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Ben Barnes - Blog Posts
I feel like that thing that they posted on the harry potter official social media, is showing us a glimpse of what this reboot will be like, and how the obvious queerbating is gonna go. I have the theory that they will lean into the marauders fandom much more, and I genuinely think that if it reaches the point of a third season, we might even see Andrew Garfield as remus and/or Ben barnes as Sirius. Both actors are aware of the fancast and said they are willing to play the parts. And this might have nothing to do with the reboot but not to long ago Ben barnes talked yet again on BuzzFeed tiktok talking about Harry potter and how him an Andrew are already of age to play Sirius and Remus (not that I wouldn't love to see Ben barnes and Andrew Garfield as Sirius and Remus). But yes this is my prediction. I do believe they will queerbait more in the reboot and in the promotions for the reboot
Aubrey Plaza & Ben Barnes Crackship
i died when Ben Barnes come on screen for the first time in the punisher
like did i know he was in the punisher, yes.
did i still die, also yes
I’ve never realized how fine Ben Barnes was omg.. his accent when he played Prince caspian 😭🙏🏽
Don’t you just love it when you’re reading a prince Caspian fanfic and the oc is Andrew fucking Garfield so it’s like a non wolfstar, wolfstar fic because I fucking love it
I start watching Shadow and Bone for Ben Barnes but I ended up obsessed with Kanej. I need more ( i'm gonna start reading the books)
“I desperately need a haircut. Will you try to cut it for me? Please?” w billy
summary: billy’s hair gets a little too long for his liking. you decide to take it into your own hands. literally.
pairing: billy russo x reader
word count: 1.8k
a/n: that billy gif does somethin’ to me man...
Billy had been wearing a hat every day for a week. In the house. Not going anywhere.
It was driving you insane.
"Take that stupid thing off, Billy," you’d say to him. His hair had been abnormally soft since he hadn’t been gelling it for work lately, not that you could see it. It was a stupid thing to get mad about, but tensions had been running high in your apartment. After Billy moved in, it had been much easier to spend time with him, and you were grateful for that. But during this quarantine, you both had been a little on edge.
“It looks like shit. I need a haircut,” he’d say, running his fingers through it in front of the mirror in the morning. He still woke up at an ungodly hour for some reason. It’s not like he had to. All of his meetings happened after nine o’clock in the morning, but the smell of a fresh pot of coffee brewing wasn’t the worst thing in the world to wake up to. Either way, the hair thing was stressing him out.
“It’s embarrassing,” he said, grumbling in bed after a long day of zoom calls and meetings on the phone. It was incredibly inconvenient to be running a company during this time. Especially because the people he was in charge of did most of their work in person, manually laboring away on a typical schedule. Billy had been trying to work that out over the phone, face to face with his higher-ups who were also confined to their houses.
“Just cut it yourself, Billy,” you say, sitting at your desk, typing away at an assignment that was due later on in the week. You sigh and sit back in your chair, leaning back to recline your feet on your desk and put your hands behind your head.
“I don’t know how. I’ve never had to before. I’d fuck it up,” he says, running his hands over his face and letting out a loud yawn.
“There are videos online?” you suggest. Billy’s ears perk up.
“I think I have clippers somewhere…” he muses. He sighs.
“I desperately need a haircut,” he says, pulling a lock of hair down over his face. He goes almost cross-eyed to look at it, and it comes down to about the tip of his nose.
“I know, Billy. You complaining about it isn’t going to make your hair shorter,” you clarify, and he huffs in frustration.
“Have you ever cut hair?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow to take a good look at you. It was easy to see you in the soft light of the lamp on your desk. You let out a little laugh.
“No… Actually, yes, once. I think I was like five? My mom was not happy. I gave myself bangs.” You laugh at the story, but that’s only what you had been told. It’s not like you knew the first thing about cutting hair.
“Come on, I’m serious. Will you try to cut it for me? Please?” he asks, and you check your clock.
“Right now?” you ask, and you rub your arms softly.
“I have stuff that’s due,” you say to him. He just looks at you in response.
“You could do it tomorrow if you want,” he finally says, and you close your laptop.
