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Summary: I need to get this one out of my system. Please let me write a rambling fic about sad, broken Victor Frankenstein returning for some redemption and being a good person after all, thank you. (~4k, 18+, tub sex, minor/ non-plot details from the movie ahead)
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There’s no way this man, Victor Frankenstein, is a Baron. He sounds educated, yes, but he might be deranged.
“Tell me again,” Victor says, his dark eyes wild in the firelight of the inn.
He leans forward, his long beard and hair reflecting the warm light. You see a faint scar on the bridge of his nose and his eyes are a bit hollow under his heavy lids. He’d walked with a limp when he’d entered the room and asked for you.
Victor sits almost in the doorway from the main room out into the hallway, with his gun in arm’s reach, as if to guard you. From what, you have no idea.
You’d started working here only during this autumn season. The road that passes by is rarely used once the snow starts, but your aunt and uncle still keep the place open, just in case.
They have no children of their own and they’d said if you got married, you could inherit. So, you’d journeyed out here to the mountains to learn their trade, and hopefully, take a liking to one of the men who passed by.
So far, you’ve only seen two. One so strange you’re not sure he was a man at all. And this one, Victor, who’s insane.
“It was just after the first deep snow fall,” you tell him again. “A tall man, strangely tall. He moved with an eerie grace, and had enough strength to pull a fully loaded wagon with one hand. He slept in the stable with the horses and mice, mended our fences and the barn doors. I put out some food and clothing the few days he was here and then he vanished. It was so cold he kept himself wrapped up. I didn’t see his face.”
Victor’s eyes pierce into yours. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“Of course not.”
He sags with relief. “Good. He can be violent. Then again, so am I sometimes.”
You glance toward the kitchen, where you know your uncle is.
“I don’t mean to alarm you,” Victor says apologetically. “I spoke out of turn. I’m sorry. I would sooner slit my own throat than do you harm. Did it speak to you?”
“Very little and with difficulty.”
Victor hums. “He’s more creature than man. I’m glad you didn’t get too close to it.”
“Are you hunting him?” you ask uneasily.
Victor sits back in the chair, slightly less manic looking than before. “We’re hunting each other. Whatever it takes. To the ends of the Earth if we must.”
There’s such melancholy in his voice that you reach out before you even realize it. Your hand covers Victor’s for a brief second before he pulls away. His face hardens to ice. It doesn’t scare you. Instead, you feel a warmth in your heart towards him.
“I don’t deserve your kindness.” He stands suddenly, picking his cane up from where it rests against the wall. “Neither does the creature. If he comes back, don’t show him a shred of decency. Run. As far and as fast as you can. Run away from it.”
Victor gathers his heavy, fur coat.
“You paid for a room. Aren’t you staying?”
He shakes his head. “You should’ve run from me too. I’m not decent enough for you, or for honest people like your aunt and uncle. I’ll push on.”
He takes a deep, tired breath before turning to look at you. Under the mess of hair, you can tell there’s a handsome face.
“When I leave, lock your doors,” he says.
“We always do at night. My uncle says an open door is the devil’s invitation.”
A grim smile spreads on Victor’s face. “Yes, some devils can’t help themselves, can they? Not when they see an angel like you.”
He doesn’t seem crazy to you anymore. He seems hurt and lost. There’s a sad mix of anger and despair in his every move.
You step closer to him, handing him his hat. “Baron Frankenstein, pardon me for saying this, but you don’t seem well. You barely touched your supper. Just stay for a few hours rest. I’d happily warm bathwater for you.”
“You dear, dear thing,” Victor says with a softness you didn’t know he possessed. He raises a shaky hand and brushes his knuckles along your cheek. “You don’t even know what kind of heaven you are to a man like me. Yet, I’m so damned that even looking at you hurts.”
Your face turns into his hand. For a man of such high birth, he has callouses. You wonder what his story is. How did someone so intelligent and civilized come to be so… unhinged?
His leans closer. You feel his warm breath on your skin and see his beautiful eyelashes blink at you.
“I’ve never met a woman who made me feel like this.” He looks pained, longing plain on his face.
“Feel like what?” you ask, breathless.
Victor doesn’t answer. He only whispers, “lock your doors, my angel.”
He turns, his boots and cane echoing through the empty room.
*****
The year’s first snowfall and the end of your first full year at the inn.
You’ve learned well, even if you’ve no husband yet to show for it.
The days are short, but you don’t mind sweeping by firelight in the main room. You hum as you work. Back and forth. Back and forth. The work is soothing, if a little lonely.
Knock, knock, knock.
Your aunt and uncle are asleep on the top floor. You shouldn’t answer the door without them.
Knock, knock, knock.
But they don’t refuse anyone, especially on a cold, dark night. This is an inn after all.
You set aside the broom, take off your apron, and go to the door.
“Baron Frankenstein!” Astonished, you step aside so he can come inside. “How are you?”
He looks the same, physically. A bit haggard, thick curls of dark hair on his head and jaw. He’s too thin, but he seems lighter. Not happy exactly, but not angry anymore.
“I’m much changed,” Victor says as he bends his head to you respectfully. “You, thankfully, have not changed at all. As beautiful a vision as you have been in my dreams and thoughts.”
Snow dots his beard, but melts quickly as he enters the inn. Your heart beats fast.
His dark eyes shine at you through the dark. “It was nearly a year ago that I paid for a room. I didn’t use it then, but tonight perhaps, if you’ve space…”
“There’s no one here but us,” you smile. “Oh, I mean, and my aunt and uncle of course. Upstairs. We’re not alone completely.”
Embarrassment floods your body.
“I’ll do nothing untoward, I promise.” Victor takes off his bulky coat.
He walks into the big, main room and sits near the fire. You sit at the chair across from him, as you had last year.
Victor sweeps his hair back from his face. “I don’t suppose you know how to cut a man’s hair?”
You give him an awkward smile. “No, but you can ask my aunt tomorrow. Although, I rather like your hair.”
“Do you now?” His eyes sparkle at you. “Then perhaps just a trim of the beard and I’ll leave the rest. For you.”
You look away, embarrassed.
Victor takes off his gloves and neatens his coat. He pats his right leg and you realize that he wears a partial prosthetic. That’s why he limps. He seems young to have lost a limb, but the war has created all sorts of wounds.
Victor doesn’t look like a fighter, but there’s a fierce determination about him. You’ve thought about him daily. Now, here he sits, and he’s more a mystery than ever.
He smiles softly. “Do you still have it?”
You nod, unable to flirt and lie like the ladies he’s probably used to.
“Show me,” he says.
You pull the heavy signet ring from under your dress, where you’d threaded it through a long leather cord. He’d pressed the ring into your hand before he’d left last year. You haven’t taken it off since.
Victor’s breath catches. You see him swallow thickly as he leans forward, one hand outstretched.
You yank, breaking the thin leather strap. Victor flinches.
“No, I don’t want it back,” he says. “You keep it.”
