake. Likewise, Marshall was taken with Pritchard’s sleek, toned physique and darkly handsome good looks. To the wide-eyed farm boy, this was exactly the kind of cultivated, worldly guy he’d come to the city looking to find. 

They agreed to meet at a buffet near the university, where Marshall was in his last year of studies. Neither had high hopes for the other, despite the string of promising messages they’d exchanged over the past few weeks. Marshall had talked earnestly about how badly he wanted, no, needed to let go and turn himself into an enormous fat guy, and Pritchard had enthusiastically played along, telling Marshall how much hotter he’d be after another 50 lbs, 100 lbs, 200 lbs. They’d both gotten off to these messages, jerking off late at night to the thought of this other man who seemed so into their shared fantasy. But after the orgasm always came a cold wave of clarity. Each would be brought back to Earth by the recollection that he was still just talking to a guy, some idiot who would flake on him soon enough, just like all the others had. 

But as the weeks unfurled, neither had abruptly abandoned the other, as they were both expecting. Night after night, they kept talking and sharing, Marshall explaining how badly he’d always felt he was meant to live as a fat man, and Pritchard validating these desires and offering up secret fantasies of his own. Emboldened by their tentative success, Marshall got up the nerve one night to ask as nonchalantly as he could if Pritchard might like to meet up sometime. He’d expected to be turned down, gently or otherwise. After all, what could a polished professional like Pritchard want to do with an uncouth country boy like him? To his surprise and excitement, though, Pritchard promptly replied that yes, he would like to grab dinner. And so the date was set. 

Even after all this, both men showed up at the appointed time with hesitations. Pritchard was expecting Marshall to be a timid wreck, too ashamed of his long-harboured fatboy aspirations to get comfortable and be himself. And Marshall was worried that Pritchard would be embarrassed to be in public with someone like him, as had happened on so many dates before. But by some small miracle, none of this happened. Pritchard arrived to find Marshall already at the restaurant and after a somewhat shy and stilted introduction, both boys realized that improbably, they really liked the other. 

They sat chatting for a little while, going through the standard roster of get-to-know-you questions. Then it came time for them to get their food, and the first stumbling block of the night appeared. As they were moving along the buffet line, Marshall was sheepishly taking only a small helping of his chosen dishes, hardly more than the average buffet-goer would treat himself to. Pritchard was disappointed when we saw this, thinking “Well, here we go again. Another supposed gainer who talks a big game and can’t back it up.” 

As they got back to their table, Marshall started picking idly at the food on his plate, a far cry from the display of gluttony he’d promised Pritchard he was capable of. It’s not that he wasn’t hungry. In fact, he was starving, having skipped breakfast that morning in preparation for the big day. But privately, Marshall was worried about making Pritchard look bad. The older man had shown up dressed like an off-duty Ivy Leaguer, his hair impeccably coiffed and his brilliant white teeth glistening. Marshall didn’t want to embarrass this man who exuded poise and elegance, no matter what depraved things they’d said to each other in the middle of the night. 

Pritchard observed this lassitude on Marshall’s part and his frustration got the better of him. Always having had a sharp tongue, Pritchard shot casually across the table, “Well you’re certainly never going to burst any buttons that way. Surely you can do better than that.”

Marshall looked up, surprised. From his shiny shoes to his shiny watch, Pritchard did not by any measure seem the type of guy to say something like that where others could hear. And yet there he sat, smirking at Marshall in a way that clearly implied a challenge. 

Having obeyed the biological destiny of his deep chest and thick thighs, Marshall had of course played years of sports growing up. It was that same athlete’s logic that took over now, and compelled Marshall to want to impress Pritchard, to be the best and to show this man what he could do. “Oh you want to see better, do you? Fine, coming right up.” And without wasting another minute, Marshall dug face-first into his plate of food. Having taken such a meagre portion, it didn’t take long for him to finish it, and so with a triumphant look at Pritchard, Marshall stood up and marched back to the buffet to get more. 

This second plate took him longer to finish than the first but he still got it down in good time, polishing off the much larger portions of chicken wings and fried rice, pasta and ribs. As he kept eating, he became less and less concerned with his table manners. They’d broken the ice now, and this man had already listened to him talk at length about how he wanted to be a greedy, fat pig. He figured he may as well show Pritchard what he was dealing with, so he shovelled the food in his mouth faster and in bigger, heaping mounds. He was getting full, but he ate on, looking Pritchard in the eyes the whole time as the fine-featured dandy grinned back at him, eyes narrowed in an increasingly dangerous leer.