“No, let’s just… let's get it done tonight. I don’t want you complaining if I give you a bad haircut though,” you say, planting your feet on the ground.
“I don’t want a whole cut, just a trim. Let me go find the clippers,” he says, getting out of bed. You resist the urge to slap his ass as he walks past you.
“You don’t get to be picky, Russo,” you mutter after he leaves the door slightly ajar behind him. You take the opportunity to look up some articles and videos about cutting hair.
Billy’s setup includes one chair he got from the dining room, an old towel from the closet, and his face trimmer from under the bathroom sink.
“Okay, do you know how he cuts it? Does he just hold it like this or does he like… run a comb through it?” you stand behind him like his barber would to demonstrate, holding sections of his hair.
“I don’t know, he just, cuts it…” Billy says, adjusting the towel around his shoulder.
“Wow Billy, that’s… such a wealth of information you just gave me.”
“I don’t have eyes on the back of my head! How am I supposed to know—”
“Okay, so you’re gonna get what you’re gonna get and you’re gonna be happy, okay?” you say, and you hear him chuckle and mutter, “Oh god…”
“I can’t blend the hairline with the clippers we have,” you say after he explains the settings. You clip his hair back to see the lines the barber left behind from his last cut. It hasn’t been so long that they’ve faded too much.
“That’s okay. We can do just, high and tight on the sides. No fades.”
“You can’t move.” You clarify, and he plays with the trimmer before handing it to you.
“I know. Thank you for doing this for me by the way,” he says. He can’t see himself in the mirror, so he just has to trust you.
“Mhmm,” you agree absentmindedly as you focus, bringing the trimmer to the back of his head. You go over one spot repeatedly, but the hair doesn’t look like it’s getting any shorter.
“What do you see back there?” Billy asks, obviously scared you’re going to make him bald.
“It’s like, barely even cutting anything,” you say. You pull the clippers away from his head. He shifts in his seat.
“Uh oh. Let me feel it?” He asks and touches the hair there.
“Nope,” he agrees and gets up from his chair. He looks at the attachments and fiddles with the trimmer for a bit before he figures out the attachments were wrong, and the one you were supposed to be using was on the counter, not on the buzzer.
You turn it on and put it back to his head, and it seems to work better.
“Is that any better?” Billy asks, almost reading your mind.
“Yeah, I think so,” you respond, taking slow, precise movements through his hair. You can feel the hair gather in little piles around your feet. You find yourself in a groove and it becomes a lot less scary when you’re not worried about having him end up with some god awful buzz cut. You hold his head steady, one hand cupping the side of his face.
“It looks, chunky,” you complain, and you can feel his face scrunch up a little bit.
“I don’t know if that’s what I want to hear,” he says, tilting his head back more when you press your fingers into his jaw and guide him slowly.
But after a little while, it all starts to come together and looks much more even. You turn off the trimmer and admire your work, which is pretty darn good if you do say so yourself.
Getting up from the chair, Billy admires himself closely in the mirror. He runs his fingers over the newly buzzed sides of his head.
“I mean, up close you can tell it’s not faded, but it looks like I got a fresh cut,” he says, sitting back down. You can’t help but feel a little pride over it.
“I can clean up the sides without the guard on, like the ears and stuff,” you say.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” he says, taking off the blade guard from the clippers.
He puts the trimmer back at your hand and now the metal gleams intimidatingly at you. It’s oddly intimate for the two of you. Something about having the blade so dangerously close to his skin was personal. Just the persistent buzz of the clippers and the stories coming from Billy about bad barbers. You can feel the goosebumps on his skin as you clean up the hair on the back of his neck. Then came the lines around his ears on both sides.
As you finished up, you offered him a mirror to see the back of it.
“If you want, I can round the edges a little more,” you offer.
“No, this is perfect. It looks great back there,” he says, moving the mirror from side to side, examining the back of his head.
“Okay, I think we’re done!” he says, and you correct him.
“With the clippers.”
“Yes, with the clippers.” he agrees.
You wet his hair with a spray bottle newly filled with water you had retrieved from the closet, and with the smallest scissors you could find you take off little sections of hair from the top of his head. The reaction from Billy is physical, his shoulders standing a little taller, a little more confident in his new look. Some pieces of hair still cling to his t-shirt and shoulders, making him scratch at his neck.