“It’s much too fine, and very old. It belongs to your family.”
You try to give it back, but Victor’s hand engulfs yours, curling your fingers around the ring.
“I gave it to you to remember me by. It was a gift,” he says thoughtfully. “I still can’t believe I’m alive to see you again.”
“You and the creature, did you find each other?” you ask tentatively.
“Yes.” Victor’s voice is thin, almost frail. “I almost died. It would’ve been what I deserved. He showed me mercy. More mercy than I ever showed him.”
You open your hand, the signet ring in your palm. Victor takes the ring and slips it onto your finger. It’s too large. He raises your hand and kisses the back.
“Will you let me draw you a hot bath this time?” you ask him.
He smiles. “I’d like that. I haven’t felt clean in years, but I would like to be, for you. And to meet your aunt and uncle. I hope they won’t object to my spending more time with you.”
You’re unsure what to say. He’s a Baron and a gentleman. Yes, he’s odd, but rich people are allowed to be so. You’re no one. This inn is all you’ve ever hoped for yourself.
“I see you have doubts,” Victor says. He glances around the room, as if to reassure himself that you’re alone. “Perhaps every man who comes to the inn proposes to you the instant he lays eyes on your precious form. Perhaps you’ve a man waiting upstairs, one whose privilege it is to call you ‘wife.’”
A laugh escapes you. “Hardly, Baron.”
“Victor,” he says, “I would be very honored if you would call me Victor.”
His fingers toy with yours.
“I’ve not much money to speak of, considering the fortunes my family used to have,” he says, “but I’m not destitute. I have journals I want to write into books, and I’m a surgeon by trade.”
“You’re a great man. You don’t belong here, Victor,” you tell him gently.
His brown eyes are huge and sad. “I belong nowhere, my angel. I’m only trying to make myself useful to you.”
“To me?” you ask, surprised. “I’m flattered.”
His fingers crawl up your hand, to your wrist where he strokes your skin with a careful touch. “Don’t be flattered. I’m no prize. The one thing I’m capable of, however, is singular devotion. In my youth, I was devoted to my own ego. Then, to anger and malice that were still, in a way, quite self-serving. The moment I saw you, I was struck with a certainty I haven’t felt since I was a child. You were mine. I knew it.
“I left to pursue the creature, but also to keep you away from me and any harm I might bring. It was perhaps the first unselfish thing I’ve ever done. To find that you’ve kept this ring, and worn it so close to your heart, rather than sell it. Well, it is I who is flattered. The man I used to be wasn’t fit to hold your hand, let alone ask for it. I’m not yet worthy of you, but at least I don’t bring death with me now.”
The shadow that hangs on Victor weighs down his words. He’s an old soul now, even if he hadn’t always been so.
“You don’t mean to speak in riddles, but I don’t understand.” You hope he’s comfortable sharing his past with you eventually. It’s obviously difficult for him.
You brush your fingers along his forehead, pushing his hair behind his ear. He looks exhausted.
“Let me warm your bathwater.” You rise, gathering your skirt in one hand and grabbing Victor’s hand with the other.
You take him to the room off of the kitchen, where a big, metal tub waits. You work in quiet comfort, heating the water, handing buckets to Victor to add. You set out a tray of soap and a clean towel.
Victor takes off his coat, revealing a dirty shirt, buttons at the top missing. It gives you a tantalizing view of skin, but the pitiful sight of him hurts your heart.
“Set your clothes outside the door. I’ll wash and mend them,” you say, pity overcoming you.
Without a thought, he strips his shirt off over his head. You gasp quietly and turn away.
“I didn’t mean now,” you scold him.
You hear him chuckle behind you. “I’m a wild animal, my angel. Forgive me, but now that the bath is ready I can’t wait another moment.”
You hear the rustle of fabric as Victor keeps undressing. You should leave. This is absolutely beyond improper, even if you are- you have no idea what you are.
Victor had said you were his. That he’d felt it.
This past year, you’ve thought only of him. Worried for him. Despaired you’d never see him again. Every night, you’d held his signet ring as you fell asleep.
Now, he’s here with you again. It seems silly to pretend you can treat him like any other guest at the inn.
You wait until the sound of water settles before you cautiously turn back to him. His clever eyes track your movements as you bend to pick up his clothes.
“Don’t stare at me while you’re in the tub and naked,” you say, fighting a smile.
“I can’t help but stare at you. You’re a vision.”
You shake your head at him, handing him the washing cloth. He takes it and dips it in the water. His strong hands give the cloth a squeeze before he starts running it up and down his arms. He re-wets it, then rubs it along his shoulders and his neck. The cloth moves across his chest, then down below the water. You can see the white fabric traveling lower and lower.
“Now who’s staring?” Victor says playfully.
You clear your throat and fold his dirty clothes. “I should go.”
“Why? You’re here now, and I think there’s no sin in it. You’ll see it all eventually anyway.” Victor dunks down into the tub, soaking his hair and beard. When he surfaces, he runs the soap in his hands and works it through his hair. It’s such a curly, wet mess though, he doesn’t make much progress.
“Here. Let me.” You bring a stool closer and take the soap from his hands.
Victor’s hair is soft and tangled. You gently work through it. You swear you see tears in his eyes.
“Has it been a long time since someone cared for you?” you ask.
“You’ve no idea,” he says with a rueful smile, “but I haven’t deserved it in many years.”
You help him rinse his hair, smiling at how the bath has almost transformed him.
You dip your hand in the water and Victor’s hand grabs yours. Your eyes widen.
He does no more than lay your hand flat on his chest, though. His heart beats steadily under your palm. He looks up at you, wetting his lips.
It’s wrong to take off your dress and get into the tub with him. His warm, slick skin slides against yours as you sit next to him, half draped over him. You keep your thigh down and away from what you have no business touching, but you can do nothing about the way your chest presses against his side.
He touches you with absolute reverence, holding you as if you’re the most valuable thing there is. His heart beats stronger against your hand.
You smile up at him.
“You like your affect on me.” The corners of Victor’s eyes crinkle. “I’m happy to give you all the reaction you wish. I’ve never seen or held anything more beautiful than you.”
“Have you touched so many bodies?” you ask, teasing him.
He looks distressed for a moment, stricken with pain, before he realizes you’re joking.
“Victor,” you say.
His chest rises and falls in a sigh. “I love the way you say my name, and yes, my angel, I’ve touched many bodies. In the name of science and medicine, once upon a time.”
“You were good at it?”
He nods. “Too good.”
“You’re very young to retire to the country and become an innkeeper.” You trace your fingers along the smooth, taut skin of his chest.
Victor smiles, his fingertips skirting down your side and along your hip. “I’m not so young anymore. I’ll leave you to handle the customers. I’m not much for talking to strangers. I can’t cook worth a damn, but I can keep this place in good running order. I’m not afraid of manual labors. I’d like to have a house built for us away from the inn, though. To have you all to myself outside of work.”
