point heels

Do you ever reread the scene in the Last Olympian where Percy decides to take on the curse of Achilles and it’s such a vital and important decision that he could literally die from and had to get his mother’s blessing for and just when Percy thinks he’s not going to be able to handle the curse and is starting to disintegrate we have that beautiful beautiful scene where Percy imagines Annabeth up on the dock at Camp teasing him and saying “You’re not getting away from me that easily. Take my hand” because she is literally the person tying his soul to the world, his weak point, his achilles’s heel, and just get so overwhelming upset because hoo just casually washed away the curse simply to make him more equal to the rest of the seven because I do

anonymous asked:

*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~

“Your tapestries are so fine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddess Athena.”

Arachne tosses her head, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall, “What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”

The merchant blanches and looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy. Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with his time. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”

He pays her for her wares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman with grey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarled hands curled over a cane.

Arachne is not stupid, but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyes and declares, “Athena should thank me, since my talents earn her so much praise.”

She pushes past her and keeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into the crowd.

They will tell tales of her hubris. They will all be true.


The next day she bumps into the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.

“Know your place, mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, and Arachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do is say her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.

She will not lie.

“I do,” she says coolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”

She is not honest as a virtue, but as a vice.

Athena challengers her to a weaving contest. She accepts.


Gods are not so hard to find, if you know where to look.

“It’s a volcano,” the baker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for taking money from someone who’s clearly not all there.

She grabs her bag of sweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders, “Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”

“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well the first dozen times.

“Thank you for your help,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.

She walks. She grows hungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. The sun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’s tall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens to overwhelm her.

But Arachne does not believe in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those tales will be true.

She ties a scarf around her braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only to her thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma and begins her slow ascent.


The muscles in her legs and arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once white dress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her body and drips down her back.

“What are you doing?”

Arachne turns her head and bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easily to the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. She swallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”

The creature tilts his head to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might be smiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”

“Is it true?” she repeats, refusing to flinch.

“Yes,” he says, looking at her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”

“There’s some sweet bread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”

His hands are big enough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Instead he gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comically small in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He licks his fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying the second time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”

“I’m the weaver Arachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”


They tell tales of Hephaestus’s ugliness.

They are not true.

He’s got a broad, angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face, and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legs only to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire, replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.

“Had your look, girl?” he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into a coughing fit.

“Yes,” she says, and doesn’t turn away, keeps looking.

His lips quirk up at the corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive inside the volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal that she can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to find me, girl. What do you want?”

She slides her pack off her shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I have woven her a cloak.”

He raises an eyebrow and doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal hands could be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”

They will tell tales of her hubris.


They will all be true.

With a gust of wind the oppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its place stands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of her husband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest, richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales of Aphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.

“Let’s see it then,” she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.

It unrolls beautifully. It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges. The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and up along the cloak is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage and her worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experienced artist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.

Her lips part in surprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestus says, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t take offense.

The goddess smiles and Arachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphrodite is the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” the goddess says, “you have my attention.”

Arachne swallows. Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says, “She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”

Their faces somber. Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena will lose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”

“I know,” she says, “you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”

There are no tales of their friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because why wouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, both happily married.

Gods hate being made to feel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they say Aphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne wins the weaving contest.

“Clever girl,” Hephaestus says, smiling.

Aphrodite stares at her reflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestus left if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says, not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrench upon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger at her. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weave me a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”

A gown as exquisite as the goddess of beauty. An impossible task.

They will tell tales of her hubris.

“I accept.”

They will all be true.


The contest goes as expected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.

The goddess’s face goes red in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept the death blow coming for her.

The blow comes.

Death does not.


She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’s volcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has no hope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –

She doesn’t believe in defeat, in loss.

It was a terribly long journey on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now she has eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps in between crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver of sunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.

Athena’s cruel joke of allowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellow color – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.


It takes seven years for her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all that time, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’s a large insect, but not that large.

She arrives just as the sun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched the earth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.

Arachne doesn’t return to her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurries and runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking for and scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.

“Huh,” Brontes looks onto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”

She cautiously skitters down his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is that a piece of a honey bun?”

She looks up at him, waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand –

His face slowly fills with a cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?”  She jumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in his massive hands, “We must find the Master immediately!”

She jumps down, landing in front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s running after her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost too small for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares for several moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himself out of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”

There’s that same breeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes, that you had to yell?”

Arachne sees the exact moment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, made entirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brush down the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”

She warms at that, that Aphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in seven years.

They’ve told tales of her hubris.

They are all true.

Brontes points at the web, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto the goddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,” she says, “but I know someone who can.”

Then they are in front of a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “Goddess Aphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”

“Thanatos,” she returns, “I need to see Persephone.”

The man’s face stays cool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuck in this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course available for her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Please come with me.”


Arachne weaves a dress for Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.

“I can take you somewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”

Arachne pauses at her loom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would you like me to leave?” she asks instead.

Aphrodite scoffs, “Of course not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing the spider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for the goddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for a moment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”

She looks up at the goddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where else would I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”

To declare your company equal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.

They tell tales of her hubris.

“An excellent point,” Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.

They are all true.

gods and monsters series part iii


here is a really short comic that is sort of continuation of hot rebel spock that no one asked for

“Tame You” - Jay Park X Reader (Smut)

Description: You and your friend have been dating Jay Park and Simon Dominic of AOMG for quite a while before they both decided that their careers were getting in the way of your relationship as their schedules were getting busier by the day. An encounter in a club located in Seoul happens a month after both relationships ended.

  • Word Count: 3827 words

Your hips swayed once more on the beat of a menacingly slow song before you left the dance floor, making your way towards the bar. Your friend lifted her hand in the air to attract the bartender’s attention and she ordered what was probably your favorite drink, seeing as she knew all too well what this little escapade was about. To be fair enough, you both needed it more than you actually thought. It felt good to let go for once. After all, it’s been over a month since it happened and you never got a call or anything close to that. 

Your hand gripped the shot of Jager and you gulped it down, allowing the burning sensation to set in your throat for the third time tonight. 

“Do you think they know we’re in Seoul?” (H/N) asked, eyeing you from behind her cocktail glass as you traced your finger around the mouth of the now empty shot. 

“If they do, they did a poor job of actually finding us,” you rolled your eyes, turning your gaze towards the bartender. Your hand shot up in the air as soon as he looked at you and you motioned for him to bring you another glass of the fiery drink.

 "They come out here frequently, I don’t think they want to find us though, so,“ you shrugged, emptying another shot of Jager, “let’s at least have fun." 

Your heels hit the floor as you got up on your feet and dragged your friend back on the dance floor, swaying your hips once again, catching every note of the song in mesmerizing moves of your body. Your eyelids felt heavy as you closed them and got all caught up in the mood, not even feeling your own breathing but the sound of your heartbeat succumbing to the body-vibrating bass. You forgot all about Jay, about the breakup and the lame excuse he gave you, his whispered "I love you” as you ended the call, tears pouring down your cheeks.

 The animalistic side of you drew you further into the mass of people dancing out of sync as you felt a single presence behind you, imitating your moves.

 "All alone tonight?“ you barely heard the voice over the blasting music. You bobbed your head up and down into a nod, pointing at your friend that was currently too lost in the music to notice, "only with her.”

Keep reading

The Jealous Boss;

Originally posted by dazzlingkai

Summary: Being Jennie Kim’s assistant had its pros and cons. the biggest con being that she’s the jealous type  

Disclaimer: All the things that are mentioned in this are words of fiction aka it’s not real. I’ve literally just made this up and as always credits to @dazzlingkai for the gif

Member: Jennie from Blackpink x female reader

Rating: Mature

Words: 3910

Keep reading

I Got You - Brett Talbot x Reader

Originally posted by holyhalehottness

Pairing: Brett x Reader

Prompt: Unrequited loves a bitch but Brett is your prefect distraction. (Inspired by I Got You – Bebe Rexha)

Warning: Smut, getting high, slight angst and swearing.



You smiled over at the pack as you spoke to your boyfriend. You laughed at something Sean, tucking your hair behind your ear. After a few heated kisses with him he said he was going to speak to his friend so you made you way over to the pack. Lydia was looking at you with a smirk as soon as you arrived. You smiled and started to speak to Kira and Lydia about what everyone was doing over the weekend.

Keep reading

She’s Just Not That Into You » Part III (A Harry Styles Miniseries)

Miss the previous parts? Part One » Part Two

As always, this miniseries is dedicated to @stylesunchained. Thank you so much for reading the first two parts!  I hope part three is just as enjoyable for you all.

Let me know what you think! Happy reading.

Originally posted by glamour-divine

Although Harry had been disappointed to not receive your personal phone number, he still called “Megan” the next day to set up an appointment to see you. The earliest you can see him for a consulting appointment is in two weeks, and when Megan breaks the news to him, he nearly chokes on his morning tea.

Two weeks?

