#❝ with the breath of winter against his neck. ⌜ wardrobe ⌟

[kirans-wonderland]

What a Cuddly Croc pt.2 (nsfw)

pt. 1 here

mdni. (au where night raven is actually college aged)

wc: 1,926 - cw: gender neutral reader, biting, cuddlefucking, cockwarming?, dry humping, mating behaviors? (not proofread yet)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Night Raven College was still enveloped by the cold weather of the winter. Sebek had only grown clingier as the days grew colder. It was as if the first night you cuddled him had shattered his barriers like they were delicate glass. He subtly invited you over to Diasomnia almost every night saying that you were the only thing that kept him warm enough. Despite being borderline desperate, he had never ventured to Ramshakle during the cold nights. He couldn't leave Malleus in possible danger. That outweighed his desire for warmth.

That was until one night, you didn't show up. He had invited you. You said you would come. So where were you? He gave you 15 minutes before he was on his way to Ramshakle. Something was different tonight. Malleus be damned. His steps were quick and heavy. He feared the worst. But what he found was simple and relived his tension. You had simply fallen asleep at your desk, your cheek pressed against the text of the book. His heartrate slowly lowered as he took in the sight. "How foolish.. if you are tired, go to your bed" He muttered. Why had he gotten so worried? You weren't his lord. He shook off those thoughts with great haste. He was going to just move you to your bed, but his eyes caught the stack of extra blankets that lay at the foot of her bed. He was drawn to them and before he knew it, he was placing them all on your bed.

The blankets were all different styles and patterns. One he recognized as the Diasomnia dorm blanket. Had someone from every dorm given you an extra blanket? Why did that make his heart tighten? He had arranged all of the blankets very carefully... almost like a nest. He thought he was done and that it was perfect. Then his gaze landed on a pile of your shirts and sweaters near your wardrobe. He remembered you telling him about how the bar in your wardrobe broke and you couldn't hang anything up anymore. He needed them. He had never spent so much time just preparing to cuddle. Something was different tonight.

Finally he had completed his nest. Blankets, clothes, your scent, Grim.... Grim. He was in the way. Sebek scooped him up to move him to a nearby chair. Though Sebek wasn't gentle, Grim remained asleep. Only the smell of a tuna can could wake him. Sebek then moved over to your desk chair and picked you up with the highest gentility. He looked down at your peaceful sleeping face that had fallen against his chest. Another pang of tightness struck his heart. First he laid you gently in the mass of blankets, on your side. He laid down behind you and pulled your warm body to his. His form curling around yours was what started to bring you back to conciousness.

He heard your soft murmmers and knew he had woken you. "It's just me" He whispered so you wouldn't panic. He heard the small smile in your voice as you responded to him. "mmm... Seb.. m'sorry.. I must have fallen-" "Shh, it's alright. I.. I was not worried" He lied. He was a bit embarassed at how worried he had been.. About a mere human. "It's.. warmer than normal" Your mumbles got more coherent as you woke up. You saw the blankets and the clothes surrounding the two of you. It reminded you of.. "You made a nest?" Sebek's grip tightened a little at your words. "It is colder tonight". You hummed in response as it seemed logical, so you went on cuddling in a comfortable silence.

Normally he would remain completely still with a firm grip when you cuddled, but that wasn't the case tonight. It started with his hand rubbing your side and back slowly. Then it progressed into his nose rubbing against the nape of your neck. His breathing was heavy and you could swear he was letting out soft growls with every exhale. "Sebek?' That was all you needed to say before he pulled you tighter to his body. "I do not know.. I do not know what is happening.. I need you closer. Closer than this" Even though you were already flush to him, he still needed you closer. “Why do I need you… I need you” You turned your head to look at him as he lay behind you. His breathing was labored, his lips were slightly parted and his eyes seemed to glow in the pale moonlight. You’d never seen him like this. You were worried. “Sebek-“ You tried to sit up but his grip tightened like he was holding you down. “No. Do not leave me. Do not move.” His fingers lightly dug into your body and his face buried firmly in the crook of your neck. You could only lay there, trapped and thinking about what was happening. What was wrong? Then something struck you. Something Jack had explained to you a while ago after he had been absent. It lined up.. “Sebek? … do faes go into heats like beastmen do?” You asked tentatively.

His nuzzling stopped and he stilled again. It was a long silence. "Yes.. most do.. but, I am.. because I am.." He thought that this shouldn't be a thing for him due to his partial fae heritage. "I should not be.." He went quiet in his thoughts. "Seb, all these blankets.. you're basically nesting" He grunted. "No. No it is just for warmth" He was trying to convince himself. He was conflicted. If he had all these behaviors, why were they only surfacing now? Was it because he had been to busy before? Now, he had let himself get distracted and allowed someone into his life with a sliver of intimacy. That had awakened his need. His now overwhelming need for carnal closeness. "It may be, that you are.. correct" He said slowly. "I need... I need you" You could hear the desperate rasp in his tone.

You pressed yourself further back against his body, giving him permission. Almost instantly his hips began into you again and again from behind slowly. He groans and grunts into the back of your neck with every movement. His arms were tight around your torso. It was oddly comforting, being surrounded by soft blankets and the warmth of his firm body. You heard his breathing grow heavier and sharper as his humping grew quicker. "Not enough.. not enough.. I need more... more" You felt him shifting behind you and heard the clinking of his belt. His hands went to your hips and squeezed then firmly before slipping down your bottoms. His fingers and nails ran along the skin of your thighs and ass. He pulled your hips flush with his. You could feel his already hard cock slip between the plush of your buttcheeks. He groaned in bliss at the sensation of your soft, warm skin around his aching length. It was all he could think and care about.

He had accepted it now. He was in a heat and it was your fault. You were the reason he felt so.. weak. "Your fault.. you have to.. fix it" Sebek grumbled out through grunts. His teeth grazed along the skin of your shoulders and neck. The slight sharpness of his canines caused you to shiver. At the same time his teeth finally clamped down on the crook of your neck, he pushed into your hole. His first thrusts were deep and slow. His body was practically trembling as he held you desperately tight. His hand left your waist and his arm hooked under your thigh. Lifting it, he placed it over his own legs. That shift in position caused him to slip in deeper. His hips stuttered as your own shifted against his. "Sebek.. oh gods.. Sebek.." He growled in response to your moan. "Just, stay.. please.. I need it.."