You shift to lie more on top of him, so you can look into his deep, dark eyes. “You’re serious about staying.”
He looks almost hurt. “I am. I would never take advantage of you and then leave. I’m done running. Will you have me?”
Though you don’t know each other well, your answer is immediate.
“You’re a strange man, Victor Frankenstein, but yes, I will have you.”
You raise your face and Victor kisses you. He wastes no time deepening the kiss, his lips caressing yours, his tongue tasting your mouth. He moans quietly.
“If you only knew what a selfish bastard I used to be, you wouldn’t let me anywhere near you.” He kisses your cheek and jaw, then down your neck. His hands hold you tighter around your waist, pulling you closer, to straddle him under the water.
You bite at his bottom lip and he pulls you against him, the heat of his cock against you for the first time. He’s so hard you can’t help but rock against him.
Water sloshes out of the tub.
“Please,” Victor chokes out, “I can hardly keep control. If you want to wait until we’re married, you must be still.”
“I don’t want to wait.”
“Thank God.” Victor laughs. “I would rather this be in bed, but you’re so tempting like this. Every part of you is wet and warm.”
Victor’s fingers are as talented as you dreamed. He knows how to coax you to accept one, then two of his fingers. He curls them, stroking at you from the inside until you whine and moan. His eyes are locked onto yours.
“There you are, my angel. Come for me.” His eyes are half-closed in his own pleasure as he brings you to yours.
You bite hard on your lip to keep from screaming as orgasm crashes over you. Your nails dig into his skin and your thighs crush his hand. Just as it abates, he pushes inside of you.
“Victor,” you moan against his neck, “Victor, please.”
His hips lift and lower, savoring the feel of you. He shudders. “Anything you wish.”
Even through the uncomfortable stretch of his cock inside of you, he knows how to make it good. The friction and the water, his mouth at your breasts, his fingers finding your clit, how he grunts and moans, you can’t imagine more pleasure than this.
You come a second time, dragging Victor with you. He holds you too tightly, but you do the same. Your body clings to him, pulling him deeper.
Victor keeps you close as you both come down from the intensity of your first time together. He tucks your head against his shoulder. He breathes easier than you’ve heard in the short time you’ve known him.
“Did that feel good, my angel?” he teases, his fingers tracing your spine.
“I never knew I could feel all of that. I suppose, as a surgeon, you’re intimately familiar with anatomy,” you say.
“Yes, but I was more concerned with function. I didn’t care much for living or sex. Which is to say, your body will teach me things that I’m very eager to learn. I’ve always been an avid researcher.”
“I promise to be a willing subject.”
“Not a subject,” Victor says seriously. “My wife, the heart and soul I never thought I had, and a gift that I am in no way entitled to.”
He reaches down to the bottom of the tub, where his signet ring had fallen. He puts it back on your finger.
“This will have to do for now. We’ll make a short trip back to Geneva in the spring. I have to close the estate. I don’t think I’ll bring much of my old life back with us, but my mother’s ring would look much better on your marriage finger than this,” Victor says.
The love he feels for his mother is clear. The sadness in his eyes tells you, though, that she’s gone.
“Tell me about her,” you ask softly.
A smile whispers under his beard. “I haven’t spoken of her in years, but I would love for you to know her as I did.”
Victor shares joyful, happy stories as you dry off and clean up the room. You make him a simple plate of bread and cheese, with a big glass of milk on the side.
You sneak him into your room, unable to let go of him. That night, Victor clings to you as if you’re the only safe port in the world’s most violent storm. He wakes shaky and fearful.
Victor’s stories turn darker, blacker than the night that permeates your room. The truth of what he’d done. The horror he’d inflicted on the world, and on the poor wretch he’d created. It all sounds too fantastical to be true, but his grief is so pronounced you don’t doubt him.
His big eyes are unblinking as he recounts his tale. His tone is taut and tense, but his words soften when he speaks of journeying to the northern wilds, and of the forgiveness he found there. The forgiveness that allowed him to come back to you.
He kisses your hands over and over, then your face, and the rest of your body. He lavishes praise on every bit of your skin.
“I’ll not waste a second chance at life,” he whispers to you in the dark. “I’ll always count my fortunes, that the creature paused here on his journeys, and so then, I had to meet you as well. It seems I have much to thank him for if we ever meet again. I’m sure he sensed your good heart and that’s why he stopped here.”
“This is the only place for miles and miles. He had to stop,” you say, not wanting Victor to put you too high in his esteem.
He’s not deterred. “No, my angel, it was your light that brought me. I’ll not hear otherwise. It is my purpose now, to praise you, and my right, as your betrothed.”
“You’re very bossy,” you point out.
“I’m the most flawed man there is, but for the first time, I am a happy one.”
Victor kisses your forehead and down your nose, ending at your lips. The soft hair of his beard tickles your face.
He pulls you cozy against him and you drift off to sleep together. No more nightmares, no more terrible stories. This is a happy ending for both of you, one neither will take for granted.
Victor masterlist :: main masterlist :: Join My Fic Taglist
Laurent finds you during a difficult time of the month, he wants to help you feel better.
Themes: period sex, f!reader, reader has rough periods, fingering, pinv, a silly amount of whimpering, praise kink in full swing
A.N.: this was fully self indulgent while my own uterus was trying to kill me, hope y’all can indulge as well 😘 special thank you to @ominoose for the beta read & encouragement 🥰
You were used to Laurent visiting you almost every night. But it’d been a couple weeks without a word… Worry gnawed at your gut along with wave after wave of pain. Menstruation had never been easy for you and it appeared this month would be no different.
You laid in bed, body too drained of energy to stand let alone work in the shoppe below. Another washed over your stomach and lower back as you heard footsteps approaching the door.
“I already told you I can’t work today.” Your shout twisted to a whimper. A gentle knock wrapped against the wood. “I said -“ your wrecked shout cut short as your gaze landed in the figure in the doorway. “Laurent…”
“Don’t worry I snuck in through the back.” He offered a soft smile as he locked your bedroom door. “Thought this may help.” He set a paper bag down on the edge of the bed.
You shuffled forward with a groan and opened it, “Yarrow… where did you-“
“At the market, though I think the woman who sold it to me was a witch.” He grimaced for a moment before he smirked. “Figured a lock of my hair was a fair trade, she wouldn’t do anything weird with it do you think?” His smirk turned to a grin as he leaned in to kiss your cheek.
“Laurent what if-“ you started to protest before he leaned in again, ending your objection with the soft press of his lips.
“They don’t know I’m here. We’re fine.” He nuzzled your nose with his as he whispered against your lips. “The shoppe is very busy, lots of customers, lots of noise…” his voice trailed off as he kissed down your neck.
“Laurent, please I can’t.” You mewled despite leaning back and uncurling yourself. “It hurts.”
He adjusted, hovering his body over yours “Let me help.” He whispered against your neck as his kisses trailed back up to your lips. A groan grew in your throat, another wave of discomfort washed over. Laurent swallowed the sound slowly, tenderly. “Just trust me.”
