#crystal candelabras | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brain-rot-central · 9 months ago

Text

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 4

A/N: Confrontation time. Here we go, y'all. I'm tagging this as borderline non-con for the ending. It steps into some murky territory that some may feel uncomfortable with. But hey, we're dealing with AA, after all. I'll also be linking a post reference within the text here; please click the link when you see it! It'll help you visualize a certain part. 🌝 Thank you all for the support thus far! I hope you enjoy reading ❤️

Rating: Explicit Word count: 7.7k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (named) Warnings: 18+, non-con (somewhat; literally touches the border of it), absolutely dubcon, mentions of pregnancy, mention of virginity loss, loss of innocence, manipulative behaviors, toxic relationship, discussions of death and murder, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, PiV sex, PiV sex while pregnant, blood drinking, mother-fuckin' vampire sex boiiiiiiiiii (sorry these tags are way too serious and I am not)

Summary: Tav arrives at the Crimson Palace, poised for a confrontation with Astarion. A delicate dance ensues.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust as she enters, but once they do, the sight before her nearly robs her of all speech and reason.

Illuminated by candelabras, Tav gasps in awe at the renovations to the interior of the manor. The once drab and outdated decor has been ripped out, heart and soul, and replaced with… white. So much white.

White walls, white marble flooring with golden accents, tall white marble columns. A generous crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, Tav looking up. Her vision comes down to settle on the plush red carpet lining the foyer, stretching through the hall and into the ballroom. The reflection of the candlelight shimmers along the marble floors. A sunset on the water… Tav notes offhandedly to herself.

A commemoration to their moment of triumph over the Absolute.

They all stood atop the dock watching the sun set over the horizon, sunlight glinting off the sea. The moment the tadpole vanished, Astarion became free. Truly and completely free.

A life regained, a future unwritten.

Reborn anew.

As she continues to drink in the new additions to the palace, Tav sees a figure approach from the corner of her eye. She turns her head to observe an older human woman making her way down the carpet, a smile set upon her slightly wrinkled face.

“Good evening, young miss,” the woman greets with a short bow. “Have you come to ask for an audience with Lord Ancunín?”

Tav remains silent for a moment as she quickly gives the woman a glance over. Gray hair with a time-worn face, albeit one that still shows the beauty she once beheld. She wears a simple long black dress with long sleeves, a white apron tied around her waist. Her shoes are black with a big metal buckle adorning the top of each. “I beg pardon for my current appearance,” the woman offers, giving the apron a quick pat down. “It isn’t often we have visitors this time in the evening.”

“No…” Tav begins, voice trailing off as she regroups her thoughts. “Not an audience, no. I’m…” Her chest thumps as she ponders their relationship. “...A friend of Astarion's. Is he home?”

“The young Master is in, yes; though I'm afraid he's currently occupied.” As if sensing Tav’s disappointment, the woman questions, “May I ask who you are?”

Tav nods her head respectfully. “I'm Tav.” The woman quirks a questioning brow. “Tavaria,” she adds quickly. “I was a traveling companion to Astarion over a year ago.”

And much more…

A spark shoots across the woman's vision and Tav recoils backward, readying herself.

“Ah!” the woman exclaims joyfully, “Lady Tavaria!” The woman bows earnestly. “Lord Ancunín extends his warmest greetings to you. Welcome to the Crimson Palace.”

With a smile, Tav softens her stance. She bows in return. “Thank you. It's… definitely different than before,” she comments while looking around the room.

“Ah, yes,” the woman agrees, “Master Astarion has renovated the manor to his distinct liking after the untimely passing of its prior occupant.”

“I see,” Tav states with a laugh. “This is all… very Astarion.” Elegant and refined.

All for show.

Continuing her observation of the room, a painting hanging on the middle wall catches Tav's eyes. She walks toward the painting, stopping just in front of it.

It's a black and white piece, looking to have been drawn in charcoal, depicting a man and woman sharing an intimate embrace. Both are naked, the woman's face obscured by her pose as she bows her back while offering her throat to the man. His head rests within her neck, his long black hair flowing down his back. The accompanying piece focuses solely on the man. The lustful look demonstrated in the man's half-lidded eyes as he looks up from the woman's throat has Tav shaking where she stands.

She's seen that look before. Not unlike how Astarion has looked at her.

The servant woman smiles, still standing in the same spot, clasping her hands together. “You must be exhausted, dearie,” she says, cutting through the silence. “Shall I direct you to your chambers?”

Tav blinks rapidly and turns her head to the woman. “I’m sorry, but did you say ‘my chambers?’” She shakes her head with a short laugh. “I don't live here.”

“But of course, my lady,” offers the servant. “Master Astarion has asked that we offer it as an option should you ever visit the manor.” She nods her head with another beatific smile. “There is no obligation. It is simply a kind gesture.” She bows, courteously, “My apologies for any offense I may have given, Lady Tavaria.”

Tav nods briefly, turning away from the woman as her mind races. He made me a bloody bedroom? She lifts her head and once again finds the picture on the wall. A chill travels up her neck as she locks eyes with the intense gaze of the man in the painting. Her breath hitches.

“Do you know when Astarion will be available?” Tav asks hurriedly, looking toward the woman.

The servant shakes her head. “I'm afraid I do not, though I can set you up in the study while you wait?” Smiling again, the woman walks across the room to a set of double doors on the far right. She opens them wide and gestures to Tav, welcoming her to enter.

Clutching her satchel, Tav walks through the threshold and into the office. It's rather standard when compared to the rest of the manor; dark green carpeting and wood panel walls. Multiple bookcases that are carved into the walls, holding a plethora of tomes. A couple glass display cases are near the large window on the far side of the room. The evening sunlight pours in from the wide window and onto the chaise lounge adjacent to it; a relaxing spot for one who wishes to bask in the sun.

The solid, dark wooden desk across from the double doors has a number of loose papers strewn about the top. An ornate wooden chair sits behind the desk, purple velvet upholstery with golden Damask patterns lining the back and seat. Two simple royal blue armchairs sit before the desk, signaling the office’s likely use for business gatherings.

“Please, make yourself at home,” the older woman says from behind as she enters the room. She walks over to the desk and gathers the documents into a single pile. “Would you care for something to drink, my lady? I'd be happy to bring you something after informing Lord Ancunín of your presence.”

Tav turns her head in acknowledgement of the older woman. “I'm quite well, thank you.” She furrows her brow. “Though, I didn't catch your name before.”

The woman freezes momentarily before bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaims in embarrassment, bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Where are my manners today?” She quickly bows. “Magdalena, my lady. A true pleasure to make your acquaintance. My sincerest apologies.”

“It’s quite alright, Magdalena. No harm done,” Tav says with a calming wave of her hand. She walks toward the grand window and turns to face the older woman again. “Thank you for your hospitality thus far. I’ll settle myself in.”

With a nod of her head, Magdalena begins to exit the study. “Of course, Lady Tavaria. I’ll inform Master Astarion of your presence at once.” The doors close behind her with a soft click, and suddenly, Tav is alone.

She removes the satchel from around her chest, depositing the bag onto the chaise lounge. Her hat and scarf are next to join as she shakes out her hair. Tav tries to look through the frosted glass window without success. The opacity is too intense to make out anything more than muddled blobs. Turning around, she begins to walk the perimeter of the room, stopping in front of a large glass display case with a large book resting within. The cover of the book is adorned with skin, stitched into the pattern of a screaming face. An amethyst jewel sits within the face’s open mouth. Tav recalls the long nights and early mornings Astarion spent reasoning with this book until finally uncovering its secrets.

The Necromancy of Thay.

Of course he kept it.

She continues on, noting each small trinket that sits within the shelves of the grand bookcases. Slipping her hands behind her back, Tav peers over the wooden desk and observes the pile of documents on top. She pops her head up to briefly scan the room. Satisfied that she has clear advantage, she takes a hand to swipe over the letters.

There are various invitations to grand balls in distant kingdoms, letters of gratitude from high nobles, bills of sale… Tav’s eyes widen as she spots a familiar name amongst the many signatures.

With deepest admiration, Araj Oblodra

Tav reaches over and picks up the letter off the desk, holding it steady with both hands as she skims through the contents. From what she gathers, it sounds as if Araj has learned of Astarion’s new circumstances. She’s highly apologetic for her past behavior and would very much like an opportunity to show her sincerest gratitude. The letter goes on further to imply that they take the chance to get to know one another better, and perhaps they can even become allies.

Tav scoffs as she places the piece of paper back down on the desk.

She resumes her roaming when she settles on a small jewelry case on the top left of the desk. Walking around the edge, Tav fixates on the case, a startled gasp slips past her lips as she recognizes the jewelry within.

Resting atop a red velvet cushion lay a golden ring with a turquoise stone in its center. One half of a matching set of rings she had found during their journey through the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Tav was in possession of both rings for quite some time, going back and forth with herself about whether giving him one half would be too much.

She’d grown to like him; really-really like him, but she’d no idea if he felt the same. It wasn’t until the night of Astarion’s confession that Tav made her decision. Feeling the tension within his body as she wrapped her arms around his waist, yet fighting through his hesitation to return her embrace. It was enough to convince her that he truly did want to give them a try.

She presented the ring to him the following morning as they packed up camp.

“...A bit soon for a proposal, no?” quips Astarion, expression smug.

Tav stands before him. A ring with a golden aura lays within the palm of her hand, held out in silent offer. “N-no!” she stammers, the ghost of a blush tinting her cheeks. She averts her gaze as she says, “It's an enchanted ring.”

Astarion raises an eyebrow in question. “I can see that quite clearly, dear. But what does it do?”

Turning to look at him under her eyes, Tav replies shyly, “...It allows me to cast a special protection spell on you.” Her cheeks burn hot, her skin beginning to prickle.

His eyes darken as he leans forward. “Oh,” Astarion teases, voice velvet, “you wish to be my Knight?” He begins to move into her, hovering his lips just above hers. “You want to save a poor, innocent maiden such as I,” he coos. “Is that it, darling?”

They spent the majority of the following night rutting feverishly against one another, sharing a mutual need to scrub their underclothes in the river the morning after. From that point forward, each wore their respective ring around the fourth finger of the left hand.

Commotion outside the office brings Tav back to the present. She hears the voice of a woman, though not of the servant from earlier. Tav sneaks closer toward the doors, placing her ear to the wood to hopefully catch some of the conversation.

Still muffled, she thinks with a scowl. Drawing a deep breath in, Tav makes a quick split decision and grabs hold of the doorknob, twisting it gently. She feels the lock unlatch and pulls the door open just enough to allow for a small sliver of visibility. Tav strains against the door as she tries to find a better angle.

A tall elven woman with long blonde hair stands in the foyer exchanging words with Magdalena. Dressed in professional attire, she hands the maid a business card as they exchange pleasantries. Tav catches the woman's head beginning to turn toward the direction of the office and Tav quickly steps out of sight, holding her breath, heart flying within her chest. A few moments pass without incident before Tav slowly inches toward the crack in the door. She finds Magdalena bowing as the elf takes her leave of the manor.

There isn't much time to ponder who this mysterious woman is – the sound of footsteps marching along marble flooring fills the air.

“Good evening, Master,” greets Magdalena, kneeling in a curtsy.

“Good evening, my dear.” A man's voice, deep and smooth. Perfectly poised. Her stomach lurches; she knows that voice.

Tav holds her breath as talk continues just beyond the door. She quickly scans the room to determine which is closer – the blue armchair sitting before the desk, or the chaise lounge near the window.

As the man's footsteps draw closer to the door Tav bolts for the armchair, sitting promptly. She adjusts herself to appear as if she's been waiting patiently for his arrival all this time.

“Odd that the door is already open,” Tav hears the man comment from just beyond the door.

Shit.

A flash of embarrassing heat crawls up her neck. Magdalena mutters something to Astarion under her breath, but it's too quiet for Tav to make out. The doors suddenly swing open and Tav remains still, trying desperately to settle the overactive current that is her nerves.

She smells him first before she sees him – the signature scent of rosemary, bergamot and brandy encompassing the quaint office. “Thank you, Magdalena. Now, please, carry on,” he says smoothly.

Tav hears the man begin to approach from behind, placing the palms of his hands atop her shoulders. “I’m sure you've done a fine job at making our Lady feel welcome, hmm?” He squeezes her shoulders, Tav flinching beneath his grasp.

Tav tries desperately to resist the urge to look at him. When she closes her eyes she envisions the sharpness of his jaw behind her mind's eye, coupled with the smell of his cologne that’s currently assaulting her senses – she simply cannot look at him. If she does, she's going to fall.

She'll forget about the murders. Forget how angry she is that he dared come to her in a state of blood-crazed lust. That she carries a child he knows nothing about, that he can never know anything about.

If she looks at his face, so perfectly sculpted by the Gods themselves, she's going to forget every reason as to why she should stay far, far away from this man. Longing for nothing more than to fall into his arms for the rest of eternity.

“Y-yes,” Tav replies, nervously. “You've been ever so kind, Magdalena. Thank you.” Finally, she turns, eyes meeting with the servant woman. Tav feels the pale elf's searing gaze upon her skin as she deliberately looks past him, the hands on her shoulders relaxing.

“Wonderful,” he sings with a wave of his hand. “Now leave us, Magdalena.” He walks around Tav, coming to lean against the lip of the office desk. “The Lady and I have much to discuss,” he purrs, leaning over as he places a hand upon her jaw. Slowly he tilts her face upright, staring directly into her eyes. “Isn't that right, love?”

Within an instant, she feels faint. An unsettling warmth begins to spread. “Yes, Astarion,” Tav murmurs softly as his fingers slip down her neck. Her eyes flutter closed as the hand inevitably falls free of her. Astarion slowly leans back and upright, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. He breaks eye contact to focus on Magdalena.

The servant woman bows, closing the doors behind her with an audible ‘thud’ as she takes her leave. The room is silent then. Tav’s heart pounds in her ears as she stares beyond Astarion again, focusing on the ring box at the corner of the desk. She only realizes how rapidly she's breathing as the sound reaches her ears.

“Are you alright, dear?” Astarion’s smooth voice cuts through. “You look as though you've seen a ghost.”

Raising her head, Tav meets his eyes. He stands before her, concern written across his features. For a split second, Tav sees him – the dashing rogue she fell in love with.

The way Astarion is knitting his brow, wide glassy eyes studying her. It's all very much like him.

“I’m fine,” she forces out, swallowing hard.

“Did Magdalena offend you?” Astarion asks urgently.

Tav shakes her head. “No, she truly has been pleasant.”

He leans over her again. Astarion drags a finger delicately up the side of her cheek. “Then why do you cry?”

Immediately Tav raises a hand to her opposite cheek. Moisture coats her fingertips as she finds a stray tear rolling down her cheek. She’s unsure when or why she’s begun to weep, wiping the tear away with the back of her hand. Tav pulls herself out of Astarion’s touch with a slight groan.

“I-I’m fine, really,” she insists. “I… came to see you.”

The vampire's expression softens as he tilts his head. “I haven't come to you in some time,” Astarion says, walking toward a carafe of wine sitting atop a metal cart near the window. “I apologize for that.” He speaks over his shoulder, pouring the wine out into a glass. He gestures with the carafe briefly to Tav; she shakes her head. “Although, I can't say I anticipated you showing up here.” Placing the carafe back down on the cart, Astarion turns, lips pulling into a smirk as he brings the wine glass to his lips. “Is it true then, what they say? Has absence made your heart grow fonder?”

Tav stands and turns to Astarion, giving him a full glance over. He wears a simple white dress shirt, the top few buttons undone revealing glimpses of his sculpted chest. His trousers are something she’s unfamiliar with – a type of woven cotton in a particular vertical design, and dyed blue. Indigo blue. He's wearing a black belt, threaded into loops within the pants around his hips. Tav imagines there's a fastener under the belt buckle, but also something else to help secure the garment. Something metal running down the front seam of the pants. Her eyes finish their course down his legs to find a simple pair of polished black loafers.

“...I'll take that as a yes,” Astarion comments with a quirk of his brow. He returns from across the room to once again take his place leaning against the desk in front of Tav, setting the wine glass down.

“N-no,” Tav blurts out, “I mean yes, but…” She feels the warmth of embarrassment crawl up her neck, nipping along her skin as it floods her face.

A hand rises to move her hair gently aside. Astarion leans forward and dips his head into the crook of her neck, planting chaste kisses along the tender flesh. “I missed you,” he whispers into her skin. Hot puffs of breath spread over her neck and Tav shudders. Almost instinctively, she raises her head to allow Astarion better access to her throat; her eyes flutter closed. His hand in her hair winds around the back of her head, gently guiding Tav’s head further to the side before falling to her hip.

Tav gasps as Astarion pulls their bodies flush against one another. His arousal has yet to awaken, though she can still feel the outline of him against her core. She groans as he rolls her hips into her again and again; slow, languid thrusts that have bolts of pleasure shooting up from between her thighs and spreading like wildfire through her body.

“Astarion…” Tav protests weakly, raising a hand to cover Astarion's on her hip. “I didn't come here for this.”

He purrs into her throat, gently nipping and teasing the skin around her scars with blunted teeth. “Oh, no? Are you sure?” Astarion pulls her into him again while imitating a piercing bite into her neck.

She moans, louder than she means to, finally feeling the rigidness of his cock firmly against her sex. Her head falls against his shoulder as he continues rolling his hips against her, hardly noticing Astarion moving his hand from her hip to her lower back. A spark of panic zaps through her addled mind as she realizes where this is heading.

“Y-yes, I'm sure,” she insists, somehow managing to pull herself out of Astarion's embrace. The room spins around her as she turns to face him. “There's something I wanted to discuss with you,” she says breathlessly, vision finally starting to clear.

His expression falls, replaced by smug dissatisfaction. “You came halfway across the city… just to talk?” asks Astarion, narrowing his eyes.

Tav nods her head in agreement. “Yes, it's something rather important.”

Astarion groans low in his throat, grabbing the glass of wine off the desk and walking toward the office window. He brings the crimson liquid to his lips and takes a strong sip. “You could have sent a damned pigeon, if that's all you wanted,” he snides over his shoulder.

“Not about this.” Tav feels her throat run dry as she speaks. Her lust has settled for now, replaced by the live wire of anticipation.

“About what?” Astarion growls defensively. He spins around, entire body leaning into his words. Like an animal being cornered.

Tav flinches reflexively. It’s rare that Astarion ever raises his voice to her, even during disagreements. She swallows, hardening her resolve. “Don’t use that tone with me.”

Astarion hisses through clenched teeth, taking another long drink from his wine glass. His face softens. “I'm sorry, love, but I'm having a very rough time ascertaining what could ever be so important that you felt the need to bring yourself here,” he gestures wildly to the floor below him, “to me, just to talk?”

She doesn't respond.

The tension eases from his form as he studies Tav, clearly shaken by his display. He sucks his teeth in defeat. “Oh, for the love of Shar’s cunt, fine,” he groans. “If you're going to look at me like that, then fine, I'll bite.” He comes to rest on the chaise lounge near the window, knees spread wide, his forearms resting over the tops of his thighs. “So, what can I do for you, my friend?”

Tav winces, looking down at her hands as she fidgets her fingers. He's being heavily sarcastic, though at least it's an invitation to continue. “...There was an article recently in the Gazette,” she begins, voice quivering. “That spoke of a murder within the sewers.”

Astarion scoffs. “Unsurprising for those cesspits, but do carry on.”

Her eyes shift momentarily to his face before falling back to the floor. “It's reported that there were five victims in total. Three had their throats slashed, while the other two…” her voice trails off as her throat tightens. Tav tries to swallow, but nothing goes down. Panic rises within her, adrenaline building.

“The other two what, dear?” Astarion's voice is dark, firm. He stands from his place on the lounge, walking slowly over to Tav. He stands before her, brows pulled together, his eyes cast down upon her face. A hand comes up to lift her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me,” he demands.

She gasps, Tav finally saying with some hesitation, “They had fang marks… embedded in their throats. Resembling the scars I bear.” She blinks. “The ones you gave me,” she adds, quietly.

His eyes darken with malice as his face contorts. His grip on her chin tightens, forcibly lifting her head to the side to observe her branding. Astarion pulls in a full breath as he looks over her neck, mouth dropping open in an exasperated exhale.

“...Do you know anything about this?” Tav chokes out, eyelashes fluttering rapidly.

“And why would I know anything about that, hmm?” Astarion lowers his head into the crook of her neck, panting heavily against her skin. Tav shakes from their proximity. He then drags his lips up the side of her face, resting them against her ear. “I'm not the only monster lurking in the shadows,” he whispers.

The hand on her chin falls to her hip, guiding her gently toward the lip of the desk. “I know how you think of me, darling.” Tav sucks in a sharp breath as her backside bumps into the wood. “That I’m the big bad wolf coming to steal you away in the night.” Astarion buries his nose within her hair, inhaling deeply as he pulls their bodies flush together again.

“A-answer the question, Astarion,” Tav insists, her head beginning to cloud.

“Oh, but wouldn't you rather hear what I miss most about you, Tavaria?” he growls into her ear. “What memories play incessantly again and again in my mind?” Astarion grinds himself against her center again, coaxing a suggestive moan out of Tav. Her arms rise to encircle his neck, her resolve beginning to shatter.

“A-Astarion,” Tav whines desperately. “D-don’t…”

He drops his head to rest their foreheads together, lips practically touching. “I miss how you’d writhe in my lap as I'd drink from you,” Astarion confesses. He pulls at her bottom lip, suckling the flesh between his. “The way you flutter around my cock when you fall off the edge for me.” He kisses her more thoroughly this time, groaning softly into her mouth as Tav’s jaw slackens. “But, do you know what I miss above all else?” suggests Astarion, pulling back. He dips his head again into the nape of her neck, a hand rising to gently hold the opposite side of her face.

Tav grasps at the linen of his dress shirt, bunching the fabric within the palms of her hands. She's now rocking her hips in rhythm with his, a smoldering fire now roaring to life deep within her belly. Her body calls for him, and Tav wonders briefly if he can hear it.

The crazed beating of her heart? The lone song it sings only for him? The proof of their union that grows within?

“Your blood,” Astarion speaks against her skin. Suddenly he places his mouth over her scars and sucks voraciously, like a man starved. Tav moans, buckling at the knees momentarily. She grabs at his hair, threading her fingers deep against their roots for leverage. “Gods, there's nothing quite like the vintage of your blood,” he continues as he unlatches from her throat. The delicacy of her skin has given way to a mauve bloom; he smiles as he pulls away.

She shakes beneath him. If it weren't for the desk behind her, Tav would certainly collapse. He's trying to seduce her. Fuck her into submission – make her crave him so that she's more pliable, in whichever way he desires. These are his classic manipulation tactics, not unlike their humble beginnings.

“I know w-what you're doing, Astarion,” Tav says. “Don’t toy with me.”

He laughs – a quick condescending sound breaking free from his lips. “Oh, darling, you've been toying with me for months now. I'm very aware,” Astarion says with a smirk. He cranes his head. “Our dance is always the same – we fight, we kiss, and then I make the sweetest love to you as you weave your fingers between the very threading of my soul, ripping my heart free of my chest,” he adds with a sneer, pounding a fist over his heart.

Astarion pauses for a brief moment to stare at her. He pulls in a quick breath and his face softens. “And I let you, every time.” Tav gasps as the hand holding her face slides to her chin, fingers tracing the outline of her lips. “But you?” he continues, gesturing to a shelf on the wall behind them with a nod of his head, “You keep yours high on a shelf, completely out of reach. No matter how I clamor for it.”