There wasn’t a logical way to see you sooner. There wasn’t a way to spin it in order for him to pop into your shop, especially considering he still had to sign the final papers to make the house his. How could he explain to you that he hadn’t quite sealed the deal yet, so you’d be decorating a completely hypothetical space? He’d already felt like an idiot in front of you, getting caught snooping around your bookshelves, and he wasn’t too keen on feeling like that around you anytime soon.

So, he waits.

He busies himself with packing up the items he knew he wouldn’t need: small, decorative sculptures, a majority of his books, the picture frames that littered nearly every spare surface of his home, his summer clothing that he knew would be completely unnecessary for at least five more months. Once he gets news that the final papers are ready to sign and the house is his, he cleans every nook and cranny of his current house, figuring it might as well be good to spruce it up for the new owners. He meets old friends for lunch, he takes his mother out for dinner, and he begs his sister to come over for a movie night.

And, of course, he reads. He reads the book you spoke so highly of, immersing himself within the worlds of each character, wondering which one you connected with most. Did you cry at the same parts he did? Did you have the same pit in your stomach that he experienced whenever the subject matter turned particularly dark? He needed to know what happened next, reading late into the night, promising himself he would go to bed after he finished the page he was on, but knowing he wouldn’t stop until he could no longer open his eyes.

The two weeks pass, but they feel more like a month and a half than they do a fortnight.

When the day of the meeting comes around, he peeks into the storefront, smiling at your name on the door. He meanders around your shop after checking in with Megan. She nods when he states his presence - a meek little thing with big brown eyes and a nervous giggle - and notifies you that “Mr. Styles is here,” via the bulky black telephone on her desk. He can feel the girl’s eyes on him as he walks around, recognizing some of the pieces from your website.

“Hi!” your voice echoes from behind him, your heels clicking against the concrete floor.

Harry turns around, fully expecting a normal salutation to escape his lips, but instead, his voice catches in his throat. You’re wholly professional, the version of yourself he saw in the magazine shoots. Cropped black pants with pointed-toe heels, a blazer rolled up to your elbows.

You look like you run the place - which, of course you do.

“How are you?” you ask before kissing his cheek and bringing him in for a hug.

That’s a bit better, he thinks to himself, remembering how previously, you’d greeted Nick more lovingly than you had Harry.

“Good, good,” he takes a step back from you, hoping your perfume had transferred onto him so he could smell you on him later - so he could pretend that reality wasn’t against him and that your scent was stuck to him for reasons other than a professional greeting. “Yourself?”

“Excited!” you clap your hands together. “Before we go back, let’s walk around a bit so you can get a sense of where I’m coming from, design-wise.”

He nods, pretending not to have already extensively researched “where you’re coming from,” and follows you until you stop in front of the mock room setups, pointing out some of your favorite pieces.

“Marble is really in,” you explain, tapping a stone coffee table. “But I try not to overdo it. If you like the look of marble - if you like this exact table, even - this would be the only marble piece I’d choose for whatever room.”

Taking his chin between his thumb and forefinger, Harry nods, inspecting the table and picturing it in his new living room. He likes it. Come to think of it, he liked everything. And it wasn’t just to appease you - there was no reason to like a chair just because you liked it - but he could envision nearly every piece in his new home.

“Just got these lamps in,” you turn one on. “I’m obsessed with them. Might snag them for myself,” you smile, clicking the remaining lamp on.

“How often does that ‘appen?” Harry smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“More often than it should,” you laugh. “I’m on this kick of deep greens, navy blue, and gold. Realize it’s not everyone’s cuppa tea, but if you see anything you like, there will almost always be different colors available,” you fluff a throw pillow, adjusting its position next to another.

Harry nods, imagining what his new place would look like decorated with a darker color scheme. He’d never been one for bold rooms - white was his go-to, with him being more concerned about how comfortable the furniture was instead of the color of the walls. You’d done Nick’s living room in bold, dark colors, and Harry loved it. It was his home, he’d told Harry. It wasn’t just a place he stayed and passed the time until he found somewhere else to live. It somehow felt right, even in the summertime, which Harry had initially worried about after seeing it for the first time. The home had Nick Grimshaw written all over it, and Harry was envious of how easily his best friend’s personality was packaged within every room.

He’d wanted that for himself, and you would be the one to give that to him.

He relishes in watching you work the room. You’re completely in your element, answering a couple of questions from Megan when the girl timidly approaches, letting her know that she was free to take lunch just as soon as your meeting with Harry wrapped up. You thank a middle-aged man for his order when he stops in to retrieve a rug, running to hold the door open for him as he heaves the rolled-up carpet over his shoulder. You make a joke with him as he leaves, winking at him with a smile and a wave of your hand.

Were you always this beautiful, or had Harry neglected to see how effortless your charm was?

No, that couldn’t have been the case. He’d noticed right from the second he laid eyes on you that you were something special; something different.

You lead him to the back of the expansive store, asking him questions about his current living space, wondering what pieces of furniture he wanted to keep and which he wanted to ditch.

“Oh my gosh!” you stop abruptly in the doorway to your office, clutching Harry’s shoulder as your eyes widen. “I didn’t even ask you if you wanted anything to drink! Water, coffee, tea?” you shuffle to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room, opening it and then closing it again. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I jump the gun sometimes. Get excited over the idea of a new space to transform and all that,” you laugh, rolling your eyes at yourself.

“Water would be great, thanks,” Harry smiles. He tries not to touch a hand to where you’d touched his shoulder, but he was worried you’d burned a hole through his shirt, what with how hot the area felt to him now.

He notices the familiar smell when he walks into your office, nodding his head when he sees that you’ve got yet another Diptyque candle burning on top of a filing cabinet - he can tell it’s pomegranate without even reading the label. He inspects the decor, loving the juxtaposition of clean lines set against rustic elements which make the room feel comforting and clean.

You pull out a chair with brightly colored fabric across the cushions, offering it to Harry before placing a bottle of water in front of him and walking to the opposite side of your desk.

“Okay,” you wake your computer up, scooting your chair closer to the screen. “I normally take clients through my portfolio so they can see the spaces I’ve completed, before and after I’ve gotten my hands on them.” You adjust the large monitor so Harry can view the screen as well. “Does that sound alright?”

“Of course,” he rubs his hands on his knees. “Whatever you normally do.”

You click on a file, asking Harry if he could see the screen properly. You show him your bigger projects - cafes and restaurants, along with office buildings - as well as clients who had hired you to renovate their houses. You mention how you tend to be inspired by patterns and colors, along with custom fabric you use to reupholster vintage, antique furniture.

“Do you reupholster them yourself?” he asks.

“The smaller pieces, yeah,” you nod, taking a sip from the cup of tea in front of you. “Like that chair you’re sitting on. I usually spend my free time refurbishing the pieces I find. I’ve done chairs, side tables, desks - all that,” you go on, clicking open a picture of one of your completed pieces. “Stopped doing the big stuff when my schedule got busier. Now, I work with a father-and-son team and they do the couches and loveseats,” you click again, a picture of you and two men sitting on a couch in what seems to be a workshop. “There we are,” you chuckle, quickly moving on to the next picture.

Harry knows that he can’t ask you to go back - what would you think of him if he’d insisted upon you showing him the picture again, just so he could see the way your legs crossed one over the other at the knee; how you smiled so easily, your eyes bright and your arms wrapped around the shoulders of both men. You were happy - genuinely happy - and it was a look you wore well.

“So which pieces from your current place do you want to keep?” you ask, meeting Harry’s eyes when he looks up from his lap. “If any…”

“Thinkin’ maybe,” he pulls at his bottom lip. “I’d wanna start fresh? To keep consistent?”

“Perfect,” you nod, minimizing your portfolio and bringing up a calendar. “Okay then,” you begin, moving the monitor back to its original position. “I’ll need to see your new place before I do any work-ups for you. Is there a time this week I can come and see the space?”

Harry’s heart jumps at the thought, even though your intent is purely professional.

You’d said the words, though.

You wanted to come over to his house. To his place. To his home.

“All I ‘ave is time,” he smiles. “So whatever works for you.”

Two days later, Harry finds himself waiting for you at his new property, the wintery London rain keeping him indoors as he paces back and forth in front of the large window overlooking the drive. It was just like London to rain on such a day - a day that should’ve been filled with bright sun to match the occasion - but he was used to the drizzle, no matter how much he didn’t agree with it.

His phone rings, the vibration in his back pocket causing him to jump. An unknown number flashes on the screen, and when he picks up, he’s surprised to hear your voice on the other line.

“So sorry, Harry!” your plea causes him to smile. You sound different on the phone - your voice is less smooth, but he lets the sound of it was over him, regardless. “I promise I haven’t stood you up! My shoot on the other end of town ran long, but I swear ‘m on my way! The GPS says ten minutes.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles. “I’ll be here. Drive safe, alright?”

You say you will and apologize again before hanging up. He grins as he looks out the window, biting his lower lip and furthering the dimples in his cheeks.

You’ve got his number saved in your phone.

He’s got your number now.