You nodded against his lips and laid back fully against the mattress. “Sorry for the -“
“Do not,” Laurent’s voice was low and stern, “don’t you dare apologize.” He nipped your lip and slowly grazed his hand down your stomach, sliding beneath your undergarments.
His fingers circled your clit softly, pulling a whimper from you. “How’s that?” He murmured, you bit your lip and nodded in response. He leaned forward and slotted his mouth against yours again as his touch grew rougher against that sensitive bundle of nerves.
He swallowed another one of your pitiful sounds with a smile as you reached for his wrist. “Ah my love please-“ he shook his head and dipped his tongue into your mouth as his pace quickened. Before you knew it you reached your peak as you clung onto him. The euphoria washed away the painful grip your uterus held you in. “Thank you, thank you.” You groaned as you reveled in the relief.
“Don’t thank me yet, I’m not finished with you.” He nipped your lip with a mischievous grin as he pulled away. He picked through the pile of spare linens you had stored away for your monthly intrusion and wiped his hand clean. He picked through again and grabbed a dark thick towel, “Lift.” He instructed softly as he laid the towel under you. “Now undress…”
Anxiety roiled in your gut while you removed your garments and laid bare before him. “I’m already a mess, if we get caught…”
“We won’t - the door is locked, the shoppe is busy, and you’ve plenty of linen for us to clean up after.” He smirked as he pulled his shirt over his head, the light from your window highlighting his toned tan chest. “You my dear, are out of excuses.” His trousers dropped with a soft thud.
You sighed, he had a talent with removing your feeble reasoning. He always had from the moment you met and he made his first advances. In all the nights you’ve spent tangled together the sight of him throbbing for you never ceased to excite you.
“Now just let me do the work, I intend to draw as much pleasure from you as you can take.“ he shifted onto the bed, lining up his fat tip with your soaked folds. “Deep breath darling.” He coos as he sunk slowly into you. You winced at the stretch of him as the pleasure from your first orgasm faded and pain crept back into your belly. “I know I know, you’re doing so well.” He encouraged as he sunk to the hilt and pressed his body against yours. “I’m sorry I’ve been away - fuck, you’ve gotten so tight.” He groaned.
Your soft whimpers filled his ears as he slowly rolled his hips. “Shhh shhh, just breathe.” He sunk as deep as he could go, his soft curls pressed against your clit. He kissed across your neck and shoulder as his hips churned.
You pressed your lips against his shoulder to stifle a groan. Another wave of pain mixed with the pleasure building from his fluid motions. The fullness of having him fully seated along with the curls along his pelvis pressed against your clit sent you reeling.
You arched, your body plastered against his as he continued his motions. He smiled down at you and quickened his pace. His forehead against yours, carefully watching for any serious signs of pain. “How’s this.” His murmured and pressed harder against you.
Your brow furrowed as you held his gaze. “Good, so good.” You whimpered, the pleasure the pressure brought overwhelmed all other sensations in your exhausted body.
His tender gaze remained locked on every expression as he continued to chase away your pain. “Cum for me darling. I need you to feel good again.” He panted.
That familiar pressure built in your belly as his thrusts continued. His embrace tightened as he felt you tighten. “That’s it, right there.” His hand snaked up behind your neck. You hadn’t realized what his aim was until your climax washed over you, instinctively you bit down on his shoulder. He winced and hissed against the pain but the feeling of your channel fluttering around him sent him over the edge.
There you laid together, whimpering, sweaty, smiling messes as the afterglow washed over. You spent the rest of the afternoon like that. You, handling the waves of pain as best you could. And Laurent, doing his best to take your mind off them with mischievous smiles, his hands, and his cock.
—————-
Y’all I am SO SORRY this took so long to put out but I hope y’all enjoyed it!
Comfort and sex in this combination, just perfect!!!! Laurent putting his talents to good use for sure. Thank you for writing this, and like Mushi said... you have great timing 😆
Summary: As sure as Laurent LeClaire is that he’s gay, he’s sure that you aren’t. He paints a beautiful woman for you to be with and magically, finds himself transformed into her. But when “Lulu” seeks you out to tell you how she feels, Laurent finds that he didn’t need to change himself to capture your heart.
(18+, male!top!reader, mlm, gay sex, having to hide being gay bc of the times, IDK how to tag this: Laurent is gender fluid and gay, sometimes sleeps with women, and… then he’s a woman for awhile bc of magic… but he turns back. Wow. Please don’t @ me about how crazy this is bc I know it makes very little sense, but gender is like that. Some of one, some of the other and it doesn't bother me, ~3.3k)
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Laurent LeClaire sleeps with a new woman every month. Most call him a bohemian painter, free with his body and his love.
The women are his muses and his entertainment. Sleeping with them is a release, but nothing more.
While it’s true that Laurent loves to paint the female form, the male form is much more to his liking when it comes to pleasures of the heart.
It’s difficult enough though, to find buyers and patrons for his art. No one in Paris would support him if he were open about his preferences. So, like many, Laurent hides his true heart in clandestine affairs and quick trysts that are as easily acquired as they are forgotten.
On nights like tonight, he flirts easily with women, his mysterious dark eyes and charm drawing them in like bees to a sweet flower.
Laurent’s painting is the the main focus of a small exhibition at the home of an important lord, recently moved to Paris from the countryside. The man’s wife is more interested in Laurent’s cock than his paintings and Laurent supposes he’ll have to sleep with the woman, just to keep up appearances.
“Laurent,” the lady of the house flutters her lashes, “I wonder if you might like a tour of the upstairs rooms. The art we have up there is really best seen in private.”
With a sigh, Laurent breaks out his charming smile. It’s easy enough to do, and he hopes he can make his body hard enough to satisfy her.
On his way up the stairs, Laurent overhears a conversation, two strangers speaking about his work. Maybe it’s vain, but he pauses to listen.
“I only came here tonight to see LeClaire’s work,” a man’s voice, your voice, says.
“His pieces are sought after, yes, but not really to my taste,” another man says.
“Then you have no taste.” Your tone is clipped and almost rude. “LeClaire’s work has heartbreak and beauty in equal measures. These beautiful women he paints, they’re like false idols. They’re perfect, but something in how they stand... they have almost a masculine aura, despite their feminine beauty. It’s in the eyes.”
“Well, I for one, don’t really look at their eyes,” the other man chuckles. “His way with the female body is what I appreciate most. I’ve heard he has enough experience with it.”
To Laurent’s relief, you don’t laugh.
He catches a glimpse of you. You have on a good suit, neat hair and mustache. A handsome man, yes, but more than that. You’ve seen what Laurent tries to desperately to hide. He’d almost given up hoping he’d find a soul like his, someone to love forever.
In the moment he sees you, he knows.
It’s you.
The other man elbows you and leans in. “I hear you made off with that beauty from last night. Snuck off before the rest of us even had a chance.”