Astarion releases her, hands entirely off her being as he steps back. “I lay myself bare for you every time. But you refuse to see it. Refuse to see me, beyond the glitz and glamor.” He knits his brow again, and Tav swears she sees a hint of moisture gather at the edges of his eyes. “Yet, I say nothing, because this is the only way you allow me to have you. And I’d rather have some of you than nothing at all.”

Silence blankets them both.

Has she been unfair to him? Cruel? Has she so sorely misjudged who he’s become? Tav shifts her gaze down to the floor as the questions mount. Maybe he isn’t this grand demon she’s characterized him to be. His talk of power and control after the ritual – perhaps it was a rush of emotions? The first taste of freedom after so many years of indentured servitude? He seems more settled now, not in so much of a rush to bend the entire city to his will.

Perhaps… she was wrong?

“So, may we skip straight to the finale?” says Astarion, distracting her from her thoughts, “Because I’m not quite sure how much more of this I can take.”

Her mouth hangs open, too stunned to speak. Tav looks up; she meets his eyes.

Maniacal laughter as he bathes in a glowing red aura of 7000 souls extinguished.

His face when the ritual was complete. The way he roared. How he laughed.

No, she's not wrong for mistrusting him. He's worse than a devil themselves.

They stare into one another's eyes, the tension swirling about the room thickening. Tav blinks; he still hasn't answered her question.

“You still haven't answered my question, Astarion.”

She stands firm.

He scoffs, turning his head toward the grand window. Astarion runs a hand over his face; he bites the top of a finger. “No,” he answers sternly, dropping the hand from his mouth. “I don't take particular interest in what happens within the bowels of this city.” He glances down at the fingernails of his closed fist, rubbing them across the front of his shirt. “My days of being a sewer rat are long gone, my dear.”

Tav winces. She's not entirely yet convinced. “Are you sure?”

Slowly, Astarion returns his attention to her. “Yes,” he growls low in this throat, “I am sure.” He tilts his head to the side as he lifts his brow. “Satisfied?”

Briefly she narrows her eyes, studying his face. Something about this… she's seen it before. He's pulled his face into an all-too-perfect expression. Not a muscle out of place.

“Yes, thank you,” she answers. Tav watches his liar’s mask slide off, replaced by a smug expression. He’s truly convinced he has her fooled.

How could she have ever loved such a horrid creature?

“Excellent,” Astarion hums as he clasps his hands. “Shall we return to more pressing matters?” His hands raise to caress the soft edges of her hips. He drops his face to her forehead, planting a soft, lingering kiss. Gently he rocks them together again.

He's turning this into his playground. His bargaining chip.

Sex. Lies. Manipulation.

He falls back on them every time. Seals every deal with the proposition of ‘a little death;’ wielding his body like a finely sharpened tool. In her case, if she doesn't play her cards carefully, Tav could very well be staring face to face with actual death.

“Of course,” she sings to him. “I wouldn't be truthful if I said I hadn't been thinking of this.” She smiles softly to him, in just the way she knows he likes – a smile that reaches her eyes. It's her turn to start dealing her hand.

And just as expected, Astarion folds.

Hands reach behind her knees, Astarion lifting her up and onto the top of the desk. Their kiss is hurried as he slots himself between her splayed thighs, his tongue entwining itself around hers. Astarion's hands travel up again, one landing on her waist while the other palms at a clothed breast. Tav arches her back, pushing her chest into his touch. She sighs as he continues massaging the tender mound, mewling into his mouth as he pulls teasingly at her nipple. Breaking the kiss, she rests her forehead against the bridge of his nose. Her chest heaves as she tries to regain her breath.

Astarion releases her breast and slides his hand up to push the strap of her dress off her shoulder. “Lay down,” he commands with a whisper. Tav hesitates at first, but then moves slowly. She gently lays back onto the surface of the desk; the wood is cold against her exposed skin, sending a chill through her. Astarion leans forward, planting open-mouthed kisses to her neck and the newly exposed area of her shoulder. He travels down, suckling softly at the swell of her breast. She writhes beneath his touch as his hair tickles her chest.

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir,” says Astarion, kissing down the expanse of her abdomen. Tav grasps at silver locks, threading her fingers through Astarion’s hair as he begins hiking up her dress.

“You’ve said that to me before,” she pants heavily while stealing a look between her legs. An involuntary twitch ripples through her as he kisses the inside of her thigh. Tav feels him smirk into her skin.

“And still you’ve yet to seek out its meaning,” comes his prompt response. Astarion hooks his fingers into the hem of her undergarments, Tav lifting her hips enough for him to slide the fabric down her legs. They hang off one ankle as he resumes lavishing attention to her.

She arches off the desk as he kisses her mound, dipping his head momentarily to swipe his tongue teasingly up her slit. “W-uh, what d-does it mean?” she questions in a moan.

Astarion hums as he kneels before her spread legs. “You'll just have to find out for yourself,” he teases. Holding her legs open, he runs the flat of his tongue up her center, stopping to lavish her sensitive bud. He wraps his lips around her clit, suckling gently as he brings a hand to her entrance.

“What are you-” Tav exclaims, clearly panicked. Two of his fingers prod over her entrance, Astarion lightly teasing the tips in and out. Their eyes connect and he finally breaches forward, his eyes now rolling back into his skull as he continues lapping at her cunt. He curls his fingers, jerking his hand back and forth to pass over the intimate spot within. Tav’s vision begins to fill with searing white heat, her body writhing under him. He's bringing her closer and closer to release, and fast. More quickly than ever before.

“Gods, you taste even better than I remember,” he moans softly, adding fuel to the ever-mounting fire within her belly. Astarion kisses her opposite thigh, continuing the assault with his fingers. “Thiramen,” he says softly, sensing her proximity to the precipice.

The fucking Elvish. He surely hasn't forgotten the effect it has on her.

“D-don’t… not fair…” Tav whines, looking down between her legs as she runs her hands through Astarion's hair. Her thighs quake, the coil in her lower belly winding tighter and tighter as it threatens to snap.

Astarion meets her gaze, tongue once again passing over her swollen clit. “Thiramen eath’she,” he says. “Let shan nesh tel’quiet, thiramen...”

Astarion curls his finger with just the right amount of finesse and suddenly Tav’s body ceases. She cries out, loud and wanton, her release spilling into the palm of his hand. Astarion smirks and continues passing his fingers over her spot, coaxing her through the intensity of her pleasure. Tav pulls her knees together and finally rolls away from his touch, too overstimulated to take any more. Her chest heaves as aftershocks of her release rock through her.

The vampire smiles as he stands up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He begins undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders. Opening her legs again, he leans over her. Tav’s face is flushed red, her eyes still closed as her mouth hangs open. He makes a quick mental note of her current state to call upon for later use. “So beautiful,” Astarion comments, snaking a hand down to the button of his trousers. With the deftness expected of a skilled rogue, he pops open the button and loosens the fastener.

Tav finally comes to, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. “Astarion…” she breathes, raking her nails over his bare chest. Looking between their bodies, she follows his hand as he reaches within the waistband of his underclothes, pulling them down his thighs. His cock springs free and Tav gasps. Pre-fluid gathers at the tip of him and her eyes flutter upward to meet his again, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

“I'll stop, if you want,” Astarion whispers through kiss-swollen lips. Guiding his length to rest against her sex, he groans softly, resting his head against her forehead. Involuntarily twitches of his hips have his shaft sliding deliciously through her arousal. Both pull in a sharp breath when the head of his cock catches at her entrance, Tav’s body arching off the desk at the sensation.

Shaky hands rise to hold either side of his face, and Tav notices for the first time that evening how warm it is. A soft blush sits high on his face, across the tops of his cheeks. Astarion turns his head into her palm, planting gentle kisses. Any reservations begin to melt away at the gesture. “No,” she breathes, “it's fine. I want this.” Tav runs her thumb back and forth over his cheek. “Even if only for a little while.”

He nods, completely silent, then guides himself along her core. Her hands tangle within moonlit locks as he breeches her entrance. Her sudden pleasured moan is swallowed in a kiss, Astarion groaning out is own into her mouth as his length slips deeper, deeper, until he hits her end. Tav tastes the remnants of her release on his tongue; a bitter sweetness that tickles the back of her throat. An involuntary clenching of her walls around his cock as his tip kisses the end of her tunnel has Astarion moaning again, breaking their kiss. He buries his head within the crook of her neck, resting there for a brief moment as he bottoms out.

They lay still, Tav pressing a heated cheek to the side of his face. Inhaling deeply, she crosses her legs over the small of his back and pulls him impossibly closer. Astarion adjusts the angle of his hips and she gasps as the head of his cock pushes against her cervix again, slightly arching into his embrace. Gently he begins to rock his hips – short, teasing thrusts to test her readiness. He lavishes attention to her neck with languid kisses, suckling at the delicate skin.

This is… passionate. Intimate, Tav realizes. The words he cannot say aloud, that he's too afraid to say aloud, he'll express through this.

This is her Astarion. The man she fell in love with over a year ago. Here, like this, is him. Tav turns her face to plant reassuring kisses against his temple. “You can move, Astarion,” she tells him.

He doesn't lift his face, but she feels how he breathes against her skin. A hand comes up to thread within her hair, the other landing on her hip. He’s silent as he begins to move – pulling out before slowly plunging back in. They stay like this for a bit, Astarion rocking his hips into her core with added fevor. He glides smoothly as her arousal grows, Tav falling easily into their shared rhythm.

“Tav?”

She opens her eyes, unaware of having closed them. “Mmm?” she groans softly, mouth falling open in a silent gasp as he adjusts his angle.

“Do you trust me?”

It takes a moment, but she’s sure she hears a sort of sternness in his voice. Tav peels her head back to meet his eyes. They're wild – dark crimson pools that threaten to swallow her whole. Astarion breathes heavily through his nose, eyes cast down as he awaits an answer.

She opens her mouth to speak but the words catch in her throat. With a wandering eye she finds the ring laying next to her on the corner of the desk. Light gleams on the gold band, reflecting off the glass of encasement.

He kept the ring, she argues to herself. He kept his half of the rings.

Were he so terrible, would he have done that?

“I do,” Tav answers nervously, blinking rapidly.

“May I ask a favor?”

Astarion stills his movements. He holds himself up by his elbows, but not before guiding Tav to lay flat on the surface of the desk. She nods her head slowly as she looks up to him, inviting him to continue.

In an instant, her stomach twists.

He smiles.

“It's been so long since I've supped of you, darling,” Astarion says, voice smooth as velvet. “Would you be ever so kind to grant me another taste?”

A chill runs up her spine. The room is cold, suddenly so very cold. She's ripped violently from the benevolent illusion of the moment, finding herself face to face with the very creature of tales long past.

The innocent maidens.

They always come for the innocent maidens.

She was nowhere near innocent – not for many years. But a maiden? Yes, of this she was sure.

She never did tell Astarion, but he was her first as much as she was his. Her mind may have still been fractured, but somehow she had certainty of that one fact. The moment he breached her maidenhead was the beginning of everything. Bit by bit he carved out pieces of her. Took them, stole them for himself. More and more she gave, all in an effort to appease his ever-growing lust for power and control.

Astarion is, and was, a rolling thunderstorm – lightning fit to strike for no reason other than he can.

And now he's asking, again, for more.

An overwhelming urge to cry is building within her, but she won't. She chose this. To be here, with him. Like this. The consequences of her actions playing out in real time.

Her stomach twists again and she winces in pain. She understands his craving for blood well. The pregnancy has been kicking up old feelings; she believed them to be settled after the rejection of her Father. Can she really deny him his hunger?

Tav lifts her face to meet his gaze. Astarion is looking down at her with a blank expression. He silently awaits her answer.

“...D-do not turn me, Astarion,” comes her shaky response.

A deep rumble travels up his chest as he twists his face into a foreboding smile. “Of course not, my love,” he purrs, like a cat that finally got the cream. His hand twists within Tav’s hair, guiding her head upward to expose the long column of her throat. His eyes find her scars again and he sucks in a sharp breath, involuntarily jerking his hips into her core. Astarion’s arousal has flagged, though the promise of her blood has him twitching back to life.

Tav groans as she feels him swell within her, hooking her legs back around the small of his waist. Tears threaten at the corners of her eyes as she feels his gaze upon her. “Be gentle, please,” she pleads. Trembling hands rise to hold his shoulders as he moves into position, his mouth hovering above her neck.

Astarion peppers the underside of her jaw with kisses as he trails down her neck. “I would never dream of being anything but,” he speaks into her skin. He swipes his tongue over her mark, his mark, enclosing his mouth over the spot and suckling lightly. “You'll barely feel a thing.”

She could stop this. She should stop this. But instead, she lies in wait, bracing herself for the icy sting of his fangs piercing her flesh. Tav feels the points of his teeth press into her neck; she screws her eyes shut as they sink in, hands flying to the top of his head. She groans, gripping handfuls of silver hair.

He's right – the pain is only momentary, replaced by a familiar, comforting warmth. Astarion sucks in earnest, mouthfuls of her blood rushing down his throat. With his cock fully replenished, Astarion resumes a steady rhythm, thrusting in time with each pull of blood into his mouth. He groans against her skin.

He desires this, he desires me, Tav reassures herself. The edges of her vision are beginning to darken; a telltale sign that she's reaching her limit. “Astarion,” she says meekly, trying to alert him of her condition.

Yet, he continues to drink.

She pants against his forehead as she tries desperately to break free of his hold. Her strength is quickly fading, more of her vision fading with each pull of her blood into his mouth. Still his thrusts continue; a numbness starts to spread from her core throughout her limbs.

“Astarion…” Tav calls again, voice barely above a whisper.

The ceiling is the last thing she sees before she closes her eyes. Even behind her closed lids the room spins. One hand slips from the top of Astarion's head and onto the table, followed shortly by the other.

As she slips closer and closer into unconsciousness, Tav makes peace with the fact that she chose this. She knew this was a possibility. She knew he desired this, and she gave it to him. Willing.

He outplayed her.

A single thought races across her mind before she fades, of the artwork in the foyer.

The vampire bites the woman he desires.

Finally, Tav succumbs to the dark.

Astarion continues to drink.

----------------------------------

A/N: PHEW. Well. The art I referenced above I believe is a scene from a manga called "Blood Sucker," but I couldn't find an actual panel depicting the image above, even with reverse image searching. If anyone can find the actual reference, please feel free to inform me and I'll adjust the link. Translations for the Elvish are as followed: Ai armiel telere maenen hir - "You hold my heart forever" Thiramen - "I love you/my love" when referring to soulmates Thiramen eath’she - "I love you forever," again, in the context of soulmates Let shan nesh tel’quiet, thiramen - "Let go for me, my love," Sources are here & here

Hope you had fun reading!!

#astarion #ascended astarion #bg3 astarion #fanfiction #astarion smut #astarion angst #astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x named tav #astarion ancunin #bg3 #my writing #astarion x durge #astarion x female tav #astarion x female dark urge #sotlc

267 notes · View notes

littlefreya · 1 year ago

Text

Summary: Whatever madness drove this woman to board a pirate’s ship of her own free will was beyond comprehension. Yet there she was, in velvet and silk, marching toward certain danger and the sinful desires of the monstrous Captain August ‘Blackbeard’ Walker.

Pairing: AU! Pirate August Walker x OFC (no mentions of body type or ethnicity)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: 18+. No smut, but sexual themes are mentioned, as well as dark themes - he is a pirate. Possible historical inaccuracy. This is not the real Blackbeard. Mentions of kidnapping.

A/N: Not beta’d. Many thanks to @agniavateira @luna-aestas and @wolvesandhoundshowltogether for the support, and thanks to @geralts-yenn because this story started as a 15-minute challenge, and I ended up writing a whole shot. There might be a part 2, and this might turn into a series. We will see after my anxiety runs its course :D

Thanks for reading, and please reblog and comment if you enjoyed :)

Neptune's Snare

The soggy wooden platform creaked beneath her feet as she climbed onto the main deck. Each step eliciting s husky wail - a sorrowful hymn to the lost maidens of the sea - those who would never return, those devoured by the sinful desires of monstrous captain August ‘Blackbeard’ Walker.

Whatever madness drove women to go there willingly was beyond comprehension. No more than a tomb, the ship alone looked like a carnivorous maw; black iron spikes stood firmly at the bow, and the sheer size of it was enough to strike fear at the heart of even the bravest sailor.

Yet, there she was, draped in a black velvet cloak and an ivory corset dress, willingly marching toward grave danger.

Dozens of ragged men welcomed her onboard, filthy scoundrels, all drenched in an exotic mixture of sweat and alcohol. Hungry, their eyes gnawed at her tender flesh, but none would dare touch her. If August’s crew knew one thing, it’s that some fates are much, much more worse than death.

It didn’t stop them from taunting. Suckling their lips, they followed the girl on her march toward the captain’s cabin. Cheer and chortle in their voice as they imagined the obscenities their captain was about to perform on this naive girl.

“Pity, he never let us look…” whined one of the pirates while the other bood.

“Aye, you mad to come ‘er tonight. The cap’n hasn’t had his fill in weeks, lass. He would sure pillage each of you’ holes tonight.”

“He gonna paint her full of his sea foam!”

The entire ship roared with their laughter. The girl, however, kept a blank face and, without spending any minute longer, opened the door to the captain's cabin.

Bright, golden luminance blinded Lizette’s sight as she entered the cabin. The walls were plated by ornaments made of gold, reflecting the sparkle of the hundred candles that burnt at the decorated candelabras and crystal chandelier. Fine works of art hung from each wall, and on a vast lacquered table stood a plethora of delicacies that made Lizette’s belly gurgle.

She stared at the table momentarily, almost fooled by the obvious seduction. In complete opposite to the murky exterior of the ship, the captain’s chamber was a room fit for kings, sputtering style, elegance and riches. Perhaps this was how he lured them. The poor naive girls truly believed he would give them a better life. But Blackbeard was no king, nor was he a gentleman. He was the deadliest man the world has ever known - a serpent, nightshade - all he could give a woman was death.

“Take off your cowl.”

A deep voice called from behind, dark and mysterious as the ocean. It struck like an icy shard through her spine, making her shoulders jerk and stiffen. It was odd to know someone by hundred of myths and stories spun around them and have men mimic their voice in an attempt to portray them but never know what they truly sounded like.

As it turned out, August sounds like a man one doesn’t refuse.

Obedient, Lizette pulled the cowl from her head - slow as she would unwrap a much-anticipated present. Her gaze kept to the floor still, continuing to play the coy virgin the Captain wanted her to be, though if she had to be honest - she was terrified of whatever hideous monster she would soon have to face.

There must have been a reason why the women who came here never left. Lizette was willing to bet every dime in her pocket that August was the most gruesome, repulsive creature, and the only way for him to keep people from knowing was by murdering each woman he bedded!

“Shy, aren’t we?” Blackbeard murmured with a dry chuckle and began to circle her, observing his bounty from side to side.

“I quite enjoy shy,” he chuckled once more, his voice almost a groan.

She forced herself not to flinch too much. She could sense his glare upon her, stripping her garment by garment, weighing what he earned tonight and considering all the ways in which he would pillage her body. It made her feel like she was one of the delicacies that rested on his table rather than a person.

After gyrating around her and inspecting each crease of her body, August finally returned to his starting spot behind her and, in a low, delighted groan, demanded, “Turn around.”

Doing as he commanded, she turned to him, still keeping her glance plastered to the floor, her breathing now shallow as the air in the room grew magically stuffy. She could spot his blurry silhouette from the corner of her eye; a tall and fit man, rather broad. It seemed that he was doing a loose white cotton shirt and dark trousers, and from his waistband - a gleam of silver winked back.

“Are you a mute?”

Another chill shot through her as he spoke. Absentminded, she swallowed. “No…” embarrassingly, her voice cracked; she took a deep breath and reprimanded, “No, sir. Just nervous.”

“Captain,” he corrected.

Lizette nodded but did not repeat him. She couldn’t. Words died on her tongue as the Captain made a bold step toward her, drawing dangerously near. He paused for a shy second, fingers laced together, contemplating, before he reached a fist beneath her chin and, in a ceremonious tenderness, lifted her chin.

The air drained from her completely. Her lips parted in a mixture of fear and astonishment.

It couldn’t be.

Perhaps she had the wrong man?

Grey, ocean-eyes peered at her through a face that women and men would damn themselves for. No! Even angels would. His jaw was sharp and profound, statuesque like cut marble - dashed with dark stubble and a thick raven-black moustache. His lips, though chafed from the salty sea breeze, were plumped and shaped to be kissed, and while some of his curls were streaked with silver, he still had a healthy mane of hair on his head.

‘He could have been a decent man,’ she thought, ‘and yet he chose this?!’

There was an obscure attractive melancholy to his looks - almost tragic.

August took another moment to study her face, a frown slowly forming on his ridged brow. “You look familiar…”

“I work the docks,” she answered almost immediately.

His stare deepened, eyes dropping to her cleavage momentarily before returning to pierce back into the back of her skull, “Skin too soft. Too shy to be a prostitute.”

His fingers wrapped around her chin, caging it between his thumb and his index in a tight grip, making it hurt. He tilted his head, daring her to come up with another lie.

“The tavern,” Lizette answered, firm and steadfast. She did not flinch from his touch, even though every instinct begged her to.

“And you came to me. Why?”

“What girl wouldn’t give everything for a night with the notorious Captain Blackbeard? The living legend… the king of pirates.” She softened her eyes as much as possible and offered a shy pout to reconcile him.

August chewed on the inside of his cheek; storm clouds gathered on his pale eyes as he contemplated. They both knew she was flattering him to gain his trust and save her pretty little neck. It wasn’t a situation he hadn’t encountered in the past. They both also knew that he was stronger, bigger and armed and could snap said pretty little neck in less than a split second.

“Are you a virgin?” He proceeded.

She nodded, her throat clenching.

August lingered on her response and, after what felt like an eternity, offered a small grin and pinched her chin sweetly as if to praise her before moving a step closer. Lizette smiled back nervously. She could sense his rum-drenched breath on her face. The scent was so pungent it made her moan invulnerably.

Or perhaps it was the anxiety that was eating into her heart.

“Ever sucked a cock, pet?”

His question was answered by a small click that echoed through the quarter and the press of hard, cold metal against the bare parts of his chest.

Not stepping back, he slowly, almost theatrically, spread his arms into a gesture of defeat while peering at the girl. No rage nor fear painted his face, and as he spoke, there was neither surprise in his voice.

“Heh. So you ARE a whore.”

Lizette held the pistol determined, not saying a word.

“What is it that I do, pet?”

Offering a sly grin, the pirate pressed against the barrel; the oceans in his glare darkened. As Lizette stared back, she could have sworn the many shades of blue in his sights shifted and swayed like angry waves. Quickly brushing the thought away, she cocked the gun in a warning, her little thumb grazing the trigger.

But to August, it was clear that the girl had never killed anyone before, and the longer she stalled, the more shaky her hand became. Taunting, he moved further into the barrel, which forced her to take a step back.

“Do not move closer!” She finally spoke.

August brushed her warning away, moving forward instead. He had been so nimble in his movement, fluid, like a sea creature himself. Only now she realised that his hands were no longer in the air.