“Hop in the shower quick and then I’ll blow dry it before you get into bed,” you tell him, and he listens, but not before he rudely kisses you, hands cupping the side of your face.
“Thank you,” he mumbles, before stripping off his clothes before he even turned the shower on. You leave the bathroom, face hot as you hear him turn it on. Maybe another day, you’d join him.
He comes out smelling good and looking fresh.
He pokes his head into the bedroom, his hair dripping wet onto the floor, with the need to tell you that he was done, not that you couldn’t hear the shower turn off all by yourself.
“Okay, I’m ready,” he says smiling, and there’s something childishly innocent about him getting excited about you blow-drying his hair.
The loud blow dryer made for little conversation to be had, but you were both fine with that. The heat on Billy’s skin made him tired, especially after the hot shower he had just taken. When his hair was sufficiently dry and you put away all of the tools from the night’s impromptu hair cutting session, Billy came up from behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, placing his head on your shoulder. You watched him in the mirror.
“Thank you for this. It feels so much better,” he says, planting a kiss to your shoulder. The one he plants gently on your neck makes you smile. You wrap your arms around him, holding them there, around your body.
“I didn’t mind,” you clarify, “I like how it came out.”
“Now I don’t feel like I have to wear that fuckin’ hat everywhere,” he says, and pulls away, making his way down the hall to the bedroom.
“Oh thank god,” you whisper under your breath, and follow him.
In bed, you stroke Billy’s newly cut hair. Under your fingers, he pulls you just a little bit closer to him, chest to chest under the warmth of your blankets. The darkness of the night filled the room, the only light streaming in from your window was that of the moon and the stars. You smile, but Billy is already fast asleep.
It really had gotten softer.
minors in a fandom to a ship between people that have a huge age gap: we do not ship this 😤🙅🏽♀️!! This is illegal
minors in a fandom to a character who is played by someone in their late 30s-40s: That is the hottest mf I’ve ever seen and we are getting married even though there’s a 25 year age gap
well. if Dorian gray has taught me anything, it’s that the history books completely fail to mention how 1800s Victorian era English people were kinky as fuck
Did Netflix just add shadow and bone profile pics
Well guess I’m the Alina now
Me: :(
*Ben Barnes talking on instagram live about being the fancast of Sirius Black*
Me: :')
how many times have i listened to the off the menu podcast episode by ed gamble and james acaster featuring guest star joseph quinn???? yes
leigh bardugo can keep soc3, i simply don't want it.. knowing her she will not let kanej or wesper both simultaneously have a happy ending which means someone is gonna die and i simply cannot handle that pain again
First of all, I hate netflix and I'll rant at them in a separate post, but for now I'd like to say how grateful I am for Shadow and Bone.
Last summer I randomly bought Six of Crows, just because I'd vaguely heard of it and the Shadow and bone books and show and I'd heard they were good.
To be honest, It took a bit to get into soc when I was reading it, but once I understood what was going on, I could not put it down and had to buy crooked kingdom and all the sab books and I watched the first season of the show immediately after. I have never loved a book this much, and the grishaverse was by far my favourite fantasy series, if not my favourite book series.
I was so invested in these books and the show and I wish I could read and watch it all for the first time again.
The show is probably my one of my favourite book adaptations and I could not believe how good the cgi was and how beautiful and detailed the costumes were, how much effort was put into the set, and how perfect the cast was, especially the crows cast, I'm very upset that we won't get a spin off, but in my opinion what we did get was so good, and nothing can ruin my love for six of crows and shadow and bone,
So thank you to Leigh Bardugo, the cast, the writers, the costume designers, the producers, everyone involved in this series for giving us such an amazing fantasy show
Fuck Shadow and Bone for making me simp over Ben Barnes again after forgetting about him for like 6 years
People.
I just had a random thought a wanted to share.
What if the celebrities have a secret acc in websites like Tumblr and they watch every.single.thing.we.post.
And I am feeling that raw terror you are feeling now.
Thank you and good night. Sweet nightmares.