He began to thrust again. Though his thrusts weren't fast, they were hard and deep. But he also couldn't keep a steady rythm. It was his desperation mixed with his inexpierence. Your hand reached back and found his hair. One of his arms was around your chest while the other couldn't stay still. He gripped your thigh, hip, waist, arms, everywhere. He was lost in you, lost completely in the feeling and warmth. Right now, there was no way he would have known it was winter. For the first time in the season he was hot. He was quickly getting addicted to this and to you.

He let out a deeper growl and you found yourself suddenly lifted on top of him. Your back was laid against his chest, your legs spread over his with his dick still inside you. Your head laid by his and you looked into his green eyes. His pupils looked more reptilian than they ever had. Both of you were breathing heavily. Your hand touched his cheek and it seemed to uncloud his lustful mind. "I.. I do not know. why I am feeling this way.." His eyes were locked onto yours, his hands on your stomach but he didn't move. It became comfortable to just lay like that with him inside you. "Like what Seb?' "Like I do not want to let you go.. I feel about you the same way i feel about Malleus but... ill. I wish to protect you but I feel I cannot breathe and my heart races. I feel weak, but I cannot be weak and protect you. I-" You finally quieted him from his rant. "Sebek, it sounds to me that you have feelings for me.. the romantic kind"

This made him freeze. He was always so dedicated to his duties, could he have really let himself fall in love? "I mean, you at least like me enough to try and.. mate with me." You continued. "What?" You chuckled at his confusion despite the intimate position he had you in. "Isn't heat like a mating season? You having the desire to be intimate with me should be an indication of your feelings." He thought about what you said for a moment before his mind clouded with desire again. His hands once again gripped your hips tightly. You knew there would most likely be bruises there the next morning in the shape of his finger pads.

You couldn't find space in your mind to care as he lifted your hips and slammed them down on his cock repeatedly. You didn't think that anything could feels this deep. The sound was stolen from your throat as he bit your neck again while continuing to bounce you on his length. Your orgasm washed over you with a searing heat. The feeling of your warmth pulsing around him and your hand gripping his arm caused him to spiral. With a growl, he lifted you off of him before cumming on his lower stomach. It was surprising that in his desperation he had enough of a mind to pull out. You look out the panting and stunned man with a soft smile. He opened his eyes and his eyes locked with yours. He could read the look in your eyes like a book. "I may be carnal, but I am not stupid" A chuckle was pulled from your lips at his words. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "you dork~"

After a bit of cleanup, the two of you fell asleep, basking in the warmth of your intimate connection.

[polakina]

when you wear their clothes

call of duty headcanons #9

hc masterlist // masterlist

so writing a book is harder than i thought...like a full fucking novel. how do people do this?

rating: explicit

-

loves it

loves it every. fucking. time.

usually finds you in his shirt when he gets home from a long few weeks at work away from you

its always his favourite shirt

an old rock band tee he used to wear when he was younger and could never bring himself to get rid of

it hugged your thighs and rested just above your knees

he adored the fact that you wore his clothes

he adored it even more when he pulled it out of the wardrobe and it smelled of you

often times he couldn't help himself around you when you wore that shirt

loved to fuck you in that shirt

bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the fabric that smelled only of your perfume when he thrusted into you

lost all sense of subtlety when he noticed you didn't wear anything underneath it

oh how he knew you loved to tease him

bending over to collect the laundry off the floor, teasing him as he caught a glimpse of what was shielded between your legs

you often found yourself bent over the closest surface whenever you did that, his hands roaming over your ass, pushing the long fabric up your body, the tee bunching against the center of your spine

"wearing my clothes around the house, hmm love? god i fucking love it when you do that"

"god you look so fucking good in my shirts"

looks forward to coming home and seeing you in his clothes

its what makes him drive just that tiny bit faster to reach the driveway

forgot how to breathe the first time you wore his hoodie around the house

you were absentmindedly humming to yourself, watering the various plants and tidying the bookshelves

he always found it cute how you had to push the sleeves up your arms because they were too long

loved pulling the hood over your head and chuckling when the edge of the hood reached your nose

sometimes, when putting laundry away in the set of drawers, he'd pull that hoodie out and press his nose against the fabric, inhaling deeply to fill his nose when your scent

he found himself so aroused, so turned on when you wore his clothes

he couldn't understand why

but just as quick as he'd seen those clothes on you, they were on the floor even faster

"you should wear my clothes more often, darling"

"you've got no fucking idea how much it turns me on seeing you dressed like that"

he'd fuck you until he ran out of breath, until sweat dripped down his brows

after that one time, you always found that hoodie in your drawer instead of his, always freshly washed and folded along with your clothes

had always dreamed of this moment

he'd recently bought a new denim jacket with a fur lining for the colder months

you both liked going for walks into the nearby town during autumn and winter, to get coffee in your joint favourite cafe and catch up

but when he couldn't find his jacket , he turned to you, his heart jumping when he saw it covering your body

smiles softly every time you say "i'll just get my jacket" and walk out in that denim jacket of his

the very definition of 'what's mine is yours' and loves it

leaves it out for you by the front door on purpose so you'll grab it on the way out of the house

you like to wear it when you go out to drink because it keeps you warm when you go out for a smoke

once he's got a few drinks in him, anything's on the table

and you know it

which is exactly why you do it

being in a public setting makes him just that much bolder

his hands find his way under that jacket, pushing your dress up over your ass, the tail of the jacket just covering what could be a very explicit scene for some passersby

"fuck, lass, the things you do to me. bet you can feel it, yeah?"