“Was it your dear mother?” He suggested. “Father? Sister?” He paused and offered a vicious smirk, “Ah… I see, A lover. Well, to that, I surely deserve to die. Go ahead, pet, pull the trigger.”

His slender, heavily ringed fingers reached to envelop the barrel, holding the pistol steady for the girl. Every breath he took pressed the metal harder against his sternum. Lizette could sense his heartbeat pulsating through the barrel, the thrum of his blood nearly mingling with her own. No longer steady, her digit quivered around the trigger and in her throat, she felt the strenuous hold of anger, guilt and hatred.

“You have taken everything from me!” She simply answered.

Soon her sight became blurry, and wetness gathered beneath her eyes.

‘Do it, do it now.’

Another click sounded in the room. Louder than the cocking of a gun.

Lizette’s eyes flared in shock, and before she could pull the trigger, August had carefully veered the gun from his chest and, in a tenderness that was accustomed to lovers, snatched it from her hand. His other hand laid still on her neck, fastening the iron collar he granted her.

“Good girl,” he teased and then leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the forehead of the girl who was too struck by her own misfortune and stupidity to react.

With the pistol safely placed in his waistband, the pirate stepped back, face alighted, eyes sparkling with starlight cascade, like a child who had just earned a new toy. He clasped his hands together, ecstatic; thick silver rings chiming as they collided.

“I haven’t taken everything from you, pet. but I am going to…”

With one last slanted grin, the pirate turned on his heels and marched toward the door, not bothering to bid farewell as he left and locked the door behind him.

Panicked, Lizette reached her hands to the iron collar, desperately trying to pry it off her neck despite knowing there was no logic in pulling at the heavy metal.

“Please!” Tears trickled down her cheeks and chin, “no! No! No! Please!”

Through the open window, she could hear the captain's voice barking orders, commanding his men to lift anchor and set sail.

****

Chapter Two

#henry cavill #august walker #august walker x reader #august walker x ofc #AU!August Walker #Pirate August Walker #Pirate Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill x reader #the ministry of ungentlemanly warfare #gus march phillips

624 notes · View notes

ijustmissyouraccenths · 9 months ago

Text

Love Story

Colette is an up and coming actor, Harry is an international popstar who fell in love with cinema. When the pair work on a rendition of Romeo and Juliet, their worlds collide as feelings develop.

CW: Brief mention of dying, Smut.

Word Count: 11,860

Colette stepped into her dressing room, a lavishly appointed space designed to echo the opulence of the Verona in which her film "Romeo and Juliet" was set. The walls were draped in deep burgundy velvet curtains, softening the room with a rich, warm texture that whispered of hidden secrets and dramatic declarations. Golden accents framed mirrors and furniture, reflecting the flickering light from several ornately carved silver candelabras positioned thoughtfully around the room.

As she entered, her eyes were drawn to the vanity, an exquisite piece of craftsmanship with an expansive mirror bordered by tiny bulbs that bathed the area in a gentle, flattering light. Upon the surface lay an array of cosmetics and brushes, each laid out with precision, their handles catching glints of light like miniature scepters waiting to bestow their magic upon her.

The air was filled with a subtle scent of roses and myrrh, creating an atmosphere that was both calming and invigorating, as if the very essence of romance and tragedy had been captured and dispersed through the room. A large window draped with heavy curtains looked out upon a secluded garden that boasted marble statues peeking through lush greenery—Juliet's own secret sanctuary.

Colette’s costume hung on a dress form; it was a stunning creation of silk and lace, the fabric dyed in shades of moonlight and adorned with delicate embroidery that mimicked the intricate patterns of an Italian tapestry. The bodice was fitted, designed to accentuate her figure while allowing for the dramatic movements required in her scenes.

Next to the dress stood a pair of custom-made shoes, their leather soft and supple, seeming almost alive, like they were molded from a piece of night itself. They were embellished with small pearls and crystals, which twinkled like stars against the shadowy backdrop.

On a small table beside her plush, velvet-covered chaise lounge lay her script, its pages worn from use yet handled with reverence. It was flanked by a quill and an inkpot—an affectation provided by the director to inspire connection to the era they were emulating—as well as a delicate teacup painted with scenes from Shakespeare’s works.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself amidst this feast for senses—a real-life canvas painted with details fit for royalty—Colette prepared mentally to step once again into Juliet's world: one where love defied reason and every corner held both beauty and sorrow. She sat at her vanity, poised to transform under the artful hands of her makeup artist, ready to breathe life into Shakespeare's timeless lover once more.

The door to her dressing room opened with a soft creak, heralding the arrival of Madame Laurette, the makeup artist whose skills transformed actresses into visions from another time. Clad in a smock splattered with the remnants of foundation and rouge from previous masterpieces, Madame Laurette carried an ancient-looking leather case, which she set down with a practiced grace next to Colette.

"Ah, my dear," Madame Laurette began, her voice a soothing melody, "today we paint the tragedy and triumph of young love upon your canvas." Her hands were deft as they opened the case, revealing rows upon rows of pots and brushes, pencils and palettes; tools of the trade laid out like a surgeon's instruments, each with a purpose to bring forth beauty from bareness.

With delicate fingers, Madame Laureette applied a light moisturizer to Colette's face, preparing the skin like a primed canvas. She then used a sponge to dab on foundation that matched Colette's complexion so perfectly it seemed as if it were but a whisper on her skin. As she worked, she spoke softly about the character of Juliet—her passion, her grace, her strength in the face of despair.

Next came the eyes—windows to Juliet's soul. Madame Laurette chose shades that reflected the hues of twilight; dusky purples and soft blues blended seamlessly to suggest a depth of emotion. The eyeliner was applied in a fine line, accentuating the shape of Colette's eyes, making them appear larger, more expressive. Lashes were curled and coated with mascara that made them flutter like the wings of a night moth.

Cheeks were next attended with a brush dusted in rose-pink blush that brought a gentle bloom to her porcelain skin, reminiscent of English roses in bloom. It was as if Juliet herself had paused in a garden, momentarily caught up in thoughts of her Romeo.

Lips were not forgotten—painted in a soft red that was bold yet not overwhelming—a color that whispered of promises and kissed by starlight. As Madame Laurette worked her magic, the transformation from actress to character was nearly complete.

Finally, Madame Laurette set everything with a light dusting of powder which seemed to pull forth an ethereal glow from within Colette herself. Standing back to admire her work, she nodded slightly as if granting approval to proceed with the act.

As Madame Laurette packed away her tools and bid her farewell with wishes of good luck, Colette took one last look at herself in the mirror. Now staring back was Juliet Capulet: tragic yet triumphant in her love—a young woman framed not only by curls dark as raven wings but also by an aura of timeless romance that would soon spill over onto the stage under countless watching stars.

Her movements were infused with an anticipatory grace that seemed woven from the very threads of the narratives she was set to embody. The costume assistant approached, a vision of focus and professionalism, carrying the garment that would complete the transformation: a dress that seemed spun from moonlight and gossamer dreams.

The dress itself was a masterpiece of historical accuracy blended with theatrical flair. Its fabric was a whisper-soft silk that flowed like water over Colette's form, pooling slightly at her feet in a shimmering cascade of sky-blue. Intricate embroidery adorned the bodice, featuring delicate vines and flowers meticulously stitched with silver thread, catching the light with every subtle movement and suggesting a lattice of morning dew. Sleeves of sheer chiffon draped elegantly from her shoulders, airy and almost translucent, giving her arms the appearance of being wrapped in wisps of cloud.

As she stepped into the dress, the assistant deftly laced up the back, pulling the strings tight enough to sculpt her waist without hindering breath—a crucial balance for any performer. The final touch was a delicate ribbon tied in a bow just below her collarbone, a nod to youthful innocence and burgeoning romance.

Once dressed, Colette floated towards the full-length mirror, her steps tentative yet poised as though she were both discovering and remembering Juliet’s haunted grace. Her reflection seemed to transcend time; here was Juliet not as mere fiction, but resurrected in flesh and blood and silk, her eyes alight with both excitement and a hint of sorrow for the tale she was to live anew.

Taking a deep breath that lifted her chest slightly against the soft confines of her dress, Colette turned away from her reflection—away from Juliet's temporary shelter—and made her way out of the dressing room. The corridor outside was lined with flickering candles encased in glass lanterns hanging from ornate metal stands, casting shadows that danced like shy phantoms on the walls.

As she walked, her dress whispered secrets only she could hear, each step a murmur of silk. Exiting the building, she stepped out into an expanse that felt less like part of a film set and more like stepping through a wrinkle in time into Verona itself. The set designers had outdone themselves; cobblestone streets wound beneath balconies overflowing with ivy and blooms. Lamps glowed softly along pathways and a distant fountain murmured in melodious tones.

Here under the vast expanse of an artificial twilight sky beginning to pin itself with stars, Colette paused at the center of an old square waiting for Harry's arrival. In this moment suspended between reality and fiction—where night air kissed her cheeks as sweetly as any lover might—she was neither Colette nor Juliet but something timeless; a whisper of love’s eternal reverie waiting to be awakened by Romeo’s pledge beneath soft-footed shadows.

Colette felt eborn into another age and another life—her heart beating rapidly with anticipation and empathy for her character’s imminent joys and sorrows. She moved towards the set where artificial stars awaited their nightly audience and real emotions would stir under painted skies.

Just as the anticipation in the air reached its peak, Harry emerged from the shadows, a figure pulled from the very pages of Shakespeare. His costume was a masterpiece of Elizabethan artistry—velvet doublet embroidered with intricate silver threads that caught the light with every subtle movement, making him shimmer like a star newly born into the night sky. His breeches were of a similar rich fabric, hugging his legs with a precision that spoke of many hours spent in the tailor’s care. Upon his feet were boots made of soft leather that whispered against the cobblestones as he moved.

His hair, usually untamed and wild, had been tamed into soft waves that framed his face, echoing the romantic heroes of old. Around his neck, a heavy chain with a cross pendant rested against his chest, gleaming softly in the lamplight. His eyes, when they met Colette's, sparkled with a mixture of excitement and nervous energy—the perfect echo of Romeo’s own youthful vibrance and passionate soul.

As Harry walked closer to where Colette stood, waiting in her character's eternal reverie, his presence seemed to draw the very essence of the night towards him. The distant murmur of the fountain seemed to harmonize with his every step, creating a melody that resonated with the quiet rustling of Colette’s gown. Each element of the scene—the glowing lamps along the pathways, the soft rustle of ivy against stone—seemed to lean towards him, as if nature itself was eager to hear the tale these two star-crossed lovers would enact.

The square they occupied breathed with an air of ancient romance; it was as though they had truly stepped back in time and were no longer actors on a set but living embodiments of their characters. The buildings surrounding them wore age like proud badges, their windows darkened save for the occasional flicker of candlelight that suggested life continuing unaware inside. Above them, the crescent moon cradled stars that had witnessed countless tales of love and tragedy.

Harry reached the center of the square, his boots clicking on the cobblestones with a rhythmic certainty. He stopped before Colette, who remained motionless, her gaze fixed upon him with an intensity that belied the serene expression on her face. Her costume—a flowing dress of midnight blue, embroidered with tiny silver threads—whispered tales of bygone elegance as it caught the breeze, fluttering lightly around her ankles.

Clearing his throat softly, Harry began to recite Romeo's lines with a tender fervor that seemed to pull at the very air around him. "But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." His voice rose and fell in perfect cadence, each word a brushstroke painting emotions across the canvas of the night.

As he spoke, an unexpected gust of wind stirred the leaves around them into a gentle dance, mirroring the turmoil brewing in Romeo's heart as he gazed upon his forbidden love. The scent of rose and old stone mingled together, casting a spell over the scene that was palpable. The director, hidden in the shadows beyond the set's makeshift lights, allowed himself a small smile at the authenticity of this moment—cinema magic in its purest form.

Colette responded in kind, her voice carrying back to Harry with equal parts longing and restraint. "O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?" She stepped forward slightly, her hands clasped before her as if to steady her racing heart. Her eyes never left Harry's, and in them flickered the fire of Juliet's love—a burning, all-consuming flame that acknowledged neither reason nor consequence.

The crew around them had ceased all movement; even those seasoned in film felt themselves caught in the spellbinding performance unfolding before them. The prop master forgot his duties for a moment, lost in the authenticity of Colette's accent and the palpable connection between her and Harry.

Above them, clouds began to drift across the moon's face slowly veiling and unveiling the celestial glow. This natural play of light added a dramatic flair to the scene below—an unwitting collaboration between man and nature that highlighted this poignant moment of shared solitude between two lovers cursed by fate.

Every detail was perfect, the way the lamplight flickered as though trembling with anticipation; how a distant owl hooted right at Juliet’s tender confession; the subtle shift of fabric as Harry moved closer to Colette—contributed to an atmosphere thick with drama and history. Even those behind cameras or holding booms felt as if they were no longer just creating but witnessing something transcendent; a story retold yet forever new in its telling.

As Harry delivered Romeo’s pledge of undying love beneath Juliet's window conceived anew beneath towering oaks and ageless stone buildings, it was clear this was not merely a recitation but an act of truth.

The director, normally a stoic figure shadowed by the breadth of his responsibilities, allowed a rare smile to creep across his face as the final words lingered in the air, trembling like the leaves around them. His approach was silent, reverent almost, as if stepping into a sacred space that the actors had conjured with their spellbinding talent.

"Cut!" he called out, but the word was soft, filled more with awe than command. The silence that followed was profound, filled with the collective held breath of the crew before they erupted into spontaneous applause. The clapping rolled through the set like thunderous waves, each member expressing their unbridled admiration for what they had witnessed.

The director raised his hands, beckoning for quiet, his eyes gleaming with both pride and something akin to gratitude. "That," he said, his voice steady but imbued with emotion, "was nothing short of magnificent. Harry, Colette—I've seen many a scene in my years behind the camera, but what you both have delivered today transcends performance. It reaches into the core of what it means to be human; to love, to despair, to hope."

He walked over to the actors, who were still nestled in their characters' final embrace, slowly returning to themselves as they listened to his praises. "Colette," he continued, turning to her with a respectful nod. "Your Juliet is both vulnerable and fiery; you’ve given her a depth that breathes new life into Shakespeare’s lines. And Harry," he turned with equal admiration to the young actor whose eyes still held a glimmer of Romeo's passion. "You’ve played Romeo not just as a lover but as a warrior fighting against the inevitable tragedy of his fate. Exceptional work."

The surrounding buildings and trees seemed to absorb his words, casting longer shadows as if in agreement. The director then turned towards the crew members who had captured every nuanced moment on film. "And let’s not forget the incredible work of our crew—lighting, sound, props—this magic can’t happen without each piece falling perfectly into place."

He clapped his hands together once more, this time signaling an end rather than silence. "Alright folks, let’s pack up here—remember this feeling of accomplishment. We’ve got early scenes tomorrow and we need to bring this same energy."

As they disbanded gradually, whispers of praise continued amongst them like quiet ripples on a pond at dusk; everyone shared part of the triumph. Juliet’s balcony scene would be remembered not just for its beauty and tragedy but for its vivid realness that evening under the shrouded moonlight—an echo of love carried softly by the wind through the leaves of those ancient trees.

As the crew began to disperse, the air filled with the clatter of equipment being packed and the soft murmur of satisfied conversations. Harry and Colette slowly walked side by side toward the dressing rooms, their costumes slightly less pristine than they had been at the start of the day but still radiant under the fading sunlight. The path was lined with ancient oaks, their branches gnarled and stretched toward the sky like silent watchers of countless tales unfolding under their gaze.

Harry glanced at Colette, noting how the evening breeze gently lifted strands of her hair. She looked ethereal, a stark contrast to the raw intensity she had displayed on stage just moments before. "You were truly magnificent today," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that lingered in the cool air. "It’s amazing how you transform so completely."

Colette smiled, a blush tinting her cheeks. "Thank you, Harry. You were incredible as well. There’s a certain ferocity you bring to Romeo that’s both thrilling and heart-wrenching."

They reached the dressing rooms, tucked behind a curtain of ivy that draped over the stone walls of the old stage building. Its doors stood like portals back to reality from the whimsical world they had just left behind on set.

Pausing by her door, Harry shuffled slightly, a mix of eagerness and hesitation playing across his features. "Colette, I was wondering, would you... perhaps care for some dinner? There’s this little place I know nearby, quite secluded, perfect for winding down."

The offer hung between them like a delicate promise; a chance to extend the enchantment of their shared performance into the evening. Colette’s eyes lit up with genuine interest. "That sounds lovely, Harry. A quiet dinner would be perfect." Her smile was inviting, bridging the gap between their on-set romance and off-set camaraderie.

As they walked towards Harry's car parked under a canopy of whispering leaves, they talked about everything from their interpretations of their characters to trivial anecdotes from their daily lives. The restaurant was nestled in an alley illuminated by strings of faint golden lights that created halos in the misty night air.

Inside, they chose a corner table surrounded by bookshelves filled with worn volumes and odd trinkets—a cozy retreat from the outside world. As they ordered, they continued to unravel layers of conversation, each topic a stepping stone deeper into each other’s thoughts and dreams.

The meal was delicious—simple fare but made with care—a reflection of the restaurant itself. They laughed over shared appetizers and lingered over wine that painted their thoughts in broader strokes. The candlelight flickered across their faces, casting soft shadows that danced to an unplayed rhythm.

By dessert, Harry found himself watching Colette with renewed appreciation as she articulated her ambitions for future roles and her vision for modern theatrical interpretation. She listened equally intently as he described his journey through being a musician and his aspirations beyond.

As Harry and Colette lingered over the last sips of their drinks, the cozy warmth of the restaurant began to feel like a protective cocoon against the crisp night air outside. They shared a quiet moment, smiling at the serendipity of their meeting and the depth of conversation it had spurred. But as they rose to leave, pushing their chairs back gently against the worn wooden floor, the surreal bubble they had enjoyed burst with abrupt clarity.

Stepping out onto the alley, they were met not by the quiet of the night but by a sudden burst of flashing lights and clamorous voices. Paparazzi, having caught wind of their dinner together, swarmed around them like moths to a flame. Cameras clicked and flashed relentlessly, capturing every gesture and expression, as reporters shouted questions trying to pierce through the veil of their private evening.

"Harry! Colette! Are you two more than just co-stars?" one voice rang out, sharper than the rest.

"Is this dinner a sign of a new Hollywood power couple?" another chimed in.

Shields up against this intrusive barrage, Harry instinctively placed a protective arm around Colette’s shoulders. He guided her gracefully yet swiftly towards his car, parked under the now ominous canopy of leaves that whispered secrets in a tone much darker than before. Each flash from the cameras cast stark shadows on the ground and painted their path in fast paced steps.

Colette kept her head down slightly, her smile replaced by a composed mask of cordial indifference; it was clear she was no stranger to these encounters but nonetheless hoped they might evade them tonight. Harry muttered a polite "have a good night" as he helped her into the passenger seat of his car.

Inside the relative safety of the vehicle, they exchanged a look—a mix of amusement and exasperation—and Harry let out a sigh as he started the engine. The lights outside continued to flash through the tinted windows as he maneuvered out of their parking spot.

The drive back was quiet at first, as if they were both processing the sudden shift from intimate conversation to public spectacle. Yet soon enough, Harry turned down the volume on an ambient tune that had started playing automatically when they entered.

"That was intense," he said, glancing over at Colette with an apologetic half-smile.

"It always is," Colette replied, turning to face him with a resigned smile. "But hey, part of our charming careers, right?"

Harry laughed softly. "Yeah, charm is one word for it."

As the car glided through the dimly lit streets, the silence between them grew heavy with unspoken thoughts. Colette broke the tension first, her voice soft but tinged with a hint of frustration.

"I sometimes wonder if this is what we signed up for, you know? The constant scrutiny, the invasion of privacy... Is it worth it in the end?" she mused, her gaze fixed on the passing city lights.

Harry nodded thoughtfully, his grip on the steering wheel tightening imperceptibly. "I ask myself that question too, especially on nights like this. It's like we're always under a microscope, every move dissected and analyzed by strangers."

A sense of comfort blossomed between them, a shared understanding born out of their parallel experiences in the spotlight. Colette turned to Harry, a spark of defiance igniting in her eyes.

"But despite all of that," she continued, her voice gaining strength, "we can't let them define us or dictate our every move. We're more than just their headlines and gossip fodder."

Harry smiled at her resolve, a flicker of admiration shimmering in his eyes. "You're right, Colette. We're artists first and foremost, creators of worlds and emotions."

Their shared conviction filled the car with a renewed sense of purpose, a quiet determination to reclaim their narrative from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. As they neared Colette's apartment building, Harry parked the car with a sense of finality.

"Thank you for tonight," Colette said sincerely, turning to face him with a genuine smile. "Even the chaos at the end, I truly enjoyed our conversation and dinner, it was really good."

Harry returned her smile warmly. "Likewise, Colette. We are more than just co-stars caught in a media frenzy."

As Colette opened the door to her apartment, the image of Harry in his Romeo costume flashed vividly across her mind. His appearance had been a perfect blend of vulnerability and valiance, his attire accentuating the expressive lines of his body as he moved with an almost ethereal grace on stage. The sheer, soft fabric of his shirt clung to him as if it were part of his own skin, and the way the stage lights had caught the highlights in his hair made him look like a figure from an old-world painting—romantic and heroic.

Inside her quiet apartment, everything seemed too still, too empty compared to the warmth of Harry's presence. She tossed her keys on the table absent-mindedly and moved towards her bedroom, her mind replaying their conversation in the car. His words echoed in her ears, blending with flashes of his smile and the intensity in his eyes when he spoke about their artistry. It was as if he'd stripped away all the glitz and scandal that so often cloaked their lives, revealing a raw, sincere connection between them.

Colette tried to settle into bed, pulling her covers close, but restlessness took over. Turning onto her back, she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts spiraling around Harry’s comforting arm around her shoulders earlier that night. She remembered how secure it felt, a protective circle that shut out the incessant flash of cameras and curious stares. The smell of his cologne, a subtle mix of bergamot and sandalwood—seemed to linger on her skin, transporting her back to their fleeting moments of privacy amidst the chaos.

The more she thought about him, the more details came flooding in. How his lips curved into a smile just before he laughed, how his eyes lit up when discussing a particularly passionate scene. Even the way he held himself during their performance—confident yet tender—seemed etched into her memory with surprising clarity.

A sigh escaped her lips as she turned again in bed, fluffing her pillow in vain search for comfort. The digital clock on her bedside table glowed 2:17 AM; time was slipping by slowly tonight. Every tick seemed to resonate within the quiet room, each one reminding her of Harry’s gentle demeanor and unspoken assurances.

Why was it so difficult to push these thoughts aside? Why did every tiny detail of him seem magnified tonight? Colette knew that sleep would be elusive as long as these memories danced through her head, a sweet torment but a torment nonetheless.

Realizing that fighting it was futile, she sat up and reached for a book from her nightstand. Perhaps diving into someone else’s fictional world could ease her back from hers filled with all too real emotions spurred by Harry. Yet as she flipped through page after page, Colette found herself reading without absorbing any words. Her mind was back with Harry, reliving each moment spent together that day.

Finally surrendering to the inexorable pull of those memories, Colette set the book aside and allowed herself to reminisce about every glance exchanged and every laugh shared with Harry until tiredness eventually claimed victory over turmoil—a bittersweet end to an evening that neither camera flashes nor gossip columns could ever truly capture.