Writing?
Would anyone be interested if I tried to maybe start writing for certain fandoms on here?
bring it back down tonight
stephanie goldberg x octavian shafiq |
october'76, magic london
![Marlene Mckinnon [as Margaret Qualley] X Octavian Shafiq [as Ben Barnes] | December'70; Shafiq's Apartment](https://64.media.tumblr.com/14134488e7ddb5beba13ed871c6406be/0ed71dc5353a290f-e0/s250x400/42b01f4aa2b4261a5e2e3e1b26b742452c76376e.gif)
![Marlene Mckinnon [as Margaret Qualley] X Octavian Shafiq [as Ben Barnes] | December'70; Shafiq's Apartment](https://64.media.tumblr.com/62d44bbc9355564beda5459573847c06/0ed71dc5353a290f-cd/s250x400/03d3fbc73e460f4fdab593ff1c27797f681a3be1.gif)
![Marlene Mckinnon [as Margaret Qualley] X Octavian Shafiq [as Ben Barnes] | December'70; Shafiq's Apartment](https://64.media.tumblr.com/85108809833df8bff765d07ef7953188/0ed71dc5353a290f-af/s250x400/1a56892dcd6a6e6b87a272f07cb06b8bd4f8b0ef.gif)
marlene mckinnon [as margaret qualley] x octavian shafiq [as ben barnes] | december'70; shafiq's apartment
- I don’t believe in love.
- You know I love you so bad, so bad.
light is easy to love
show me your darkness
• crackship gifs: ben barnes & emily lind
he cut her heart out with the edge of his smile & she never saw the monster beneath his gaze
there’s a hole, square in the middle of my chest is it an entrance wound, or an exit, i can’t remember which; funny, though how they look the same.
• mr & mrs avery
• crackship gifs: ben barnes & emily lind
sketch:
Cairo, 1970. Mundungus Fletcher [Ben Barnes] is trying to find a magical artifact. He runs into Miss Nott [Nicola Peltz]. Both are stuck in the tumb.
Moderator - My Witch
"Starstruck"
Original gifs by @kamillahn
Aleksander Morozova x Reader
NSFW
Warnings: Praise kink, size kink, mentions of semi public sex, bit of a choking kink, bit of manipulation (come on guys, this is the darkling here), mild self esteem issues.
After a night of drinks with friends in a strange country, you let a tall, dark and handsome stranger take you home. The next morning, you discover you slept with a super star.
MY MASTERLIST | BUY ME A DRINK
You tried not to make a sound as you scouted the bedroom for your underwear. The early morning glow filtering through the blinds that in your enthusiasm you had failed to close, provided you with barely enough light to find your sparkly dress, but your cream colored panties, so close in shade to the plush carpet under your feet, were another thing completely. Giving up, you sighed, getting up from the floor. It was useless, the panties were probably as ruined as the torn thighs in your hands anyway. Tall, dark and handsome please-call-me-Sasha had been very thorough in his wreckage of you the night before.
Leaving such a path of destruction behind was apparently, exhausting, because said man was currently snoring softly, hugging his pillow, looking far too innocent for someone who had done such wicked things to you in that very same bed -not to mention the elevator, or the ride home, or the bathroom bar before that- not even a handful of hours ago, and far too beautiful for your poor heart. Tearing your eyes away from that angelic sight was almost as hard as tearing yourself from his arms five minutes before, but you forced yourself to do it. He wasn't yours to keep, and though he had been very passionate about you last night, who knew what his reaction to you would be in the harsh light of day.
You told yourself it wasn't cowardice, you simply would rather to keep your memory of him and your perfect one night stand like that, perfect than have it tainted by the regret in his face when he woke up to... well, you. You also told yourself it wasn't a self esteem issue either, you considered yourself an average, moderately attractive woman. The thing was, he wasn’t moderately attractive. He was drop dead, hollywoodesque, carved by the gods cliché level of hot.
Yes, better to save yourself and him the awkwardness of the morning after and leaving before he woke up. Besides, you had a day full of bridesmaid duty ahead of you, the sooner you could get back to your hotel, the better.
If only you could find your other boot...