"aw baby, you're cold? don't worry, i'll warm you right up. you just keep my jacket on and you'll be fine, sweetheart"

you guys are a similar size in clothes, which he secretly loves but also hates

one time you saw him wearing your hoodie and couldn't stop laughing about it for hours because he didn't even realise

was very careful picking out his clothes after that

but if you wear his? god, he doesn't know how to act. or what to say

it started out with small things

the occasional shirt, the odd jumper

but when you came downstairs one night wearing his pajamas, he couldn't stop smiling

"what you doing there, babe? is that why it took you so long upstairs? finding my clothes, huh?"

plaid, red and black pajama pants with a matching sleep shirt

he loved that look on you. a little baggy but a perfect fit

made for you

"come here, babe" he'd coax you over

he loved feeling his clothes on your skin, seeing the swell of your breasts between the collar of the shirt

"babe, you look so damn good right now"

he'd make you ride him while you wore his clothes, just pulling the pants down enough to slide his cock into you with ease

you found a lot more of his clothes lying around for convenience rather than your own, which you could never seem to locate

[yiiyiiwrites]

🗡 | Relics and Ruins | 5 |

Part 5 [series masterlist]

Summary: you’re a mender from the dawn court specialised in cursed or broken relics. When Azriel enters the dawn court the truth-teller is silent, it’s not till he asks for your help that realises who you are. 2407words

Sweat coated your chest, silk nightgown sticking to you like a second skin. Your fingers twisted in the bed sheets, breathes heavy as you tried to shake the nightmare from your head. The first night you woke in terror, your mind still hazy that you searched the empty bed for Eris, before realising where you were.

The glowing ball of fae light the only comfort to you in the dark. It flared, pulse of light repeating so you could control your breathing once again. Your gaze slid to the door, you wondered if Azriel had heard you stirring.

You don’t know why, but the thought of him being across the hall calmed you. Since your journey back under the mountain, you hadn't been able to sleep a full night. Waking multiple times, covered in sweat and trying to expel the memories before they convinced you that you were still trapped down there.

Staring at the beds draped canopy above, you asked the house to run you a bath. Trickling water filled the silence, the sound taking over from the pounding in your head. You pulled yourself out of the plush bed, bare feet padding against the cold floor.

Steam rose from the tub, oils swirling on top of the water. You peeled off your nightgown and sunk into the bath. The warmth distracting you from the nightmare, the memories. Candles lined the tub, flames igniting the wicks and lighting up the space. You breathed in the soothing lavender scent, thanking the house for calming you once again. It was now routine, the scents and oils ever changing on your needs though.

You didn't get out till the water ran cold, the candles snuffing out as soon as the sun rose. The ball of fae light returned to the locket hanging from your neck, something you always kept close.

True to her word, Nesta had sorted your belongings. Your garments hung in the wardrobe, she'd added some extra pieces for you to brave the cold of winter in Velaris. The sheer layered clothing you owned, did not give you much warmth that you stayed in the house of wind, always sat close to the fire. You plucked out the thickest tunic, sheer panel dropping from the tied waist to skim mid thigh and a pair of trousers.

Slipping your boots on, you willed yourself to open the door. As you stepped out and looked down the hallway, you caught a glimpse of his shadows. You hadn’t seen him for a few days since he’d shown you to your room. Cassian telling you, his friend busy gathering intel.

You skipped breakfast, like every other morning. There’s no point when you could ask the house or the fact that sometimes the house gave you things when you needed without asking. Every day you’d taken up refuge in the library, the ancient sword laid upon the circular table in the centre.

Books covered the table around the relic, parchments marking notes of useful research. You almost dropped the books from your arms, Azriel sitting in the dark corner. Finger tracing the line he read, his shadows peaked over his shoulder at you and a few tore towards you at such speed that it made you jump. Your books fell to the floor with a thud.

Something brushed past you, door gently closing behind you. You’re still staring at Azriel who’s yet to acknowledge you, but he’s too engrossed in the text he’s reading. That or he’s doing a very good job of ignoring you.

You wondered if you’d overstepped, replaying the image of your hand in his whilst he stood in the doorway to your bedroom. Nesta had warned you he kept to himself and not to worry, but you did.

Cassian knelt down collecting your books, “did you sleep any better?” He asked, walking to the table with you. His long hair scraped back and tied at the nape of his neck, a few strands framing his chiseled face.

“Better, thank you,” you lied, voice low so only he could hear. The third night you woke, a scream tore your throat and Cassian in your room, daggers by his side ready to attack. He’d refused your multiple apologies, stating that it was natural and he was hard wired to protect, mentioning that Azriel would do the same for you if he were there.

Talking with Cassian came easy, both of you interested in history. Swapping stories about the ancients and hearing him speak of the Illyrian gods. You definitely miss judged him from your first encounter with him at your studio, smarter which you should have expected from a general.

Azriel on the other hand, you had no idea what he was like or what interested him. You hadn’t held a proper conversation with him yet, though you found yourself wanting to ask him questions.

“Maybe we should just take it out,” Cassian said, his hand on the hilt of the sword.

“No,” you blurted out, “just give me another day. There’s an energy there I can’t decipher. Don’t want a curse ruining a life.”

It had been a few days since you’d arrived, the streams of books at your disposable not offering anything helpful in your search of the relic. Rhys said the sword had only ever been recorded by word of mouth. Tales you tell over campfires, whispers of something not everyone believes, but they listen.

Velaris’s archive lived up to its reputation, you’d copied helpful texts as you went and started to fill up a second notebook. Blue ink stained the side of your hand, you scrubbed it raw trying not to think of him and under the mountain.

Rhys, Amren and Azriel agreed that whatever energy surrounded the relic, chaotic. Unreadable, but the underlining buzz of something burrowed beneath it.

Taking the blade from its sheath without a scrap of knowledge on it was something you were reluctant to do. You’d had fifty years of opening and touching objects that were cursed, warded to inflict pain. You didn’t want to subject anyone else to that, not when there was time to study, your way of protecting.

“If there’s no word from the day courts archivists, we’ll take it out tomorrow,” you said slamming the book shut in your lap. Your one friend in the day court, renowned historian was searching the depths of her library for you, still no word but that was expected when she dove into her research.

Rhys glanced to the sword, Azriel and then to you. His hands in his pockets, "Is there any other energies you feel?"

You shook your head, “the only thing I feel is cold,” you paused, catching Rhys's deep frown. “Its winter here, my dawn clothing is not enough. Still trying to get used it,” you said, rubbing your hands up and down your arms.

“Nesta left some winter garments in your wardrobe, is there anything else you need?” Cassian asked, his face softened and arms dropping to his side making him more approachable. You appreciated how he offered you comfort in the smallest of gestures, even Nesta had been good company between your research.

“Thank you, I don’t need anything else. I just need to get used to feeling the cold in my bones again.” You tried to laugh off the statement, another reminder of under the mountain.