You grin, debonair and chagrined. “Yes, I couldn’t help myself. But last night was last night. You know me, always on to the next conquest.”
This time, you do laugh with the other man and Laurent feels bitter disappointment in his stomach.
It’s just as well, Laurent thinks. He wasn’t really up for the subtle hinting and long game of trying to see if you were interested in men. Better to know right away that he has no chance with you.
He turns around and leaves the party. He can’t be there anymore, pretending to want to impress people he cares nothing for, and pretending to enjoy bedding the woman he’s sure is now waiting naked for him.
Laurent instead goes back to his apartment and studio. Some nights, the poor light is a good inspiration. The struggle to see the details and colors on the canvas feel like a worthy punishment for him, living the lie he does.
He knows just the woman he wants to paint.
She’s not real, but she’s clearer in his head than any woman he’s ever seen. The generous hips and thighs, the slender waist, the elegant and tempting neck, and the waterfall of black hair struggling to be contained in the ribbon holding it together.
The woman Laurent would have to be, for a man like you to love him.
He fantasizes, humming as he paints himself into your life.
Laurent falls asleep on the paint-speckled floor of his studio. It’s not the first time, but unlike the others, this time he tries desperately to stay awake. To keep his eyes open, yearning to be the woman on the canvas. Someone who could tempt you to spend time deep inside of them.
When he wakes, Laurent finds the painting itself was the dream.
The canvas is empty.
Judging by the light it’s mid-morning and Laurent had made plans to have coffee with friends.
Perhaps he can paint the woman for real tonight, he thinks as he gets up from the floor.
But THUD! He gets tangled up and falls back onto his knees.
Why in the world?
He looks down and sees his legs got caught up in his skirts.
His dress.
Her dress.
Laurent scrambles up, grasping for his shaving mirror.
The woman in the painting stares back at him.
*****
You’re buzzing.
Meeting Laurent LeClaire, a man whose worked you’ve admired for months now.
Last night you’d been so close to laying eyes on him and shaking his hand, but even though you’d managed an invitation to the exhibit, the artist himself had left the party early.
You’ve heard he’s as handsome as he is talented.
That’s not why you want to meet him, though.
It isn’t.
Kind of.
Okay.
It is.
You’ve never settled down in one place, but you hope to call Paris home now. You hear they’re more accepting of men like you.
Unfortunately, the only rumors you’ve heard of Laurent are of his many female companions. That was a let down.
Still, romantic love being off the table, maybe there’s room for friendship. At least you can appreciate his talent.
“Excuse me,” a female voice says as she taps your shoulder. “Are you waiting for my brother, Laurent?”
You look up into her dark eyes, surprised. She’s a beauty, and if what you’ve heard of Laurent’s handsomeness is true, this woman is clearly his sister.
“Leiana LeClaire,” she introduces herself, delicately laying her gloved hand in yours.
You rise briefly and sit once she has. “This isn’t the type of establishment I usually see ladies in, but are you an artist as well? I hadn’t heard he had a sister.”
You glance around, but don’t see Laurent.
“I live outside of the city,” Leiana says, “and also an artist. I’m sure you’re disappointed not to meet with him today, but I assure you, I’m better company than my brother.”
You try to keep your face from giving you away, but another missed opportunity is difficult to accept. Like fate is trying to keep you from Laurent.
“It would be silly of me to turn away a lovely woman such as yourself, Ms. LeClaire.”
“Call me Lulu, please” she says, her eyes narrowing just a touch. “I can see you really had your heart set on Laurent.”
Indeed, your heart beats faster at her phrasing. Though you’re sure she doesn’t mean it in any particular way.
“Well, I'm a great admirer of his work. Please, order anything you wish. Perhaps afterward we could take a stroll. There’s a corner around here that Laurent painted, but I haven’t been able to find the one. Well,” you laugh at yourself, “I guess I shouldn’t pester you about it.”
“No, not at all,” Lulu says with a warm smile, “I know it. A friend of his, a prostitute. He painted her smoking in a doorway at night.”
“Yes, that’s the one,” you say enthusiastically.
“The light was beautiful that night. Purple and pink, so bright it flooded the street. Very difficult to capture. I spent all night mixing the colors. Trying and failing to recreate it.” Lulu catches herself. “I mean, Laurent, spent all night sketching and testing colors.”
You tilt your head at her.
She stands quickly, as if to distract both of you. “Why don’t we go for that walk?”
She takes your arm as you exit the cafe, walking a bit closer than appropriate.
True to her word, she takes you to the narrow, cobbled street from the painting. It subtly twists and turns, hardly wide enough to walk arm in arm, the uneven ground meaning Lulu has to hang onto you tightly to keep from tripping. Or perhaps she doesn’t have to, but she’s rather forward.
“So, I hear you were at the party for my brother last night, and another before that. Paris is quite as gay as I’ve heard,” Lulu smiles prettily.
“Very. A woman like yourself won’t lack for suitors,” you say politely, if a bit distracted, thinking of Laurent treading this very path. “And I only go to parties for the art. The party before last, I bought a much coveted piece by a young artist. Something to hold pride of place on my mantel until I manage to get ahold of your brother. Oh- of your brother’s paintings, I mean.”
“Right,” Lulu says thoughtfully, “you don’t go to meet women?”
You look at her, surprised. Forward indeed. “Well, there are all types in Paris. Of women,” you pause for a mere second, “and men. ”
Lulu inhales sharply. She must take your meaning instantly and you’re sure she takes great offense because she pulls her arm away.
“You like men?” she asks more loudly than she should.
“Well, I, um,” you fumble for words.
“Oh you dear man,” she rushes to reassure you, taking your hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just, so glad.”
“You are?” you ask, completely at sea as to what’s happening. “That’s not usually the reaction I receive. It’s why I want to meet Laurent. I know I sound insane, but I understanding his paintings. A blend of masculine and feminine that speaks to me, draws me in like nothing else has. Perhaps I’m only seeing what I wish, though. Since arriving in Paris, I’ve not heard rumor of your brother and I having much in common, in that regard. Perhaps I’m as abnormal here as I was everywhere else.”
“You’re perfectly accepted here," she says.
Her words burrow into your heart immediately. They almost draw tears to your eyes.
“I know a good man when I see one. I’ve enough experience with the bad ones.” Her gloved hand cups your cheek. Her dark eyes shine at you almost lovingly, but then her own hand seems to catch her eye and her smile fades. “Oh no.”
She withdraws her touch, looking down at the fine gloves she wears, the skirt of her dress.
“Lulu, do you need to sit down? A glass of water?” you ask.
She shakes her head, her perfectly curled black hair escaping the ribbon and flowing beautifully around her shoulders. “I’m a woman. Of course, I would finally find a man with whom I could be truly myself and I’m a damned woman.”
Her laughter has no humor in it, but it echoes up and down the alley like a delicate bell.
She rests her hands on her hips, frowning down at the cobblestones. Her bottom lip catches tightly between her teeth.