As Marshall finished off his second plate, he slumped back in his seat, groaning and rubbing the sides of his aching stomach. He had eaten much more than he normally would, and while he felt bloated and uncomfortable, he also felt a great deal of pride. He gave Pritchard back a smirk of his own, knowing that he’d given the man the performance he’d come for. 

Pritchard had kept quiet during Marshall’s feeding frenzy, but now he spoke up. “Very impressive, big guy. Maybe you are serious about turning yourself into a fatass after all. However,” he said with a malicious gleam in his eye, “I still think I could do with a little more convincing. Wait here, I’ll be back.” And with that, he got up from the table and sauntered off to the buffet. 

When he’d been selecting his own plate, Pritchard had been as choosy and fussy as you would expect from such a preening peacock. But now that he was in charge of Marshall’s plate, he took an entirely different tack. Moving around the dessert table, he slopped on large helpings of everything on offer. He quickly started to run out of room, but kept piling on the cheap buffet cake and pastries anyway, not caring if they overlapped or blended together. Marshall had shown himself to be much more game than most of the shy things he met up with, and he intended to stuff the boy with as many calories as he possibly could. 

When Pritchard got back to the table with the obscenely overloaded plate, Marshall looked at him with wide eyes filled with equal parts fear and lust. He was already so full, he didn’t know how much more he could take. 

“Well fatboy, I hope you saved some room for dessert. You’ve got your work cut out for you.” Pritchard said this without any attempt to lower his voice or be discreet. Several of the other patrons at the buffet had already been side-eyeing Pritchard when he carried the comically overfull plate back to the table, but now some of them were downright staring at the bizarre duo, wondering no doubt why the beefy blond boy was putting up with such insults. 

The beefy blond boy himself, though, was not put out in the slightest by this turn of events. He loved how brazen Pritchard was being with him, and wanted to show him he was game. Without missing a beat, Marshall bravely took up his fork and began to tackle this third heaping plateful of food. It was slow going, but the blond bruiser valiantly soldiered on, shoving forkful after forkful into his mouth, swallowing as quickly as he could so that his stomach wouldn’t cotton on to how far beyond stuffed he was. 

Despite his best efforts, Marshall tapped out halfway through the plate. He wincingly sat back in his seat, cradling his abused belly. Sure, he was no stranger to eating well. He’d been sneaking late-night pizza and between-class burgers for years, accounting for the 40 lbs he’d packed on since the end of his high school football career. But he’d never eaten this much this quickly. “I think that’s it, man,” he said breathlessly to Pritchard. “I don’t think I can handle any more.” 

Smooth as silk, Pritchard stood up and crossed to sit down beside Marshall. “Oh really?” he purred in Marshall’s ear. “See, I think you can handle just a little bit more. You told me just last night how excited you were to be meeting someone who wanted to see you blow up into a proper fat guy. Well now it’s time you prove to me how badly you really want that. Open up, fatass.” And as soon as Marshall obediently opened his mouth, Pritchard picked up a grotesquely overfull spoon of cherry pie and stuffed it inside.

Marshall was reclined in his seat as Pritchard hand fed him bite after bite. He realized that the other diners in the restaurant were uncomfortable with this bizarrely intimate scene between the two men, but he was beyond caring. In fact, the more he thought about them looking at him being stuffed like a prize hog, the more aroused he got. As Pritchard took care of feeding him, he started gently stroking his belly, easing the mound of food already housed inside and making room for the next bite, and the next, and the next. By the time the plate of desserts was emptied, he was rock hard in his jeans and was taking Pritchard’s exploratory hand on his thigh as a promise of a further reward to come. 

“Well done, fatboy,” Pritchard teasingly said as he stroked the sliver of soft belly flesh on display at the hem of Marshall’s tee shirt. “You’ve made me very, very proud today. Why don’t we head back to my place so I can show you exactly how proud.” And with that, the elegantly dressed man pulled the bloated and crumb-riddled college boy to his feet and escorted him to the restaurant door, leaving the other diners and waitresses to gaze after them in confusion and mild disgust at the shameless gluttony they had just witnessed. 

[littlesparklight]

I've been doing another attempted dive in figuring out clothing for the Mycenaean era, so for me and anyone else who's interesting in trying to use that when drawing Greek myth art: some notes on the colour used for clothing!