As the first rays of morning light began to filter through her gauzy curtains, Colette felt a tentative peace settle over her. The unavoidable sunrise not only heralded a new day but also the unavoidable return to set where today's scenes awaited her—scenes that would force her to bridge the gap between reality and fiction, between Colette and Juliet, Harry and Romeo.

The day unfurled slowly, each moment stretching languidly as if aware of the weight it carried. Colette arrived on set, her heart thrumming a nervous rhythm against the cage of her ribs. The set was a meticulous recreation of Verona, the air perfumed with artificial blooms that lined the faux stone balconies. It was here, beneath a painstakingly crafted balcony, that she found Harry already immersed in his role, his eyes distant yet filled with an intense purpose.

As makeup artists fluttered around them like attentive sprites, dusting their faces with powder and painting their lips, the boundary between Harry and Romeo, Colette and Juliet blurred seamlessly. The director—a wiry man with a penchant for perfection—guided them through their positions with an authoritarian yet oddly paternal touch.

"Remember," he said, his voice low and urgent as if conveying a secret, "this kiss isn’t just about passion. It’s about discovery, wonderment. You’re unveiling layers of your soul to one another."

Taking their places, Harry extended his hand with a gallantry that could either be attributed to him or to Romeo—it was hard to tell at this juncture. As Colette placed her hand in his, their fingers tentatively entwining, she wondered if he felt the same electric surge that ran up her arm.

The cameras rolled silently, capturing every nuanced expression. Around them, the crew faded into obscurity; it was just Harry and Colette, Romeo and Juliet. As Harry spoke his lines—the words Shakespeare penned centuries ago—his voice wove around her heart like a tender vine. His gaze held hers captive and in that moment, under the watchful eyes of countless unseen spectators both present and future, fiction turned into a palpable reality.

With the gentlest of motions indicative of both apprehension and certainty, Harry drew closer. His breath mingled with hers—a sweet prelude to the imminent ballet of their lips. When their lips finally met in an embrace as old as time yet fresh like dew on morning leaves, there was a hush on set so profound that even the rustle of fabric seemed sacrilege.

The kiss deepened not out of direction but from an intrinsic need to explore the burgeoning emotion that had started off as an onscreen farce but had bloomed into something indefinably real. They existed in the breath between lines; in the silence between words—their world distilled into the small space between their intertwined fingers and mingling breaths.

As they parted—an infinity encapsulated in seconds—their gazes lingered longingly; not solely because the script demanded it but because their souls hesitated to disentangle.

"Cut!" The director's voice sliced through the thick curtain of emotion, abrupt yet not unkind.

Applause broke out among the crew, bringing Harry and Colette back from Verona to the soundstage. Yet something lingered in their shared glance, a spark that neither the stark lights of the studio nor the return to their own separate lives could dim. As they stepped away from each other, there was an awkward moment of hesitation, a mutual recognition of something undefined and new swirling between them.

The rest of the day passed in a daze of repeated scenes and whispered lines. Colette found herself more aware of Harry's presence, every look and every touch magnified under the scrutinizing lens of her newfound feelings. Off-camera, they joked and laughed, but there was an unspoken agreement in their smiles, a secret tucked away behind their lighthearted banter.

When filming wrapped for the day, Colette felt the exhaustion from emotional strain more than from physical demand. The carousel of her thoughts kept spinning as she drove home, the ghost of Harry’s touch lingering like a promise on her skin.

Back at her apartment, she knew she ought to eat something or perhaps review scripts for tomorrow's shoot. Instead, she found herself at her window, gazing out into the twilight cityscape, her mind replaying every encounter with Harry. It wasn't just their characters who had discovered new emotional landscapes; Colette feared she was standing on the precipice of a revelation herself.

Her phone rang, slicing through her silence. She hesitated before answering, half-hoping it was Harry. It was her agent instead.

"Colette! Todays news came in; you were absolutely sublime! Everyone’s buzzing about the chemistry between you and Harry," her agent enthused over the line. Though meant as praise, each word weighed heavy on her soul like stones filling her pockets.

"Thanks," Colette managed to say, her voice a mere whisper against the storm inside her. "That means a lot."

"Listen," her agent continued, oblivious to Colette's turmoil, "There’s talk already about future projects for you two—maybe even some endorsements together. This could be huge for your career."

Her career. Right. That’s what mattered. Yet as Colette ended the call and sat back against the soft cushions of her couch, she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps this time, something else mattered more.

She finally allowed herself to consider the possibility that what was scripted for Romeo and Juliet might have woven itself into the fabric of reality for Harry and herself. Could life imitate art to such a degree? Or was it merely caught up in the whirlwind of creating something beautiful together?

The night deepened around Colette as she sat alone with her thoughts. She knew decisions lay ahead, decisions about how far she should let this potential off-screen relationship develop amidst their on-screen romance. Tonight though, she would allow herself one certainty: that in all her roles, both lived and acted, nothing had ever felt quite as dangerous or as genuine as whatever was unfolding with Harry.

The room dimmed further as the last strains of sunlight vanished, leaving only the flickering shadows cast by the streetlamps outside. Colette's mind, a whirlpool of longing and rationality, began to conjure vivid scenes of Harry reciting lines from their recent scenes. Each word, artfully delivered with his rich, emotive voice, seemed to echo through her now quiet apartment, filling the spaces between her scattered thoughts.

He had stood there on stage, beneath the opulent glow of the set lights, his eyes finding hers in the scripted moments that felt all too real. "But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?" Harry's voice had quivered slightly with a passion that transcended performance. Colette remembered how her heart had leapt at those words, how the scripted distance between them seemed to collapse in a singularity of shared emotion.

As Romeo, he had been impetuous yet earnest, his every motion weaving a spell of youthful ardor and desperate love. And now, alone, she let her mind replay those scenes—his beseeching gaze, his hands reaching not just for Juliet but for Colette herself. Could it be that each line he delivered was an arrow aimed directly at her heart? The balcony scene unfolded again in her thoughts: Harry's silhouette framed by the mock Verona backdrop they had on set. "With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out," he had declared fervently.

Could stony limits hold her emotions at bay? Her career had always been a fortress of sorts—a necessity to keep vulnerability at bay. But Harry’s portrayal of Romeo dismantled her defenses brick by brick, not through sheer force but through the tender strength of shared vulnerability.

In her mind's eye, Colette wandered back to a moment during rehearsals when Harry had improvised—off-script yet profoundly resonant—speaking directly to her soul beyond the bounds of their characters. "And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite." How his eyes had held hers, unwavering!

The thought brought an unexpected tear to Colette's eye—a tear for the uncertain future, for the potential hardships they might face together or apart, but also a tear for the beauty of a connection that might just transcend the ephemeral world of acting.

Colette rose from the couch and moved towards her window. Gazing out into the starlit cityscape, she pondered over these newly tapped depths within her heart. Perhaps tomorrow she would make decisions with consequences she couldn't yet foresee. But tonight belonged to dreams and whispered lines—a night where Harry's recitations from Romeo and Juliet swirled around her heart like a sweet yet potent incantation. Tonight was not about contracts or cameras. It was about understanding that what they might share could be as profound and real as any love story ever penned—an ode not written by Shakespeare but lived by two hearts daring enough to explore it.

As the hours ticked by, the city outside her window slowly transformed. The glaring neon signs dimmed to a soft glow, and the relentless honking of cars turned into a distant murmur, as if even New York herself had decided to catch her breath. In that serene quietude, amidst the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional chirping of a late-night bird, Colette's mind kept returning to Harry—to his eyes, his voice, his surprisingly delicate touch on stage.

She tried reading a book, but the words blurred into meaningless shapes as her thoughts danced back to those moments onstage when the air between them seemed charged with an electric intensity. It was in those moments when Harry's voice would deepen just so, casting out lines like spells that wrapped around her heart, binding it inexplicably to him.

Restlessness finally got the better of Colette. With a sigh, she set aside her book and picked up her phone. Her thumb hovered over Harry's contact—for a moment she hesitated—but then, driven by an impulse she neither questioned nor understood fully, she pressed call.

The phone rang briefly before Harry's familiar voice filled the line. "Colette? Is everything alright?"

"I couldn't sleep," she confessed softly, the words feeling both foolish and necessary.

There was a pause—a thoughtful silence—and then Harry’s voice came again, quietly intense. "Come over, then. I’ve been trying to distract myself with scripts and lyrics, but it seems tonight is bent on being restless."

A small smile touched her lips; relief washed through her in gentle waves. "Give me twenty minutes?"

"Take your time," he replied with such warmth that it felt like a hug through the phone.

When Colette arrived at Harry’s apartment—a modest yet cozy space filled with stacks of books and paintings that spilled from every corner—she found him sitting on the balcony overlooking the twinkling skyline. He had two cups of tea steaming gently on a small table between them.

As she stepped out onto the balcony, he rose to greet her with an ease that belied his earlier restlessness. They didn’t speak much initially; words seemed superfluous as they sipped their tea and let the city’s nocturnal symphony envelop them.

It was only after both cups were emptied that Harry spoke again, his voice soft but clear against the backdrop of whispering winds. "You know," he began hesitantly, "tonight reminds me of our final act last week—the way Juliet looks at Romeo with such... such unguarded hope.”

"Yes," Colette whispered back, feeling that familiar pull in her chest—the inexplicable connection that seemed to thrive in shared silences and stolen glances rather than grand declarations.

"Sometimes," Harry continued, turning to face her more fully now, "I wonder whether we’re more than just actors playing parts—whether some scenes bleed into reality without us even noticing."

Colette reached out then, touching his hand lightly. "Maybe they do," she said simply. And for a long while after that, they sat there together—two figures etched against a sprawling cityscape—finding solace in each other's presence and in the quiet conviction that tonight was not merely about roles or rehearsals; it was about discovering truths hidden within lines delivered.

As the night deepened and the city's sounds ebbed into a lulling quiet, the conversation between Harry and Colette drifted from their characters' tragic romance to their own realities—careers that were as dazzling as they were demanding, personal lives constantly scrutinized by the public eye, and futures uncertain but full of potential.

"Sometimes I think about stepping away," Harry admitted, his gaze locked on the distant lights. "From the music, from the films—just to see who I am when the lights go off."

Colette nodded. The vulnerability in his voice resonated with her own unspoken fears. "It's as though we're constantly wearing masks, isn't it? Onstage or off, it's hard to tell where the character ends and where we begin."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Tonight though, being here with you—it feels real. No scripts, no audience." His eyes met hers with an intensity that sent a shiver through her.

She smiled, feeling a sense of kinship forge deeper between them. "No masks," she whispered.

They sat for a moment in silence, each lost in contemplation of the rare simplicity this evening had brought them—a stark contrast to their everyday chaos. Harry eventually stood up, stretching his arms towards the starry sky before offering his hand to her. "Come on, let’s take a walk. The night’s too beautiful to spend it all sitting down."

Reluctantly leaving their secluded spot, they wandered down quiet streets lined with barely lit cafes and closed bookstores, their steps synchronized in comfortable silence. Every so often, Harry would point out an old theater or a quaint little art gallery he’d visited during his tours. Colette listened intently, her heart swelling with an affection that was new and yet profoundly familiar.

As they turned back towards Harry's apartment, he stopped suddenly under a streetlamp’s soft glow. "I haven't felt this... peaceful in months," he confessed, looking at her with an earnestness that made her heart skip.

She reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "Neither have I," she said. "It’s easy to forget what quiet feels like when your life is full of noise."

Harry nodded, his gaze lingering on her face as if memorizing every detail. "Do you think it's possible? To find peace amidst all the turmoil?"

"I think," she started, pausing to gather her thoughts under his attentive gaze, "it's about finding the right person to share in those quiet moments—the ones who hear the music in your silences."

A warm smile spread across Harry's face as he drew her closer. Underneath that streetlamp, amid the sleeping city and beneath an audience of stars, they found a momentary escape—not as Romeo and Juliet caught in Shakespearean tragedy nor as celebrities shadowed by fames relentless spotlight—but simply as Harry and Colette discovering solace within each other's company.

As they slowly headed back to his apartment, hands entwined with silent promises of more shared nights like this one, both understood that while their careers might pull them in different directions come morning, tonight was theirs—a night marked not by dialogues written by playwrights long gone but by honest words exchanged between two souls navigating through life’s vast stage together.

She felt the warmth of his hand in hers, the roughness of his skin against her own soft palm, sending shivers down her spine. She looked up at him, taking in the way he moved, so confident and yet so gentle at the same time. Colette couldn't help but feel safe in his presence. The sound of their footsteps echoed on the empty sidewalk, mixing with the distant hum of traffic and occasional howl of a lonesome siren. As they turned into an alleyway, she breathed in the scent of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery, mingling with the stale smoke from a cigarette butt left behind by some passerby. The stars above twinkled like diamonds scattered across a midnight sky, their light guiding them home.

They walked hand in hand beneath the glow of the streetlamp, casting shadows on the brick wall behind them as they stepped forward. The rhythm of their stride became synced, almost like they were dancing to an unknown melody. Every now and then, Harry would point out constellations he recognized or make up stories about the ones he didn't, his voice deep and soothing like velvet caressing her ears. His laughter rang out when she teased him about his astronomical knowledge—or lack thereof—and she loved how genuine it sounded despite everything that surrounded them.

Colette paused for a moment to look at a painting on an old doorstep; it was beautifully executed yet marred by graffiti tags that told stories of love lost and hearts broken. Harry stood beside her, looking over her shoulder as if seeing it for the first time too. She noticed how his presence made even this decrepit alleyway seem somehow beautiful.

They continued walking, their steps echoing softly against the pavement as they neared Harry's apartment building. As they reached the front door, he stopped and with a flourish produced a set of keys from his jeans pocket. The metal jangled softly against each other as he unlocked it, and then they stepped inside out of the cool night air into the warmth of his cozy living room. Setting down her purse, Colette looked around at the familiar surroundings - the worn sofa, the bookshelf filled with favorite novels and framed photographs from past adventures, and the unlit fireplace waiting for winter evenings. The musty smell of old books mingled with freshly brewed coffee drifting from the kitchenette.

"Well," Harry began as he shut the door behind them, "I guess this is where our little adventure ends."

Colette's heart sank at his words but she forced a smile anyway. "Yeah... it was fun while it lasted."

"It always is," he agreed quietly, moving towards her and giving her one last hug before gently pushing her towards the door. "You should get some sleep though, early morning meeting tomorrow."

With one final wave goodnight, Colette slipped through the door and into the hallway, hearing it click shut behind her. Outside on the sidewalk, she took a deep breath of the cool night air and felt a slight shiver run down her spine as reality came crashing back in - work in the morning with its emails and deadlines and office politics. But for now, she allowed herself to linger on the memory of their night together: The taste of wine on her tongue still lingering; the soft buzz from alcohol fading; Harry's touch still lingering on her skin like tiny electric shocks.

As Colette closed the door behind her, she could hear the familiar clicking sound filling her with a sense of finality. The night air was crisp against her skin, carrying with it a chill that sent shivers down her spine as she took in deep breaths of the city outside. Her mind was still reeling from the events of the evening; it had been an unforgettable journey into a world she never imagined existed. But alas, all good things must come to an end, and now she found herself standing on the sidewalk once more, back in reality. The neon lights from nearby stores cast an artificial glow upon the pavement as she stepped away from Harry's cozy apartment and began to walk towards home. The sound of footsteps echoed on concrete as cars honked their horns in the distance, creating a symphony of urban noise that surrounded her.

She could still feel Harry's embrace pressing against her back as if he were wrapping his arms around hers again, sending tingles up and down her spine with each step she took away from him. She could still taste the sweetness of red wine dancing on her tongue - its tartness mixing with the lingering taste of their passionate kisses as if it were a bitter-sweet symphony only they shared. She let out a soft sigh and looked up at the starry sky above; the sight always managed to calm her nerves but tonight it only served as a reminder that their time together was over.

The streets were empty save for a few late-night stragglers making their way home from parties or bars, their laughter and music fading into nothingness as Colette walked further down the block. A soft breeze rustled through trees lining the sidewalk, leaves whispering secrets only they knew while carrying with them.

Once Colette made it home she brushed her teeth and went into her cozy bed wrapped around in her favorite cotton pajamas, snuggling deep into the softness of her sheets. She reached over to her phone on the bedside table and saw Harry's name still glowing on the screen. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered their last goodbye

As she drifted off, Colette imagines walking through Central Park once more. The crisp air rustled through trees, carrying with it the scent of autumn - earthy and musky. She could hear the sound of leaves crunching underfoot and see birds flitting from branch to branch overhead. They sat together on a bench, leaning against one another as they watched nature's greatest show for free. He held her hand closely, lacing fingers between hers as if they were always meant to be entwined like that. And then she felt a drop of rain on her nose, followed by another one on her cheek. They both laughed as they ran hand in hand towards his apartment; their shoes splashing through puddles left behind by an unexpected shower that cloud-covered sky promised earlier in the day.

Colette woke up with that same coolness brushing against her face but found herself alone in bed instead of curled up with Harry. The memory lingered like a fond dream but faded away with each blink until all that was left was reality.

Colette got ready and made her way over to the studio, today was the last day of scenes, and the scene where Romeo and Juliet meet their demise.

As she entered the bustling set, the weight of the final day pressed on her shoulders like a heavy curtain about to fall for the last time. The air was thick with a mix of excitement and melancholy, as everyone from the crew to the cast moved with a purposeful urgency, aware that this chapter was closing. Colette brushed past the props and costume racks, her mind still tangled in thoughts of Harry and the night that they had spent wrapped in each other’s company.

She found herself in front of her dressing room mirror, staring at her own reflection as she slipped into Juliet's intricate gown. Each layer of fabric seemed to wrap her tighter, not just in character but also in the realization that soon she would have to strip away this identity that had become a second skin over months of filming.

"Knock knock," came a familiar voice from the door. It was Harry, leaning against the frame with that charming smile that always seemed to disarm her.

"Hey," Colette replied, her heart skipping a beat. "Ready for the grand finale?"

"As I'll ever be," Harry said, stepping inside and helping adjust a loose strand of her hair. "It’s surreal, isn’t it? Feels like just yesterday we were stumbling through our first lines together and today we die together."

Colette nodded, feeling the corners of her eyes moisten. "I'm going to miss us—this."

Harry took her hand gently, squeezing it reassuringly. "The end of one story, Colette. Not the end of everything."

Together, they walked onto the set where the final scene awaited them—a beautifully tragic conclusion to Shakespeare’s timeless tale. The set was a somber array of shadows and light, perfectly crafting an ambiance befitting their last moment as Romeo and Juliet.

As they stepped into their marks, silence enveloped the set. The director called for quiet on set and slowly, every surrounding noise dulled into obscurity until there was nothing but the fictional world they were anchored in.

"Action!" came the resolute call.

The scene unfolded with an intensity that mirrored the raw emotions both Harry and Colette felt. They delivered their lines with a palpable passion, their voices laced with the poignant realization of both the characters' and their own impending separation. As Romeo, Harry took a vial of poison, his hands trembling slightly—a detail that added a layer of desperate realism to his performance. Colette, as Juliet, lay motionless on the stone-cold crypt, her chest rising and falling subtly, awaiting her final cue.

When it came time for Juliet to awaken, Colette's eyes fluttered open to meet Harry's gaze one last time. The sorrow in his eyes was reflected in hers; no longer just acting, they were living their characters' tragedy. As she spoke her last lines, a tear escaped down her cheek, blurring the boundary between performance and reality.

The potent mix of fiction and their personal goodbye charged through their final kiss, drawing a silent gasp from the crew around them. As Juliet drove Romeo's dagger into her chest, Colette collapsed beside Harry with a grace that spoke volumes of the artistry she had poured into her role.

For a few heartbeats after the director called "Cut!" nobody moved. The echo of their lines lingered in the air, heavy with the weight of finality. It was only when the applause broke out that Harry and Colette were pulled back from Verona to the stark reality of the studio set.

Still lying beside each other on the cold ground of the set crypt, they turned to look at each other one last time. The clapping around them faded into a distant murmur as Harry reached out to brush away another tear from Colette’s cheek.

“That was...” Harry started but seemed unable to find the right words.

“Beautiful,” Colette finished for him, her voice barely above a whisper. “And absolutely fucking heartbreaking.”

They helped each other up and took a bow to the crew whose cheers had now filled up space like light flooding into dark corners. It was over — their journey as star-crossed lovers had come to an end on screen.

Just then, the director, a tall figure with a rumpled look that spoke of endless days and sleepless nights, stepped into the circle of light. He adjusted his glasses, looking from Harry to Colette with an expression torn between admiration and the perpetual dissatisfaction of a perfectionist.

"Truly magnificent," he pronounced, though his voice carried a but that hung in the air unspoken. The crew quieted, sensing there was more to come. "However," he continued, casting a quick glance at the cameraman who nodded sheepishly, "we had a slight glitch with the lighting. One of our key lights flickered out right at the crucial moment."

A collective sigh rippled through the team, mixed with a few suppressed groans. Yet no one protested— they all knew the importance of getting it just right.

"We need to go for another take," the director declared firmly. The disappointment was palpable, but so was the resolve to perfect the art they were all crafting together.

Harry and Colette exchanged a look of weary determination. Without a word, they moved back to their starting positions beside the stone altar that served as Juliet's final resting place.

As the crew reset their equipment, Harry glanced around at the towering set pieces that recreated Verona's gothic splendor. Artificial moonlight streamed through stained glass windows crafted from gel and plastic but beautiful nonetheless. Shadows danced along walls textured to look like ancient stone, casting eerie patterns that whispered of old secrets and timeless tragedies.

Colette smoothed her velvet gown—a rich crimson that pooled around her like spilled wine—and repositioned her hairpiece, tucking a stray lock behind her ear before she lay down once more on the cold faux-marble slab.

The props master darted forward to adjust the placement of the dagger—a replica so finely crafted it seemed as sharp as truth itself—before scurrying away as silently as he had arrived.

"Places everyone!" called the assistant director, a sprightly woman whose energy seemed inexhaustible. Her voice cut through the murmured conversations and last-minute adjustments, snapping everyone back to attention.

As silence reclaimed the set, encapsulating it in a tense bubble of anticipation, the director looked over his tableau one last time. Satisfied, he lifted his hand high then brought it down sharply.

"And... action!"

In a haunting moment, Colette delved deeper into her character, her eyes brimming with an unfathomable anguish originating not in physical torment but in the profound intertwining of loss and love. As she enacted plunging the steel through heart and bone with tragic precision, Harry’s response mirrored her intensity—his visage a masterful portrayal of despair and utter helplessness.

Silently, the cameras rolled, capturing each subtle nuance: the taut muscles beneath Juliet's delicate makeup; Romeo's trembling fingertips reaching across unseen barriers; Colette's quivering shoulders as she drew breaths heavy with sorrow. When she crumpled beside Harry once more, her descent seemed like a graceful surrender—a fragile leaf succumbing to its inevitable fall.

The seconds stretched endlessly until once again the director called out "Cut!" His voice broke through Colette’s final shuddering breaths and this time when he spoke there was no hiding his satisfaction. "Perfect," he said simply, nodding with fervor.

The applause that erupted was spontaneous and heartfelt, echoing around the cavernous studio like waves crashing against a shore. Crew members wiped away tears, caught in the emotional riptide of the scene they had just witnessed.

Harry and Colette, still entangled on the ground, finally allowed themselves a small smile—exhausted, relieved, and a little incredulous at the magic they had managed to recreate. As they stood up, their faces glistening with sweat and theatrical tears, they were enveloped in a series of eager hugs and congratulations from everyone around them.