Whether it was your business phone or your personal phone didn’t matter. He had a direct line to you, and you to him. Knowing that he’d most likely never use it for reasons other than strictly professional, he felt nearly giddy as he saved your number, creating a new contact for you.

When you arrive, he’s surprised to see that it’s in a van with your logo on the side. Why - based on everything he knows about you thus far - is that the thing to make him hard? And why does his stomach flip so dramatically when he sees you step out of the driver’s seat, dressed in a worn-in flannel and jeans with paint splatters on them? You shuffle quickly over to the passenger’s side, shielding your eyes from the rain. When you emerge into sight again, you’ve got your arms full of materials like folders, tape measures, and a ruler. You laugh as you run up to the front door, shielding your papers beneath your plaid shirt.

How was Harry supposed to make it through the afternoon without a full-on stiffy with you looking like that?

“Hi,” he smiles when he opens the door, the security system beeping throughout the empty house.

“Hi!” you jump into the foyer, trying to catch your breath. “I’m so sorry - I hate being late!”

“Not a problem,” Harry assures you, noticing the pencil tucked behind your ear.

“And I’m sorry for looking suck a mess,” you peel your boots off with one hand, clutching your supplies close to your chest with the other. “Just set up a shoot and didn’t want to be even later in the name of looking presentable.”

Harry looks down at his hoodie and torn jeans, his hair flopping down onto his forehead, “Look more presentable than I do,” he chuckles.

You scoff, placing your boots neatly together, just as Harry did at your flat. He smiles at the unnecessary gesture, appreciative that you didn’t even bother ask whether or not he’d prefer you take your shoes off. Not that he’d have a problem either way - you could traipse mud and leaves all over his new home and he’d thank you for it.

“‘ve got the measurements and whatnot,” he explains as the two of you walk into the kitchen. “The original contractor has the blueprints and sent them over so we’d ‘ave ‘em.”

“Great,” you nod, inspecting the cabinetry from afar. “Think today’ll just be me scoping out the rooms, taking some measurements just to double-check,” you run your hands through your hair after setting down your armful of materials onto the counter. “Not that I don’t trust the contractor’s numbers. I’ve got my own system, though. Years of doing this makes me a creature of habit,” you smirk, flipping open a folder labeled STYLES, H. in bold letters. His heart jumps, thinking that you could’ve been the one to write it. “Wanna help me measure?”

“Of course,” he nods - maybe a bit too eagerly - as you reach for your tape measure and clip it onto the back pocket of your jeans.

The two of you walk through the empty house in your socked feet, Harry remaining quiet until you say something. You inspect each room, writing down how many windows are in each, commenting on where some crown molding will need to be replaced, recommending that the carpet be taken up and replaced with real hardwood to give it a more modern feel.

“Which colors are we thinking so far?” you inquire, unclipping the tape measure. Pulling out the free edge, you hand it to Harry, your fingertips touching his while you cock your head to the other side of the room with a smile. He’s frozen for a moment, willing you to reach out and grace your hand over his once more, but he’s snapped out of it by you walking away from him. He follows your lead, walking to the opposite wall from the one you’re standing against, holding the bulky measure down against the floorboard.

“Like the thought of a dark blue for this room,” he looks around, squatting on one knee when he reaches the wall. “Cozy livin’ room ‘n all that.”

“Good, good,” you grin. “Don’t want you to be swayed by my own likes and dislikes, but I promise you it’ll look good.” You make a quick chart with the ruler you’ve brought on the inside flap of the manila folder, muttering something about always needing to have straight lines, no matter if it was written in on an official document or the inside of a folder. It makes Harry smile, the admission of your quirk. “And if not, we can always change it. Paint is easy to change.”

“Don’t think’ll want t’ change it,” Harry assures, walking slowly backwards with the free end of the tape between his fingertips, crouching down once you’ve met him to measure the width of the room. “Whatever you’ve shown me so far, I’ve loved.”

You peek up through the hair that’s fallen down into your eyes as you scribble more numbers onto the folder, smiling at him in a way he forces himself to remember. His heart pounds in his chest - so much so that he hopes you can’t hear it - and he finds it difficult to swallow the lump that’s housed in his throat.

You work easily together as walk through each room, speaking vaguely about the initial ideas both of you had for the house. You don’t try to sell Harry on one idea or another - you offer a suggestion and if he doesn’t like it, you offer another until he’s comfortable. He feels relaxed, especially once you assure him that nothing is set in stone and that your feelings won’t be hurt if he doesn’t like something you suggest. This is his home, you remind him. It’s all up to him.

“What was the shoot about?” Harry asks as you measure the windows in what will eventually be his bedroom.

“Uneven decorating. Odd numbers look better,” you explain, sniffling slightly. “Always want to have one, three, or five of something, unless it’s like a side table or lamps. But anything on a wall - like framed art or pictures - and table decorations like figurines or candles look best when there’s an odd number of them.”

“You allowed to tell me which publication?” he smirks slyly, leaning up against the wall.

You twist your mouth, trying to conceal a smile. You think on it for a second, tucking your pencil back behind your ear. “Promise not to tell?” you reach out with your pinky, a pseudo-stern look on your face.

“Promise,” Harry links his pinky with yours, trying to conceal his smile by keeping his lips pressed tightly together. How could he say no to a pinky-promise imposed by a gorgeous woman? There were laws against it, he thinks.

“I’m serious!” you scoff, dropping your hand to your side. “I’ll know it was you if you say anything. If you even mention it to anyone - especially Nicholas Grimshaw - I’ll never speak to you again.”

He clears his throat, rubbing his nose twice. He closes his eyes, forcing himself to wear the same stern look you’re sporting. When he opens his eyes, you’re still staring at him intently.

“Swear,” he nods.

“And then you’ve gone and broken a pinky promise, too. Which in my books…” you raise your eyebrows and shake your head with a twitch of your pointer finger in front of you. “It’s HGTV Magazine. From the US.”

“That’s like a major TV channel there, innit?”

“Yeah,” you nod slowly, your eyes widening at the thought. “Now they’ve got magazines. And paint. And furniture. And decor. ‘ve got the market cornered over there. Huge, huge company. Like…massive.”

“And you’ve never been featured in the States, ‘ave you?”

“No,” you nearly whisper.

“That’s a big fuckin’ deal, then!”

“Guess so,” you chuckle, running your hands through your hair. “Thanks for that.”

“Absolutely,” Harry laughs, knocking your shoulder with his knuckles. “Congratulations. It really is a huge deal.”

He knew you were successful, but hearing about how you set up the studio to look like a living room today and would be going back tomorrow in order to get your portrait taken in the room makes him realize just how successful you are. A four-page spread, including an interview on how you’d taken London by storm and your influences would be seen within the American market soon. Their words, not yours, you assured Harry.

As the two of you walk through the rooms on the second floor, he asks how you started within the industry. You explain to him that you went to school to be a financial advisor and specialized in small business accounts. You were a pencil-pusher, you told Harry, and you were stuck in an office all day long. You’d spend your weekends refurbishing antique furniture, finding that you’d had a knack for it. It made you happy - so happy that it was the only thing that got you through the monotony of your work week. Although you loved your clients and always enjoyed the pride that came with their wins, you weren’t especially happy in your job. Something had to change.

After agreeing that all of the light fixtures upstairs would have to be replaced, you went on to talk about how even though you saw how much stress your clients were under running their own businesses, you couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to begin your own business.

“Put my life savings into my first shop,” you flick off the hallway bathroom’s light. “I was eating Ramen nearly every night. Went without electricity in my apartment for a week because I didn’t ‘ave enough money to pay for lights at the store and lights at home,” you laugh. “Feels like such a long time ago…”

You started out selling furniture and other decor items. It was tough, but little by little, you made progress. Eventually, one of your regular customers asked if you were interested in working with her as an interior design consultant for her company. It helped get your name out, and soon you were redesigning spaces for people you could’ve never imagined.

Harry admires how smart and brave you are - he can understand how scary it is to go it alone without knowing the results. He was going through it right now. He was in a more privileged position, sure, but he was still unsure of what the future held, and he could appreciate how much courage it took to start over. It made him look at you in a different light - a light that allowed him to see the struggle you’d gone through, working you way from nothing to one of the best in your field. He’d envied the confidence that you sported when it came to your work and wondered if he, himself, would ever feel that.

Once you’re finished taking down all of the information you need, you follow Harry back downstairs.

“Still raining,” you frown, gathering all of your materials. “Does wonders for the hair.” You pretend to flip it over your shoulders. The natural state of it brought out by the weather makes Harry want you all the more.

“Ye’ look great.”

You tut, rolling your eyes a bit, but thank him nonetheless. “So, ‘ve got to take off,” you state, your body language pulling you back to the foyer. “But I really am so excited to get started on the mockups,” you hop a little. “It’s a beautiful space and we can start from scratch, which is when I have most of my fun.”

“‘m excited too,” Harry smiles.

“‘ll have Megan call you when I’m done with the renderings,” you slip your boots back on. “Should take no longer than a week. So count on next Thursday?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “And congratulations again on the magazine - really is a big deal.”