The rest of the day went by in a blur, but Azriel remained in his dark corner. Cassian and Rhys leaving early to spend time with their mates, leaving you with the spymaster. You piled up the books you'd already sifted through, adding a note on top for Nesta to return to library.

You collapsed in the armchair by the fire, fingers tracing the patterned fabric. The flames crackled as the house dropped another log into the hearth, you tapped the scar beneath your long sleeve. The thick material rubbing against it all day had you slapping the spot to stop the ache and itchiness. You normally wore sheer sleeves so that it could breath and not irritate to you, but you didn’t want everyone to see the tattoo. Too many questions and answers you didn’t want to give.

The next day, your friend from the day court notified you of her findings, the missing texts and a whole century of history unreadable thanks to vanishing ink. They'd tried to decipher best they could, but couldn't break whatever ward clung to the yellowing pages.

Cassian, Azriel and you circled the table, ancient sword silent before you as if it knew what you were planning. The small scratching sound that filled the room for days, gone. Although you'd dedicated some time to research, you didn't have enough of it to waste.

“Ok I’ll do it,” Cassian said, hand wrapping around the hilt. He glanced between you and Azriel, brow raised as if waiting for you to protest.

"Maybe we should wait for Rhys?" Azriel was the one to speak, his shadows circling his crossed arms against his chest. He hadn't glanced at you since you'd entered the library or since his return yesterday.

"We've been staring at this for weeks and all we've discovered is how cold you are here," Cassian said, pointing the sheathed sword in your direction.

"I should do it," you said, holding your palm open. "I know how to work a curse, if you guys get one it could manipulate your strength and powers." Cassian gripped the hilt tighter, shaking his head at the offer.

Azriel's deep voice startled you, not expecting his words being directed at you. "No, we promised Thesan to keep you save, Cassian knows what he's doing." He doesn't look at you though, some part of you longing for his hazel eyes to connect with yours.

You nod, stepping back from the two Illyrian warriors. Azriel's dagger grasped in one hand and his shadows twirling around his other.

Cassian pulled the sword from its sheath, nothing. The scratching against metal flooded the room again and he dropped the sheath to the floor with a clang.

A white fog curled out of the ornate metal, moving like lightning. You didn't see the thing before it launched at you, a thousand tiny teeth sinking into your flesh. The force knocked you down and sent you across the room.

Darkness dispersed around you, red and cobalt glows flitting around the room. The small ball of fae light released itself from your locket, yellow hue shining on the worm eating away at you. A hand grabbed the back of your shirt collar, yanking you through the room. You pulled the worm off your thigh and flung it away.

Your back hit the wall in the hallway, library door slamming shut. Cassian knelt down in front you, trembling hands hovering close to the wound on your thigh. He didn't touch it though.

“Fuck, that thing was ancient,” you spat, Cassian chuckled at your outburst. You ripped the sheer long panel from your tunic and tied it around your thigh, knotting it twice and groaning at the tight pull. You peered around Cassian, Azriel nowhere to be seen, a few of his shadows escaping through the gap underneath the door to check on you.

The weight on your necklace light, you touched the open locket wondering why it hadn't returned to you.

"Stay here."

You clutched Cassian's wrist, stopping him before he could open the door. "We need that thing alive," you snarled, nose nearly brushing yours as you pulled him down to you. "It's a flesh eating worm, nasty buggers. Cut it in half and pin it down."

"Let's just hope Az hasn't already slaughtered it on your behalf." He smirked and you almost slid down the wall, long hair falling into his face, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Cassian helped you up from the floor, knowing that you weren't going to sit this one out. He kicked the door in, dragging you back through the mist, his red siphons the only thing you could see of him through the darkness.

The ball of fae light whizzed around at your feet, then twirled back to the centre of the room. A glint of silver glimmered to the left, you flinched as something hit your face and dripped down your cheek. The shadows fell away revealing Cassian and Azriel, chests heaving up and down, the truth-teller pinning the worm to the planks of the wooden floor.

Another dagger pierced the worms tail, its size doubled after feasting on your flesh. You licked your lip regretting it instantly at the coppery tang of blood covering you. The worms blood. You stared at Cassian covered head to toe in blood and slime, he must have been close to it when Azriel cut the creature in half.

You inched closer to the worm, flinching when the tail flicked in your direction. A groan slipped from your lips, thigh throbbing as a streak of pain sent shocks down your leg.

Azriel's arm trailed around your back and under your arm, he lifted you effortless and sat you on the armchair by the fire, the same spot you'd taken everyday. His face hard, eyes narrowed and the tic in his jaw pulsing as he stared at the wound on your thigh.

"I've had way worse, flesh eating worms are the least of my worries," you said trying to lighten the mood, his scowl deepened at your words. "Do you have a healers kit I use?" You tilted your head trying to meet his gaze, but he'd already walked away.

Cassian leaned on the doorframe, wiping the slime from his chin with the back of his hand. "Az will patch you up, I'm going to shower and hope I never see the inside of one them again." You returned his smile, offering a silent thank you.

You sunk back into the soft backing of the armchair, wrists hanging off the armrest as you waited for Azriel to return. He carried a worn leather bag, kneeling down to open it and sort through clinking bottles. He unraveled some bandages and popped the screw from a glass potions bottle.

"You're handling the pain well," Azriel said, he removed his gloves not looking at you. You couldn't take your eyes off the scars littering every inch of them, the same ones marring your arms.

Before you could stop yourself, "were you under the mountain too?"

taglist: @rcarbo1 , @st4r-girl-official,@azrielswhore, @cynthiesjmxazrielslover, @shizukestar, @wolfbc97 , @thecraziestcrayon , @i-am-infinite , @krowiathemythologynerd @nebarious

Thanks for all your lovely comments and for reading, Hope you like this chapter :)

[mlmxreader]

Not My Simon | Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ i need “you’re not coming home, are you?” “i doubt it.” with ghost. gn, male, nb reader, literally any I JUST NEED THE ANGST - @mockerycrow ❞

: ̗̀➛ it's not your Simon. It's not how you remember him. Whatever it is, that's not your Simon.

: ̗̀➛ body horror, major character death, swearing, smoking, graphic depictions of fatal injuries

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The last conversation kept playing in your head as you stared at the photograph in your trembling hands; you knew that you had to make the call, that you had to pick up the phone and talk to Price.