The makeup artists hurried over with their kits ready to do touch-ups, but for a moment nobody touched Harry or Colette; it was as if their looks were sacred, perfectly capturing the essence of the poignant tragedy they had just embodied. The director approached them, clapping Harry on the back and kissing Colette on both cheeks.

"I couldn't have asked for more," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You both brought Juliet and Romeo to life in a way I never could have envisioned when we first started this project."

Harry, catching his breath, nodded appreciatively. "It felt right," he admitted, looking down at his costume, stained with artificial blood that somehow felt all too real at that moment.

Colette brushed a tear from her cheek and laughed lightly. "I think I'm going to miss her," she confessed, referring to Juliet. "It's strange how a character can become a part of you."

As they made their way off the set, passing through the constructed archways and past the fabricated stone tombs, there was a collective sense of completion but also of loss; the world they had created was temporary, its dissolution inevitable now that the film was wrapped.

The wrap party later that evening was a lively affair held at a local venue adorned with replicas of props and costumes from the film. The mood was buoyant yet bittersweet as cast and crew mingled, sharing memories from months of hard work.

Colette found herself standing by a balcony overlooking the city lights, a glass of champagne in hand. Harry joined her soon after.

"It's going to be odd not seeing everyone tomorrow," he said, leaning against the railing beside her.

"Yeah," Colette agreed softly. "It's like saying goodbye to family."

They sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a moment before Harry spoke up again.

"What’s next for you?" he asked curiously.

Colette shrugged slightly. "A few scripts to read; maybe some time off. And you?"

"Same," Harry replied. "Though it'll be hard to top this experience."

They smiled at each other, sharing an unspoken acknowledgement of the journey they had shared. The night grew deeper around them as words gave way to shared glances and laughter from inside reached their ears—a soundtrack to endings and new beginnings alike.

“Why don’t we get out of here, go to my place for a while.” Harry said while looking over at Colette.

Colette glanced up at the stars twinkling above, considering his invitation. A gentle breeze ruffled her hair, bringing with it the distant sounds of celebration from inside. It felt like the perfect end to an intense and transformative day.

"Sounds like a plan," she replied with a smile that matched the lightness in her heart.

They excused themselves from the party, slipping away unnoticed among the throngs of well-wishers and fellow revelers. The city's streets were quiet as they walked side by side, their footsteps syncing in a comfortable rhythm.

Arriving at Harry's place, he unlocked the door and let them into his warmly lit apartment. Colette really examined the place. The space was tastefully decorated with various mementos from his travels and projects, each piece telling a story of its own. Colette wandered over to a shelf displaying several old cameras and script binders.

"This place has character," she commented, picking up a vintage camera and examining it closely.

"Thanks," Harry said as he went to fix them some drinks in the kitchen. "It's my little sanctuary away from all the chaos."

Returning with two glasses of wine, he joined her by a large window overlooking the cityscape. They talked for hours about everything—from their fears and dreams to trivial stories from set—each conversation thread drawing them closer, weaving a new layer into their friendship.

As dawn hinted at its arrival with a soft glow on the horizon, Harry poured them each another glass of wine. "To new beginnings?" he proposed, raising his glass slightly.

"To new beginnings," Colette echoed, clinking her glass against his. They sipped their wine in serene silence, watching as the city slowly came to life.

Harry's heart raced as he leaned in closer to Colette, his breath hot against her ear. "I have to do this," he whispered urgently, desperation lacing his words. Colette's eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded, giving him permission to continue. And with that, Harry pressed his lips hungrily against hers, pouring all of his pent-up desire and longing into the passionate kiss. Electricity crackled between them as their bodies molded together, fueling the intensity of their connection. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the taste of each other on their lips and the overwhelming need driving them both.

“I’ve been thinking about this since we filmed that scene.”

Colette's breath hitched at Harry’s admission. "That scene?" she inquired, her voice trembling with a heady cocktail of nerves and anticipation. He traced his thumb across the contour of her lips, nodding before reclaiming them with a renewed intensity that left no room for doubt.

"That damn scene," he murmured against the luscious curve of her mouth, his hot whispers making her shiver in response. His hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer so she could feel every hard inch of him against the softness of her body.

Colette's heart pounded in her chest as Harry's thumb traced the contours of her lips, her eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. His hot whispers sent shivers down her spine, and she couldn't help but arch into him, seeking more contact.

"That scene," he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with desire, "made me want you even more." With that, he claimed her lips once again, his tongue diving deep into her mouth as his hands found their way up underneath her shirt. She moaned into the kiss, feeling his calloused fingertips brush against the underside of her breasts.

His touch sent electric shockwaves through her body, making every nerve ending tingle with anticipation. She whimpered softly against his mouth, clutching at his shoulders as he teased her nipples through her bra. "Harry," she gasped out between ragged breaths, her voice barely a whisper.

He pulled back slightly to look down at her flushed face. "Tell me you want this," he growled lowly, eyes dark and intense as they bore into hers. Colette swallowed hard before nodding frantically. "I do," she whispered back in a voice that shook with need.

Without further hesitation, Harry scooped Colette up into his strong arms and carried her over to the nearby bed. He set her down gently before kneeling down between her spread legs and gazing up at her with a hungry glint in his eyes. "You are so so fucking beautiful," he murmured approvingly as he ran his roughened hands up along the insides of her thighs until they reached their final destination: the lace-covered mound of between them.

Groaning lowly, Harry pressed his fingers against the damp material covering Colette's core and pushed them through the fabric to slide along her wet folds. She cried out softly as sensations she hadn't felt since that fateful day on set washed over her once again—sensations that only seemed to intensify now that they were alone together like this .

Harry's fingers slid deeper into Colette's wet folds, finding her swollen clit and circling it gently. She moaned loudly, arching her back as the sensations overwhelmed her. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice thick with desire.

"Oh god yes," she whimpered, her eyes fluttering closed. "Please, Harry. I need you."

He pulled his fingers away from her core and stood up, pulling her with him. She stumbled to her feet, feeling unsteady from the intense pleasure he'd just given her. He backed her up against the wall, their bodies flush from chest to thighs. His hard cock pressed against her stomach, making her even wetter.

"You are so pretty, love.," he murmured again, his lips brushing against hers in a featherlight kiss. His hands roamed over her body, squeezing her ass cheeks and pulling them apart to reveal her tight little hole. "I want you to feel every inch of me inside you."

Colette shuddered at his words, imagining how good it would feel to be filled up by him. She reached down between them and took hold of his cock through his pants, stroking it slowly as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Please," she whispered again.

Harry groaned deeply and grabbed hold of her wrists, lifting them above her head and pinning them against the wall next to her head. His other hand slid down between their bodies once more, pushing aside the fabric of their clothes until he could position his cockhead at her entrance. He looked into her eyes for permission before thrusting forward powerfully into her tight heat.

She cried out in shock and pleasure as he filled her completely in one swift motion. He began to move inside her slowly at first, watching as she adjusted to his size. But soon enough he picked up speed, slamming into her over and over again with a roughness that made Colette's legs shake uncontrollably beneath him."Fuck yes!" she screamed breathlessly as he took control of their coupling completely."

She could feel every inch of him, stretching and filling her while also leaving her wanting more. His grip on her waist tightened as he picked up speed, slamming into her so hard that the bed shook beneath them.

"You like that?" he growled, his voice hoarse with lust.

"God yes!" she moaned back, arching her back to meet each of his thrusts. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she clung to him, unable to resist the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her body. He reached down between them and rubbed circles around her clit with his fingers, sending shudders of delight through her entire being.

"You're so fucking tight," he grunted, leaning down to capture one of her nipples in his mouth and sucking hard. The sensation sent electric shocks straight to her groin, making her even wetter for him. She cried out his name as he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her, causing an explosive wave of pleasure that left her breathless.

Colette found herself begging for release as he continued to thrust into her unmercifully. "Please... I need you to cum with me!" She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the brink but didn't want it without him by her side. In response, he picked up the pace even more, driving deeper than ever before as they both neared their climaxes together.

Their bodies moved in a frantic rhythm, the sound of their heavy breathing and the soft thuds of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. Colette felt the coil of tension winding tighter and tighter within her, her entire being focused on the overwhelming sensations Harry was eliciting from her.

Just as she thought she could take no more, Harry’s movements became even more purposeful, his strokes deepening, each pushing her further towards that edge. His mouth left her nipple with a wet pop, traveling up her neck, leaving a trail of kisses until he reached her ear. His hot breath against her ear sent another shiver down her spine as he whispered, "Let go for me, love. I’ve got you."

And with those words, Colette felt the dam break. A powerful orgasm washed over her, waves of pleasure pulsating through her as she cried out his name, her body trembling uncontrollably. Harry followed soon after, his own climax overtaking him with a groan as he buried his face in her neck, his body shuddering against hers.

As they both regained their breath, Harry slowly pulled back to look at Colette, his eyes soft now with a tender glow. Gently, he pressed a kiss to her forehead before easing out of her and helping her lay down on the bed. He lay beside her, pulling her into his arms and wrapping her up in his warmth.

They lay there in silence for a moment, neither needing words to express what had just transpired between them. Finally, Colette turned to look at him, a shy smile playing on her lips. “That was…” she started but seemed lost for words.

“Everything,” Harry finished for her, smiling back. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear gently. “You were everything, my Juliet.”

Colette snuggled closer into his embrace, feeling an unfamiliar sense of peace wash over her. What had started as an undeniable attraction had blossomed into something far deeper in these moments alone together. They both knew that what was happening between them wasn’t just fleeting passion; it was something that might just redefine their understanding of connection and desire.

As the night deepened, outside the confines of their intimate world, the city's sounds blended into a distant hum, almost like a lullaby meant to soothe them in their post-climactic serenity. Harry lay there, feeling the gentle rise and fall of Colette's breathing against him, his thoughts meandering through the events that had led to this moment.

After what felt like an eternity bathed in silence and warmth, Colette stirred slightly, breaking the magical spell that had enveloped them. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, her eyes reflecting a mix of wonder and a hint of vulnerability. "Harry," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the quietude. "What does this mean for us? For tomorrow?"

Harry’s heart tightened at her words. Tomorrow. With their lives so deeply entrenched in public scrutiny and their careers always on the line, the weight of reality began to dawn on him. Yet looking into Colette's hopeful eyes, all he wanted was to delay those worries, to live in this bubble for as long as they could.

He brushed his lips against her forehead softly, choosing his words with care. "Let's not think about tomorrow yet," he murmured softly. "Tonight, it’s just you and me. No labels, no expectations. Just... us."

Colette nodded slowly, nestling back into his chest. "Just us," she echoed, allowing herself to be enveloped by the warmth of his promise.

They stayed like that for a while longer until sleep began to claim them, their bodies entwined in a quiet promise of the now with thoughts of tomorrow held at bay.

166 notes · View notes

maidflowery · 2 months ago

Text

POV: Hot Vampire Wanna Strike a Deal with You

Aventurine X Reader

amorous✞cross -3-

“You can have it all.”

𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

𝔗𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣 ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱

The Deal with the Devil

“Huh...?”

The next time you woke up, you found yourself resting against an ornate red velvet chair.

“Oh, look, someone is finally awake.”

A honeyed, masculine voice prompted you to lift your face.

In front of you, all the way across the long banquet table lined with candelabras, sat a handsome, blond man donning a black coat and white shirt.

Immediately, your gaze was drawn to his gleaming, purple-cyan eyes. Despite the tallow candles' reflection, his cold, emotionless eyes remained untouched by their flame, still unfeeling.

“Well, take your time. My apologies, but the place is a bit messy right now. I don’t have time to clean up.”

His words went round and round in your head.

Messy...? This place...?

You took a look at your surroundings.

Majestic stone walls towered all around you. Rich, red curtains hung from the high windows, their velvet folds reflecting the dancing flames of the tallow candles. Old paintings lined the walls, their golden frames gilded with time.

You found yourself gasping at the splendor, overwhelmed by a beauty you were witnessing for the first time in your life.

...But then, upon closer inspection, you noticed something was amiss. Some of the curtains were torn, a few paintings misaligned, and slashes and cracks marred the walls. Beyond the echo of the past, this place bore the marks of battle.

Then, you saw an iron hoop-like thing, spiky like a tree branch, rolling on the floor. White candles scattered around it, drenched in crimson liquid.

Seeing the redness, a flood of memories rushed to your mind.

The full moon illuminating the starry skies.

A desecrated land, where not even a single blade of grass remained.

A man lying face down in the puddle of his own blood, gripping a silver crossbow.

A forlorn man exuding killing intent, with blood spilling from his hand.

The same man whose presence you now found yourself in, after trying to harm his familiar.

“Always remember this: humans are selfish and greedy creatures. They also despise those who’re different from them. Nothing good will ever come from approaching them. I won’t let any harm befall you. Of course, I’ll also punish anyone who dares lay a hand on you.”

The affectionately-spoken words that spelled your doom echoed in your head.

...!!

You shuddered, dropping your gaze to your lap—or at least, tried. You couldn’t look away from his multicolored eyes no matter what.

Then, you saw his lips curve into a smile, revealing a pair of sharp, ivory fangs.

“I take it you're fully awake now? In that case, let's skip the introduction and get straight to the case.”

What did he mean by that? Gruesome images raced through your mind. You could picture nothing but horrors.

Would the creature before you drain every single drop of your blood? Would cruel torture await you at his dungeon? At this point, you'd be fortunate to be granted a painless, quick death.

“Don’t be so scared.”

In the next second, a husky voice broke your reverie, its gentleness lulling you into a false sense of security.

“It’s going to be a bit long, so here.”

Flick!

You heard him click his fingers, and in the next moment, a lavish spread appeared before you, its rich aroma filling the air.

A perfectly seared, juicy steak. Beside it, clusters of deep purple grapes sat in abundance, sparkling like jewels. Crystal wine glasses stood tall, filled with ruby-red wine that shimmered in the light, the rich fragrance of aged oak and berries rising from the glass. Wheels of fragrance cheeses, mixed with crushed herbs.

You could tell every bite was going to be delicious just by looking at it.

If not for the almost maddening pang of hunger in your stomach, you’d have believed you had died and were now in Goddess Katica’s embrace. The only reason you didn’t succumb to your base instincts was because you were in the presence of an aristocrat.

From the moment you saw his dashing appearance, elegant mannerism, and eloquent words, you already knew that he was a noble.

Then, you spotted the silverware next to you. Unlike the wooden ones you’d usually use, their polished surface reflected you like a mirror. But above all, there were about... twelve of them, each with a different shape. You recognized the spoon and the fork, but you had no idea about the rest.

Once again, you were reminded of the disparity in status between you and the master of the house.

Wouldn’t he be offended if you ate in a messy way?

Then, while you were pondering which utensil to use...

“Why don’t we make a deal?”

You lifted your gaze, meeting the eyes that seemed to capture your soul.

“...A-a deal?”

“You won’t have to starve again.”

As he spoke, his tone was both entrancing and reassuring.

Immediately, the memories of the days when you had to fight tooth and nail to stave off your hunger revived in your mind.

Those days when you had to work yourself to the bone just for scraps. Those nights when you couldn’t sleep after going without food.

Is he saying... that I don’t have to go through that anymore?

Perhaps sensing something from your expression, he continued.

“—In exchange,” he slid something toward you. “I'll be expecting some compensation."

A dagger and a small, transparent vial—half the size of your little finger.

“These are...?”

You stared at them, feeling at a loss.

Thus, the vampire kindly explained to you. “Every day, you’ll fill that vial with your blood.”

When it finally dawned on you, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the cold gleam of the dagger before you.

“T-then, I’m supposed to... With this dagger...?”

“Yes, that’s right. No way, do you expect me to suck your blood directly?”

Even though he spoke in a cheerful, joking tone, you didn’t fail to notice the glint in his eyes—the same glint the villagers would direct your way: repulsion.

Then, he went on explaining.

“There’s been a bit of a drought lately. I can't possibly put the forest animals at risk. So, it’s fortunate that you're here.”

“...”

You went quiet after you heard that.

“What’s the matter? Dissatisfied with something?”

He asked you, narrowing his eyes.

“...No.”

As you spoke, you pictured the cute squirrels that you’d sometimes encounter in the forest entrance. You didn’t want any harm to befall them, either.

“I just thought that you’re unexpectedly kind.” You stared at him and smiled.

“...”

This time, it was his turn to go quiet.

Then, after a brief silence...

“—Anyway, here’s the contract. I’ll renew it as our negotiations proceed.”

A few sheets of paper and a quill floated in front of you, steadily writing as he spoke.

This time, you were truly flustered.

“Uhm...”

“What’s wrong.”

“...I can’t read.” You shamefully admitted.

Will he get mad?

Your palms started to get sweaty.

“We can always revisit.”

However, instead of scolding you, he simply let it go.

The papers and quill quietly fell in front of you, returning to their inanimate state.

“Moving on, food and shelter are the basics I can provide. You can always ask for more.”

A life free of hunger was all you had ever hoped for. And now he was saying he could offer you more? You were astonished, so much so that you parroted him.

“...More?”

“For example, infinite wealth that would last until the end of your life and beyond. No longer would you need to struggle so hard. You’d dine on the finest meals, wear the most splendid dresses, and adorn yourself with the daintiest jewels.”

You tried to imagine it—a luxurious life beyond your wildest dreams.

“But... there’s a price to pay, right?”

From an early age, you knew that everything came with a price.

“Naturally! You’re quick on the uptake. I like people like that. Alright, for the price, let’s see...”

The dashing, blond man raised one finger.

“One sacrifice.”

Your blood ran cold.

“One sacrifice every month, and it must be from the people of your village.”

With a smile, the beguiling creature of the night suggested that you turned against your own kin for wealth.

“Why? They aren’t exactly kind to you, either. No, if anything, they seem eager to get rid of you.”

He had truly seen everything.

The other presence you sensed while dreaming wasn’t merely an illusion.

“...But...” You muttered.

“In fact, here’s something else I can offer you: power. You’ll be able to get your revenge on them and eliminate anyone who stands in your way from now on. You can carve your own path and rise to the top, free of obstacles.”

“...”

You couldn’t even begin to imagine how much that would cost. Would you even want to know?

There was no way he couldn’t see the obvious nervousness on your face.

“You can have it all.”

“Huh?”

Baffled, you instinctively looked up, but he was gone.

“Kill me, and you won’t have to pay the price.”

In the next moment, you heard his voice right behind you.

When you turned around, all that awaited you was a purple-blue lunacy.

The tall vampire leaned over to you, smiling as he matched your eye level.

Madness was all that you saw.

“W-what do you mean...?”

“It’s been so long since I had any visitor, and today, I’m lucky enough to have two. As an act of courtesy, I always invite them to a game.”

The you reflected within the purple-blue abyss shrank.

“A-a game...?”

Then, metallic coldness greeted your palm, prompting you to look around.

Since when...?!

Within your grasp was one of the pristine silverwares, its curved, sharp tip gleaming eerily.

Before you could set it down, a gloved hand covered yours, forcing you to grip it and pull it toward his chest.

“!!”

Despite the icy coldness of the forest, the blond vampire wore a thin shirt that revealed his bare chest. His smooth, bare skin exuded a faint glow, reminiscent of moonlight.

Seeing the knife's tip pointed directly at his chest, you tried to pull your hand away, but he used his other hand to hold it in place.

You could vaguely feel the tip pressing against his skin, nearly sinking in.

“Yes, a game. In fact, I did just that with the previous guest. Of course, I’ll make it so that it’s fair to you too."

The blond vampire showed you a replica of a kind, courteous smile.

“Let’s see, for someone of your stature...” His gaze swept over your arm, covered in old scars and fresh cuts. “Well, it doesn’t seem like you’ll be able to put up much of a fight.” He remarked nonchalantly.

Then, a bright idea seemed to have occurred to him.

“Alright, how about this? I’ll give you one chance. Drive it in as deep and forcefully as you can—stab me straight in the heart. Then, you can have it all.”

A hint of rutilant glow, unmistakably madness, glimmered deep within his purple-blue eyes.

At the end, he added.

“The choice is yours.”

To be a vampire's livestock.

Infinite wealth at the cost of one of your kin every month.

Unlimited power, but at an insurmountable price.

Facing this, you...

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

#aventurine fanart #honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine #aventurine x you #aventurine x y/n #aventurine honkai star rail #fanfic #fanart #hsr fanart #hsr x reader #star rail aventurine #aventurine hsr #vampichurin #maidflowerywrite

62 notes · View notes

bellafayegarden · 2 years ago

Text

#crystal candelabra

10 notes · View notes

kishibe-kisser · 1 year ago

Text

Like the Romance Novels (Erwin Smith)

Tags: military Erwin Smith x afab reader, age gap (legal of course), forbidden love, arranged marriage, spying, cursing, teasing, hair brushing, fingering, soft sex, kissing

Word count: 8463

The sound of metal scraping slightly over porcelain had the tendency to make your ears ache. Not being able to help yourself but pull a face each time your little brother’s fork grazed the plate. It was your family’s finest China and normally, your mother would have said something about the sound and scolded him right there. This evening was different though, everyone had to be on their best behavior for the esteemed guest sitting at the head of the table opposite of your father.

The air in the room was tense, knowing that the man was going to be your father’s successor had left a sour taste in your father’s mouth. Despite the fact that age was catching up to him, he refused to admit that it was time to step down as acting Sergeant Major. Your family knew it and it was nearly fact that the man across from him knew it too.

“So Erwin, how long have you been in the service?” Your mother asked, tone sickly sweet as she spoke to the man. The table seemingly went on for miles before reaching him, decorated with candelabras, lace doilies and crystal glasses. You had taken the man in when he entered the house, his tall brooding frame, broad shoulders, handsome face and strong jaw. Though now you were noticing more as you waited on his answers, such as his thick eyebrows that framed his blue eyes and the gentle lines by his eyes, showcasing the few years of stress he had undoubtedly had. You didn’t realize you had been staring until his head turned, glancing at you before refocusing his attention to your mother and her question.

“21 years, ma’am. I’ve been in ever since I turned 18.” You hadn’t expect him to be so much older than you, it made you blush because of your prior thoughts about just how attractive he was. “21 years and already in line for the Sergeant Major position, impressive.” Your father grumbled and you could feel Erwin’s eyes on you once more. Truth be told, the man couldn’t have cared less about the formalities. He went to this dinner because it was what was expected of him. If he was to take over the role of Sergeant Major, he would have to earn the respect of the men that followed your father and to do that, he had to earn his respect.

His attitude changed once he entered the major’s home, meeting his wife and children. He couldn’t help but drink you in, a woman that looked like you, your dress framing your figure. When he shook your hand, he couldn’t help but notice how delicate and soft it was in his. Now, he couldn’t help but allow his eyes to drift over to you.

“Miss Y/N?” Erwin questioned and you looked up from your plate in surprise. It was rare that guests spared a second glance towards you, let alone addressed you head on. “How old are you, miss?” He added on and you felt your cheeks warm up once more. “I’m 23, sir.” You responded and watched a smile pull over his face. “23. Are you married?” He asked and before you could respond on the sore subject, your mother did. “She decided to go to school first, even though we urged her to settle down. Gave her plenty of choices between suitable husbands. We are now looking into suitable husbands for her again, given she’s settled down.” While it wasn’t a negative thing, your mother made it sound like it was with a certain venomous tone to her voice. Erwin nodded in understanding before smiling at you apologetically. It was clear it was a tender subject, despite that he couldn’t help but be relieved at the answer.