You tilt your head to the side, all of your features softening. “Thank you, Harry,” you smile coyly. You squeeze him a bit as you hug goodbye, the materials in your arms pressed between the two of you creating a barrier that Harry would rather be without. “I had fun today.”

“I did, too.”

He watches you run to your work van, leaping over a particularly large puddle. He laughs to himself as you struggle with your keys before unlocking the driver’s door, diving into the vehicle with a sigh that he can’t see. He watches as you push your mussed-up hair back, noticing him standing in the front window. You wave with a knowing smile before turning on the engine and backing out of the drive.

It’s that smile - that sly smirk - that pushes Harry over the edge that night.

He didn’t want to touch himself, but he’d been rock hard ever since he saw how beautiful your ass looked in your paint-splattered work jeans as you ran to the car. He didn’t want to defile you in his mind as he stroked himself in the shower, water running down his shoulders and back as he faced away from the spray. He didn’t want to moan your name as his balls tightened, the images of you naked and begging for him littering his mind to the point of no return.

But, he did.

He had to.

Nobody would know - it would be his secret - but if he didn’t jack off to the thought of you, he was sure he’d lose his damn mind.

He pictures you sporting the same upturn of your lips from earlier as you ride him, your flannel from that day still on, yet unbuttoned to reveal your breasts as you grind down against him. You know what you do to him, and your smile tells all. He imagines how beautiful you’d sound as he gripped your hips, slowing your movements to nearly a stop while he pushes up into you, groaning at the gasp you give him in return.

He’d never wanted to be inside someone as much as he wanted to be inside you. He wants to feel your breath against his ear, his name across your lips, your fingertips gripping his shoulders. He wants to know what you taste like - sweet, probably, like the candles you burn. He wants to know how warm you are; how wet he can make you by just the touch of his lips to yours. He wants to hear your moan - feel it vibrate down his cock while he’s in your mouth, that gorgeous pout of yours wrapped around the head of him.

He wants it all, but he can’t have it, so his hand will have to do.

A part of him feels guilty when he cums on the shower wall, his splotchy vision and ringing ears indicating that he gave in too quickly. But, fuck. What was a man supposed to do? You’d smelled so good; your stories never bored him; you were becoming a global success and you’d accepted to work with him.

And your ass? In those jeans?

He was done before he ever began, as far as that was concerned.

He walks out of the shower on shaky legs, a white bath towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he takes his head in his hands and grunts.

“Fuck’r you on, Styles?” he asks himself.

He leans back onto the covers, his feet dangling off the edge of his bed that he’ll soon replace with another one, based upon your recommendation. He falls asleep that way - sleeps deeply, too, his hair wet and his towel coming undone after he shifts slightly in his slumber. It’s a deep sleep, one that doesn’t produce a memory of a dream, and Harry is thankful for that.

He doesn’t think he could take another night of dreaming of you.

Not if he wasn’t able to turn those dreams into a reality so that his mind could stop wandering day in and day out…

Not if he wasn’t able to get what he wanted…

Not if, he knows, he wasn’t able to make you his.


You show up at Bucky’s hotel door offering more than just your housekeeping services.

author: sugardaddytonystark (formerly buckysbackpackbuckle)
pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
word count: 7918
warnings: AU, nsfw images, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, spanking, hair pulling, oral sex, anal sex, anal fingering

Keep reading


Imagine: Pretending to be a man and joining the Night’s Watch, eventually causing Jon Snow to fall for you.

A/N: This was supposed to be an entry for @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen’s Disney challenge, it’s a Game of Thrones and Mulan crossover, however, I was not able to submit it in time because life got in the way, I still wanted to finish and post it though. A lot of this is not going to follow the plot of Game of Thrones, for example I know that Cersei doesn’t have a cousin named William, but I did what I thought would fit the story. Anyways, ENJOY!

Warnings: This is a Game of Thrones imagine so there is some violence!

Y/B/N = Your Boy Name (as in the name you choose to use to disguise yourself)

Another braid, another flower, you sigh as your handmaiden styles your hair, “Please stop moving Lady Y/N.”

“Why is this necessary Mary, I don’t wish to please Lord William or his family, I don’t even wish to get married, so why must I get ready for them,” You groan, you were the fourth child of House Y/L/N, and your elder sisters were both happily married, you however, were not like them. You did not wish to marry a nobleman and live a peaceful life of royalty, you had always wanted to be a warrior like your older brother.

“Your mother and father wish for you to marry Lord William. This will be perfect for you mi’lady, he is the cousin of the Queen, you will live a wonderful life.”

“Father and mother do not want me to marry him to give me a better life Mary,” Mary pins down your last strand of hair, then sits to face you with a confused expression on her face, “They want my younger brother Edward to marry William’s sister, and the only way the Lannisters will agree to that is if I marry William.”


You turn away from Mary, and look at your reflection in the mirror, “You know that that’s the truth Mary, I’d never pass a perfect bride, or a perfect daughter. I’ve always been the strange one, I’ve always been the daughter they wish they never had, and now’s their chance to send me away. If I were to show who I really am, I wou-I would break my family’s heart.”  

“They love you very much mi’lady.”

“I’m not like my sisters Mary, I’m an imperfect girl, I can’t live a perfect life.”

“Y/N, mother is calling for you, the Lannisters are almost here!” Your sister called as she entered your chambers.

Mary urges you to get up, “We must go Lady Y/N, we do not want to upset your mother.”

Your family stood at the gates of your home, as the Lannisters approached. Your mother frantically looks around to find you, you rush down the stairs, praying to the Seven Gods to protect you from falling in your pathetic dress.

“There you are Y/N! Cover up those scratches on your arms!” You mother scolded, gesturing to the scrapes and scars on your arms from years of fighting, “And stand properly Y/N, you are a lady of the house Y/L/N for heaven’s sake!”

“Yes mother,” You sigh, pulling a shawl over your arms.

The Lannisters finally reach you, and one by one you greet each other. William approaches you and bows, he takes you hand and places a light kiss on it, “Greetings my lady. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you Lord William,” You respond, William is incredibly handsome, and any normal girl would feel insanely giddy if he greeted her in such a way, but you felt nothing.

The next few days go by, and you’re forced to spend time with William. It’s not entirely bad, he’s a very kind man, but you couldn’t be yourself around him. Your brother, Edward, on the other hand was really falling for William’s sister, so everyone was counting on you to impress William.

You were currently practicing your sword skills in the woods by the riverbed, hoping that no one would find you. You hear footsteps approaching you from behind, and in force of habit, you quickly turn on your heel and point you sword out, “Easy there!”

“Lord William! I-I…” You drop your sword, feeling at a loss for words.

“Lady Y/N,” He pauses, trying to collect his thoughts, “I did not expect to see you like this, I-I didn’t realize how…vicious you were.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Well, I guess it’s okay for you play around like this sometimes.”

“Play around?” You asked, feeling slightly upset by his choice of words, “William, I’ve been training since I was a little girl! I’m not playing.”

He chuckles, “Training? What would you need to train for my lady?”

It’s now or never Y/N, just tell him, maybe he’ll understand, you know he likes you! You sigh, “I want to be a warrior William.”

“W-what?” He looks genuinely confused, “You can’t be serious Y/N?”

“I am.”

“LEAVE. I WANT YOU TO LEAVE MY HOME AND NEVER RETURN!” You have never seen your mother so angry. William refused to marry you upon learning how you feel, and the Lannisters decided it would be best to leave. Edward was heartbroken, and the rest of your family refused to even look at you.

“Fine mother, I’ll go,” you spat venomously, “and I swear to you, I will never come back.”

You rush up to your room, and grab your knife. You stare at your tear stained face and slice off a strand of your hair, then another, and another, until all of it is shoulder length. You strip out of your horrendous dress and begin wrapping a long strip of cloth around your chest, hoping to make yourself look as flat as possible. You slip into your brother’s clothing and emotionally blackmail Mary into helping you escape.

You spend the next few days marching north, you finally reach the Wall and within the following week you have taken your vows and become an official member of the Night’s Watch. Your struggle, however, has not ended. Every night you go to bed relieved that no one discovered your secret, and every morning you wake up with the fear that today might be the day they find out.  

You make your way out of the food hall, it was your first official day of training - up until now they were just trying to figure out what you were and were not good at - you were a good fighter, but apparently you weren’t good enough. You see the men gathered outside, you’re a few minutes late and from what you’ve heard, the trainer was not very lenient.

“And you must be Y/B/N, glad to see that you could join us,” He chided.

“I’m sorry,” You look down at your feet, he’s quite attractive…stop it Y/N!

“Since you clearly think you’re too good for this, take a sword and fight with me,” He throws the sword in your direction, and you catch it. The other men stare hungrily, waiting for the fight to begin.

He swings his sword at you and you duck away, you were good, but you’d never gotten into an actual fight like this. You hear a few men laugh, “Get him Snow!”

Snow? As in the Jon Snow, infamous bastard of Lord Eddard Stark? You heard rumors about him joining the watch, but you never thought you’d be fighting against him. He takes your moment of distraction, to punch you and throw you to the ground.