He was sorry about what had happened, he had done his best to protect Simon. He asked you to call. You couldn't.

Every time you looked at your phone, you could only ever hear that last conversation. You weren't going to take it from the drawer. You couldn't.

The glass on the frame was stained and streaked, smudged with wet fingerprints. You licked your lips as you swallowed thickly and took in a shaky breath. The last picture.

You and your Simon, at a heavy metal concert, seeing a band that you adored who did songs based on historical individuals and events. He had bought you a zip up hoodie. You never wore it after that last conversation. It was collecting dust in the wardrobe.

Along with the bin bags full of his clothes, packed up by Johnny and Kyle.

You could hear his voice so clearly as you replayed the conversation.

"You're not coming home, are you?"

"I doubt it." His voice had shaken slightly. "It doesn't look good…"

"At least make sure there's something they can bring back," your voice had broken, squeaking. "I don't want to bury an empty box."

"I'll give Johnny my discs," he had told you. "He'll make sure that you get them. Keep them with you."

The line had cut off abruptly after that, you could still hear the monotone beep of the phone ringing in your ears. You put the photograph aside on the bed, shaking your head as you stood up.

It had gotten cold suddenly, you weren't sure why; you figured it was just the winter air creeping in, and grabbed a hoodie. It was red, stained with curry sauce.

You could still remember when Simon had spilled it, how profusely he had apologised. How you laughed and told him not to worry - it was just curry sauce. It didn't matter much.

Your vision was blurry, something hot and wet trickling down your cheeks. Something blocking your throat and your nose as you trudged to the kitchen.

The kitchen was even colder, and the smell of pineapple and pepper clung to the air. You didn't think much of it. The window was open, and it wouldn't surprise you if one of your neighbours had had a barbeque earlier.

But then an unease washed over you, the hairs at the back of your neck standing up and your heart banging against your ribs; you were being watched. In the darkness, something was lurking in a corner. You could see a shadow moving from the corner of your eyes.

You figured you were just tired as you stood with your back against the counter and lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag. Your hands didn't stop shaking. You could feel the chill getting worse. The patio light flickered, drawing your attention.

You could have sworn you saw something move from the corner of your eye. You tensed up, clenching your jaw. You were just tired, that was all. Just tired.

A shadow stood, motionless and towering over the vase of dead and wilted daffodils. Simon's last gift.

You pressed your back against the counter a little more. Shaking your head. You were just tired. Seeing things. That was it. You were just tired. Slowly, the shadow moved, and the lights flickered slightly.

Exposing an all black SAS uniform, but it didn't look right.

Something was… off about it.

The shadow got closer, and the lights flickered again, settling on staying on, although dulled. A pale grey light filled the kitchen as you glared at the exposed shadow.

It wore a broken skull mask, the tactical vest was ripped and torn and exposing what was beneath it. The trousers were frayed and falling apart at the calf and knee. The helmet was broken, exposing dull grey flesh beneath it that throbbed.

Then you got a really good look, and you nearly dropped your cigarette.

The jaw of the shadow was broken, shattered and hanging on by sheer spite. Something black and gooey oozed from the open mouth. The movements were jerky, bones crunching and grinding where they had been broken. The elbow stuck out from the flesh, poking against long and thin sleeves.

You froze, meeting lifeless white eyes. But you knew him. It was Simon, but it wasn't your Simon; it wasn't how you remembered him.

Soft and short, neat, brown hair. Deep and wide facial scars. Those deep brown eyes you could get lost in, so dark that they could look black in the right lighting. A towering frame, chub that hung over the edge of his trousers.

What you were looking at wasn't your Simon.

It might have looked like him, but it wasn't him. No. That wasn't your Simon. That wasn't how you remembered him. You shook your head, sinking down and covering your face with your hands, screaming.

That wasn't your Simon.

You screamed and screamed, sobbing and weeping. That wasn't your Simon. It was not your Simon. It wasn't how you remembered him.

But it moved forward, and with a grinding and crunching thud, sat down opposite you. It reached its charred and burned, blistered and leaking, hand out and rested it on your calf gently. Grunting and gargling on its own blood. Choking on it.

It garbled and growled softly, spitting ooze on the floor. Desperate to speak as the flesh in its open skull pushed up and down against the jagged cracks of the broken helmet. It nudged your leg. You screamed again.

So it withdrew its hand, and turned its white gaze to the floor. Ashamed.

He never meant to scare you. He never meant to hurt you. He just wanted to see you one last time before he had to go again. He wanted to tell you that he loved you, that he was sorry. That he never meant to hurt you, and he would always watch over you. He would always be there.

He shied away, standing up and taking one last hesitant look at you. A grunting garble sounded from his mouth as he choked on the ooze, desperate to speak. To apologise for not being your Simon. To apologise for his appearance and tell you that he was sorry.

He knew that that wasn't how you remembered him.

One last look, and he was gone.

The lights flickered, and returned to being off. The smell died away and the air seemed to warm up slightly. But you stayed there, screaming and sobbing.

That wasn't your Simon.

[redeyerhaenyra]

No words needed

Summary: In which Micolash breaks into your room to fuck and then cuddle you. Reader is a Byrgenwerth student!

Warnings: Somnophilia, fem reader, pwp, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, breaking and entering, slight dubcon?

Notes: My first Micolash fic! My favourite bloodborne sexyman finally gets his debut :) Please tell me what you thought in the comments! I will definitely be writing for him more! Enjoy!

Wc: 1.2k

Unbeknownst to some, Byrgenwerth actually provided dormitories for it's students. They only consisted of a single room with a bed and wardrobe, but it was enough for you. With the money you had to spare, you'd gone out one day, after classes had finished, and bought yourself a lovely soft blanket to cuddle up in on cold winter nights. It was the perfect thing to lull you to sleep, warm and cozy.

You'd already fallen asleep, slept for a while, and then woken up. It was still dark out- you assumed it to be very early in the morning, and decided, since lessons didn't start for several more hours, to stay put in bed. You allowed yourself to grow weary once more, and snuggled down into the depths of your bed, fading in and out of unconsciousness.