“Why do you ask? Know anyone?” Your father joked and Erwin let out a small chuckle. This confirmed it in his mind, that the age gap was too large that he wasn’t even considered. “No, mere curiosity. I find that you went to school first admirable Miss Y/N.” He redirected his attention to you, deciding that his words were best aimed your way. He could imagine the berating you experienced, being a woman in your position and making that decision. A smile graced your face, deeply appreciating the words as they weren’t ones that you received regularly.

“Your children seem very smart.” Erwin commented, watching as the Sergeant Major puffed away on his cigar. The study was slowly filling up with smoke, some escaping through the slightly ajar door. “They are. I worry about my daughter though. My son, he’s still young and finding his way but my daughter. She’s a headache.” He confessed through puffs as Erwin faked a smile. Looking towards the door opening, he caught glimpse of your dress as you walked past and he found that the fake smile turned into a real one.

It had been a particularly windy day, as Captain Smith watched a car pull up to the base. Training had been outside and he was set to oversee it all, uniform on in full as the men did their drills. The car however was out of the ordinary, he wasn’t informed of any guests arriving at the base that day and it seemed that he wasn’t the only curious one. The soldiers stopping their drills to stare just as their sergeant was.

A heeled foot and a little bit of bare leg peaked from the car before revealing a light blue dress patterned with flowers. Captain Smith felt his cheeks pull into a smile as you revealed yourself from the car. Dress and hair flowing freely in the wind as you straightened out your clothes. It wasn’t until he heard the murmurs from the soldiers that he snapped out of his daze. He knew the men didn’t see women quite as often, he didn’t expect the crude comments though. Shooting the men a glare before wandering over to the car with a wave.

“Miss Y/N.” A dominating voice said, grabbing your attention among the all the soldiers. Turning your head, the wind quickly blew your hair over your face and eyes and before you could do anything, gentle fingers moved the hairs behind your ears. “Miss Y/N.” Captain Smith said again, making a blush pull over your cheeks. He looked handsome at dinner, yet even more so in his uniform. It made him look so official and despite the fact that your father wore the same one, it left an entirely different impression being worn by Captain Smith.

“Were we expecting you?” He asked, a concerned expression pulling over his rugged features. “No, no, not at all. Father received a telegram at home and it seemed like an urgent matter. I simply came to deliver it.” You told him, trying to ignore the gawking stares of the other soldiers. They were making you slightly uncomfortable, finding it hard to concentrate on the man standing in front of you and the task at hand. Fidgeting with the telegram, you looked to the ground and to your heel covered feet. You couldn’t help but wonder if you were dressed funny or if you had over dressed, maybe you had a button undone, all while knitting your brows together.

“I can escort you to his office, if you like?” Captain Smith offered, extending his elbow to you. You gladly accepted it, not only to get away from the prying eyes but also to get closer to him. The captain had left an impression on you ever since dinner, his well built figure waltzing through your mind at the most random of times since that evening. When your family mentioned your disgraces to others, generally they tried to offer solutions as they fed into the opinion that your choices had indeed been shortcomings. Erwin or Captain Smith hadn’t done those things, speaking to you rather than about you. Not to mention, he considered you to be admirable and it made you feel warm.

“I would greatly appreciate it.” You responded, a small smile pulling at your lips before gently taking his arm. It was nearly painful how well your body molded to him, unbeknownst to each other that it made your heart pound in your chests. “If I may be so bold.” Captain Smith started and you found yourself holding your breath, looking at the side of his face as you walked. “You look absolutely beautiful today.” You had to look away, to the sky or to the buildings out in the distance in the hopes to calm the warmth of your cheeks.

Erwin found the action endearing, needing to stifle a chuckle at the sweet response. He wasn’t just saying it to get a response, he absolutely meant it. The man was convinced you would look good in a potato sack and it made him feel like a lovesick puppy despite being the age of an old dog.

“Thank you, Captain.” You managed to pull yourself together enough to say. He was so gentlemanly, opening the door for you and gently placing his hand on the small of your back to guide you inside. For such a large man in such a powerful position, he spoke to you with a sweet tone and touched you like you were made of porcelain. It made your thoughts wander more about him, like how his hands would feel cupping your cheeks or how his voice sounded in the early morning… after a long night. You glanced at him once more, taking a deep breath before shaking the thoughts away.

You both stopped in front of the office door and he took a breath before knocking on the door. “Sergeant Major.” His voice was more tense speaking to your father, the weight of the world suddenly sitting on his shoulders. You watched his jaw clench as you waited for an answer, wanting to reach up and run your finger over the harsh line or massage his tense looking shoulders. Such intense feelings for only having seen him twice.

“Come in.” Your father’s voice rang through the wooden door and Sergeant Smith held the door open for you once more. Hand lingering on the small of your back a little longer than before, causing you to train your focus on his eyes rather than the other two sets staring at you.

“Y/N, what a coincidence.” Your father remarked, snatching your attention away. Erwin couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow at the man sitting in front of the Sergeant Major. Jean Kirstein, a young and promising soldier from what Erwin knew. He was an objectively good looking man, with a stature that rivaled his own which was rare. The few times Erwin had spoken to him, he had left a good impression but now Erwin couldn’t help but hate the way he was staring at you. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

“We were just speaking about you.” You nodded in understanding before nodding politely towards the other soldier in front of you. “Y/N, this is Jean Kirstein.” You extended your hand to him and forced a smile as he took it. You knew what this was. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Father, a telegram was delivered to the house and it seemed urgent.” You told him, ignoring the true intentions of the man in front of you. Erwin had to stifle a laugh, he hadn’t quite expected to see you dismiss Jean like this and well, it made him more attracted to you than before.

Jean’s eyes trailed over your body, the way you leaned forward to pass of the telegram, the way you tucked a hair behind your ear and the way you crossed your arms over your chest. He had to stop himself from licking his lips, glancing to the scary dog behind you. Erwin.

He had seen the way he scanned over you and it disgusted him, jaw clenching coupled with a heavy scowl on his face as the younger man locked eyes with him. It brought Erwin great joy to see the man’s or boy’s rather, confidence diminish with a glare.

“Thank you for bringing this to me, was that all?” Your father asked and you nodded your head. “Jean, Y/n, you may both leave. I would appreciate if you could escort her back to the car.” Your father gently told Jean, shoot him a smile that could only be conceived as fake. “Gladly, sir.” Jean smiled, standing up and taking your hand gently. “Captain Smith, if you could stay for a moment.” Erwin had to bite back a frown, he wanted to walk you to your car too and make sure Jean stayed cordial. Though considering your father’s power to make people fear him, he was nearly sure Jean would be keeping his hands to himself.

“What do you think?” The Sergeant Major asked once the door fell shut again. “What do I think?” Erwin repeated, not entirely sure what the Sergeant Major was asking. “Well, you’ve met my daughter. You’ve heard how she is. Don’t you think Jean Kirstein is a good match for her?” The man froze, taking a deep breath before even trying to think of a response. “Kirstein has a good head on his shoulders, seems like he could make a good husband for someone, someday.” Erwin said and exchanged looks with the Sergeant Major. “I understand. I’ll put him on the backburner until after my vacation.” He nodded, returning to his paperwork.

“Before I dismiss you, my wife will kill me if I forget to ask. We are going to our house in the south, by an oceanside town for vacation. It’s small and quiet, it’ll probably be the last vacation as a family. Would you like to join us?”

You loved the vacation house, all the trees surrounding it, the lakes and streams only you knew about and the faint smell of the sea in the air. The town had old bookstores, markets and bakeries on every corner, cafes too. It was home to you, more home than any of the houses given to your family during your father’s deployment. One thing was always certain, the vacation house.

The bright sun made your dress look like it was glowing as you left the house, retrieving the last trunk you had brought with you. The white cotton fabric of your dress was simple but perfect for the great weather. A small gust of wind made the trees rustle and you looked up to the sky, taking a deep breath to inhale the subtle ocean scent. A rumbling engine disturbed your peace, tearing your eyes from the sky and to the path. The car rode down the driveway and pulled up next to your family’s car. You couldn’t help but stand and watch, not having expected any visitors.

“Erwin?” You spoke before realizing you had dropped his title, the shock of seeing him there knocking all the sense out of you. The man walked towards you, chuckling with his hands in his pockets. He lifted one and reached out to pinch your cheeks softly. “You’re lucky I’m on vacation, miss. Y/n.” He smiled and let your face go. Your cheeks were on fire and you found yourself looking past him towards the house. “Sorry, captain.” You apologized, only to feel his hand brush yours. “I was only joking, I’d prefer if you called me Erwin.” He looked different like this, lighter than other days. He was on vacation and looked the part with his white cotton shirt, tucked into tan slacks. His hair wasn’t slicked back for a change and you found your heart pounding in your chest simply by looking at him.

“Erwin.” You whispered to yourself, watching him walk into the house with his bags. You weren’t aware he would be joining your vacation, but you did have a deep fear your father would have invited that Kirstein man. You could see straight through your father’s intentions there and had no desire for it whatsoever.

Deciding not to linger on it all too much, you went on with your plans for the day. Going to one of your favorite spots around the house, the small secluded lake. Your family knew of it’s existence of course, they just didn’t quite enjoy it like you did. It had become your spot and in your spot, you cared very little about being proper.

On your hands and knees, you felt the water of the lake. Taking the moment to admire the way the sun reflected off of the ripples and smiling at it. It was nice and warm and you were absolutely ready for your first soak of the vacation. No one was around anyways, you didn’t look twice before undoing your dress. In nothing but your bra and underwear you waded in the lake, letting your body soak in the sun and the feeling of the nice water. You leaned down, splashing the water around slightly and laughing. This was pure joy for you, with no one around to tell you how to behave or any appearances to keep up.

Erwin knew he shouldn’t be watching you, not like this. He didn’t think you would be in this state when he saw you heading this direction. He simply wanted to explore a little. That’s exactly what he was doing, guilty eyes exploring the delicate white lace coating the intimate parts of your body, the golden cast the sun left on your skin and the pure joy on your face. The water came up to just above your knees and as you splashed it slightly, he watched the droplets on your thighs. Shaking his head, he tore away his stare. This was more wrong than simply finding you interesting and beautiful, he was now lusting over you.

His throat cleared, your head snapping in the direction of the sound. Erwin adjusted his pants before revealing himself to you, watching you scramble out of the water to cover yourself up with the dress. “You told me to call you Erwin, perhaps I should call you peeping Tom instead.” You held the dress over your body, looking at the man with heat rising in your chest and cheeks. “It appears so, I understand. But it wasn’t on purpose. Went to explore my home for the next weeks and stumbled across you. I’m very sorry.” He explained, bowing his head to you in regret. Your body relaxed, your response being more one of surprise rather than fear. Erwin never gave you a bad feeling, not once, not even now as you stood practically bare in front of him.

“Could you be sorry while looking the other way for a moment?” You asked, your tone softening as well. Erwin’s eyebrows raised in realization before laughing and turning around. “Of course.” His broad back faced you as you slipped back into your dress, doing up the buttons before sighing. “Okay, I’m decent again.” You said and watched as he slowly turned around again. You noticed a soft pink tint to his cheeks and found yourself trying not to laugh. You weren’t embarrassed but he certainly was.

“Are you perhaps blushing, Erwin?” You asked, leaning forward to get a little bit of a closer look at his face and to taunt a little. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone here, let alone you in this state…” He noticed your lack of embarrassment and admired it. “Though I assume you weren’t expecting other’s either.” He finished and you nodded, seating yourself in the soft grass. Erwin joined you, leaning back in the grass and propping himself up on his elbow next to you. “My family never comes out here. I don’t think they know I come out here. So yes I wasn’t expecting company to say the least.” You told him, wiggling your bare toes in the grass and looking out over the lake.

Erwin watched you, then turned his gaze to the lake as well. It must have been difficult having your family not accept the way want to live your life, for you to be a woman who wanted to study over marriage at your age. It also seemed like they didn’t approve of the way you carried yourself, which Erwin didn’t understand at all. He would be happy to know the daughter he raised was strong and smart.

The next few days, you hardly saw Erwin at all. He was always being whisked away by your parents to social events or business, despite this having been a vacation for you all. You knew this would happen though, vacations were never such.

“What are your plans today?” His voice was a welcome surprise in the morning as you poured orange juice. You were still in your silk robe, the first one awake in the house that morning as you made your breakfast. Turning around with your glass in hand, you looked at him and his disheveled hair and clothes. It was clear he had rolled over and put the first thing on he could find and you found yourself wondering in what state he normally slept.

“I’m going into to town a little later today. You?” You asked, watching him rub his face. He looked tired, not relaxed at all. “Suppose your parents will be dragging me around all day again.” He put his hands on his hips and looked at you with a raised brow. “If I promise to buy you breakfast, can you get ready in ten minutes and I’ll drive you into town?” His proposal made you laugh and put down your glass. “Is my family driving you that mad, Erwin?” You asked him, watching him throw his head back with a laugh. You took in his jaw line and the way his Adam apple bobbed, thinking about just how nice a day alone with him would be. “Would it be awful if I said yes?” He asked between chuckles. You looked like his angel that morning, every meeting and introduction he had been forced to go through making him want to go back to the base rather than stay. This was not the vacation he was hoping for and as bad as it made him feel, he was going to use you as an out that day.

“Not awful. Completely understandable.” You admitted and let out a sigh. “Breakfast on you, you say.” You fake pondered, taking in his amused expression. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.” You smiled and he sighed in relief. “You’re an angel Y/N.” He said softly, taking your hand gently and patting it as a thank you. You could get used to him calling you that and you could get used to seeing him in the morning like this, you could also get used to his hand holding yours.

Another thing you could get used to was the way he looked driving. Window rolled down, arm resting on it as the wind blew through his hair. With one hand on the wheel, for the first time in the last few days he looked relaxed. You couldn’t help but stare at him and take him in. It felt like a date almost, the first one you had been on in a long time with a man you were actually interested in. But it wasn’t a date, it was entertaining your father’s colleague and you knew that. So you swallowed those feelings down, but decided admiring how attractive he was, was perfectly alright.

“Was this the place you mentioned earlier?” Erwin asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. You looked around to see the restaurant and nodded, waiting as he parked. He was a gentleman through and through, not helping with the feeling of it being a date as he opened the car door for you. Taking your hand in his again to help you out the car. “You’re being such a gentleman for someone who stole me away at seven in the morning.” You joked, feeling his hand on the small of your back as you entered the small restaurant. “It’s to make up for doing it for my own benefit. Besides, it’s not every day I get to take a beautiful young lady to breakfast.” Erwin laid his hand flatter against your body, his touches getting more familiar the more he got to know you.

Breakfast lasted longer than anticipated, speaking for a few hours about everything and anything. He liked learning about your family and about the history of the vacation house. He liked learning about you and the reasons you went to college and the reasons you studied what you did. Erwin was finding that he was absolutely taken by you and the more he got to know you, the more he wanted to steal you away to be his.

He told you about himself too, the dangerous missions he had been placed on and the most beautiful places he had been. You liked hearing about his life, his experiences. While you never had the desire to do a job quite as dangerous as him and your father, you did always admire the experiences that came with it. The travelling and meeting people, it made you envious of it all. You liked hearing him speak, watching his eyes as they went through the emotions of talking about his life. You found yourself daydreaming about what it would be like in a more intimate setting, your arms wrapped around him, laying in bed as you comforted him after a long day. It was something no man had ever made you yearn for, no man before him.

“I’ve never quite seen this many books.” He commented, entering the small bookstore you had loved since you were a girl. “Ah, you haven’t seen my room then.” You smiled and continued further into the store. This day was no longer about him getting away from your family, this was about him getting to know you more, even though he knew he couldn’t have you. “If it’s anything as full as this I might not want to.” He joked and you smacked his arm lightly before taking notice of a book with a colorful binding.

“I’ve always loved stories like this.” You remarked, running your fingers over the spine as you read the title. Erwin had never heard of it, not quite having the time to read much with his job. He picked up the book, flipping through the pages and finding himself smiling. “This is a romance book.” He commented, reading through a particularly sweet passage. “Don’t get me wrong, Erwin. I like the intellectual read. However nothing is quite better than a sweet romance book.” You explained, watching him flip through the pages. Erwin looked like he had walked right out of a romance novel, one of your own imagination.

“Suppose I can understand why…” He started and you leaned back against a book shelf. Erwin turned to you, placing an arm on either side of you, the book still in one of his hands. His face was close proximity to yours as he read your expressions, your big eyes staring up at him. “I would be the romantic too if my family kept trying to sell me off to the first suitable man they saw.” His remark made your cheeks get warm. It was an embarrassing situation, one he had undoubtedly heard more about from your father. “Yes, but apparently my personality makes me unsuitable.” Erwin laughed at your words and dropped his arms for you both to continue browsing. “I must argue that I disagree. If anything you’re quite refreshing.” He admitted and you looked at him with a grateful expression.

“I would have asked to marry the evening we met if it seemed like I had a chance.” Erwin thought to himself, watching you browse the books. He found himself picturing the future, days like these with you, holding your hands and spoiling you with books. He could imagine you dressing up beautifully, attending galas with him as he showed you off to the entire room. He even could see your shared home in his mind, maybe even kids. God, he wanted it so bad, he wanted you so bad.

“Erwin, you disappeared today.” Your mother said as dinner was served. “Ah yes, I had some plans in town.” Erwin lied and you found yourself looking to the ground and smiling. It was fun that only you and him knew the truth. “Ah I see. It’s quite alright, I was busy making the starting arrangements for Y/N’s engagement.” Your father said and your eyes shot open in disbelief.

The pure anger you felt in your stomach made you cough and your head dizzy, but what made it worse was knowing you couldn’t do anything about it. “With who?” Your tone was laced anger, anyone could tell and well it was to be expected. “Jean Kirstein.” You knew it, the second the name was said and you fell silent. You knew it. Tears welled up in your eyes and you found yourself looking away from everyone again. Acting out wouldn’t be beneficial, you’d be labelled as dramatic. Crying wouldn’t help either, so you simply bit your lip and pushed all the emotions down.

Erwin felt himself get upset, seeing your face and response. He wasn’t entirely sure what came over himself as he exhaled, going back on all the things he had told himself since he had met you.

“It’s clear that is not what Y/N wants.” Erwin spoke and your father looked at him with furrowed brows. “I know family matters are not my place. But I’m here and I’ve gotten to know her.” He added on and your father opened his mouth to speak. You were still looking away, knowing no objections Erwin would say in your honor could possibly save you from this.

“I would like to marry your daughter.” The room went silent enough that you could hear a pin drop. Your ears were ringing, making it nearly impossible to believe that what he was saying was actually being said. Erwin had been in battles, on the brink of death, in meetings with important officials however, those things didn’t even come close to making his heart pound like this. “I want to marry your daughter. If she’d have me.” He said again, taking note that not even you had responded. He was speaking to your parents, but his eyes were trained on you with each word.

“I have to say Erwin, I’m shocked.” Your mother started and you pushed out of your chair, redirecting the attention to you. Your head hurt, aching with the pain of not having a choice. You also felt a wave of anger or distaste towards Erwin, he made it seem like he understood your pain that morning in the bookstore. Only for him to make this choice without talking to you about it. “I believe I’m going to go to bed.” You said, not responding to anything that was just said. You could hear protests from behind you as you walked away, but it all didn’t matter. Tomorrow you could think rationally, you hoped.

He felt guilty watching you walk away. This wasn’t something he should have done without asking you and he knew that. His gut told him it was the right thing, the signals you gave him, the way you looked at him. He felt foolish for thinking this was something you wanted. It was safe to say that dinner was ruined from that point on.

Walking past your bedroom door, Erwin took notice that it was left open a little and light spilled out of the crack. It wasn’t late at all and you were without a doubt in his mind mulling everything over, he liked to think he knew you well enough for that. He looked inside the room, seeing you in a nightgown sat in front of your vanity, reaching for your hairbrush. He could hear your sniffles and it made an ache settle in his chest. This wasn’t his intention.

“May I come in?” He mustered the courage to ask all while knocking you out of your thoughts. “I suppose.” You responded, toying with the bristles on your hairbrush as you watched him through your mirror. Tears still stained your cheeks and your eyes were slightly red. Your night gown was slightly revealing however Erwin had seen you with less on than that so you ignored it. You were upset with him and that was making it difficult to look at him, even through the mirror.

“I have to apologize to you.” He started, standing a few feet behind you. His blue eyes taking in the way you tried to focus on something else by brushing your hair. “It was impulsive of me to say that during dinner. Though I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind.” You paused your movements for a moment while listening to him. It wasn’t that marrying him hadn’t crossed your mind multiple times while looking at him or speaking with him. He was a great and attractive man and the thought sounded nice. It just angered you that he didn’t even speak with you about this, it made you feel like an object and that’s how you had felt nearly your whole life. You continued brushing your hair trying to work through your own thoughts.

“Can I do that?” Erwin asked, gesturing to your hairbrush. You shrugged and extended the brush to him, waiting as he grabbed a chair to sit behind you. The close proximity behind you made goosebumps coat your skin. “Are you angry with me?” He asked, voice lowering now that he was closer to you. You locked eyes with him through the mirror as he started gently brushing through your hair. “Angry not quite. Upset at the situation, yes.” You admitted and he nodded in understanding. “I understand.”

He continued brushing your hair, trying to do his best to not pull at any knots and be gentle with you. He had never done this before, brushed someone else’s hair but he was adding it to the list of many firsts he wanted to have with you.

“I want these choices to be my own.” You looked down, tears starting to form again. While you were upset, you couldn’t keep it from him. “Hey, hey, look at me.” Erwin used his free hand to move your chin, helping you look at him. His thumb swiped away the tears, taking note of how your eyes were avoiding looking into to his dead on. “You should have talked to me about this first. I thought you were different from the others.” You half mumbled, thinking about your past. “It wasn’t my intention to upset you. I simply believe I misread the signs that I was someone you are interested in.” He said and finally, you looked at him. God you were even beautiful when you cried, it was simply unfair. “You didn’t misread the signs.” You pulled your face from his and turned your back to him once more. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t had the thought.” You admitted and watched as a small smile pulled at his lips, all while he continued brushing your hair.

“Thought about it, huh? What did you think about?” He asked, a slight mischievous tone in his voice. You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. You debated going into detail about how much his voice effected you, or the way he respected your choices practically made you go weak in the knees, when you noticed in the mirror how broad his shoulders were behind you and how he had practically caged you in between his long legs. The goosebumps on your skin seemingly got worse as his hand brushed your practically bare shoulder to move your hair.

“Well?” He asked, accidentally tugging your hair with the brush harshly. You gasped at the sudden feeling, leaning back into his chest and grabbing one of his thighs in response. His free hand grabbed your waist to support you, all the touching making a thick layer of tension fill the room. “I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before.” He chuckled as you looked back at him, his hand still holding you. Your faces were now significantly closer than before and he took note of the tension. The thin strap of your nightgown slipped down your shoulder, drawing his eyes as he reached around you to put the brush down on the vanity. “However, you still didn’t answer me.” He brushed some of your hair from your face, using the back of his hands to feel how warm your cheeks were.