You sit up, coughing as you try to catch your breath, and you wipe a small trickle of blood off the side of your mouth.

“Pathetic,” Jon mutters, before deciding to continue with his usual lesson.

By the end of the day you were sore and completely out of breath, “Alright men, the last task of the day will be climbing. Everyone get your equipment and begin.”

You tilt your head up to see the top of the wall that you’ll be climbing, that thing must be nearly 100 metres high…bloody hell! You take your ice axe and strike the wall, it barely goes in, that would never hold. By the time you finally lodge your axe into the wall, most of the others are already at least 20 feet up. Determined to catch up to the others, you climb up and lodge your axe a bit higher. You’re about 10 feet off the ground when the axe comes loose. Before you know what’s happening, you go tumbling to the ground, you let out a feminine scream and groan when you hit the hard ground. As your vision refocuses, you see Jon standing above you, he gives his hand and the look on his face shows exactly how disappointed he is, “Get up.”

“I-I’m sorry! It slipped and…”

“Enough. You have no hope to become a Ranger, just leave Y/B/N.”

“But-” Before you can finish, Jon has already turned around and is dismissing the others.      

No! No Y/N, you did not come all the way to Castle Black for this, you did not leave your family and future to become a steward! As everyone walks away, you march back towards the wall, take your equipment, and attempt to climb once again.

Night falls, and you are nearly at the top. A couple more feet Y/N, come on! Your body screams from exhaustion, but you continue. Finally, you reach the top. You sit on the edge of the wall and nearly cry from happiness.

The men who work the night shift circle the ground below you, and Jon walks over to speak to one of them.

“Snow!” You shout, “Am I still too pathetic to become a ranger?”

He stares up at you in shock for a moment before his face breaks into a charming smile, causing you to smile cheerfully as well.

“Men!” Jon calls everyone to attention, “A group of Wildlings have crossed over to our lands and are acting as a threat to our people. I will be leading a troop of Rangers to fight.”

You have only been training for a few weeks, and though you have become one of Jon’s favourites, you do not expect to be taken along on this trip, so when your name is called you’re taken aback but overjoyed at the same time.

The fight is in full force when you notice a Wildling sneaking up behind Jon with an axe in his hand. You rush forward and block the blow with your shield a second before it has a chance to hit him. Jon quickly turns towards you and shoots you a grateful look before continuing his fight.

Eventually, the fight ends. Most of the Wildlings are dead, and a few have fled. Jon walks over to you, “Y/B/N, what were you thinking jumping in front of that axe? You are the craziest man I’ve ever met, and for that I owe you my life. From now on, you have my complete trust.”

You smile at him, but your moment of happiness is short-lived, “Y/B/N! Watch out!”

You spin around to see what’s happening, and you’re met with a dagger to your stomach. You cry out in pain, and fall to the ground. With a swift movement of his sword, Jon beheads the man that stabbed you, and he’s instantly by your side, “He’s wounded! Get help! Y/B/N, hold on.”

You are woken up by a dull pain to the side of your stomach, you look around and find yourself in some sort of tent. You see the shadow of two people talking outside, and suddenly Jon walks in. You get up, and your blanket slides off your shoulders, Jon’s eyes go wide, you look down only to realize that you are in nothing but bandages that are tightly wrapped around your chest and torso, showing off every curve of your body.

“Jon, please! I can explain!” He looks away in disgust.

Peter, a man who’s hated you from the moment you joined the Watch, bursts into the tent, “So it’s true!”

He pushes past Jon and takes your arm, roughly dragging you out of the tent, he throws you to the ground as the rest of the men surround you, “I knew there something wrong with you! A woman!”

“My name is Y/N!”

He scoffs, “A woman in the Night’s Watch! This is treason! You’ll surely take care of this, will you not Snow?”

Jon looks down at you in disappointment, he sighs and takes his sword out. You look away, at least you get to die as yourself Y/N. He draws his sword back and drops it by your knees. You look up at him in confusion, “A life for a life. Now my debt has been paid.”

He turns away from you, “Jon…”

“Move out men!” He calls before mounting his horse.

You watch as the men recede in the distance.

“What did you expect?” You ask yourself out loud, “They’d see that you could fight, and take you in with open arms? Jon was right… I’m pathetic.”

You make your way back to the wall as it was your only way back home, when you hear two men approaching, “If they only knew, that was just the smoke before the real fire starts up. Those bloody fools will never know what hit them. We distracted the Night’s Watch long enough to get our people into the surrounding villages, their land will be ours in no time!”

You stand in shock, this was a part of their plan! I have to warn the Watch! When you finally approach Castle Black, you are met with disapproving stares and whispers. You walk up to a close friend of yours but even he turns away, “Matthew please, I must speak with the commander, it’s urgent!”

“It’s best if you turn back, you are no longer welcome here,” He says, the betrayal he’s feeling is evident on his face.

“Please, just…just listen to me. Once. Matthew, I’ve been living here for weeks, you’ve become one of my closest friends, have I ever done anything to hurt you?” He stares at you in silence, “Just hear me out.”

“Fine, but this will be the last time.”

“The Wildlings have planned to raid our villages, the fight that took place earlier was only a distraction. I’m going to help, if you believe, then please, send help,” With that, you mount your horse and head off towards the nearest village.

As you approach the village, you see a man holding an axe to a young boy’s throat. You slyly approach him, and point your sword towards his back, “Drop your weapon or my sword will go right through you.”

He laughs, “You don’t want to fight me girl, stand down.”

“I said, let the boy go,” You hiss venomously.

“And I said no,” With one swift motion, you push your sword through the man’s back, he cries out and falls to his knees, “You filthy bitch!”

Ignoring his final words, you crouch down next to the fearful boy, “I won’t let them hurt you. I promise.”

“And we’re not going to let anyone hurt you either Y/N,” You turn your head to see Jon approaching on his horse, followed by Matthew and other men of the Watch.

“Jon, you came!” You smile.

He walks up to you and places his hand on your shoulder, “I was wrong to judge you Y/N. You are very brave for a woman.”

“Thank you,” You blush.

After you final fight in the village a year ago, you were sent back to your family. After hearing of your bravery, your eldest brother had decided to take you in, you trained and fought alongside him, and no one pressured you to marry anymore.

You woke up one morning and heard a familiar voice as you passed by the balcony. You looked down and so none other than Jon Snow talking to your brother. Blush crept up your neck as you ran down the staircase to greet him.

“Jon!” Jon and your brother turned to you with smiles, “What are you doing here.”

“As you probably heard, my father and brother, have been killed, I left the Watch and reclaimed Winterfell.”

“My brother has told me about how you bravely defeated Ramsay Bolton and his army, I meant, what are you doing here?” You ask, gesturing around yourself.

“I think it would be best if I told you Y/N,” Your brother answers, “Lord Snow has come here to ask for your hand in marriage.”

You blush harder and look down, Jon adds, “But your brother was telling me that you were not interested in marrying anyone.”

“I never said that!” You say defensively, “I just wanted to wait for the right man.”

Your brother chuckles, “So, are you saying that you would like to marry Lord Snow?”

“I-um-yes,” Despite the cool air around you, your face burns furiously. Your brother mutters something about how your mother would never believe the news, and rushes off, leaving you alone with Jon.

“It’s really nice to finally see you again Lady Y/N.”

“You as well Lord Snow.”


Masterlist // Rules List // To-Do List

The Devil’s Plaything

Word Count: 4,607

Warnings: More smut than plot, inappropriate usage of elevators, alarm clock anarchy, boring old people, disobedient & bratty choices.

Please oh please let me know what you think, it makes me SO happy and almost cures me of resting bitchface. Happy sinning! x

The haze of sleep over your mind shuddered and then shattered as your own moaning roused you awake.

Each sense came to you lazily: the whisper of the sheets against your cheek, the morning light dimly greeting your eyes as they opened, the sound of your tiny gasps, the warm waves radiating through you and the hairs that stood on end in their wake.

Disoriented, you inhaled sharply as Tommy hummed to acknowledge your wakefulness, his lips against you. Your hip bones sat on his palms, your ass in the air as he held you, propped up on his elbows with his face between your legs.

“Tommy-” you whined, voice cracking with sleep.

“Good morning, love.”

More humming vibrations shot through your clit and up your spine, Tommy’s mumbling lips on your nerves stealing your words from your mouth.

Running his tongue up and down your pussy, Tommy continued to tease you awake. Gasps increasing, you breathed heavily into your pillow as your hips began to roll in Tommy’s grip.

The sun that had just managed to spill over the trees and into your bedroom did nothing to shrink your blown pupils, your breath hitching as Tommy took your clit into his mouth, sucking lightly before grazing it with his teeth.

Half-moons of your nails dug into your palms, sheets curled in your fingers. Your back arched, Tommy pushing your hips up further so he could thrust his tongue inside you, playing with your entrance. You couldn’t breath fast enough, your body trying to keep pace with Tommy’s wake-up call and losing.