However, you were alerted awake, by the sound of your door being meddled with. For modesty's sake, it was quite customary for ladies to lock their bedroom door at night, to halt any scoundrels from attempting to take their innocence before their husbands could. Every time you heard the lock being picked, you grew a tad frightened that it might not be who you suspect it to be, but it always ended up being him.

Micolash always got to bed late, whether it be his own, or yours. Staying up all night studying in Byrgenwerth's expansive library, you couldn't blame him, really. But still.. sleep was a good thing. You'd told him time and time again that he should sleep more, but he wouldn't have any of it. The pursuit of knowledge was something he'd regularly push the limits of his body to achieve.

He was a menace to your mental state, really. You were forever worrying about him. Though, the feeling of the mattress dipping down as he tumbled into bed with you, finally, relieved your constant worry, even if only slightly. You were quite sure he'd not even taken his shoes off, let alone his clothes, but you didn't mind too much. No matter what obstacles may lay in his path, Micolash always, eventually, found his way into your bed.

He preferred to lay behind you, and spoon you, and so that is where he maneuvered himself to be. Behind you, tugging you closer to him, as if even a breath apart from you was painful. His hands seemed jittery, you heard his ragged breathing across your neck, and gasped quietly when all of a sudden he had pulled your hips to his, and ground himself against you, so you could feel something hot and hard straining itself in the confines of his trousers. You swore he moaned a little into your ear.

Ah. So that's why he was so jittery. Had he walked all the way to your room, from the library, with that pressing against his trousers? There was probably no one else around at this time, but still.. you felt a tad sorry for him.

Though maybe, perhaps, he'd only developed such an arousal when seeing you laid in bed, hair spread out on the pillow above you like a halo, of sorts. He'd one told you before that seeing you so peaceful, angel-like, did something for him.

You'd ask him later, as right now your mind was a little fried from Micolash's sudden onslaught. His hands were cold, and you yelped a little when with one hand, he aggressively pulled up your nightdress to rest around your hips, and with the other, pull down the neckline of the garment so that your breasts were freed.

You could practically hear his grin of delight. His fingers were icy cold, and thin. Your nipples were quick to pebble as he roughly tugged and twisted them. Breathing became somewhat difficult, hoarse and staggered, as tiny moans were forced from your throat.

One hand stayed on your chest, now massaging gently, while another crept down to squirm it's way between your legs. You sighed into him, then yelped once again, louder this time, as the dastardly man chose to pinch your clit tight between his fingers, just enough until it hurt, before retreating to rub soothing circles around the nub. Your eyes watered a little.

Micolash's own breathing grew more laboured, the sound of you yelping in part pain, part pleasure, was music to his ears. His cock twitched, and he grinded himself against you more feverntly now. You knew he was desperate to ram his cock inside of you, but the subtle affection showed by making sure you were wet and stretched enough first was not gone unnoticed by you.

The fingers circling your clit scampered away, finding your drooling entrance, and eagerly plunge themselves inside of you, immediately curling against the spot that just made you melt. Micolash's fingers were so long, they reached all the good spots inside you- and you had to bite the pillow the keep your wanton moans from escaping. These walls were thin, afterall. And if anyone were to find out that a young, unmarried woman of your status was frolicking about in bed late at night with a man, most would not look too favourably upon you. Micolash giggled childishly behind you. Smug bastard.

He was your smug bastard though.

Eventually, whilst you couldn't lie that his fingers were tremendous inside of you, you grew hungry for Micolash's cock instead, letting him know by pressing your bum backwards and roughly rubbing against his crotch. He whined against your ear, and you whined back.

This time, you both were frantically pulling clothes apart. Both of your hands clashed as they tried to be the ones to tug down Micolash's trousers to finally free his cock. You felt the heat of it against your thigh.

Micolash may have been thin and wry, but he was still bigger than you. He manhandled your leg upwards, holding you with one hand under your knee, your tiny cunt finally exposed to him. It was a sight that always made him shiver. Tomorrow, has going to eat your pussy like it had never been eaten before. For now, Micolash could not bare to be apart from you any longer. He angled himself, them thrusted forward, giving you no time to adjust to how lengthy his cock was as he rapidly plunged in and out of your wet heat.

Micolash was always loud during sex, grunting and moaning into your ear- you'd told him not to, that people would talk. He didn't care, of course he didn't. You instead chose to bite the pillow to stop wanton moans erupting from your throat. Even in such a quick and ruthless session, there was a tenderness in the way he held you, in the way he rubbed tight circles around your clit with his free hand. You were both terribly in love with eachother, and there were no words needed to express such affections.

Soon, you both climaxed. Micolash's thrusts stuttering as your rhythmically clenching walls drained him of every last drop of cum he had. You squirmed in his arms as your own orgasm overtook you, washing over you, filling your senses to the brim, much like his cock in your pussy. Sweating and panting, both of you snuggled nearer eachother. Micloash gently pulled out of you, you felt his cum dribble out of your cunt, but you were too tired now to clean it up.

Micolash buried his face in your hair, tugging your small hands into his larger one's, and rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. Once again, no words were needed. Why use words to tell one another things you both already knew?

Micolash knew you loved him. And you know that he loved you, too.

[wolfofswinter]

@dcviline asked: 𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝙶𝙸𝙵 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂 #12 (aly)

He   made   a   promise   to   not   take   her   in   any   regard   before   the   wedding   night,   despite   the   impatience   and   efforts   of   her   and   sometimes,   his   own   nature.   But   there   were   other   things   that   could   be   done   before   a   wedding,   and   to   let   the   lover's   touch   linger   upon   each   other's   skin   a   little   longer   before   the   night   takes   them.   It's   only   in   a   few   moons   time,   when   the   winter   finally   leaves   and   the   red   of   the   weirwood   tree   is   vibrant   again   but   today   he   has   some   type   of   hunger   to   see   her.

  She   often   wore   pants   during   the   war,   better   suited   for   battle   but   it   seems   that   now,   a   few   dresses   were   making   their   way   into   her   wardrobe   and   Winterfell,   and   so   he   takes   advantage   of   them,   pulling   the   fabric   up   and   holding   it   with   his   hand   against   her   breast,   while   the   other   travels   down   between   her   small   clothes   as   he   kisses   the   back   of   her   neck,   eyes   upon   the   reflection   she   makes   on   the   mirror   before   them.  