And maybe a hoodie or something to borrow, you didn't mind (much) the walk home in last night's dress, but you didn't really fancy to freeze in the glaciar air of Ravkan early spring mornings either.
It looked like divine providence when you located both items in the reading nook by the window, all you needed to do was navigate around Sasha's side of the bed without waking him, and the task didn't seem a difficult one, considering all you had to do was walking barefoot on a very plushy rug to the other side of the room. In a couple of seconds, your treasure was within reach and you were bending down to grab your elusive left boot, grey knitted hoodie already in hand, when you saw it.
There, greater than life, staring right back at you through the windowpane from a gigantic billboard across the street, was your one night stand's face. Sure, the hair was longer, darker and the beard was thicker but there was no possible mistake, no chance of it being a simple, if uncanny, resemblance. Not when that face sported the same cupid's bow, the same onix eyes, hell, the same freaking beauty mark under his left eye. And it was really dramatic too, his tall figure, all clad in black in medieval period clothes, huge green characters against a dark background announcing "Aleksandr Morozov is The Dark One". Your limited knowledge of the Cyrillic alphabet prevented you from reading the name of the movie but one thing was clear: This wasn't a small or independent production, this was big, this was mainstream, a lot of money had to be involved for such a massive sized campaign. And for him to be the focus of it, for his name, albeit unknown to you, to be advertised like that, as big as the name of the movie, it could only mean that his name had weight, that it was as important as the movie or show they were promoting.
You had slept with a freaking movie star.
Suddenly, the luxury surrounding you was so conspicuous, so glaringly obvious you wondered how you hadn't noticed before. The soft hoodie in your hands was high quality cashmere, the luscious carpet under your feet probably real fur, the books lining the bookshelves, precious first editions.
Jesus, had the opulent car that had taken you there the night before been his car, his chauffeur instead of an Uber ride like you had originally thought?
You were so stunned, so lost in thought, you didn't even notice your date was awake, until a hand shot through the air, quick as a whip, catching your wrist.
In two movements, you were flat on the bed, sleepy, irresistibly disheveled, completely naked Aleksandr Morozov hovering over you.
"Where do you think you're going, malyshka?"
In complete disconnect from your still short circuiting brain, melting twice over because he was there, so handsome and so close -and had you mentioned, naked?- you opened your mouth.
"You're famous"
A beat of silence. Then two. Until he finally grinned, easy and charming and handsome as the devil.
"I am. Is that a problem?"
He said it casually, smirk still firm on his face, but his eyes betrayed him. There was something guarded, something almost sad about them then, something that made your gut twist with guilt, your cheeks heat with embarrassment.
"No, of course not!" You scoffed, searching for the right words to reassure, to comfort.
But he was already over it, if the way he dived to kiss your neck was any indication, as the hand not braced against the mattress stroked the contours of your body, skimming the side of your breast, caressing the curve of your hip, splaying on the outside of your thigh, down and down until his fingers found your knee, hooking on the back of it to bend your leg around his slim hips as they pushed your thighs apart.
"I- I have to go…" You stammered as his hand found its way to the inside of your thigh.
"Do you, now?" Was that amusement in his voice?
“Yes. Ana, my friend, is getting married the day after tomorrow and I can't just bail on her when-” He swallowed the rest of your sentence, kissing you, open mouthed and slow, managing to make it dirty and sweet at the same time. Sensual.
You couldn't remember anyone kissing you quite like that before, with such artistry, such abandon. As if the kiss wasn't a preamble or a means to an end, but a sexual act in and of itself.
“You taste like my toothpaste” He growled into your mouth, before slipping his tongue past your lips again, chasing the flavor, hips undulating against yours so languidly, so softly, you doubted he was even aware he was doing it.
You hated yourself for ending the kiss even as your lungs burned from lack of oxygen, but as you broke it and let air fill your lungs, so did your head fill with clarity and you remembered the long day of bridesmaid duty you had ahead of you.
“Im sorry, I really am” You lamented, sincerely, “I'd love nothing more than staying and spending the morning with you, but I really have to go”
Aleksander didn't seem to hear it, though, staring intently at you, index finger tracing the line of your brow, the bridge of your nose, your cheekbone, as if trying to commit your face to memory.