-Obviously qualifications are needed; these are all taken from fresco paintings, which means the context displayed on them might not be exactly "every day" ones, and it's all elite people, too (but that isn't to say regular-ass people might not have access to some dyed fabric).

That said.

Just for two quick examples (though missing the tiered/flounced skirt that was usual for women). "Detailed" will mean either patterns on the fabric itself or the heavy borders at arms or down the sides/front of the dress/tunic.

For women, you see blue and pink (like above lol), detailed either in white or black. (Blue+pink is also a combination you often see in later centuries, Classical Greece and forward for women). Red and blue, either with one or the other as detailing for the other, or in combination (alternate tiers on the tiered/flounced skirts, red jacket/tunic with blue sections on a tiered skirt etc) is usual too. Yellow/orange/saffron, detailed in red or black, is another really usual colour too. (White+blue is another one, and I don't want to make some definitive statement or anything but with the situations they seem to be occurring in it might be religious. The red+blue is also very usual in those circumstances; we see both of these colour combinations on a fresco portraying women painted around a shrine.)

For men, you again have the yellow/orange/saffron, detailed in black or silver/white (I don't think I've seen red). Talking of red - men do not seem to be wearing it? At the absolute most (and they were Minoan frescos, not mainland Mycenaean ones) red seemed to be only used as detailing, together with white. Men also wear blue, however! Detailed, again, in black or white usually. White (presumably undyed/plain white wool or linen), is another usual colour, detailed in black. Very often you see this in conjunction with battle scenes, so quilted linen as part of armour might be being displayed.

For Hittites, if you'd want to try to lean into that for the Trojans, there's not much colour to go on on surviving artefacts, but from one of the books I've read about Hittite society, this was what the author mentioned in terms of colour for clothing: red, blue, green, purple (with black, red, blue, white and yellow as detailing?) Obviously, the purple is only for royalty/very rich elites. (Green seems to be missing entirely from Mycenaen/Minoan clothing.)

Talking of purple, it's very absent in Mycenaean art, but presumably it would have had some presence in the fabrics of at least royalty - both imported and potentially local, because around Kythera/Lakedaimon's shores there's proof of processing of the snail that gave purple.

[whatwewrotepodcast]

WIP Introduction

Okay! Probably about time to actually introduce some of our writing projects, right?

Pride and Prejudice in Space (Working title)

What?

PPiS is a just-for-fun queer enemies to lovers scifi story. This thing is massive and goes on for ages. It's got no novel structure and is basically what would happen if you turned the Bold and the Beautiful into a written text and also it was gay and in space. I will be posting chapters from PPiS on the blog, so keep your eye out for them!

PPiS follows the adventures of the crew of the space freighter Idalia, as they attempt to run a shipping business while being hunted across the galaxy by the corrupt Andromeda Alliance. It's silly, it's messy and it's super queer. Don't come to PPiS for structure and a clear narrative arc - it's more a long running monster of the week style!

Chapter 1 - Theo

Chapter 1 - Onyx

Chapter 2 - Theo

Chapter 2 - Onyx

Chapter 3 - Theo

Chapter 3 - Onyx

Chapter 4 - Theo

Chapter 4 - Onyx

Chapter 5 - Theo

Chapter 5 - Onyx

Chapter 6 - Theo

Chapter 5: Onyx

Who?

The Main Cast

Theodotus Wolfe

Theo is an ex-Alliance pilot who was quietly discharged from service for seeing something he shouldn't have. Having grown up in poverty and disadvantage on the poor, over populated planet of Therus, Theo has a keen sense of justice and a dry, understated sense of humour. He lacks charisma, but is intelligent and brave, even if he comes across as a bit overly stoic and stiff. He's tall, at 6'3, and of distant Greek descent, with olive skin and dark, curly hair. After leaving the Alliance, Theo bought the Idalia with the intention of a quiet retirement running supplies across the galaxy. It . . doesn't really turn out that way.

Onyx Calladan (Rathbone)

Onyx was born into the extreme privilege of being the daughter and heir of one of the most powerful men in the galaxy - the CEO of Calladan Industries, a technology and weapons manufacturer who sold their technology almost exclusively to the Alliance. The Calladans are richer than god, but Onyx, who identifies as non-binary and only ever wanted to be a mechanic, never fit in. They fled their wealthy home and set up a quiet starship mechanic business on a distant station, where things were going great until a certain Alliance captain ruined their entire reputation. Onyx is wickedly intelligent, fiercely loyal, and a bit of a jerk sometimes, but they are also plagued by intense anxiety and PTSD from their upbringing. They're average height, a little stocky, with tanned skin. They wear their hair short, with shaved sides, and dye it a vivid shade of indigo.