Gods   must   be   good   for   sending   him   such   a   woman,   as   he   let   his   fingers   press   against   her   folds   and   tease,   finding   that   sweet   bud   of   hers   and   let   his   thumb   show   her   pleasure   as   he   watches   the   way   her   body   responds   to   her.   "ri   på   hånden   min,   min   farlige   skjønnhet."   He   whispers   against   her   skin   as   he   holds   her   tighter   against   his   own   body,   a   dragged   breath   left   his   lips   as   her   movements   press   against   his   hardening   member   ,   aching   to   take   her   and   for   more   friction.

[eastwindmlk]

“Fuck, ouch. James!” Lily’s voice was quiet, smothered by his lips on hers as the back of her calf caught on the low stone wall of her parent's front yard. His hand reached up, pawing at her face with numb fingers. The December cold and an insatiable for each other made the less-than-sexy gesture almost feel romantic. “I think I ripped my tights,” Lily muttered, reaching down to try to feel. But instead she felt the corners of his lips pull upward against her own, his arm tugging her tighter to his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The amusement was clear in his voice, his lips straying from her lips to her cheek, her jaw before being met by her scarf. Her mind already drifting away from her wardrobe mishap. James pulled at the scarf, exposing her neck and making her shiver. His hot breath having to make up for the lack of layers. She gasped when his teeth sunk into the soft skin.

Even tangled up in each other they managed to manoeuvre through the little gate and towards the front door. “And you’re sure your parents aren’t home?” The bespectacled boy asked, pressing her up against the front door, his hand wandering up her thigh. His motives were very clear. “Positive.” She confirmed, fingers looping through his belt.

Her head tilted backward, when she felt his cold fingers take a handful of her arse and squeezed it. The cold of his fingers seeped through the thin layers. “If you keep going like this we won’t even make it inside,” she taunted, the hand that was not occupied with already unbuckling him searching for her keys.

“God fucking dammit. Where are those bloody keys.” the redhead cursed, making James laugh and roll his eyes. “That is literally first-year magic. Just grab your wand.” He suggested, groaning when her fingers cupped the bulge in his trousers. “Mmh, I don’t think this wand is going to do much.” Lily mused, feeling him up with a smirk on her face. Feeling his knee pressed between her legs, the friction alone was enough to make her whimper. Soft and needy.

James’s nose skimmed down the column of her throat, lips landing on the hollow of her throat. The lowest point her jumper allowed him without undressing her then and there. “Once that door is open, I am having you. On the stairs or against the wall. I can’t wait to bury my face in those amazing tits of yours,” He breathed into her neck, still making absolutely no progress in allowing her to seek out the keys that would actually grant them entrance.

“I am starting to think that you just want me to wank you right here.” Lily laughed, still rubbing him through his jeans. Feeling him twist against her palm, she knew very well he was about ready to explode. “Well, I suppose less pressure on me means I can spend more time between your legs.” The remark made her laugh, the sound loud in the darkness of the winter’s night.

Lily was about to say something more when the door behind her opened suddenly. The motion made her tumble backwards into the house. Squealing, the redhead landed on her back. James heavy on top of her when the light in the room flicked on.

“Dad! Fancy seeing you here!”

[linasofia]

A Shooting Star

Part 6

Fandom: The Hobbit

Relationship: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Vega

Summary: Lady Vega loves to sneak out to Erebor’s rampart to study the night sky, but one night, an unexpected visitor joins her. It is the beginning of a story whose end only the stars can tell.

Warnings: none

A/N: This is the sixth part of this fic. You can read all the previous parts here.

Special thanks to @legolasbadass & @lathalea 💙💙

Khuzdul: Thutratur - Little star Zulfaluf - Tiny sleep

Even before she was fully awake, Vega could smell the faint scent of lavender coming from one of the tiny bags her mother insisted she kept in her chamber during the night. Apparently, it was known to have a positive effect on the mind and help the body to get a restful sleep. Vega took a deep breath and smiled. When she finally fell asleep the night before, it was not thanks to the lavender but due to her body’s exhaustion. The evening under the stars with Thorin took a path she had barely dared to dream of, and his unexpected—and slightly sudden—revealing of his feelings kept her awake long after she blew out the candle next to her bed. She could still feel his tender caresses and the warmth seeping through the opening in his tunic. The taste of his kisses was gone, but she only had to close her eyes to remember how they felt. Sweet and hesitating at first, then, as they both grew bolder, he stole her breath away. Thorin carved a place for himself deep in her heart, and in return he expressed every single emotion in his azure eyes. Without speaking, his lips on her exposed neck gave her promises of intimacy and pleasure beyond anything she could imagine. When he caressed her waist and hip through the fabric of her clothes, Vega secretly longed for the special night when he would fulfill those promises. The husky voice he used when he reverently spoke her name made her inner fire burn with a never before discovered intensity. Thorin was equally fuming hot, yet respectful, and even if she was more than willing to go further, his hand never reached higher under her skirt than her stockings. It was probably for the best, Vega thought, as she gazed at the dress she left in a pile on the stool before she climbed into bed. The nights were not that mild—even if Thorin’s body heat could easily have kept her warm during the coldest winter storm. She wondered what the maid would think if she looked closer at the laundry. The hem was dirty, and a small tear in the fabric reminded Vega of when she accidentally stepped on it as she climbed onto the rock with Thorin closely behind her.

Vega rose from the soft furs in her bed and opened the wardrobe. Absently she selected a clean dress and started to get ready. Her hair was always curly after being captured in braids for so many hours, but this morning it was more unruly than usual. She suspected Thorin's fingers' wonderful teasing of the back of her neck was to blame for the extra work she now had to put into her morning routine. Not that she complained—he was more than welcome to ruin her hairstyle again. And again. When she was slowly combing her long locks, she was careful not to ruin the only braid she did not unbraid last night. Vega ran her fingertips over the thin, but intriguing pattern, remembering Thorin’s words while resting his forehead against hers: With this braid, I commit to you. Vega studied her sparkling reflection in the mirror and admitted she felt different, as if a missing piece of her had returned, even though she never knew it was lost.

Lady Vanadis was seated at their large table, sipping her favorite tea, and Vega smiled at her before she began to prepare her morning meal.

”You are up late today, zulfaluf,” her mother remarked with a hint of worry in her tone. ”Are you not well?”