“Sasha? Sasha! Are you even listening to me?”
Aleksander shook his head,
“Sorry” He didn't sound sorry at all, “It's just, you are truly beautiful in the daylight”
You felt your cheeks get warm again, so you buried your face against his neck, the way his breath hitched not escaping your notice. So, his neck was sensitive, interesting.
No, you couldn't let yourself get distracted again. You had to return to your life, had to get out of there before things could get any further. It was one thing to sleep with the sexiest man you had ever met under cover of darkness, with alcohol blurring his perception and your inhibitions. To let him fuck you completely sober in broad daylight was an entire different beast.
“I mean it, Sasha, I have to go”
He let his whole body weight fall on you, trapping you under him.
“I'm afraid I can't let you go, malyshka” He replied, not looking at you anymore, focused instead on the place where his hands were pushing up your already short dress till it was indecently bunched around your hips.
“Why not?” You questioned, even as you let his fingers slide between your legs, find the wetness already seeping there for him. He didn't comment on your lack of underwear, which made you suspect he knew exactly what had happened to your panties and their whereabouts.
"Because" He started as his index and middle fingers grazed your slit, coating them on your slick before coming up to rub circles on your clit, a rhythmic, electrifying friction sending sparks up your abdomen in record time, "I'm supposed to be dating my co-star, and as much as I like this pretty little dress of yours, if a paparazzi or a fan sees you leave my house in it, we'll both be in big trouble…"
Your hand was on his wrist in an instant, trying, inefficiently, to halt his movements.
"Wait, you have a girlfriend??"
“It's not real, moya malyshka” He appeased, soothingly petting your head in a deeply patronizing gesture, “it's all make believe, publicity for the show”
Offended by his condescension, you batted the hand still patting your hair away, but he chose that moment to breach your entrance, just barely, only burying his fingers to the first knuckle, yet enough to send a wave of pleasure through your lower belly.
“I'm only asking you to have a little patience,” You tried to focus on his words but it was really hard when he kept teasing your entrance like that, penetrating you less than an inch at a time and withdrawing his fingers again, only to caress your labia, your slit, your clit with a butterfly's wing pressure. “Just wait here until I can call my assistant to bring you some casual clothes, so if someone sees you leave here, at least it won't be so obvious you spent the night…” He rolled your clit between the pads of his fingertips then, making your eyes roll back. “Just a couple of hours, what do you say, pretty girl? I promise I'll make it worth your while…”
It did sound like a logical course of action, you were sure that made sense, or as much sense you could make of something with his hands driving you to distraction like that.
“Just… just a couple of hours?” It was pretty early anyway, your friends would probably sleep till noon, nursing their own hangovers, they wouldn't even notice your absence.
“Just a handful of hours” He brought his thumb to the mix, ghosting it over your most sensitive nub of nerves.
“Oh… ok” You sighed, giving in.
“There's a good girl” You could hear the smirk in his voice but couldn't find it in yourself to care, not when he rewarded you by burying his fingers inside you to the hilt wasting no time in starting to pump them in and out, thumb rubbing at your clit expertly, multiplying your pleasure to eleven right then and there. He seemed to relish in the noises leaving your throat, whispering praises in your ear, sending goosebumps down your spine. “That's it, just like that, let me take care of you. I can make it good for you… let me make it good for you…”
“Yes…”
His strokes changed then, exploring, searching your tight, wet heat for something. You knew the moment he found it because sparks exploded behind your eyelids, making you whimper and moan, and writhe. He pinned your hips to the bed with his other hand, keeping you in place as he intensified his assault, picking up the pace.
It was almost embarrassing, how quickly you had become such a mess in his hands.
"So beautiful… so responsive… God, you're perfect"
You had never been one for praise kink, but his words in that voice, so deliciously husky with desire, was doing something to you. Something that obliterated your brain function better than any drink ever did.
"Yeah, just like that… ride my hand just like that, looks so sexy… Fucking sexiest thing I have ever seen…"
You had no idea when you had started following the movements of his fingers with your hips but you were glad he liked it; you didn't think you could stop if you tried, you were too close, too far gone.