Pantheras Wolfe

Pan is Theo's little brother. Having grown up amongst the abuse and and poverty of Therus as well, Pan had a difficult childhood and a harder adolescence after Theo joined the Alliance and he was left largely to his own devices. Pan covers his uncertainty and fearfulness with bravado and charm. He's sweet, kind, generous and friendly, outgoing and charming in a way his brother can never be, but he's also fragile and easily rattled. He relies on his brother and doesn't cope well without him. Pan is tall like his brother, but with none of his musculature, giving him a stringbean appearance. He wears his hair longer, showing his natural ringlets.

Ellis Grey

Ellis is an orphan who was found in a garbage bin in the slums of Ceres. When the orphanage was closed by the Alliance, Ellis was turned out onto the street due to being deaf in one ear, making him unfit for military service. He survived through a combination of resourcefulness, savagery and sex work, and eventually turned to a life of crime, through which he learnt to be an excellent hacker and pilot. As an adult, Ellis took to piracy, conning freighters out of their cargo to sell on the black market. Ellis, belying his upbringing, is camp, exuberant, eloquent and urbane. He has dark skin, black kinky hair, and a wide, winning smile. He dresses extravagantly, and loves bold colours.

The Second Coming Trilogy (Revelation, Anarchy, and The Second Coming)

What?

The Second Coming Trilogy is a modern fantasy set in Brooklyn, New York. Loosely based on the poem of the same name by W.B Yeats, it tells the story of a human girl and her two Fallen Angel allies as they attempt to prevent the second coming - the rising of the son of the devil to take his place on earth. Originally this was a YA story, but subsequent re-writes have landed on a more adult tone. We've been working on this story for well over 10 years, with many iterations. Once it was one book! But it got way too long and had to be split into three. We're currently doing edits and re-writes on book 2, Anarchy, and are querying publishers with book 1, Revelation.

Who?

The Main Cast

Merry: Merry is a human girl who was born with the Sight. This ability allows her to see through glamours and lies, but also often gets her into trouble. She's spent most of her life trying to ignore it and the things she sees, but one night she sees something she shouldn't have, and becomes embroiled in the hidden world of angels and demons. Merry is caucasian, dark brown hair and dark eyes, and has a slight, athletic build (she was a gymnast in her younger years). She's head strong, stubborn, and doesn't take kindly to being told what to do.

Ith: Ithuriel is a recently fallen arc angel. Once the Angel of Truth, Ithuriel fell prey to the sin of wrath and was thrown down from Heaven, his wings torn from his back and his divinity stripped away. Having been on earth for a mere few months, Ithuriel is still filled with his righteous desire to root out and punish evil wherever he finds it. He has been hunting the faction of Demons that Merry falls afoul of, and takes her under his wing to protect her. Ithuriel is 6'3, with a broad, strong build. He has fair skin and wavy golden hair, his features sculpted and harsh, and he has bright golden eyes, though he routinely glamours himself to look more human and less otherworldly.

Belial: Belial is also a Fallen, but he fell during the first great battle between the followers of Lucifer and those who remained true to Heaven. As such, Belial is a Prince of Hell, though he long since abandoned the regions of Hell to live on earth, where he has been for thousands of years. Belial walks a careful line between self preservation and his fondness for humanity, but his outlook on the world is grim and pessimistic. He's got tanned skin covered in a thousand years of scars, with deep maroon hair and eyes, and sculpted features just like Ithuriel's, though he is a little broader and stronger. Belial's glamours are particularly strong and there are few on earth who knows what he really looks like.

The Antagonists

Moloch: Moloch is a Duke of Hell and a Demon. Long corrupted by the evil in his heart, his physical being has become corrupted in the same way. One of the first lieutenants of the coming apocalypse, Moloch also runs a series of clubs throughout Brooklyn that cater to hardcore human clubbers amongst the demons who patronise them. To humans, Moloch is a thin, slight, suave middle aged white man with slicked back black hair and a pinstriped suit. To those who can See, he appears as a rotting skeleton, scraps of putrid flesh clinging to pitted bones.