Something coiled inside of your stomach and you curled your toes, Tommy’s name on your lips as you started to lose your grip on the ledge of your orgasm.

But then the rich waves of heat turned into an ache, your orgasm knotting inside you when it failed to escape. Tommy set your hips down gently and kissed his way up your spine, crawling above you until he reached the nape of your neck.

Your head swam with the last trails of slumber, the confusion of an orgasm lost, and the scent of Tommy’s skin.

“Not yet,” Tommy said, nipping at your earlobe.

“Tommy,” you mumbled, “don’t tease.”

Chuckling knowingly, he continued to plant kisses across your back. “But you’re so easy to tease, little one.”

“I know,” you groaned, a grimace turning to a squealing smile as Tommy forcibly smushed kisses across your face until you laughed.

“Now up with you,” he said, “we’re going to be late.”

“And whose fault is that?” you complained, ignoring him and sliding your hands underneath you, finding your wet and aching clit.

“Oh no,” Tommy chided, taking your wrists and sliding them up to the sides of your pillow, intertwining his fingers in yours and pressing down. “None of that. Would you like to cum at any point today?”

Turning slightly so you could look at him, you nodded meekly.

“Then I suggest you leave it to me to decide when you do.”

Tommy slipped a finger in your mouth and held your face still as he pressed his lips to your cheek once more. Then he was gone, a smack to your ass and a bounce of the mattress announcing his departure.

You turned onto your back and stared at the ceiling blankly, not even bothering to shame the aches of lust that came from Tommy’s teasing - his favorite game was quickly becoming yours as well. The shower turned on and you braced yourself for more, hoping he would be forgiving today.

“Are you coming?” The rasp of Tommy’s voice echoed deeply, rolling out like the steam beginning to spill from the cracked bathroom door

“Probably not anytime soon,” you willingly admitted to yourself with a grumble, clambering your naked body out of bed to join him in the shower, which was where he kept you until your jaw ached and the hot water ran out.


Sipping your champagne idly, you wondered if you were imagining the taste of Tommy’s cum, or if it was still lingering on your tongue. Clit pulsing faintly, you decided you didn’t care which answer was correct, as long as the taste remained.

Tommy laughed his best fake laugh next to you, his hand innocently rubbing circles on your back through your dress as you two made small talk with a couple that looked exactly like the last three couples you’d run into in the racetrack’s ballroom.

Being an owner had its advantages: private boxes, as much champagne as you wanted, plates of food that would make the Queen purr; they were things that you and the rest of the Blinders used to only dream about, but the novelty had quickly worn off. With breaking the law no longer a factor, races had turned into boring business for the boys, and competitions of who could get drunk the fastest between Ada, Esme, and yourself. Ada usually won.

Races had also, unsurprisingly, started to become Tommy’s favorite days to toy with you. Finding the toffs and the business they conducted to be unbearable, Tommy had turned to other sources of entertainment.

The most recent pair of insufferable toffs retreated after lengthy goodbyes, but dread settled where relief should have been as Tommy “accidentally” dropped his lighter and bent to the floor. It came as no surprise when you felt his hand brush your ankle, stealthy as he straightened back up, his hand suddenly stroking your inner thigh beneath your dress like it had been there the entire time.

“I knew you wanted to stand over here for a reason,” you whispered to him, fidgeting under his tantalizing touch.

“Oh, I love dark corners,” Tommy smirked with a wink, snapping the strap of your garter against your ass, the sound unheard below the clamor of voices, clinking glasses, and crackling jazz music.

More often than not, if Tommy wanted to stand in a corner with you it wasn’t because he had a secret to tell, just one to commit.

Praying your blush was only in your head, you gratefully took another champagne from John and stood helplessly as you listened to the brothers squabble, Tommy tracing lines over you with his finger that made you want to sink your teeth into your lip.

While you were in the middle of explaining your job in the Shelby company to an older man that was seemingly never able to remember your name correctly, Tommy pushed your underwear to the side and slid a finger inside of you in one smooth motion, your voice catching in a squeak. Clearing your throat weakly, you continued on innocently.

Tommy’s smirk somehow managed to be palpable and invisible at the same time as he slowly stroked you, agonizing as he avoided your sweetest spot - at least until you were done speaking. Keeping it together when he was touching you there was not one of your better talents, and he was feeling gracious enough to spare you the embarrassment of coming undone.

As the morning wore on the knot inside you continued to tighten, Tommy’s glances tame in their hunger as he taunted you under your dress. Mood sadistic, he whispered his plans for you into your ear whenever he had a second to, daring your eyes to roll back at his words as he held you on the edge, right where he wanted you.

The worst times were when he stopped his stroking altogether, holding his finger unmoving inside of you: if you wanted pleasure, you would have to make it happen yourself, in a room full of people.

All you could do was stand still and smile.

Eventually, Tommy was forced to check his pocket watch, looking at it boredly and answering his aunt’s question lazily as if he wasn’t rubbing your clit in soft circles under the table. Hips rolling, you tightened in effort as Tommy brought you close to orgasm - again - playing with your nerves as you soaked through your lingerie.

“Come with me, I have to go check on the horses,” he said suddenly, snapping your lingerie back into place before he stood, offering his hand gallantly to help you out of your chair like he hadn’t just took the life of your orgasm from you.

“These shoes weren’t exactly meant for a barn, Thomas,” you said, keeping your voice straight as you shakily took his hand, pointing to the beaded heels daintily poking out from under your dress. “I’ll stay up here.”

“No,” Tommy whispered, pressing an innocent-looking kiss to your temple, “you won’t.”

“And why not?” You grazed your lips subtly against his jaw, his pulse infuriatingly steady compared to yours.

“I don’t trust you to stay away from yourself,” Tommy replied with a wink, holding his arm out for you to take. “Shall we?”

Wisely resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you took Tommy’s offered arm and glared at the calmly close-lipped smirk on his face.

Holding your dress so you wouldn’t trip, you tried to keep up with Tommy’s pace as he dragged you through the winding corridors of the racetrack. By the time you reached the small elevator that connected to the stables below, the hallways were nearly empty, bodies having rushed off to fill their boxes or the stands.

“Going down, sir?” The lift’s operator asked, a boy no more than fifteen, looking uncomfortable in his boxy uniform.

“We’ll take it from here actually,” Tommy replied, slipping a bank note into the boy’s jacket pocket and pushing him past the elevator’s gate before sliding it closed.

“Sir!” The boy sputtered weakly, no match for either of you, but trying anyway. “You can’t-”

“Thank you!” You smiled toothily, sliding the inner accordion of the golden grate shut in his face and pushing the elevator’s lever towards one of its two options, the metal box moving downwards smoothly on its cables.

“That’s my girl,” Tommy growled, picking you up easily and pressing you into the wall, reaching over to yank the elevator to a stop between floors, nothing but a brick wall between the diamonds of its gate.

Sighing into his open mouth you kissed him, locking your ankles behind his back and gripping his sides, the taut muscles of Tommy’s stomach flexing as he pressed his hips into you.

“Should I fuck you like this?” He murmured, his cock solid as he rubbed against you. The layers of clothing between you slid over each other, the head of Tommy’s size heating you with friction as it moved up and down your pussy in a long line.

“Yes,” you whispered absently, your eyes shut as your clit began to throb with need. Tommy yanked your dress past your thighs to your waist, gathering it and stuffing it into your mouth.

“Don’t drop it,” he hissed, squeezing your face for emphasis.

Nodding, you moaned into the fabric as Tommy’s palm began to smack sharply against your ass, first one cheek and then the other. He slipped his hand under your dress and beneath your bra, rolling your already hardened nipples in his fingers.

Pushing your hips up and down, you ground against his cock, knowing that if you riled him enough he would take you. But his willpower was strong with the thrill of leaving you wanting, and he pushed your legs off of him before turning you around, his hand large on your face as he held your head against the wall.

Delivering two more hard strokes to your ass for punctuation, your yelps made Tommy smirk as he shushed you gently, “What, you don’t like it? I think you do.”

Curling his hand around your lingerie, he pulled it down to your thighs. You could feel how wet you were, the cool air on your pussy making you whimper. Tommy pressed harder on your face, his lips a breath from your ear.

“Take them off.”

Reaching back, your hands didn’t make it to the ribbons before Tommy took both your wrists in his free hand, holding them to your lower back.

“No, no hands.”

Whining earned you nothing but a spank harder than the last, his hand stinging sharply on the now-bare skin, raw from his last smacks. Rushing to avoid another stroke, you wiggled your hips to work your underwear down to your knees. Tommy slid his fingers underneath your garter strap and played with it as he watched you put on his favorite show, smoldering eyes half-lidded.

“All the way off.”

Complying, you wiggled until you could carefully lift each shoe out, freeing yourself. Tommy guided your legs into place as you set them back down, open for him as he liked.

“Good girl,” he hummed, releasing your face so the blood rushed back to your skin. Flexing your jaw, still sore from Tommy’s ravaging this morning, you didn’t dare move as his hands left you to retrieve your discarded lingerie.