"Wanna see you ride my cock just like that… think you can do that for me, malyshka?"
You nodded not really processing his words, you would have done anything he asked of you at that moment, that was why it was so disorienting to suddenly find your positions reversed, with him laying on the bed on his back, and you manhandled until you were straddling his lap.
"Are you ready for it, malyshka?"
A quick look down told you you weren't. Objectively, you knew you had already managed it the night before, but you hadn't seen it. Now, faced with the dimensions, the sheer girth of the appendage he called his dick, you froze.
Obviously, Aleksander noticed your hesitation.
"I know, printsessa, I know. It's too big for you isn't it?"
You felt yourself nodding, eyes drawn back to where his hand was stroking his length leisurely. You had the distinct impression he was showing off for you. Bastard.
"But you can take it, I know you can. You took it so well last night…" There it was again, that damned praising that made you want to do anything he said, fly yourself to the moon and back, only to get to hear that sinful voice call you a good girl again. So you let him notch the flared head of his cock to your entrance but didnt push inside, letting you take control, take your time, which you were grateful for because the stretch of his tip alone felt like almost too much, soaked and eager as you were.
You lowered yourself slowly, feeling every inch, every ridge and vein, watching in satisfaction as his eyes rolled back inside his head, as his hands flew to your asscheeks like he needed the purchase. Like he was as affected as you were. The little groans leaving his mouth motivated you to keep going whenever the strain threatened to be too much, until you were sat flush to his pelvis. You took a moment, then, as much to get used to him, to the feeling of being filled to the brim by his massive cock, as to center yourself.
When you finally felt ready to start moving, you opened your eyes to find him staring up at you, slack-jawed, as if awestruck, as if he couldn't believe such a tight fit either. Rocking your hips just a little proved enough for his mouth to fall open completely, the most pornographic sound you had ever heard resonating through the room and searing itself onto your brain.
This man was going to be the death of you.
“Just like that… fuck, you feel so good”
You wanted to tell him the same, wanted to tell him how incredible his cock felt inside of you but your voice was stuck in your throat, mouth open, fixed in a silent oh. Your silence didn't deter him though, because he kept whispering dirty nothings as your hips picked up their rhythm, hands grabbing at your thighs, your ass, your hips, everywhere he could reach that was unimpeded by your dress, adding fuel to the fire already burning low on your belly thanks to the maddening friction of his pubic hair scraping your sensitive clit as you rocked on top of him.
It wasn't enough.
To be stuffed full of him, to have his mesmerized attention, his hands on you. No, you were greedy, hungry. You wanted more. You wanted everything.
So you took the hem of your sequined dress and lift it over yourself, revealing all of your body to Aleksanders ravenous gaze.
“Ara, moya malyshka… yes, take it all off!” Aleksanders hands flew immediately to your ribcage, traveling up to seize your breasts, squeezing the handfuls and making your head fall back in pleasure. “I knew youd look beautiful sitting on my cock, krasotka…”
“Sasha…” You managed to plead.
“Do you need something, malyshka?”
You nodded.
“Do you need more? Do you need me to fuck you?”
“Yes” you were not above begging, “Sasha, please…”
He didn't reply with words, instead, he snaked an arm around your back, holding you to him as he sat up and started moving you up and down his cock one handed, the other cupping your face, holding you in place as he devoured your lips. Your own fingers searched, blindly, gripping at his dark locks, trapping him as much as he was trapping you, if only to have something to brace yourself against the slight sting of being stretched almost to your limit, the abrasion of his cock pistoning in and out of you, reaching deep, impossible deeper with every upward thrust.
“Sasha…” You exhaled into his mouth, and he breathed it in, as drunk with passion as you felt, little moans in tandem with yours.
You could feel it building already, every impact of his thighs against your ass, of his pubic bone against your clit hurtling you up higher and higher, a climb that almost frightened you, you weren't sure you would survive the fall.
But there was no stopping it, no way to fight it, not when Aleksander let go of your mouth just to lock his lips around one of your nipples, sucking and nibbling with far less skill, far less self control than he had shown as he fingers you open, biting on your little nub with enough force to hurt, to really send a sharp pang of pain that echoed through your body mixing and blurring with the pleasure until you didn't know which was which, until you didn't know if you wanted to lean into it or get away.