Astoreth: Princess of Hell, Keeper of the Gate. Astoreth is the daughter of Lucifer, a creature of pure evil. She is the Princess of Hell, come to earth to pave the way for her brother. Astoreth is petty, proud, vain and cruel. Half snake, half woman, with long dark hair and skin that has an iridescent sheen, Astoreth is hunting Merry with all of her considerable resources, aware she could be the key to her plans.

Mammon: Son of Lucifer. Spoilers ;)

[thepastisalreadywritten]

This Saturday, at St James's Palace in London, the man most of us have known all our lives as Prince Charles will be officially proclaimed King following the death of his mother, Queen Elizabeth II.

The fact he will be the oldest man in history to accede to the throne has been much remarked upon; the fact he will also be the most stylish, less so.

Those of us who care about such things can play an easy game. What is your favourite King Charles III style moment?

Maybe it’s the time he wore a western suit (in a jazzy shade of millennial pink) with a check shirt, a bolo tie and a quartz-hued ten-gallon hat on an official tour of Canada in the late 1970s.

Or perhaps it’s the time he wore a short-sleeved baby-blue safari shirt with a pair of chinos and some riding boots to the polo.

Our personal favourite? The time he brandished his considerable wealth with no shortage of rakishness by pairing a yolk-yellow Hermès sweater (complete with cartoonish “Happy Hermès” logo) with a chambray shirt and a pair of skintight white jeans to, you guessed it, a polo match at the Guards Polo Club in Windsor.

What people tend to forget about Charles is that he was a bit of a style icon back in the day.

But it's something that will be brought back to our collective consciousness as the outpouring of grief and tributes from around the world slowly give way to looking at the future of the monarchy, which Charles now leads after the longest wait in royal history.

Take the forest-green and cherry-red shirt Charles wore to play in a charity polo match in the late Seventies.

Imbued with a prepped-up, Eton-boy-gone-bad vibe (not least because Charles chose to wear it quite so close-cut), it wouldn’t be difficult to imagine Frank Ocean – or even the fash pack’s favourite skater Blondey McCoy – wearing the same thing today and looking every bit the wavy young disruptor doing it.

Then there’s that full-on, Yves Saint Laurent-inspired taupe safari suit he wore on a state visit to Australia in 1985.

Both of those looks exemplify Charles’s acute understanding of the soft power demonstrated by an excellent cut.

The King so often opted – and still opts – for muted shades over showier ones and tends to pick garments that focus on function over form.

This attention to detail is something those studying the King have often remarked on.

The man who played him in the The Crown, Josh O'Connor, said:

“Whenever he gets out of a car, he checks his cufflink, checks his pocket and then waves. [It’s] the same movement every time.”

It’s this sense of consistency that defines Charles' unique personal flair.

“In every photo you see, he has great style. The shirt, tie and pocket square combinations are put together so well, with a great eye for detail,” says Steven Quin, retail director at Turnbull & Asser.

“He’s not afraid of colour and he clearly wears what he feels comfortable in and does not follow trends. HRH has always worn a double-breasted jacket.

I remember reading a quote from him where he stated that his style 'comes back into fashion every 25 years’. That still rings true. His elegance is timeless.”

The other important thing to note about Charles’ very specific mode of dressing is that he’s loyal to the brands he likes and, perhaps most importantly, he invests in quality.

He has his shirts made at the aforementioned Jermyn Street shirtmaker Turnbull & Asser.

He wears handmade shoes from Northampton shoemaker Crockett & Jones.

He gets his ceremonial gear from Ede & Ravenscroft.

He alternates having his suits made at Gieves & Hawkes and Anderson & Sheppard. It’s a roster of loyalty many British men will probably relate to.

“[King] Charles is a total inspiration. His taste is impeccable, almost always in double-breasted jackets, looking resplendent but totally at ease with a tie and pocket square,” says John Harrison, creative director at Gieves & Hawkes.

”He’s also done more than anyone in the public eye to promote the idea of bespoke garments and handmade shoes being investments, to last forever with proper care and the odd repair or patch-up. He makes us all want to dress like a better man.”

Ultimately, though, it’s the confidence King Charles displays with his wardrobe decisions – a certain ruffled indifference – that makes his style so covetable.

Though today he’s best known for wearing a double-breasted suit better than any man on earth (fact), once upon a time his collars were curled, his shirts were French tucked, his jumpers were oversized.

Such flourishes are beyond him now, and not just because he's a man of 73.

After Saturday's official proclamation will come much more pomp and ceremony to sit him on the throne: a second meeting of the Accession Council in which he must swear an oath to preserve the Church of Scotland (a tradition dating back to the early 18th century).