Wrapping his hand around your throat, Tommy pulled you away from the wall and held your back to the rippling muscles of his chest. Removing your dress from between your teeth, he pressed the soaking lace over your mouth and your nose, smothering you, “Now, you tell me: do you think these belong to a girl who doesn’t like to be teased?”

Swaying in his grip, your eyes rolled back as he slid a finger inside of you and walked you forward until your face met the gilded elevator wall once more. You breathed in your own desire and moaned.

A smack fell on your ass and you shook your head quickly, mumbling your dissent into your lingerie before Tommy had to ask again.

“I didn’t think so,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the thin skin below your ear. Removing his finger from you to press it to your clit, he rubbed softly until you arched up on your toes, a muffled gasp your only sound.

Tommy pushed the elevator’s lever back in with his foot and it continued its drop, his fingers still playing with you as your ride came to an end.

“Tommy, please-” you begged, gasping in air that wasn’t laced with lust when Tommy removed your underwear from your face, ignoring you as he slid it inside his jacket pocket.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said matter-of-factly, straightening his tie in the reflection of the gaudy elevator wall. “Your shoes are very nice, and I like them. No stables for you.”

Catching your breath, you didn’t fight the exasperated laugh that broke out of your chest, shoving him gently before you stood by his side, fixing your reflection’s hair before turning to Tommy to fix his tie yourself.

The elevator grated to a halt and you clung to his arm, looking up at him with widened eyes and a pout to match, purring, “Are you sure I can’t come with you? I don’t mind getting my knees dirty.”

Tommy pressed a kiss to your lips and pinched your nipple through your dress, making you squeal into his mouth. “I know you don’t, little one. Go back upstairs-” he squeezed your cheeks in his hand, eyebrows raised in warning as his nose brushed yours, “-and don’t even think about touching yourself. Remember that you’re a terrible liar when it comes to such things, aren’t you?”

Tommy didn’t wait for an answer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before turning on his heel and disappearing towards the horses, leaving you behind with nothing but heaving breaths and a mess dripping down your thighs.

Finding your way back upstairs, you blended in with what you hoped was flawlessness, gladly accepting more champagne and smiling at the people who required smiles. All the while your tryst was on repeat in your mind - you could still feel Tommy’s hands on you. Eventually Ada linked her arm with yours and dragged you both to the safety of the Shelby’s private box, settling in with more champagne - and more than enough cheese - to keep you happy. For now.

An hour had passed and Tommy hadn’t returned. In days past you would have been fearful of the possible reasons why, but days like that were long gone, and you knew he was safe. Not only was he safe, but you were sure he was enjoying himself wherever he was, knowing all too well that you were a mess.

Ignored orgasms turned into pointed irritations as time continued to pass, the horses beginning to appear on the track and warm up in neat formations. Your lust had grown to a gnawing need, your clit pulsing in stubborn refusal to let you forget about Tommy’s deft touch. No distraction was enough to overrun the memories of his lips waking you up this morning, either.

“You alright?” Ada asked, drunkenly lolling her head in a nod at your combination of an empty glass and a blushing face.

Running with her assumption, you feigned wooziness as you stood - although you quickly realized you didn’t have to fake most of it. “I need a break I think, too much smoke and too much champagne.”

“You want me to come?”

“No, I’ll be alright, I might try and find Tommy.”

Squeezing Ada’s shoulder in goodbye, you ducked out of the room and into the hallway, grateful for the empty corridor and the fresh air.

The defiant side of you flourished with champagne thoughts, and you found yourself walking to the bathroom in the far wing that no one ever visited - usually the place you and Tommy chose to fuck when you were here.

Although disobeying Tommy usually didn’t tempt you, today it did, coaxing you into rebellion with the promise of an orgasm at long last. The sun was far past its halfway point in the sky and you had been aching since before it grazed the horizon this morning.

He won’t know.

Ducking into the powder room, goosebumps of anticipation flushed your skin as you picked a stall and locked it, sighing to yourself as you pushed the thoughts of getting caught - in a lie by Tommy, not in a stall by strangers - out of your mind.

The guilt of disobedience made it feel all the more sinful, and you moaned softly as you rubbed your clit, the feeling of sating your hunger warming you from the inside out. Your back arched and you pressed the flat of your shoe against the wall to hold yourself steady.

It didn’t take long to bring yourself to the edge, your own touch as deft as Tommy’s in knowing what you liked. Trying to keep your moans quiet, you stifled one into a whimper that was cut short when the bathroom door swung open with a creak, and you rolled your eyes in annoyance with gritted teeth.

But annoyance quickly sank into fearful regret as heavy and expensive-sounding footsteps crossed the marble bathroom, the sound of a walk you knew well.

You wanted to smile at Tommy’s intuition - it was something to be admired - but when it was at your expense, it was difficult to revel in.

Tommy knew exactly which gilded stall you were in, obnoxiously managing to be sarcastic without saying a word as he skipped over your door to open the rest first, checking as if he didn’t know. He moved tediously to torture you, pushing open each door slowly before finally coming to stand before your own.

“Are we having fun?” he asked after a moment, the clipped sharpness of his voice making you shudder slightly as it echoed off the walls loudly.

Tommy was not pleased.

“I don’t feel well,” you said lamely, stubbornly continuing to dig yourself deeper into the grave you created, laying the possibility of orgasm to rest.

“Don’t lie to me,” you heard Tommy suck his teeth in impatience and you knew he was running a hand over his face, staring at the door with a clenched jaw. Trying the knob, he found it locked and chuckled, amused in a way that did not make you want to smile.

The time it took Tommy to break the doorknob off, enter, and find you with your fingers on your clit - which you had been too paralyzed to remove -  was barely a second. Eyes darkening as he ran them over you, he growled before stalking off, leaving you with furrowed brows of confusion.

Sticking your head out, you saw him at the entrance to the powder room, scratching something onto a napkin and sticking it onto the door with a penknife.

“It’s out of order, isn’t that unfortunate?” he asked, striding towards you and loosening his tie as the door shut behind him.

The sharp anger that had been in his voice was gone, and the hedonistic victory in his icy eyes told you that this is what he had wanted after all: you in a bathroom stall, helpless to your own need, succumbing to the trap he spent all day laying for you.

Tommy was quick in his own anticipation and had you up against the marble counter before you could blink. Working his tie easily around your wrists, you felt the fabric cut into your flesh as he fastened you tightly to the golden spout of the sink.

Ignoring your breathy pleas, Tommy pushed your dress up your back and bent your knee as he lifted one of your legs onto the cold stone of the sink. Holding by your hair, he gripped you tight as he pushed two fingers into you, not bothering to take his time.

Remaining silent, he fucked you ruthlessly with his fingers, stopping only to smack your ass painfully hard when he felt like doing so. Judging by the glint in his eyes as he watched your pussy tighten around him, you were dripping from his fingers and onto the floor. The thought only made you more lascivious, and soon you could hear how wet you were; a blush of wantonness spilled into your cheeks hotly as your lashes fluttered.

“Tommy, please-” you begged, your orgasm coming for you through the harsh force of his fingers. You knew better than to ask to cum, or for mercy, so what you were begging for you didn’t know, mind and body senseless as Tommy despoiled you.

Tommy laughed darkly. Sliding his hand from your hair to your jaw, he leaned closer to your face and looked down at you, a single eyebrow arching upwards as he mercilessly ordered, “Look at yourself.”

Reluctantly, you dragged your eyes to your own reflection. Tied to the sink, red-faced and panting, you whimpered at the lust-ruined sight of yourself and Tommy smiled devilishly.

Gripping your face with his lips to your ear, Tommy whispered things that would make a whore blush as he gazed at you possessively - watching you watch yourself. Bringing you to the edge over and over, he adamantly refused to let you cum until sweat beaded between your breasts and your mascara threatened to run down your cheeks.

Frustration wracked your body until it ached. Pinned to the sink, you watched: watched as Tommy pushed the hard length of his cock into you, watched yourself gasp for air as he squeezed your throat off-and-on, watched yourself beg for release and repeatedly be denied.

Hair mussed, Tommy’s teeth marks on your neck, pussy dripping, you gripped the faucet you were tied to and tried not to cum as Tommy fucked you, his hard and even strokes leaving your brows knit in effort and your lower lip trembling.

Tommy cared not for your struggle, watching his cock slide in and out of you, swearing in a carnal blend of Romani and English as he neared his own end, slightly parted lips twitching upwards as he listened to your begging.

Pulling you backwards, Tommy wrapped his arm around your neck so your throat laid in the crook of his elbow. Pace not slowing, the size of his cock stretched you over and over as he drove into you relentlessly.

Voice in your ear, he rasped, “You are not to cum, do you understand?”

You nodded weakly, only hoping you would be able to obey. Wrapping his other arm around you, Tommy crushed you in his grip as he thrusted into you, moaning into your neck as he came deep in your pussy, the heat of it spreading deliciously inside of you in demand that you surrender.