You try to comfort her. “You’re very attractive. If not me, I’m sure some lucky man-“
She cuts you off with a shake of her head. The toss of her hair catches the light. For some reason, it makes your heart stir.
“Save it,” she says. “I have to try to fix this. I hope to see you tomorrow and if not, well, you might be seeing me employed on this street with my friend the prostitute. I’d probably be quite good at that sort of work, actually.”
“Surely it won’t come to that,” you say, startled by her immediate plan to start prostituting herself.
“If you see Laurent,” Lulu says, deep in thought already, “know this: he would be very glad to know you. Intimately. You’re just the kind of man he’s been waiting for.”
Lulu holds her hand out and shakes it firmly (too firmly) before she darts off, leaving you in utter confusion. A strange woman. You hope that she’ll speak well of you to her brother, and that Laurent isn’t as fickle.
*****
Laurent tries to paint himself as his usual, manly figure. But it doesn’t turn out right.
His manner has always been called “artistic.” He’s never minded being called pretty or sensitive. That he prefers men to enter him and not the other way around has nothing to do with gender, just with what feels good.
Still, he likes his sideburns and the strength of his body. He likes the effect his manly presence has when he enters a room.
But no one’s ever understood him when he’s tried to express how he can feel both man and woman at the same time. How he’d prefer to choose not to be one or the other.
No, he doesn’t want to change his body and be a woman. It was folly to wish it, especially considering you would have accepted him just as he was.
He has a rough sketch of you that he’d done after the party. Hoping it sparks something to set things back, he works on the details of the sketch.
How the light hits your jaw, the slope of your neck, the slight shadow of growth on your chin. Your mustache and nose and, oh, everything.
But it’s after dark now and Laurent feels his heavy eyelids drooping. Sleep calls.
Whatever magic transformed him, they surely won’t be happy with his pitiful efforts to capture the face of the man he loves.
*****
You spend the morning wandering the park near your apartment.
Listless, at loose ends. Hands in your pockets, walking up and down the graveled paths.
It’s stupid to be heartbroken. You’ve never even met the man. You’d lost nothing.
Then why do you feel like this?
Perhaps you should do as a friend had advised you. Find a woman you could settle for, and marry her. You have money, and female friends who might be happy to be the wife of a man like you.
To have only friendship in life, though, when you yearn for so much more… it seems like a punishment, when you’ve committed no crime to begin with.
Lulu. You catch a scent of her.
Your heart sinks.
But it isn’t her.
Laurent.
Now, on the day you’re wearing a rumpled suit and haven’t trimmed your mustache. You’ve been scuffing your shoes through the dirt. Damn it, you’d wanted to look your best.
Especially since Laurent looks perfect, from the top of his jaunty cap to the toes of his neatly tied shoes. His sideburns are thick and frame his face. Drops of paint speckle his hands, but you wouldn’t have him any other way.
He has a huge smile on his face and his hand already out.
“Mr. LeClaire,” you say, surprised and trying to keep yourself from looking around, wondering if he’s greeting someone else.
He removes his cap, releasing a dark bundle of delicious, curling hair. “Laurent, please. I’ve been by your apartment, but they said you were out here. It’s a fine morning. My sister sends her regards.”
“Ah,” you feel your face burn in embarrassment.
“No, no, don’t feel ashamed. In fact, I think your honesty with her saved us a lot of tip-toeing around certain topics that we both usually take great pains to hide,” Laurent says.
He still hasn’t let go of your hand. In fact, his other comes up to cup your elbow.
You clear your throat, but don’t pull away. There’s no one else around and you’re a bit hidden behind some trees.
“Your sister,” you say, “is she well? She made some odd comments yesterday.”
Laurent laughs it off. “The city doesn’t agree with her. She left for home this morning.”
“Yes, that’s probably best. I think she meant to prostitute herself.”
“That’s Lulu for you,” Laurent says, as if that explains anything at all. “Anyway, back to us. I’d love to show you some paintings. Are you free now?”
“Now? Right now?” You ask, surprised, but incredibly happy. “For you, of course.”
Laurent scrutinizes the length of the park, and you wonder why. But not for long because he leans forward, pressing his lips to yours.
“I like a man with a mustache,” he mutters as he kisses you.
Finally, you get your hands in those curls of his. You’d admired them since he’d taken his cap off. Your mouths fit perfectly together. All you can think of is how soft his lips are. His hands grip your waist, his thick tongue tempting yours to taste and play with his.
“Not here,” you laugh quietly as his hands start wandering lower.
“But I have to touch you,” he insists.
“We’re close to my apartment.“
“No, my studio. It isn’t far and I really do want you to see my paintings. Though I’d like you to be naked when you do,” Laurent grins.
Laughing at his good mood and open manner, you give him a squeeze and you set off together.
He occupies a two-story room at the top of a stylish building. The neighborhood is colorful, but Laurent says that while he likes the company and food of the upper class, he’s learned that his home is firmly in the more interesting part of town.
Canvases and paints cover every surface. It’s very haphazard, but has a beauty of its own.
Laurent’s hands are all over you as soon as the door shuts. He palms your cock greedily as he kisses you.
On your way to the bed, you catch a glimpse of Laurent’s easel.
The face in the painting is familiar. Laurent’s sister, Lulu, but it’s not at all like his other works.
Instead of the elegant, almost too-serious expression most of the women in his paintings have, Lulu’s face is alight with happiness. Her dark, soulful eyes seem to look straight at you, to see you. And she loves what she sees.
“She smelled like you,” you say, pausing at the canvas.
Laurent’s currently kissing your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin. “Hmm? Oh, her. Well, you’ll find out eventually so I might as well tell you. I don’t have a sister.”
You tear your eyes away from Lulu and back to Laurent.
“But she introduced herself as such. She looked just like you,” you say.
“I’ll explain it all, my love. Upstairs. All of this time talking could be better spent by you fucking me.” Laurent grinds against you.
You want him. You also want answers.
The temptation of his thighs and mouth and everything else is too much, though.
The less clothes you have, the more desperate you feel for each other. By the time Laurent takes out the small flask of oil from under his bed, the fingers you have inside of him are shaking. You’ve never felt such need, not only sexually, but the feeling of closeness.
That this man is supposed to be yours.
And when you sink your cock inside of him, his soft, pliable hips under your hands, you want to come in two seconds, like a virgin. You use all your strength to keep him from fucking back onto you because as soon as he does, you’ll embarrass yourself.
Laurent, saucy as he is, looks back at you with a toss of his hair.
It’s the same gesture his “sister” had made.
You bend down over Laurent’s back, capturing his mouth in a kiss as your hips start to slowly move you in and out of him. He moans against you, the soft, full curve of his ass a perfect fit against you. It’s all perfect. Every part of him, the way you are together.
You should still be strangers, having only just met, but his soul and body, you love already. Even before first sight, you’d known him. As he knows you.
Like Lulu, whoever she was, had said, “perfectly accepted.”