A fanfare of trumpets from the balcony above St James's Palace, gun salutes in Hyde Park and from naval ships at sea, and the national anthem sung with the words “God Save the King.”

All of these before the coronation itself, at which Charles will have the crown placed on his head before a global audience of millions.

He will dress according to tradition throughout, in suits of impeccable shape and cut.

But as he goes forward in the role he has waited a lifetime to play, something of the King's fastidious but playful character will come back into what he wears and how he wears it.

It will be part of his legacy, wherever that may lead us.

[emmalouisefanfiction]

Summary:

Hermione was in this bar for one reason: to get off. To find someone to spend the night with. She had lots of expectations. Including a leggy blonde she just couldn't stop staring at.   For the Nostalgia Fest 2024. Enjoy.

Notes:

In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the HP_Nostalgia_Fest_2024 collection.

Prompt:   "There used to be a greying tower alone on the sea And you became the light on the dark side of me Love remained a drug that's high and not the pill ... Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on they grey"   Based on 'Kiss From A Rose' by Seal

.

Kiss from a rose.

The name of the club was both a homage to the song and the mysterious and forbidden love mentioned in the lyrics. A hint to the purpose of the club. It was what had drawn her to begin with.

Hermione Granger took a deep breath before stepping inside.

The fake fog was so cliche that she almost rolled her eyes. But curiosity made her do a quick, wandless detection spell. They were using dry ice to create the effect. This nightclub really did go all out. Muggle clubs were far more interesting than wizarding ones, which was saying something since magical clubs had literal magic.

Maybe I’m just tired of that kind of magic.

Not to mention this was a gay club with a perpetual 80’s and 90’s themed design as though time had been frozen on the premises for years. As though it had been decades instead of only a handful of years since the 90s were over. It was low-key compared to the floating fairies and singing goblins of their wizarding counterparts, but no less noisy and thrumming with music and excitement.

The wizarding world had no gay clubs. That world was so backwards it did her head in.

Hermione fiddled with her pink, silicone wristband. It showcased her intent to find a woman tonight. This place did not discriminate against men or women of any orientation, but to avoid confusion, they were given the choice of coloured bands at the entrance to wear in declaration of their intent.

Pink meant “looking for a cisgendered woman”. And numerous other colours denoting different sexual orientations and gender preferences as well as identities. Hermione probably didn’t need to memorise all the numerous combinations as she only had one target tonight, but the thrill of the atmosphere and boldness of her intent had her wanting to know everything about it.

And maybe next time I’ll be looking for something else.

Hermione was bisexual, but tonight she couldn’t give a fuck about men. Or anyone that resembled her perception of one.

She was going to go with the tight-fitting trousers and loose top, but Hermione had settled on a pink disco-inspired dress, complete with a plunging neckline that barely covered her breasts. She’d made it herself, adding a thick white belt that gave the illusion that it was the only thing keeping the dress on her body. She topped the look by teasing her wild hair out to get more volume and then pulling it back into a messy, high ponytail. Hermione felt like she was stepping into the past in more ways than one.

Only twenty-five, she was too young to be this nostalgic, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d been a kid back then, and seeing and hearing the ambience in this place just made her wish she’d been born earlier. Hermione would have loved to experience the 80’s as a teenager at least, or adult at most.

She was here to reaffirm her decision to move on from men. For the foreseeable future, anyway.

Hermione made a beeline for the bar. She was going to need something to calm her nerves anyway. She hadn’t put herself out like this in a while, and this was the first time in a place where she could flirt with women to her heart’s content. She accepted her White Russian and turned, leaning against the bar, as she surveyed the crowd. The sweet, creamy liquid settled into her as she spotted a few potential partners.

A woman with dark hair, cut short, and even darker eyes. Hermione felt a tremble of anticipation as their eyes met, but a moment later, another woman was joining her, and they were heavily making out, ignoring the tempo of the song.

Her eyes slid over some more. But every time she spotted a woman that made her pussy clench, something or someone happened. She sighed and turned away from the dance floor. Perhaps she was better off flirting with someone who was also nursing a drink, shyly waiting for something that she needed more self-confidence to find.

She’d just taken the last sip of her drink when a legged beauty caught her eye.

Now, Hermione was attractive. She’d be a fool to think any less of herself. She’d been Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelorette several times before. The men she’d been with had called her beautiful. Her skin was light and soft and blemish-free. She kept in shape. Her body, though petite, held curves in all the right places. And while modest, her breasts turned heads when she let them out to play.