Biting your cheek, you moaned into it, your orgasm palpable as you white-knuckled the faucet, a crying sound leaving your chest as you felt Tommy pull out, cum running onto your thighs.

Gazing at Tommy in the mirror, you searched for signs that his release had made him sympathetic, but his face was a shade of blank as he tucked himself back into his pants, his eyes never leaving your face.

Stepping closer to you, he dipped his fingers inside you to soak them before sliding them into your mouth, his cum hot on your tongue. You moaned, the taste of him intoxicating.

Smirking, he slid his fingers over your lips, watching them glisten in the mirror as you waited for more, open-mouthed.

“Do you think you deserve to cum?”

You met his eyes in the mirror, pausing as you considered honesty versus dishonesty.

“Hm?” he pressed, brushing his knuckles against your cheekbone gently as he slid his other hand between your legs. Rubbing circles over your clit, he kept his touch light as he waited for your answer.

“No,” you whimpered.

“Good girl. Have we learned how to be honest now?”


“Good. Would you like to cum?”

Two fingers reached inside of you to your most sensitive spot and you gasped, cum dripping to the floor as your eyes rolled. Whether or not he was trying to tease you still - you weren’t sure you could last through another ten seconds of Tommy’s skilled touch without falling apart.

“I-I don’t know-”

“Yes, love, you do.”

He nodded at you in the mirror, his eyes greedy as he watched your mouth fall open around your words.

“Yes, I want to cum.”

“Of course you do,” Tommy cooed, sliding his hand up to squeeze your cheeks in his hand, gazing at you half-lidded in the mirror. “Watch yourself.”

Dragging your eyes from your lover’s face to your own, you obeyed.

“Cum for me.”

The stars in your eyes blinded you from your reflection and you rippled in Tommy’s grip as he held you tight, your orgasm tearing through you viciously after a day of Tommy’s dark side. He didn’t try to stifle your moans. 

When your eyes came back into focus, you found yourself still writhing, a mess. Tommy’s smirk-shaped lips pressed to your neck as he slowed his pace on your clit, dragging out the last trails of your spasms.

Still holding you tight, Tommy tilted your head towards him to kiss you deeply, untying your wrists and rubbing each of them briefly to ease the pain of the blood rushing back into your hands.

“Mm,” he hummed, leaning back to watch your pussy unconsciously contract and relax as you came down. “Let’s go, we’ll be missed.”

Tommy helped you off the counter, kissing you once more as he walked you both out.

“What about my underwear?” you asked as you left, taking back the penknife Tommy had used to declare the bathroom out of order, folding it neatly and offering it to him with a coy smile.

“Oh no,” Tommy scoffed in mocking, trailing a finger under your chin “you don’t get those back yet.”

The debate was over before it began, your ass remaining bare under your dress with the reminder that you were a lucky girl for being allowed to cum at all.

The One and Only Rule, Broken

Originally posted by halewalker

Pairing: Darkiplier X Reader, Antisepticeye

Request: “#64 with Dark?” (”I told you not to read that.”) + “47 with Dark please! If you need any help, maybe the reader gets mad and Dark gets kinda scared. You don’t have to do something like this, I just thought it might help if you had writers block. Thanks bub!” (She’s evil, but she does have a point there.”)

A/N: I’m always excited for Dorky-Darky

Warnings: swearing, angst, fighting, blood

You could feel your face drain of any color as you stepped into your room. You freshly folded clothes sat untouched on your bed from earlier that morning and everything was in its place. Well, almost everything. 

The cabinet door on your bookcase was open slightly, not how you left it that morning. Dropping you bag, you take three quick steps across your room to the hutch, pulling the door open quickly. 

“No,” you breathe, “no, no, no!” You’re ripping books and papers from the cabinet now.

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What Happens In Vegas: Part 15

A Bucky x Reader / AU drabble series

Master List

A/N: SO sorry this took so long. I was procrastinating big time and also life got in my way. There’s only one part left after this and an epilogue, so I really hope you guys like it. Let me know what you think! ♥

Word Count: 2,184
(I know this is not a drab, and this is the longest part to date :O)

- language.

Tags: (at the end)

*gif is not mine.

Bucky was sleeping peacefully beside you the next morning, after spending hours the night before trying to get him to fall asleep. His nerves were getting the best of him, and rightfully so. You’d spent most of the night coming up with a court summons for Peggy, so that you could finally find out whom Charlotte’s true father was. You pushed his hair off of his forehead and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. The love you had for him swelled in your chest and, in that moment, you vowed to find the truth for him, to give him inner peace. Even though this was his own personal struggle, it would bring peace to you and your relationship with him as well. Maybe, just maybe, it would also mend his and Steve’s lifelong friendship.

Keep reading

City Love (Part 1)

summary: You attend one of Natasha’s office parties against your will and end up meeting a charming stranger who turns out to be the person who runs the company. (AU; CEO!Bucky)

characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader (F), Natasha Romanoff
word count: 928 
warnings: none
A/N: I just really wanted to write some shameless, pointless fluff… and I really missed writing for Bucky. Enjoy! Let me know what you think if you want to.


Originally posted by andantegrazioso

“Natasha, you said we’d only be here for an hour.”

You whine as you pulled the hem of your body con dress downwards to make it seem longer than it was. Your roommate convinced you to wear this dress that one was size down your usual so that it would “hug your curves in all the right places”, and though you didn’t think of it much before you left your apartment, about two hours later into Natasha’s office party, you were beginning to regret your decision.

Keep reading


Request from anon: Could I get a request in which Sebastian’s s/o wants*cough* begs *cough* to see his true form (as they know already what he really is). Please if it’s not a bother. 


“Why not?” 

Jutting out your bottom lip in a pout, you sat on the bed that Sebastian was trying to straighten the duvet on. 

“Because, (y/n). Now, please drop the subject.”

Gingerly, he cupped your face in his gloved hand, smiling politely as he always did.

“Do you not trust me? Is that it?”

Crossing you arms, you remained seated on the bed, much to his chagrin. A soft sigh left his ivory lips as he gazed down at you,

“No, that isn’t it.”

“Then what is it?! I mean, I know what you are. What’s the issue with me seeing what you actually look like? I want to know you, in every way. I love you, Sebastian. Whatever your true form looks like, that won’t change.”

Another sigh escaped his lips, this one sounded far more exasperated as he turned on his heel, walking across the room to dust off the mantle on the opposite side of the room.

“You don’t know what you’re asking. I don’t want to frighten you, Even if I wasn’t bound to this contract, I wouldn’t show you my true form. It isn’t pleasant and I don’t want to risk you thinking any less of me or growing to fear me because of it.”

“Sebastian, I would never. I can’t.”

Rising from your spot on the bed, you walked over to him and carefully wrapped your arms around him from behind. 

“I love you. I know who you are. Despite what you are, I love you and I know that you would never hurt me.”

You pressed your lips to the valley between his shoulder blades, kissing the spot gently as you tightened your arms around him, hugging him close.

A smile crept across his lips as he folded his arms over yours before pulling them away from his torso.

“Are you certain? You won’t be able to un-see it.”

Taking your hands in his, he spun around to gaze down into your eyes, searching them for a trace of doubt.

“I’m certain. Please, Sebastian.”

You stared straight back into his crimson orbs, your certainty unwavering.

“Very well. Sit here, please.”

Walking you back over to the bed, he placed his hands on your waist and sat you down on the edge of the bed, before stepping a few feet back.

“Last chance.”

He raised his eyebrow as a final warning.

“I’m not changing my mind.”

“Here goes nothing then.”

You kept your eyes glued to his frame as a dark aura began to exude from his body. Shadows seemed to envelop him as impressive, midnight black wings sprouted with ease from his spine. He grew taller as pointed heels became his feet. You could feel your jaw hanging freely as it began to gape at his transformation. The change was so fluid; it was mesmerizing. Your eyes couldn’t bear to leave his figure as you continued to watch his teeth and nails grow longer, sharper. His eyes met yours and they seemed to glow a vibrant shade of fuchsia.




As fluidly as he transformed, Sebastian melted back into his standard form. His dumbstruck expression remained as he knelt before you in front of the bed,

“I meant it. You look beautiful. Either way. Sebastian, I don’t just see claws or wings or teeth. I don”t just see your handsome face or perfect hair or flawless smile when you’re in this form either. I see you. Your true form doesn’t frighten me, it impresses me. You continue to amaze me and that’s one of the things I love about you. I’ll certainly never get bored of you.”

A soft giggle left your lips as you smiled down down at him, draping your arms around his neck. He returned your grin as he leaned forward, seizing you waist in his grasp delicately as he stood and laid you back on the bed. Leaning over you, he studied your features intricately, smiling brightly as he lowered his face closer to yours, until you could feel his breath tickle your bottom lip.

“I doubt I’ll ever be able to grow bored of you either, my love. You continue to surprise me everyday. I’m glad you aren’t afraid, because I couldn’t stand to lose you, (y/n). I love you.”

“I love you too, Sebastian.”

Your breath was hardly a whisper as he grinned down at you softly, before pressing his lips to yours.