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Summary: A chance meeting with Laurent leads to writing back and forth, declarations of lust, and eventually, to love. (18+, fem reader, letters, sex, ~2.4k)
4 of 9 fics I wrote for @the-oscar-isaac-collectiveCoffee & Cream Digital Fanzine
-----
My dear lavender muse,
You will think me very forward for writing to you even though we met only once. I’ve been called much worse, though, and rightfully so.
Did you receive my sketch of you from our mutual friend’s garden party last Thursday?
Before we spoke, I watched you linger at the edges of the party. Too often, I also feel alone at such gatherings.
You bent to pick a sprig of lavender and touched it to your nose.
Your smile as you inhaled the scent is what I’ve attempted to capture.
Inadequate, I’m afraid, as your beauty is supernatural and therefore beyond my meager talents. The scent of the flower clung to you as we spoke.
I stole a few sprigs from the garden before I left. They’re sitting on my desk as I write to you, filling my room and my senses with their perfume and thus, of you.
I’ve never been so enthralled with a woman. I cannot wait to bask in your company again.
Yours,
Laurent LeClaire
-
Dear Mr. LeClaire,
I was surprised to receive your letter. Your reputation is such that I was sure you’d lost interest as soon as I was out of your field of view.
Moved on to another pretty, young thing. Reeled her in as you did me, with your beautiful eyes and abundant curls. And yet, you’ve written to me twice in one week.
The sketch, which I thank you for, and your letter, to which I’m responding.
I’m flattered to say the least.
You are correct, I am not comfortable at such parties. Your presence and conversation were more than just the highlight of the occasion. I’ve been unable to think about much else all week. I suppose now I’m the forward one. I would be happy to receive further letters or sketches.
Sincerely,
Your lavender muse
-
Dear lavender,
I’ve begun painting you.
Please do not think me rude, but I could not wait for your permission.
I long to see your face and so, must render your companionship myself. I will admit that I started on the neckline of your dress first. It was beautiful lace, intended to draw the eyes, and mine certainly were.
I enclose more sketches. My hand touching that beautiful lace. Your skin is as soft as flower petals, I’m sure of it.
As with a lush, beautiful, bouquet, I intend to look my fill of you, bury my face in you.
Yours,
Laurent
-
Laurent,
You’re as good with your pen as you are with your brushes and pencils.
I loved every piece you sent to me. Especially the sketches of your own hands. Although the things you drew your hands doing means that I’m unable to show your work to anyone else.
I am not certain whether you meant to send the last sketch to me or if it was sent in error. Although it is the one I have laid in bed looking at, night after night.
Really, Laurent. You shouldn’t be able to depict parts of my body that you haven’t seen in person with such accuracy. A true talent indeed.
I should be outraged, but the depiction of your body with mine has stirred something in me.
Your lavender
-
My lavender,
I cannot apologize for the completely inappropriate drawing I sent you of us together. It was not an accident. Now that I know you are amenable to receiving such things, I have enclosed another. This is how I will have you. Over and over again.
I will stand outside of your window every night until you let me into your room, your bed, your heart.
I’m not usually a faithful man, nor a selfless one.
Nevertheless, you are not merely a passing fancy to me.
Whatever inadequate qualities I have are wholly yours, and whatever stirs in my body and mind. If you will have me.
Your Laurent
-
My Laurent,
I receive your drawing and letter with great pleasure. Very great pleasure indeed.
Before we started writing, I knew very little of the acts you depict.
Rather than scandalized, I feel only a burning heat all over my skin.
What you make me feel is a sin. I cannot control it and I do not care to.
I dream of you and wake up in a state of almost frenzy, my hands already on my own body. Please, Laurent, are the sketches you send mere dreams? Do people really do such things and are they as wonderful as you depict them?
Yours in dreams and waking,
Lavender
-
My muse,
With you, yes, they will be wonderful. I cannot imagine a more perfect place in the world than between your legs. That moment when we are both at our peak and you feel me plant my seed inside of you. I too wake, desperate for the feeling of our union.
I want to open my eyes and slide my hands over your naked body. I want to feel between your legs, where you’re still wet from the night before. Where you’ve kept part of me inside of you all night. I would feel inside of you with my fingers, use the liquid I’ve given you to fuel further pleasure for you.
I have found a way to discreetly knock at your door tonight.
If I find it locked, I will trouble you no more.
I have a feeling, though, that your door will be as open as the rest of you. I promise to use every skill I have to bring your body release.
My fingers, deft as they are at painting, have only one true calling. Touching you.
Until tonight,
Laurent
-
My lavender muse,
Forgive me. I know we agreed not to contact each other again.
It’s been days since I left you. I haven’t slept, haven’t eaten, haven’t bathed.
In the past, I’ve had affairs that appeared much like this. A passing night of pleasure, a fond memory.
You, my dear, are more than that. I cannot accept you as a memory or a conquest.
I will not stay away from you.
You cling to my soul as the scent of you still clings to my body, and as I know my release still clings inside of you. I have never wanted to be that deep inside of a woman because it has never meant so much before, leaving part of myself behind inside of her.
The drawing I’ve included is not finished, but it’s what I see in my mind’s eye. You, laying in warm lamplight, beautiful thighs spread open. My warm, sticky cum spilling out of you.
You begged me for it more than once, more than twice even. Your body was thirsty for me and my love. It will be again. We have unsealed something powerful.
I can no longer agree to one night. We could have hundreds. The rest of our lives. You cannot imagine the things I want to do with your body.
Now and forever yours,
Laurent
-
Laurent,
This letter you see was an empty page that has haunted me for days. I am unsure what to write.
Of course I still want you.
No, we cannot meet again.
Your lavender
-
Lavender,
I went to your parents’ home to beg at your feet. The home was shut.
The neighbor said you have gone to the countryside.
This letter will find you eventually. Sooner rather than later, I hope.
Did you leave to get away from me? The thought rends my soul in half.
Yours faithfully (note that I have never before written that and meant it),
Laurent
-
Laurent,
Thank you for the dried lavender you sent in your letter.
I tucked it into my pillowcase, but I do not need it to bring me dreams of you. I already had those.
In a previous letter you said that my body would still thirst for yours. You were right. I feel starved and dehydrated. My mother says the countryside does not agree with me.
She’s sending me back to the city and into the care of an elderly aunt. She’s more than 80 years, but her hearing is sharp. Her eyes are sharper.
I don’t know how we will meet, but we must. I am a fool for ever thinking I could be without you filling my senses and my body.
I believe that I am in love with you.
Your lavender
-
Ma’am,
I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits.
You do not know me, but I hope to soon be acquainted with you. I am a friend of your great-niece’s, though I do not presume that she has spoken of me.
She is under your roof, and therefore I write to you and not to her parents, whom I understand to be at the family estate in the country at present.
Your niece and I met at a party earlier this year. I am a lowly clerk, though if you check my references, you will find I’m to be promoted soon.