“I’m well aware, that you can take care of yourself. But I want to help.” His hand now held your chin, making sure you couldn’t look away. He wanted you to hear what he was saying, he wanted you to feel it. “Will you let me?” He asked and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your hand gripping his thigh a little harder. “Yes.” Your voice was barely a whisper, not being able to make it any louder.

You shut your eyes and Erwin tilted your chin upwards, softly kissing your lips. It was so gentle, such a ginger touch for such a strong man, leaving you breathless. “Thank you.” He mumbled against your lips, pulling away so you could catch your breath only to kiss you even harder afterwards. You absolutely melted, feeling his teeth graze over your lips as his hand kept your face steady. God, he tasted like a dream. The way his tongue melded against yours making your nails dig into his thigh, you moaned against his lips.

His hand turned your face to look in the mirror, his hand still holding your chin as he looked at you through the glass. “Look at how beautiful you are.” Erwin said, though it seemed more like he was speaking to himself as he kissed the side of your face, trailing his lips down your jaw to your neck. “Such a strong and beautifully intelligent woman.” He added on and the hand on your waist tugging the bottom of your nightgown up. His words were making your chest ache and heat pool in between your legs. You looked at yourself in the mirror, your puffy lips and eyes from all the emotions yet you still felt beautiful, he helped you feel beautiful.

The skin of your thighs was slowly revealed to him, his hands both moving to feel the soft exposed skin. You relaxed in his touch, eyes meeting through the mirror as you let him slowly undress you further. His fingertips grazing the edge of your panties causing a small whimper to leave your lips. He chuckled slightly, enjoying your reactions to his small touches before tugging the fabric up more. Your panties were fully exposed and you could see your midriff in the mirror. Goosebumps coated your skin and you squeezed his thigh again. “Don’t tease me. Please.” You told him, begged him even. “I need you.” You added on and watched as he lifted the fabric even more, exposing your bare breasts to the mirror before pulling the nightgown off of you fully.

It took him no two seconds to cup your breasts in his large hands, feeling you arch against chest. Your skin was so soft under his touch and every little sound you made was music to his ears. “Oh-“ You whimpered, his fingers pinching at your nipples gently and watching every facial expression that graced your features. “I like teasing you. Your facial expressions are worth every second of my time.” He said and kissed your neck once more. “So I’m going to keep going-“ He started, biting you lightly but not hard enough to leave a mark. “Until I think you’re ready for the rest of me.” His words made your stomach do flips, you wanted all of him.

One of his hands spread your legs before sliding under the band of your panties, middle finger slowly drawing circles over your clit. He was now only watching your face, feeling how wet you were all for him as he spread your slick around. Erwin could feel that he was straining in his pants, it had been so long since someone had this affect on him. This was sensitive, you were sensitive in mind and body and he wanted to take his time with both. Slowly stretching you out on his finger, curling in you slowly until you were ready enough for another. His other hand moved from your breasts to your hand, threaded his fingers with yours as you moaned out.

He added another finger, curling them quicker in you and leaving you gasping. You turned your head to his, no longer caring about the sight of yourself in the mirror. He could feel you tightening around his fingers, walls squeezing them as you sounds got louder. Your lips were centimeters from his, silently begging for a kiss and he couldn’t help but comply. Kissing you deeply, taking in your taste as your hand squeezed his. You moaned against his mouth, nearly biting his lip as you came and his fingers continued pumping into you.

“Erwin-“ You mumbled against his lips, trying your hardest not to squirm too much as tears brimmed your eyes. He was overstimulating you, smiling against your lips as you said his name again. “It’s too much.” You whispered, voice already hoarse and he wasn’t anywhere near done with you. He pulled his fingers out of you and you grabbed his hand, raising the digits to your lips to clean them off. He let out a chuckle in surprise at how bold the action was, feeling your tongue swirling around his fingers before he pulled away. Now was when his self discipline started to wear thin.

It took him no 2 seconds to pick you up, princess style in his arms and walk you over to your bed. He placed you down like you were made of glass, looking down at you and your body. He slowly undid the buttons of his shirt before pushing it off of his shoulders and onto the ground, revealing his broad, muscular chest. You sat up on your elbows, watching him, taking every second of him in the same way he did for you. You watched as his fingers nimbly moved, working to take off his belt and undo his slacks to push them down his toned thighs.

“You’re beautiful.” You said softly, meaning the words. Erwin looked at you once more, with a cocked eyebrow before crawling over you. His body was so warm, his large arms encasing you with something you couldn’t describe as anything else other protection. “Don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.” He said softly, tilting your face up to kiss him again. He absolutely couldn’t get enough of you, spreading your legs to wrap around his waist. “Not even when I was young.” He added on and you shook your head with smile. As you opened your mouth to speak again, you could feel his cock heavy against your entrance and you found yourself swallowing thickly.

You hugged his shoulders, pressing your forehead into his as he slowly pushed into you. He knew he had to pace himself, not wanting to hurt you in any way shape or form. He furrowed his brows, shutting his eyes as he slowly slid into you and giving your walls a moment to stretch. He felt you shift under him, your legs trying to close at the pressure of him between them. “Oh-“ You whined, the stretch taking your breath away as your body tried to accommodate him.

Erwin opened his eyes again, wanting to see your face and not being disappointed in the slightest at your expression. “Look at me.” He demanded in the softest tone, his hands now moving to pin your legs to your chest. The change in position made it feel like his cock sat in your stomach and you opened your eyes with a loud moan. “Erwin, I need you to do something, anything, please!” You cried out, your body moving and trying to create more friction. Any pain you had felt before had subsided and now it felt like a cruel joke that he wasn’t moving.

“Shh, shh.” He cooed, hand stroking your face as he tried his best to pace himself. Your begging and tight pussy were making it incredibly hard, together with your soft skin against his, Erwin was properly overstimulated. He slowly thrust his hips, not moving much before gently picking up the pace. Your sighs and moans getting more and more frequent with each roll of his hips. He held your legs with one arm while the other supported his weight by your head, not wanting to crush you in the middle of it all.

“Feels so good.” Your voice shook, his cock brushing every part in you that made your toes curl. It felt so good you could hardly make a noise anymore, mouth agape with nothing coming out. “Look at how good you are, letting me take care of you.” He grumbled, the compliment making your brain even more foggy. You looked down, in between your spread legs and where you two connected. The sight of his cock disappearing inside of you making your walls squeeze him, it had you nearly hypnotized. His pace nearly faltered, seeing you look down at your pussy, watching the way he spread you apart and the way your juices coated him.

“Oh god!” You cried out, orgasm suddenly hitting you like a ton of bricks. Erwin could feel you fluttering around him, still watching the way he fucked you despite your eyes wanting to roll back. Your nails gripped your bedsheets and your legs shook on his shoulders, but his pace didn’t falter. He needed relief himself, seeing and feeling you cum around being almost enough to get him there. Moving your legs once more around his waist, he pressed his chest to yours and fucked you harder. He knew it was a lot for you, watching the way your mouth fell open as you tried to keep eye contact with him. “I know, it’s a lot.” He huffed, deep grunts falling from his lips in between words. He suddenly pulled out of you, making you whimper as you watched his large hand wrap around his cock. Pumping it to the same pace as he had fucked you, he moaned your name as he shot his release over your stomach. His head hung slightly as he lazily pumped his cock, making sure all the tension left his body as he shuddered.

Your stomach was doing flips, missing the feeling of him inside of you and wanting the feeling of him cumming in you even more. Sitting up slightly, you held his face to pull him towards you and giving him a kiss. “Next time do that inside of me.” You told him softly, watching him look at you with an amazed expression. “As much as I would love to see you pregnant with my kids, think it would be wise if we paced ourselves.” His words made your stomach do flips, the thought of your future. The thought of a future being married suddenly didn’t seem so bleak.

When you fell asleep in his arms, Erwin found himself staring at your ceiling. Self indulging in fantasizing about your future as he listened to your breathing. Stroking your bare back as you slept he felt a wave of worry wash over him. He didn’t want to get your hopes up, especially now that you had talked, so he decided it was best to keep the argument he had with your father to himself. He would fix it, he would take care of you.

The warmth in your bed was gone in the morning, making it incredibly difficult for you to get up. Images replaying in your head of the night before, you could feel his tender touches over your skin like a ghost. Even as you washed them away they lingered and as you wandered down the stairs you found your cheeks warm.

“You’re up early.” You remarked, looking at Erwin standing at the window with his cup of coffee in hand. The radio was on quietly, static interfering with the signal slightly as you tucked yourself under his arm. He welcomed your embrace warmly, squeezing you tighter to him as he sipped his coffee. Mornings like this could be something he got used to, even if you reached to take his coffee for a sip. “I had a lot of things to think about.” He told you in return, watching you hold his mug. His fingers played with the fabric of your dress and you hummed along to the tune playing. Moving his hand up your back in the same way he did the night before and sending shivers over your body.

Your father watched from down the hall, your mother not far behind as they came down for breakfast. They would have been lying if they said the sight didn’t make them angry, the argument from the night before still fresh on their minds. The thought of the man they had brought into their home thinking of their daughter in a romantic way making them uneasy. Not to mention the age difference that left them raising questions.

Erwin took your hand after taking the mug from you, making you twirl to the music before bringing you back to his chest. Smiling at the way you looked at him in surprise. “Old dog learning new tricks?” You asked as he swayed you both to the music. “Starting with these jokes now are we?” He asked, hands tickling you slightly as you laughed. “Couldn’t help myself.” You admitted before standing on your toes to give him a kiss.

Your parents often thought you delusional, the studying and reading stories about romance. However even your father could admit that he hadn’t ever seen you this happy, as jarring as it all was. He knew he was hard on you, it was his duty to you as his first born to drive you to be the best you could be. Until that moment, he thought he knew what best for you was. He turned to your mother, looking at his wife before taking a deep breath. “Maybe we were wrong.” Big words coming from a man like him. “Dear, I think you might be right.”

A/N; This is my baby and I'm really proud of it so yuh

also @chicken-fifi thank you for asking to be tagged! I appreciate it

#attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan smut #erwin smith #erwin smith smut #erwin smith x reader

362 notes · View notes

highhhfiveee · 1 year ago

Text

safety net, part four

pairing: pornstar!mike schmidt x blackfem!reader summary: cute anniversary moments, award show memories, and talks of the future. wc: 8.1k tags: pornstar!mike schmidt, fluff, mentions of smut (videos mike has made, including pegging and glory holes, and suggestiveness at the end), angst (insecurity and awkwardness🫂). proofread, but there are potential errors ofc. i also don't know how award shows really work atm so enjoy this dramatization lmao

part three: 📹 | part five: 🛏️

“happy one year, baby.”

the wind whips your hair across your face as mike drops his hand-blindfold from your eyes, and your chest tightens with shock as you track your gaze over the scene in front of you.

you still couldn't believe how thoughtful mike was, even after all this time. you'd told him that you'd wanted to stay in for your anniversary, and he'd accepted your request with open arms; so much so that he'd arranged an entire set-up on his balcony.

you'd thought there would be food and lights at minimum, but you weren't expecting an entire wooden pergola strung with yellow fairy lights above a large dining table, or three dozen white roses being placed in your hands, or the small quintet playing smooth jazz in the corner, bordered by the sizzling glow of nightlife that stretched for miles behind them.

the city, bright and pulsing with energy, from this height isn't a backdrop that you'd ever expected to surrounded with, but nothing up here is anything you'd ever seen in your entire life, at least not all together in one singular place for one purpose. you're staring at everything with blank eyes, but only because the amalgamation of your feelings has you immobilized.

“do you like everything?” mike asks frantically when you don't say anything, rubbing your goose-bumped arms with gentle passion characteristic of his boyish charm. "is it enough? god, wait, let me get you a jacket." mike skitters back inside, leaving you to try and take everything in.

you'd been over twenty-four hours prior, and there was nothing that could've given away what he was up to. he hadn't let anything slip, and you're surprised that he was able to keep something so massive under such tight lock. the fact that he doesn't think it's enough, frenzied and feral for your response, bewilders you further and you're still staring at the pergola, saying to the attendant standing by, "did they put that up this morning?" when you feel fabric cloak your bare shoulders. it's mike's jacket, the same one that he'd put on you the night you met, and knowing him, it's intentional.

you whisper, "thank you", a light soundwave in the air, and mike's throwing a frown your way, walking you over to the dining table. "god, it's not enough, huh?"

there's a solid gold candelabra in the middle of the table, the flames of small candles licking at the skyline. your table settings are fancy, with silverware of different sizes, overly-starched cloth napkins, finely ironed placemats covered by a menu printed on thick cardstock, and crystal glasses that look like they must've cost mike his own arms and legs and those of his first born son.

"mike, you've got to be kidding me," he grabs the flowers from your grasp, setting them on the far side of the table before pulling your chair out for you. you slip your arms into the sleeves of his jacket as you sit. "it's definitely enough and perfect, i just...all this is for us?"

"for us," he confirms with a smirk, settling himself into his own seat. his position adjacent from you allows you to get your first good look at his outfit, considering he'd whisked you inside and shielded your vision as soon as you'd crossed into his foyer. "for me, and for you."

his crisp, sluttily unbuttoned white dress shirt and black jeans clash with your plaid argyle vest and workwear khakis, and you're blushing as you retreat into his jacket.

"no fair, how could you let me come underdressed?" you'd made your way over straight from work per his request, and with everything being so fancy and ornate, you wish that you'd fought against him for a chance to change into something more fitting.

"i didn't want you stressing about something as arbitrary as clothes tonight. you always look beautiful, work attire or not," he patiently reassures, wrangling your clammy hands into his ring-clad ones and kissing at every single one of your knuckles. "it's refreshing, having you like this."

he'd been using that word in reference to you a lot recently, refreshing, and while being mike's breath of fresh air should've filled you with an overwhelming sense of pride, you couldn't deny the strange, acidic aftertaste that it imprinted on your spirit.

you'd only become hyperaware of mike's notoriety in the porn industry in the latter few months of your relationship; sure, he'd been doing it for a decade and had a ton of videos and a slew of awards, but ever since you'd been stopping by the studio and tagging along on some of his work errands (namely holding his hand during testings), you'd started to get the picture on how massive he was in his world.

Ecstasy Sindicate, cleverly named, had been the american production company to watch over the last decade, and mike was their treasure trove, an absolute goldmine of content and charisma.

once, you'd been tasked with going through his piles of fanmail, skimming through (sometimes used) panties and bras and letters, some of them detailing people's parasocial attachments to chase cox ("want him to come in you? get in line", you once mumbled).

he was famous in this sphere; all eyes on him, his next moves, and now you. early on, you would've never believed that you'd have to private all of your social media accounts and deal with internet idiots, but when your mentions started to bubble with comments, questions, and scorn about all things chase cox and y/n, it'd finally dawned on you that you were with someone of status and that you gained some attention simply by association.

one trademark experience of this sudden breakthrough was the award show he'd taken you to a few months ago. the xtc awards were huge in the industry, completely fan-nominated and -voted. it garnered alot of buzz, helped catapult lots of people's careers, and this year, mike had been the most nominated performer.

you'd given him a wooden "yayyyy", squinting your eyes in awkward agony when he cheered, "nominated for eleven awards and get to walk to the carpet with my incredibly sexy plus one. it's gonna be great."

just the title of plus one made you feel like you were out of your league, an additional label of pressure saddled on your shoulders. you weren't just his girlfriend anymore; you were his guest, so you had to look good, and be good, and do proper guest things. you didn't even know what those things were.

mike made the looking good part easy for you, or in his words, "i'm just assisting. you're really doing all the work, beautiful."

you chose your own dress, of course. all mike asked for was permission to sit in on your fitting; an intimate meeting with one of the most sought after stylists in entertainment. you'd gaped at the tags on every single one, gasping and heaving when price figures passed from three to four, then four to five.

"this is two more zeros than i've ever seen on the price of a dress," you rasped, twisting your hips in a navy blue floor-length gown. you'd never worn anything like it; with its price first and foremost, but secondly, with its airy material and deep plunge neckline.

it made you feel confident, attaching to your body in what felt to you like kismet, and though you wanted to keep playing dress-up with all the designer pieces you were surrounded by, you knew that you'd found the one.

"it's yours if you want it, baby," mike insisted, and you made eye contact with him in the mirror, amusedly pursing your lips at his low, sultry gaze. then, you felt like you could be in his world. you could go into the award show on his arm, assimilating to the environment with an ease that wasn't just because of mike. you could belong there just for being dolled up, costumed from head to toe just like everyone else.

"cost a lot to look good, huh?" you hummed, sturdily placing your hands on your hips.

"and look good, you do."

on the ride back to his house, you'd come back down to earth a bit, pouting to him, "can i at least give you $50 for the dress?"

he'd chuckled at you, mumbling, "y/n, my love, no. it's just a rental. got it for a pretty fair price actually..."

he stopped when he caught your grimace, your thin finger poking at his arm in earnest; you genuinely wanted to give him something for it, and who was he to deny you that? you just wanted to be nice, considering what he'd done for you. he loved you for that, for all that you are; he'd weakened into you as he spread his warm hand across your thigh. "but...if you really want to, of course."

he smiled in awe at the way you cheered, eagerly fishing your phone from your bag and sending him an apple cash message; money he'd ended up giving back to you days later when you mentioned a book series you were interested in.

renting you a five figure dress wasn't the only thing he'd had up his sleeve; he'd given you an opportunity to have all your hair and makeup done by some of the best professionals in the industry. you hadn't been overly thrilled with the news, only because you didn't know how you would feel about being poked and prodded for hours. it was another part of dress-up, and while switching clothes every couple of minutes was fun, having to sit very still in a chair while people touched you was not, at least to you.

still, you'd caved, melting at mike's wild rambles about their artistry and expertise. not everyone in life got to have these moments, and there you were, feeling standoffish towards a gateway into a life of exploration.

you gave mike your strongest grin, working to maintain it through your sessions as you sat in between so many perfect people, conversing and planning with their own salaried glam teams. most of them weren't even just pornstars; the hotel you were at had put you in the proximity of some of the most notable musicians, models, and faces in the current pop culture climate, and you felt like an imposter in your own skin.

you hadn't even minded the services anyway. you'd managed some conversation with the artists, asking them about what books they liked and what their favorite cake was. you'd tickled them, and while you'd felt like you'd cracked your way in ever so slightly, you still didn't feel right.

even as your hair was swept into an intricate updo dusted with glitter, and your face primed and painted with items totaling more than your biweekly salary, you hadn't felt like you'd deserved any of it.

your idea of belonging because you looked like everyone else didn't convince you much. you hadn't done anything to be there, unlike some of the massive names you'd seen pass through the glam suite conference room; mike was your entry, and the thought made your skin prickle, as if everyone's eyes were cutting you with contempt.

the being good portion of being a guest came when you'd met mike's assistant/publicist/friend, matilda (manic pixie dream girl sans pixie and dream); she'd barged into the private nail appointment you and mike were having, jolting you both into looking up at her from your perches on the bed. she looked like a mad scientist, wearing a long white jacket with her spiky platinum blonde hair pulled into two sprouts at the top of her head. her wispy bangs skirted her eyebrows, and she raised her right one with a smile and, "oh so glad to see you two all done up, but did i miss the part about a spa day in the schedule?"

she swirled her index finger over the two of you and then jammed it into her clipboard, beginning a jovial back and forth with mike. "i wanted to plan a surprise for y/n. you know, it's my schedule and i have access to it."

"yes, but you have to tell me when you make changes, mike! we've been doing this for years, what happened to the synergy?"

you'd loved mike's act of defiance; once, you'd sleepily mumbled about how cute it would be to have matching nails as you observed his hands while you cuddled in bed, and now, he'd made that one-off moment a memory for the both of you.

"----well, you're done, yeah? we've gotta get to the venue now. they want to run a long dress rehearsals and even thinking about it is stressing me the fuck out. the bosses haven't even shown up yet!"

you were fascinated by the ability of such an event to be organized and chaotic at the same time. though mike had his security detail and team with him to keep him on schedule, there was always some instance of disarray (a missing tie, another talent going over their appointment time) where matilda had to ferociously bark into her headset, giving the people on the other end a lashing that would make anyone forfeit a career in entertainment forever.

"move, move, move!" she chants as she fans both you and mike into the backseat of a black truck, keeping her eyes on a weighty clipboard stacked with memos and call-sheets as she takes a seat herself.

"mike tells me it's your first time at something like this," she'd said during the ride, nodding towards the neurotic hand wringing you'd been doing. you blushed, moving to sit on your hands. mike chuckled at you softly, and you opened your mouth to answer matilda. you'd noticed that she'd trained her focus elsewhere, pointing her pen towards a list on paper, and then at tangible things strewn around the truck. you stayed silent until she prompted, "well?"

"um, yes. i...um, live on the south side and work in an office," you replied. "sorry, you just weren't...looking at me so i didn't know you still wanted an answer---"

matilda sucked her teeth, leering at you with an almost animated longing. "god, you're lucky. how i wish i could be normal again. assisting is multitasking hell. a lot of the time i'm not looking while i do something else, so don't take it personally. busy busy busy mind up here," she tapped a manicured index finger on her forehead, baring her frazzled, ice blue eyes at you. "busy busy."

she unsettled you, deeply, but you'd been more concerned with how you were lucky in all this. on monday, you'd be back in your cubicle, sucking down a cold brew with oat milk on an empty stomach, and she'd be surrounded by stars galore. it didn't seem like you were the winner in this situation, or at least the person living the more charmed life.

things had ramped up by a thousand degrees once you'd made it to the venue, matilda's barking happening more often than times you'd blinked.

"we have not a minute to spare, people! time is money and we waste neither!" by that mantra, you and mike were dressed from head to toe in what felt like a blink. he was being whisked away for rehearsals soon after, leaving you alone in the green room with your phone and a tower of fancy sparkling waters contained behind a gigantic clear fridge door.

you'd cracked one open, bringing it to your lips when matilda, who should've been with mike, poked her head into the room and glared you down. "use a straw, and hold it away from your dress. you want that deposit back, don't you?"

you'd entertained yourself for the last hour by trying every flavor of sparkling water you'd seen and ranking them on a tier list; you were on cranberry limeade when mike and maltida strolled in, breathing out, "some of these flavors are unnecessary," with a small burp at the end.

your silly little moment had distracted you from what was actually happening, and the pit in your stomach, created by the imposter syndrome brewing within you, began to expand again as matilda guided you and mike to the auditorium breezeway for the red carpet.

matilda swiped at your flyaways, fine tuning you for getty images before moving onto mike. she adjusted his rings and pins before pulling out a small tin of product to touch up his hair; he griped at her, hissing, "no thank you. there's already enough shit in it."