But this woman... perhaps she was out of Hermione’s league. Talk about turning heads. She strode into the club with the confidence of a catwalk model, despite the slight hesitation on the first step.

Tall, maybe several inches higher than Hermione, blonde (her preference in women and men, let’s be honest), and majestic. She had also taken the time to dress like they were living in a perpetual 80s twilight zone. But where Hermione’s outfit was loose, free, and wild, this woman had opted for the sleek, sexy, but she knows it look.

It’s fantastic.

Hermione’s eyes drifted to the band on the woman’s wrist and she was delighted by the single pink colour. She inhaled deeply, trying to steel her nerves, which flared suddenly when she realised the Aphrodite was headed straight for her.

No, the bar.

She hadn’t noticed the brunette staring at her. Ogling her.

Hermione took in her lithe form greedily. The dress was short but not too short, falling just above her knees and trimmed with lace. Her arse was delightfully curved on her slim body. Those legs going on forever. Her shoulders were uncovered and her breasts pert under the satin material. Her nails were not cliche long, thankfully, as Hermione had never liked that look. Impractical.

But they were well manicured and a reflective shade of silver to match her dress.

Hermione stood straighter as the woman came up beside her and ordered a White Russian. The same as her own drink. And that voice. It was soft but commanding, making her knees weak. Her pussy clenched. Her stomach was doing somersaults. But she cleared her throat anyway.

The blue eyes of her desire widened upon seeing her.

“Hermione Granger?”

Fuck.

Did she know this woman? Was she a witch?

She can cast a spell on me any day.

“You are.” The woman blinked heavily, her eyes dropping to Hermione’s wristband. “Oh…”

Hermione watched as several emotions flickered over her face before she pulled herself to full height and turned to give the Gryffindor her full attention.

“And you are?”

“I am Astoria. You may not know–”

“Astoria Greengrass.”

Of course!

Hermione felt herself relax. She should’ve known, but the only time she’d seen her was in the Prophet a year ago after some failed engagement. Which made a lot more sense now, since she was here and not at a mansion popping out children for some overbearing, pureblood traditionalist husband.

There was a story here, and Hermione was suddenly very interested. And not just because she was imagining the tall blonde sucking on her nipples. And moaning her name as Hermione finger fucked her. And came on her face.

Fuck.

She wanted this to go well. Desperately.

Astoria smiled, and Hermione almost lost herself in those beautiful eyes of hers.

“Yes. I follow your work on Magical Beasts and Protections. It is so fascinating.”

The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had been renamed a year ago. A lot of things had happened a year ago. It had also marked the end of the last heterosexual relationship Hermione had had. The name of the department still needed to do better, but it was a start.

Hermione nodded. “I enjoy it. And what about you? What have you been doing since you graduated?”

Several years younger, Astoria had finished only five years ago. She knew so very little about the other witch.

“I am boring, I’m afraid.” She smiled sheepishly. “My parents wished for me to be wed but...” she waved at their surroundings. “That wasn’t going to happen.”

“I’m sure you’re very interesting.”

The bartender handed Astoria her drink, and her eyes lingered on the blonde before moving on.

Silence fell between them as the blonde enjoyed her drink and Hermione nervously waited for the best time to interrupt. Not to mention, think of a topic of conversation that would move this along. Now she appreciated that Astoria was her own woman and had many stories.

And I want to hear them all.

But the longer she pursed her lips over the edge of that glass and let out soft sounds of satisfaction at the creamy taste of her beverage, the more Hermione just wanted to jump her right there.

She knows what this talk could lead to, right? She’s not just chatting for the sake of it, right?

Merlin, she was hooked already.

Astoria finished, placing the drink down all prim and proper like. She smiled shyly at Hermione. “So…”

“What brings you to this bar?”

Hermione didn’t know what else to ask.

Astoria seemed to contemplate the question seriously, though. “Do you know much of muggles from the 80’s?”

Hermione nodded. “A little.”

Astoria picked at her own dress. “I had to ask my sister about what to wear. She married a muggle, you see.”

“Ah.”

There had indeed been a scandal about that in The Prophet. Pure, innocent witch bedazzled by muggle. Family not happy. A bunch of propaganda to follow. But the moving pictures of Daphne and her husband taken by The Prophet showed a couple deeply in love with each other, and the majority of the wizarding world seemed to support her after that publication.