The decision was made for you (or maybe there was never a decision to make) anyway, as his thrusts found that elusive little spot his fingers had already conquered before, and you were falling, abruptly and unprepared, coming with such force you thought you'd might break apart, come undone at the seams, shattered by the force of an orgasm so powerful even Aleksander felt it, hissing at the vice like grip of your cunt strangling his cock as your climax rippled through you.
"Fuck! Just like that, come all over my cock, Malyshka, give it to me, let me feel it…"
You could tell he was close too, his movements faster, more erratic and found that you wanted it, wanted to feel him come inside you, feel him fall apart with you.
So you reach out, wrapping your hands around his neck, and squeezed, crushing his pipeline, until his words were nothing more than an unintelligible wheezing, until his eyes widened and his face went red with lack of oxygen.
Until you felt his cock pulsate inside you and the liquid warmth of his come paint your womb.
You collapsed on the bed in a tangle of limbs, chest to chest, heartbeats pounding in unison, both shipwrecked by the intensity of what had just happened.
"You know," You panted, after a few minutes, "If your evil masterplan was using sex to stop me from leaving… it totally worked, I can't even move my legs''
His only response was a far too self satisfied laugh.
***
"Are you sure, Ivan?"
You were standing naked on the heated tiles of Aleksander's bathroom, tapping away on your phone as he ran a bath for both of you (you had insisted on a shower at first since it would have been quicker, but one glance at his colossal labradorite bathtub had obliterated all your resistance). The entire bridal party had watched you leave the impromptu Bachelorette's with "the Aleksandr Morozov lookalike" and were now demanding details, the dirtier the better.
"... and there isn't anything you can do? Well, can't you ask Alina for help?"
That name you did know: Alina Starkova's face was everywhere, starring in the campaigns of every luxury brand from Bvlgari to Lancome. You simply had thought she was a new supermodel, up until half an hour ago you had no idea she was an actress, let alone Sasha's co-star and fake girlfriend.
That you were absolutely not jealous of. No, if the name made you lift your eyes from your phone screen, it was mere interest. No pang of annoyance or anything else remotely unpleasant. That was ridiculous, you didn't even know the woman.
Aleksander was pacing the bathroom, as naked as you but somehow managing to still look regal af, even as he closed his eyes and pinched at the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"Fine. No, seriously, it's ok…" the rest of his sentence was spoken in a ravkan so fast you had no hope of translating, but when he was done, he put his own phone away and turned to you.
"Was that your assistant?"
"Yeah, Ivan" He confirmed, sighing, "I'm sorry, malyshka, but apparently there's a handful of paparazzi camping on my doorstep, I'll have to ask you to stay a little while longer while we figure out what to do about them" He sounded sincerely apologetic, "You don't have to say yes, of course, and I would never force you to stay, but you would really, really spare me a scandal if you do"
You frowned, and his face fell even further.
"You keep calling me that, but I don't know what it means"
It was his turn to frown a little, in confusion,
"What? Malyshka?"
You nodded. He smiled, just a little bit, taking a step towards you, into your personal space.
"It means 'babygirl'"
You scrunched up your nose,
"So what, I'm supposed to call you 'daddy' in return?"
"Of course not," He replied, wrapping his arms around you, "just call me papa"
"Ugh, no way!" You batted away at his chest, but couldn't disguise the smile trying to break free. If it was a little goofy, well, no one had to know "I'm not calling you that, you dirty old man!"
"We'll see…" He shrugged, noncommittal, before bending to kiss your smirk off your face, "Wait, so, you're not mad?"
You shook your head, rising to your tiptoes to kiss him again.
"Nah, it just means we have more time in the bathtub" He hummed at that, hand on the small of your back traveling lower. "To wash!" You admonished. He didn't look chastised at all. "And after that… you can make me breakfast"
His smile was real this time, big and open.
"Of course, anything you want… Papa will give his malyshka everything she wants"
"Ew, stop!"
His laughter filled the bathroom, and your heart, with warmth.
The end?
THE DARKLING