Your niece has reawakened my love for drawing and art. Her face is inspiring to my soul.
She makes me sentimental, your niece. Her heart is as warm and giving as the sun itself.
I would like to call on her. I am entirely at your mercy.
Sincerely,
Laurent LeClaire
-
“You have a visitor,” your maid says as she knocks on the library door.
Your heart pounds in your chest. You’re wearing the same dress you had on the day Laurent had introduced himself.
It’s completely wrong for the season. It’s almost six months later, but neither of you will care.
Your aunt taps her hand on the wooden arm of her chair. “Well, let the young man through. Let’s have a look at him.”
Your face grows warm at your aunt’s teasing grin.
Laurent, hat in hand, lavender stuck into the pocket of his vest, appears in the doorway. You hear his breath catch under the tick-tick-tick of the grandfather clock.
You have to pinch the skin of your wrist to keep yourself from running into his arms.
Laurent introduces himself to your great-aunt, and then takes your hand. His eyes linger on it, as if he wants to kiss it, but doesn’t trust himself to stop if he does.
He drops your hand, his big, brown eyes drinking you in. His curly hair is a bit long, but his sideburns are neat, and the skin around his beautiful lips is freshly shaven.
Your body throbs for him already.
“Well,” your aunt says loudly, “you two are quite a pair.”
Startled, you look at her.
She sighs dramatically. “If you two have only seen each other once at a boring party, then I am a prize-winning sow and the queen of France.”
Eyes wide, you stare at the floor.
Laurent turns to her. “Ma’am, I assure you-“
“Do not make a liar of yourself,” she silences Laurent. “Though you protecting her honor is more than I’ve heard you capable of.”
Laurent goes pale. “My intentions-“
“Are in your pants,” your aunt finishes.
You cover your face with your hands.
“Then again, my late husband and I felt the same way. Let’s hope whatever energy you feel in your trousers has made its way to your heart,” your aunt says. “It’s obviously never going to get to your brain.”
She stands. Laurent holds his arm out to help her. “Thank you, Mr. LeClaire. I’m feeling suddenly very tired. Old age will do that. Best you shut the door behind me, so the servants don’t know I’ve left you two alone.”
She leans in and whispers to Laurent, who looks positively nauseous. With a sharp grin in your direction, she slips out of the room.
You run to Laurent, your arms around each other in an instant.
“What did she say?” You smile at him.
Laurent’s hands are already pulling up your skirt, supporting your hips as you lower to the floor.
He shakes his head. “That if I betray your heart, she’ll make me sit on the handles of my brushes. All of them at once.”
You laugh. Laurent pinches your thighs.
“It’s not funny,” he says, though he’s laughing too. “Although it has given me some ideas of what to do with this delicious body of yours. You’ve grown bolder.”
You’re pawing at his trousers, racing to undo them. You reach up and catch his bottom lip between your teeth. Laurent’s body practically melts onto yours, his hard cock already at the dripping wetness of your cunt.
“Sweet lavender, you seem to be quite wet enough,” he says, a filthy smile on his face. “You don’t need me to add to it, surely.”
He kisses you with his warm, soft lips, entering you gently. He drinks in your gasp, the way you whine when your sensitive skin stretches to welcome him. His tongue licks at yours and you suck on it, feeling him twitch inside of you.
Laurent moves his hips and you stifle a moan.
He huffs and groans, his face buried in your neck to hide the sound. You open your legs wider and Laurent moves faster and faster, his cock bumping against something inside of you that can only feel pleasure, can only bring you to climax.
Laurent’s hand clamps down over your mouth when you scream his name. His body shudders over you, his curls shaking down over his forehead as he comes with you.
Your eyes roll back in his head as the tightness of your walls pull his release deeper inside of you, like you never want to let him go. Your body knows what your head was too stubborn to accept.
Laurent’s hand slides away from your mouth as you look at each other, panting. He kisses you again, passionately.
“I am meant to be inside of you, always,” Laurent says. “Let me keep you this way, inside of your body and your heart”
With shaking hands, you stroke his face. You can only nod.
You know that your great aunt would welcome the happiness of a newly married couple into her home. She’s always been fond of you.
It’s not far from Laurent’s work, and the attic could be turned into a studio for his painting. It has a door that locks.
You already know you’ll spend many hours there with him. Study after study of your body, rendered beautiful through his eyes.
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VERY AWESOME FUN FACT ABOUT MAKING ACTORS LOOK WET FOR THE CAMERA
since water evaporates too quickly and risks ruining continuity between takes, makeup artists have to use oil and gel solutions to give actors a wet/sweaty look so it stays consistent and doesn't evaporate
THIS TO SAY that it is very possible that oscar isaac was oiled tf uppppp in his wet scenes of frankenstein 🤤
and any other movie/show he's been in ofc ofc.. *busts*
Claire Frankenstein + "Death and The Maiden" by Marianne Stokes
Guardian angel. Sweet companion. Stand by my side and do not leave me... And so Claire saw the Angel of Death, it was like gazing into a looking-glass.
Oh, how I love you, Dark Angel. Del Toro, your religious themes have done it again!
There’s a specific motif that plays in the Frankenstein soundtrack that I want to bring attention to
This motif plays about four times throughout the movie. The first time is when Victor sees Elizabeth in the market after visiting the gallows (I was unable to get a clip of that scene😭) It’s very faint and lasts only a few seconds but you can hear it if you listen closely
The second time is when the Creature first wakes up and is at the foot of Victor’s bed. The motif starts to play when Victor realizes that his creation is a success and that he wasn’t a failure after all
The third time is down in the basement when Elizabeth meets with the Creature and he gives her a leaf. The motif is playing as the creature gives Elizabeth the leaf and she in turn teaches him to say her name
The fourth and final time that I could find is during Victor’s and the Creature’s reconciliation on the boat. More specifically when the Creature is talking about how he will live alone and suffer alone and Victor begs him for forgiveness
(It also plays during the credits but that’s just a rehash of Floating Leaf)
Now from this information I’ve gathered, I think that this motif is supposed to symbolize the meaning and theming of love. During the first time we hear the motif, Victor has his eyes on Elizabeth in the marketplace. He wants her desperately, he feels that he loves her
The second time during the creature’s awakening, Victor looks at his creation and for a short period he feels nothing but love for him. He created him and here he is right in front of him and to Victor he is absolutely beautiful and perfect
The third time down in the basement, The creature is looking at Elizabeth the same way Victor looked at him when he was born. Like she is the most beautiful and perfect thing in his eyes and Elizabeth clearly feels the same way about the Creature, believing him to beautiful and perfect
And in the final time, during Victor’s and The creature’s reconciliation, Victor begs him for forgiveness, to love himself and live his life despite his unfortunate circumstances, to love himself the same way Victor loved him on the morning he was born
This is complete and utter rambling and nonsense but I just wanted to talk about this motif that I heard throughout the movie because it makes me feel so ill over just how beautiful this movie and its score is😭😭
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