Hermione smiled. Astoria hadn’t directly answered her question, but it didn’t matter. She was a lesbian. She knew of this place. Her brother-in-law was a muggle. Hermione could read between the lines.

What the hell, might as well get this moving faster.

“Would you care to dance?”

Hermione placed her glass on the bar and offered her hand. Smiling deeply and seemingly happy to be asked, Astoria accepted her hand, and they moved between the bumping and grinding bodies to a spot where they could freely hold each other.

Hermione rested her arms on Astoria’s shoulders, pressing closer to her as the younger witch ran her hands along the Gryffindor’s hips. Delicate, dexterous fingers slid up her torso immediately and found her pert, nipples, tweaking them gently. The plunging neckline aided Astoria’s ministrations as she slipped her fingers under the material of her dress, brushing the skin of Hermione’s breasts and making her tremble.

Surprisingly forward for someone who had been so hesitant before. But not remotely unwelcome.

Hermione gazed up at Astoria, lips parting in anticipation as the blonde’s hands continued to pleasure her. The other witch smirked as she cupped Hermione’s breasts. They weren’t anything to write home about. She’d always been self-conscious about their size. But Astoria seemed spellbound by their weight and feel in her hands. Their eyes were locked.

Hermione’s breath deepened as she moved her hips to the music. Her breasts heaving. Her mouth dry. Her pussy aching. She wished desperately that they were the only two in the room. That the grind of their hips together wasn’t encumbered by clothes. She wanted to be bare to this Aphrodite and bare herself to her perusal. Her touch. Her mouth.

Hermione inhaled deeply and let out a soft moan.

“They have a back room,” Astoria whispered, her breath husky with want and need.

Fuck yes.

But first things first. They hadn’t even kissed yet. She pulled Astoria into a deep kiss, licking her tongue as the other woman opened to her immediately. She tasted so good. Hands spread over her body, and she returned the favour. Her knickers were so wet she was surprised she couldn’t smell it. Arousal was already in the air. When she pulled back in order to breathe, the blonde was glowing.

Hermione grinned. “Let’s go.”

She hadn’t been with a woman in so long, but Hermione was feeling bold. She took the other woman’s hand and led her off the dancefloor. The signs were clearly marked and they followed them dutifully. Hermione was feeling nervous again, but she pushed it down. From the moment she’d seen Astoria stride into the club, only one thing mattered.

Getting off.

Given that this was a muggle bar, Hermione took the time to cast a wandless cleaning charm on the plush chair before lowering Astoria into it. The other witch seemed to appreciate it and hummed softly as Hermione kneeled before her.

The back room was small and dimly lit, giving it a discreet but intense vibe. Hermione also cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm on the door so they could do this in privacy. She held no concerns about doing magic like this as long as no-one spotted her.

Hermione slid Astoria’s dress up, and the blonde lifted her knees and parted her legs. No knickers. Surprising, but it shouldn’t be. They’d both come to this bar to fuck. She took a moment to admire the delicately trimmed pussy now on display to her before running her fingers softly along the parted lips.

Astoria moaned.

Emboldened, Hermione ducked her head down and licked along her slit, parting her own legs in mirror to her lover. She sucked at Astoria’s clit none too gently, wanting to send her into a spiral as fast as possible. But as her finger explored the wet folds, she also wanted to slow down. Do this right. Two different sensations collided, and Astoria bucked like a wild animal.

“Merlin.”

In regards to finger-fucking her, Hermione started out slow, now licking along the labia, running her fingers on the inner lips. She sucked and made a slurping sound as the arousal built up around her tongue. Astoria’s hips jerked, and her fingers dug into the brunette’s hair, gripping tightly.

Hermione took a chance and raked her nails over the other woman’s cunt gently before digging into her opening, adding several fingers and thrusting as hard as she could. Astoria’s noise began to reverberate off the walls. Her screams. Her cries. Her platitudes to Merlin. To Salazaar. To every wizard and witch that had ever held power.

Her pussy clenched around Hermione’s fingers. Her legs flailed. Her hips bucked. Her hands clasped Hermione’s head. Every part of her trembled with the sounds of a woman ascending to Nirvana.

Astoria’s body trembled before slumping as the orgasm ran through her. Hermione’s knickers were so soaked she would probably have trouble cleaning them later, even with magic. But it was worth it. Aphrodite was hers. And when they both recovered, Hermione apparated them to her apartment to continue.

To have the favour returned. And spend the night exploring and being explored by her new lover.