"i know you love the tousled look, but this is your first red carpet with your laaadyyyyy," matilda sang, rubbing some pomade between her palms and reaching up to comb it through mike's strands, forgoing his pout. "best if you don't look like you've just come right from the passion set."

you were provided with the rundown while you waited for your turn to walk the carpet. "okay, it's not that much of a deal. it's all about angles, so i hope you know yours. don't worry too much about what the photogs are screaming at you either. they're here for you, not the other way around. make sure to smile, but not too much; if you can, smize and keep all your emotion above the nose like this----"

matilda demonstrated for you, a dramatic motion that you genuinely attempted to follow, but mike held out his hand in exasperation, prematurely halting the antics. "just follow me, baby. you'll be fine," he kissed at your forehead, taking your hand in his as he led you from the shadowy hall. "you look damn amazing."

besides his nails, he'd coordinated with you in the sweetest ways; colored accents on his suit, opting for a handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket, your initials embroidered into the fabric in navy blue, and gold cuff links to pair with your jewelry. it comforted you to know that he was flaunting himself as your counterpart, feeling dignity at the fact that you were his other half. you nuzzled into him, rubbing your thumb over the skin of his palm. "you don't look half bad yourself."

though you'd never let go of mike's hand throughout the stop and go, you'd still been overwhelmed with it as a whole; every flashbulb, "chase, chase! over here!", "tell us about the special lady!", and abrupt movement down the line, commandeered by a suddenly militant matilda, was unfamiliar to you. you were sure that mike felt the tension erupting throughout you, and you tried to find solace in the feeling of his touch, whether it was on the small of your back or waist or hand. he never left your side, and you were grateful for his chivalry, though it couldn't overpower the overstimulation you felt.

your overactive brain had stiffened you, causing you to transform into a sentient two by four, and you'd gripped for mike's shoulder, turning into his body as the harsh lights burned the skin of your exposed back. it was embarrassing, cowering like that. you'd heard matilda calling, "face out! face out!" from the end of the stop and repeat, but it felt almost impossible; you couldn't think of any angles, the yelling photographers made your head hurt, and how the fuck did you smize?

mike had turned to his side, wrapping his arms around you and showering you with kisses. he'd managed to loosen you up enough for a candid smile and laugh, and you worked to throw your face towards the lights again, closing your eyes and giving them your best grin. you'd caught matilda giving you both two zealous thumbs up when your eyes opened, while she exaggeratedly squealed, "love it!"

you were just starting to have fun, mike dipping you for an "oh, so romantic!" photo-op, when your upside down vision locked on amelie, beginning her own walkthrough a dozen or so feet from you.

you understood why she was the most popular girl on Ecstasy Sindicate's website; she played femme fatale on and off screen, and in such an effortless way, using her eyes and ever-glossy pout in her favor. she oozed sex appeal monday through sunday, and besides her striking beauty, it almost felt like a crime to you that she was more enticing with her clothes on.

the sheath silhouette and queen anne neckline of her black dress sculpted her body perfectly, a tear-drop crystal-adorned shawl draped so delicately over her narrow shoulders trailing past her long legs as she strolled. her dark hair had been flattened pin-straight, held back with silver bobby pins to showcase the gigantic diamond earrings that dangled from her lobes, shimmering in the light as opposed to her low, dramatic smize.

that's how you did it.

the demands from the media shifted, ringing around you as you gawked at her from mike's arms, right side up now. "the money maker!" "turn for us, show it all!".

"give us chase and michaela together!"

mike looked to you like he was asking permission, and it made you feel icky. asking you for permission meant that he'd been clued in to your feelings, and you couldn't handle the thought of him knowing that you were genuinely envious of his coworker.

"yeah, go, go. you don't have to ask."

he'd handed you off to matilda at the end of the carpet, placing a soft kiss on your lips before marching over to amelie and pulling her into his side by her waist. you tried to maintain your calm, reminding yourself that this was work for them, but it was almost impossible to look past their effortless connection; it was disgusting the way they fawned over each other, complimenting clothing and hair and body parts with steady glances and bubbly laughs.

"makes your shoulders look very broad, is that what you were going for?" amelie's hands grazed over his shoulders and down his arms with a lazy appreciation.

"well it's not working since you have your legs out. i mean, c'mon they overshadow everything."

you'd been close to combustion watching amelie rest her hand against mike's pec, covering the personalization on his handkerchief as the cameras flashed at an inhuman tempo for the two of them. she slid into an easy pose, melting into mike as he tightened his grip on her hip. "over here! over here!" "looking good as always you two!"

"god, they're hot together," matilda confessed, biting at the cap of her pen. with a quick cut of the eyes to you, she jumped, face-palming and erratically musing, "sorry, they're just our most popular pairing and whew, we can all see why. so she's a bit taller than him? they both ooze insane sex appeal, and the chemistry! that's what attracts the people. height doesn't equal hotness, attitude does. remember that, y/n."

they were hot together, and while a part of your brain imagined your body pressed between the two of them, it took everything in the physical you not to cause a scene, shoving your way between them and ruining all their shots with middle fingers and boob shots, nipples and all. you were willing to fight back, but you could only think about how bad it would look on mike for your insecurity to impede on his night.

inside, you were sat at a table with mike and a few of his other coworkers. amelie sat across from you; she'd almost looked bored, mouthing a few tired phrases to those around her while you openly observed her being. matilda had encouraged mike to network with some insiders before the show started, and you'd used that time to stare, trying to uncover what made her so...her.

you'd tried to be more covert with your reconnaissance when mike returned to his seat, placing his hand on your thigh with a kiss to your cheek as the ceremony began, but she'd caught you every time, tossing you a flirty wink when you lingered for a moment too long.

mike had won so many awards that night; it was a clean sweep on all of the major categories---choice male performer, performer of the year, video of the year, production company of the year---and you'd thanked god for it; the frequent announcement of his name allowed you moments where you didn't have to focus on the woman across from you ogling him like he was a piece of meat. you were able to hug and kiss him in such a possessive fashion, maintaining amelie's surveil of you each time you pulled away.

mike included you in all of his speeches--"and to my beautiful girlfriend, who's been by my side through this entire year". the camera panned to you a handful of times, and you smiled shyly, giving a bashful giggle here and a dismissive wave there.

you'd gloated in it, wondering what you'd do during the next cuts to you, but they never ended up happening again. mike had skipped over his gratitude for you and your support during his last win... choice pairing with amelie.

they gave each other a tight hug at the table, dashing up to the stage hand in hand, and the sheer amount of people standing and clapping for them had you withdrawing into your seat. this is what millions of views, wicked sex appeal, and allurement got you, you'd inferred.

"and finally, i have to thank michaela here. really, we have to thank each other. i wouldn't be standing here accepting this award with her if it wasn't for her and all of our loyal fans out there, so thank you, thank you, thank you."

amelie took the award from him, leaning down to the microphone with her tongue skating over her teeth. she bit into her lip, stating, "chase basically took my speech and switched the names so, everything he said, thank you, thank you, thank you."

they laughed along with the audience, holding onto each other's arms as they kissed each other's cheeks, and while it's a friendly gesture, you noticed how amelie casually lifted her hand to his face, stroking at his freshly shaven jaw with a coy smirk.

you pushed past the agony you felt inside, rubbing mike's arm and offering him a tight smile as he settled back beside you, buzzing with adrenaline from his eventful night. "seven awards tonight, baby. fucking crazy, huh?"

you nodded, cutting your eyes to amelie as she snidely added, "all well deserved. we'd all know." the entire table erupted into amicable laughter, everyone congratulating mike with a personal quip of some sort. these people were a close knit unit, a chosen family in their world of adult entertainment, and though you were happy that mike was surrounded by so much love and support, you'd briefly wished that you two had been in some living room, watching trashy reality game shows and complaining about working your 9-5s the next day.

you'd opted to zone out for the rest of the night, mindlessly allowing for yourself to be subjected to many undoings of fabricated gaudiness. mike had noticed your exhaustion, and gave you time to yourself so you could clean up and decompress on your own terms, which you were thankful for. you loved him, but you needed time alone to cleanse yourself of the night you'd had.

you didn't leave the bathroom until your skin was rubbed raw and you were feeling a bit lighter, ready for the return to your world when you stumbled upon a cracked dressing room door.

low volume drum and bass music mingled into the hallway air, and you'd caught the back of amelie's relaxed silhouette moving from left to right over a dusty-looking vanity counter. she turned after a bit, whispering, "want some?" matilda appeared from somewhere, reaching out for something in front of amelie and tapping it on the table over and over until she leaned down herself, sniffling harshly against the laminate. amelie watched, a wicked smile etched onto her face as matilda coughed lightly.

"fucking shit."

you'd been stuck in place, glued to watching them snort another line of whatever was in the little baggie amelie pulled from her personal bag, and you were stupid enough to stay where you were as she turned, peering at you with a languid smirk as she wiped at her nostrils, pulling on them with her index finger and thumb.

"welcome to our world, girlie. wanna try?" you were sure you looked like a scared little kid as you shook your head frantically, your voice cracking as you said, "i don't know where you got it from, so no."

"oh, don't worry, my stuff's safe. mike's done plenty," she winked at you again, beginning to stroll over to you, but you'd moved on without an answer, heading to the venue exit where mike waited for you, cradling you in his arms as you ventured into the parking lot.

"so," he prodded, stroking at your hair as you laid across his lap in the backseat of the chauffeured car. his voice was tired, and while the lilt usually broke up anything ailing your mind, you'd been too focused on your interaction with amelie. "what did you think of your first award show?"

"it was fun," you lied, pulling your hoodie sleeves over your fingers. it'd been fun until your self-doubt took over, suffocating you with obstructive thoughts and a deep-rooted feeling of dread. "never thought i'd get to experience something like that. amelie even offered me coke."

he didn't say anything to that, and you'd adjusted yourself so you could see his face, the deep grimace upon his features and clenched jaw shrouded in moonlight. "did you do any of it?"

"no, but she said you'd done plenty." you didn't mean for your displeasure to come through so intensely; you hadn't minded that mike had done coke, only that amelie had been testament to it. what other compromising, intimate positions had she seen him in, and would she always hold them over your head? why hadn't he told you about it?

"that was a long time ago," mike cautiously stated, flipping you over in his lap so your face was level with his abdomen. you were poised to ask him for an elaboration when he traced hearts over your lips with his smooth fingertip, grinning, "you don't have to worry about me and that stuff, okay? i'm just glad you said no. it's refreshing."

there it was. he always said it when you were experiencing something from a world different than your own, and it made you feel like you were something to be ogled; something on a pedestal that had been recently unearthed when all you were was...you.

he felt so lucky to have you; a girlfriend that was normal after so long of being with people who knew the industry like him, the ins and outs of it like the back of his hand. he loved that you didn't have your days planned out months in advance, and that you didn't need a daily hair and makeup appointment just to sit in the house; he especially loved that you were turned off by amelie's reckless offer, but you hated it. you hated that it made you feel like a nobody, and felt odd at the way that he was so beguiled by your normalcy, entertained by the fact that this was all foreign to you.

"this sounds like self-sabotage," your therapist had said, eyeing you with careful consideration. "mike loves that you're 'normal', doesn't he?"

"yes, but..."

"but? isn't being 'normal' being 'yourself'?" you didn't mention amelie like you'd intended to. it felt pathetic to admit that you wanted her stature, the label of someone or at least someone on the same level as mike.

it didn't feel good being normal next to...not normal, and it felt hopeless to you that you couldn't change it. you could, maybe even becoming mike's new partner, but the thought of putting yourself wholeheartedly on display like mike and amelie didn't inspire possibility in you. it wasn't what you wanted to do, and the small sliver of attention you'd gotten from people who wanted to fuck your boyfriend was enough for you on any given day. you knew any more attention would tip you overboard, but was normalcy really your destiny?

it gnaws at your insides, and you're defeated, wondering why couldn't you be happy with anything.

"baby," the sensation of mike gripping your chin brings you back to his balcony. you blink your eyes, flustered at the fact that you'd dissociated during your anniversary dinner. the attendant is standing with wine bottle in hand, and both her and mike are staring at you, puzzled. "are you okay?"

"yeah, i'm sorry. had a rough day at work and my brain's just a bit...blah," you nervously giggle, reaching to move your wine glass towards the neck of the uncorked bottle. the music playing ambiently around you is almost comical in this moment, and you scrunch your face into an strained smile. "fill 'er up."

get it together, you scream at yourself. mike had put this whole thing together for you two, and here you were, letting your mind wander to places that it didn't need to be. you were here with mike, celebrating the fact that you two had been together for an entire year.

claire had cheered when you called and told her, squealing, "your longest relationship!! congratulations, my sweet, deserving friend, and thank you for telling me this time."

it was the longest you'd ever been with someone. taking the risk, once again falling for someone on a whim, had panned out better than you'd hoped. all of those times of lost love had led you to the greatest one you'd ever known, and here you were, pitifully ruminating over the way that amelie had touched mike during their acceptance speech and the fact that you were saturated with so many complex feelings.

you take a sip of your wine, more like a gulp, and mike chuckles at you, nodding towards the bottle. you follow his motion, leaning in to read the label. it was a shiraz that you'd babbled on and on about, one that was nearly $1500 and almost impossible to get if you didn't know someone who knew someone who knew someone.

"mike..."

"aht aht, that's not even the part i'm most excited about," he boasts, flicking at the corner of the cardstock on your placemat. you lift it to eye level while you take more moderate drinks of your wine, piecing together the five courses of...your favorite foods.

"elevated versions of your favorite foods," mike corrects giddily, and you hadn't realized you'd said anything out loud. he's smiling so wide at you like he always does, and you're speechless, all of your words caught in the middle of your throat. "this three-star michelin chef---"

"mike, i'm sorry to interrupt but, this feels very...me centric. it's our anniversary." you didn't deserve any of this. if he'd been able to take a peek inside your head, he wouldn't be doing all of this for you. he'd realize that even a love like this couldn't remedy the trauma you'd collected in your brain, existing and newly sprouted. not a year in, at least.

"fair, but i want to celebrate you," it's like a movie, the way the quintet shifts their performance into a warm, romantic melody and how mike takes your hands again, squeezing them periodically. you squirm under his scrutiny, fluttering your eyes to your lap. "you've changed my life, y/n, and i'm not exaggerating. every date, every night we've spent here or at your place, every call, every text; everyday i get with you, i realize i am so fucking lucky."

you're not really a sentimental crier either, but mike's words and the turmoil inside of you have tears splashing down your cheeks. "i love you. i will never stop telling you i love you."

you chuckle stuffily, a blubbering, sobbing mess as you say, "i love you, mike. thank you for all of this, and uh...i'm really sorry for calling you a nice guy when we first met. i don't deserve you." he joins you with a deep belly laugh that rumbles through the both of you, and it helps you breathe some tension away. "water under the bridge, baby, i promise. you deserve everything."

the first course, brioche rolls with truffle oil-infused butter, is presented to the two of you, and you forgo all of your concerns, murmuring a mildly perky, "oooooh" as two are piled atop a fancy plate in front of you.

mike encourages you to stuff your face, and you do so with no question as you two coast through your decadent and mouthwatering favorites, washing down the best flavors money could buy with a wine you'd only ever gotten to drink in your dreams until tonight.

you and mike carry conversation over your meal; goofily moaning at the tastes dancing over your tongues and you giving mike the usual scoop about your day at the office. he listens intently and laughs at your tales of inexperienced clerks getting papers stuck in copiers and messy, HR-avoidant affairs between bosses and subordinates, and you try not to lose yourself in the moment again. you've managed to stay with him through four courses, enjoying his immense generosity and engrossing gossip, and you want to keep it that way. you'd already let your mind wander once, and you wouldn't let it happen again. not tonight.

unfortunately, your plan unravels when your sauce-smeared plate of seafood alfredo is removed from before you, replaced with a clean, simply presented slice of chocolate cake with vanilla icing.

you'd always told that the preference was silly, and no matter how hard you fought to explain that chocolate cake was more moist, no one listened to you.

your mom made you chocolate cakes with chocolate icing, or vanilla with vanilla, but never chocolate cake with vanilla icing.

mike reaches under the table to settle his hand over your thigh, rubbing at your skin through your pants. his face, painted orange by the candlelight, softens at the way you gaze down at your plate, shadowing the cake slice in a strange mix of melancholy and joy.

"made sure there were no questions about it. my baby likes chocolate cake with vanilla icing, so that's what she's gonna get."

you feel tears stinging at your eyes again, and you're using the backs of your hands to wipe at them, shrinking away from mike. "i'm sorry. i don't know why i'm crying. it's just a stupid piece of cake."

"no, it's not," mike murmurs, leaning into the table so he's able to talk to you closely and bring his hand to your left cheek, thumbing at the wetness there and sliding his caress to your jaw. his rings are cold, but you still melt into his touch, bringing your own hand up to grasp at his wrist. he touches you like this often, but tonight, it's the perfect antidote for every adverse feeling that's run its course through you. he is wholly yours like this, and there's nothing in your head that can tell you that this isn't your destiny. "that 'stupid piece of cake' had me thinking about some things."

"mmmm, what kind of thoughts could my cake preference have inspired in you?"

"settling down," mike answers matter-of-factly, maintaining his strong gaze on you as your entire body burns through your clothing. you swallow hard. "the cake is you. it's something you like, and when i...put it on the menu as our dessert, i couldn't stop thinking about how i wanted to eat chocolate cake with vanilla icing with you for the rest of my life."

you give mike an intimate laugh of cynicysm, primed to say, "yeah right," when he interrupts you.

"listen. i hadn't said anything about it yet, but...the company's physically expanding, internationally. the bosses wanted to have consistent yearly growth here in the states before even thinking about taking it overseas, and after almost fifteen years in business, we've met all of our goals and we're in the process of penning a partnership deal with a production mammoth. they've got offices in london, paris, tokyo, and sydney, and there are gonna be Ecstacy Sindicate divisions in all of them."

"oh, baby, that's amazing!" you applaud, throwing yourself from your chair to embrace mike, climbing into his lap and squeezing him so tight, he's sure he'll explode. he chuckles, tingling with electricity from your elation, and he scoops you into a cradle, meeting you with his boxy, enthusiastic smile. "mikeeeee, that's huge."

"i know, right? this is going to change everything, and i..." mike pauses, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth as he absorbs the feeling of you against him, your arms wrapped around his neck while you stare at him with curious, twinkling eyes. "i want you to be by my side through all of it. i want to take everything i get from this, every cent, every ounce of fame, everything; i want to take it and invest it into us, and our future. you have dreams and goals and aspirations, and i want to see every single one of them come true. i will help every single one of them come true, no matter what. i want the world to be ours."

you can't believe that mike is saying these things to you right now, hiding away in his neck as you try to comprehend what he's telling you. he wants to be with you, and have a future with you; one where all the benefits and rewards he reaps from his career also shower upon you, one where you never have to worry about a thing ever again in your life. he wants you to know love, care, and support for the rest of your life, in every way, shape, and form, and this opportunity will guarantee that.

you're happy for him, of course. he'd shown you so many things, but you knew that that kind of access didn't come easily. he'd truly worked for everything he'd had, and you wanted him to keep on an incline, working his way to the zenith. you'd be with him every step of the way, you promised. you loved mike, and you always wanted him to win. this was winning, and to be a part of it with him gave you hope.

"as silly as it may sound, you saved me, y/n." mike is extra serious now, and you're opening yourself back up to him when you feel his finger skim the underside of your chin. "i was headed down a dark path before you divinely intervened, and i intend to spend every single one of my remaining waking moments showing you how grateful i am for that."

"oh, mike..." you dissolve his sugary musings with a long, heated kiss, punctuated with soft moans and sharp inhales of feverish air. your three cups of wine have finally hit you, and the alcohol-induced buzz in tandem with mike's words have you itching to ask him to finally fuck you on the table after everyone's been dismissed. "i love you so much. what's the timeframe for the expansion?"

"if everything keeps going smoothly, li and i leave in four months."

your stomach gurgles with nausea at the nickname; you hate how easily it rolls off of his tongue, and hearing it has you pulling away from him in distaste. you lift yourself from your perch on his lap, awkwardly settling yourself back in your own chair. "are there any more drinks?"

"y/n," mike presses dispiritedly, gazing at your profile with somber eyes. you keep your stare towards the attendant, who rushes over with a opened bottle of champagne you couldn't even begin to pronounce. she makes moves to pour it into your empty glass, but you withdraw the bottle from her hands, thanking her as you take a long, ill-mannered, anxiety-ridden gulp from the opening.

champagne is pretty fucking gross, you think, but you're not doing this for the taste. her image had disintegrated from your mind, but it haunts you again now; how could she, of all people, really get to fuck your boyfriend domestically and internationally?

mike snatches the bottle from you after a moment, eyebrows set into a deep furrow as he observes you sloppily wipe at your wet lips with your fingers. "did i say something wrong?"

"you just seem to love working with amelie," you bark, instantly sighing at your testiness. things are doubling in your vision from your foolish attempt to chug champagne in order to feel anything other than inferiority, but it's no excuse to self-sabotage what you've been given. after pouring out his entire heart to you, promising you a future of possibility and ease, you're internally strangling yourself for being so rude. "i'm sorry. i know it's not like that, i just---"

"baby, we're the whole reason why ES is even getting this opportunity. they were nearly bankrupt before li and i got there, and over this last decade, we've worked so hard to build it to what it is now. we get millions of views, bring thousands of subs daily, and make them so much mone---

"okay, yeah, but there are just so many other people for you to work with," you pout, and you hate the pity that swims in mike's eyes as he peers at you. you feel like a baby, not a mid-twenty-something merely wrestling with feelings of inadequacy because of your boyfriend's (beautiful, seductive, cunning) coworker, though these feel equivalent in your swampy mind. "what about that girl who pegged you in that one video you know i like, or that person from the glory hole video? people lovedddd you two together."

"y/n," mike's firm tone ceases your whining, and you want to cry all over again for being you. "we are celebrating one year together tonight. right now is no time for you to be thinking about li, okay? she's my coworker and she's my friend, nothing more. you trust me, don't you?"

even though mike's persistent use of her nickname chips at your heart like marble, you work to use logic and fact to calm yourself down.

he'd made so many videos since you'd been officially committed, and none of them, even the ones he filmed with amelie, had stopped him from sweeping you up in affection-heavy hugs, complete with annoyingly romantic squeals and soft kisses peppered all over your face and neck every time he saw you after production. mike was yours, yet the thought was often overridden with thoughts of him being ripped away from you, amelie paying you a deft wink as she took him to worlds that they'd created together; worlds that you had no idea about, considering their decade-long friendship.

what was up with you?

"y/n," you jolt as you feel mike's hand softly come down on your cheek, causing your eyes to cut back to him. you burn in embarrassment for the billionth time in your life, sighing. "use your words. do you trust me?"

"yes, mike," you mutter, forcing the words out. you did trust him. you always had, and you knew you could. he'd never given you any firm reason not to, and you had to trust that he never would. "i trust you wholeheartedly."

he pats your face now, pairing his smirk with a lustful gleam in his eyes that you catch immediately. "good girl. you have nothing to worry about, i promise. now," he holds his hand out for you, coming in close to graze his lips over your ear. "how about we go to the room and unwind, hm?"

you're nodding without a second thought, sheepishly thanking the musicians and attendant for all of their hard work as they pack up and mike helps you to your feet.

he's blowing out the candles and hitting a switch to turn off the pergola lights when you squeak, "wait mike, the cake! we didn't get to eat it because of me."

you frown, and mike tugs you into his body, pressing his lips against your forehead and murmuring, "it's okay. there's plenty left," his mouth coasts against your neck, light kisses fluttering against your jaw as he propositions, "we'll eat some in bed after i eat you, yeah?"

for once, you and your mind are on the same page.

cutiessss but also uh oh, uh oh trouble in paradise? i guess we'll just have to wait and see, hm? let me know what you think!

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf-@jun1p3rlol-@xyzstar-@aquamarine001-@atrociouslybear-@ickleronniekinsemotionalrange

#fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf fic #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #faire's (pornstar) mike schmidt <3 #faire’s mike schmidt <3 #faire is writing stuff #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt angst #faire says #the tides are changing #everyone has secrets 🤫

233 notes · View notes