”I am very well, amad. Please, do not worry. I just had trouble falling asleep last night and my bed seemed unusually soft this morning.”

”I need to refill your bag of lavender, it is my fault. I forgot to do it and now the calming effect is fading.”

”It is not the lavender, my whole chamber smells of it.” Vega let out a short laugh. ”I just had something I could not stop thinking of.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow, put aside the book she was reading, and looked at her with interest. ”Will you share your thoughts with me?”

Vega lowered her gaze and blushed. She had not prepared what she wanted to say about Thorin’s and hers newly formed relationship, and the opportunity to reveal her secret came too soon. With only a short hesitation, Vega quickly decided it might be better to just let it out. Keeping her news and feelings from her mother would only make it strange later on. She brought her meal to the table and sat down on the opposite side, facing her beloved mother.

”I know that look on your face, Vega. Something important has happened and you dread to tell me about it.” Vanadis placed her mug of tea in front of her. ”It reminds me of that time when you were little and came home with that poor hedgehog you found by the stream, remember?” Vega met her mother’s kind gaze. ”Your eyes tell me you are excited, but maybe you are uncertain how I will react.”

”You know me so well, amad.” Vega smiled.

”You were never a good liar.”

Vega took a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap. She was nervous even if she could not understand why. Her mother had always supported her will to follow her heart and never accept a marriage just out of convenience or to secure a union between two houses. There was no easy way of saying the things she had on her mind, so she aimed for a quick reveal.

”I have met someone. Someone who thinks fondly of me. And I reciprocate his feelings.”

Not a word came from her mother, but her slender hand covered her mouth in the most surprised expression Vega had ever seen. Then she smiled warmly.

”That explains the dreamy look in your eyes.”

Vega took a bite of the newly baked bread. It was her favorite, with butter spread and it was still warm. The baker’s helper must have delivered it recently.

”So, I assume you have not only met him once. Is he an honorable dwarf?”

”Yes, very.” Vega smiled and could not help thinking of her own indecent thoughts while Thorin’s hand longingly caressed her hip. They had both controlled their feelings last night and succeeded only out of willpower and modesty. ”Amad, we are courting.”

A delighted scream fell from Vanadis’ lips, and she waved at Vega with large gestures, urging her to stand and come closer. With her heart hammering, Vega gladly obeyed her mother and moved to the chair next to her. She knew exactly what she was expected to do, and with a slight tremble in her fingers, she freed the braid Thorin had put his heart and soul into the previous night. She had partly hidden it among her other braids but only to avoid unwanted attention later during the day. The beautiful clasp already felt like a part of her, and when her mother reached for it to take a better look, Vega held her breath.

”Vega!” her mother exclaimed and pulled the braid closer. ”This is no ordinary courting braid, this is—”

Vega could swear her mother stopped breathing too, and she carefully met her widened eyes. People often told Vega she had her mother’s eyes, and she almost felt as if she was looking into a mirror when her mother captured her gaze.

”If I am not mistaken, this clasp belongs to the ruler of Erebor. How did you come by this? Is this a joke, Vega?”

Vega slowly shook her head, and her mother stared back at her with shock written on her usually calm face. Vanadis was known to be sensible and smart, and while she studied her daughter, her mind worked frantically to put the small pieces of information together. Vega let out a sigh of relief when her mother finally smiled. Then suddenly, Vanadis put her arms around Vega in the most motherly embrace. She held her close as if trying to comfort Vega in the absence of words. A faint sob erupted in her chest, and when Vanadis finally spoke, it was with a warm and caring tone.

”I think you need to explain to me what happened before King Thorin braided your hair.”

***

A smoking stew stood ready on the table, and Vega nervously waited for her father to come home. He was expected to join his family for dinner but was running late. It was not unusual since meetings often kept him from his home but this time, Vega did not mind too much. She was still going through the things she planned to say, and she hoped he would be glad. After all, he was the one trying to convince her to get married. Married. The thought made her shiver. It was not the thought of being eternally united with Thorin that made her uneasy; it was the thought of being recognized as the king’s consort and having to perform whatever duties might follow. It was nothing they had discussed—it was obviously too soon for that—but Vega could not stop her mind from wandering into the unknown. What awaited her beyond courting—if all went well? How would a life next to the mightiest dwarf of the seven kingdoms be? She was certain of her own feelings, and nothing except honesty and devotion shone in Thorin’s eyes when they parted the previous night. Still, she was filled with questions she had no answers to.

The angry bang of the door slamming shut announced Lord Vimar’s arrival. Long meeting, Vega thought as she stood to greet him. After all his years as the king’s advisor, Vimar’s wife and daughter knew how to tackle his sometimes fast-shifting mood. Plenty of food and good ale got them far, and when that was not enough,a supporting smile and a large portion of patience usually got him in a better place. He was like one of his strange measure-tools, complicated to understand, but when one learned to read him right, he was a fascinating man.

Vega watched her mother quickly embrace her tired husband and then urge him to sit down. A large mug of ale already waited for him on the table, and he grabbed it without a word. Vanadis truly was the best of two worlds; caring, supportive, devoted and always honest. But she also had an iron will and knew how to get what she wanted. Vimar’s and Vanadis’ love was of a deeper kind, the strongest sort, formed during a long life together and eventually graced with a child—Vega. With a knowing smile, her mother sat down at the table and offered Vega to start filling her plate. The two of them shared a secret, at least for now.

Evening meals usually meant time for the family to share events of the day, and even if Vega was a grown woman, she valued the times when they were able to dine together—maybe even more than she did when she was a child. The meal served was, as always, well-seasoned, but Vega had problems focusing on the different flavors. Instead, her mind jumped from one rock to another in the dark pond of uncertainness. She wanted to speak her heart’s words, but something held her back, and it was not the tired look in her father’s eyes. She could not find the right opening for such an important revelation, and she feared she would lose the opportunity. Her mother never failed to read the tension in a room, and after a long look of mutual understanding, Vanadis gave her daughter a gentle push in the right direction.

”My dearest husband, I think Vega looks exceptionally beautiful today, would you not agree?”

Lord Vimar met Vega’s gaze and smiled warmly. From the day she was born she had been his little gem, even if he nowadays often forgot to tell her that. ”She always looks beautiful. Even old Ull with his milky eyes can see that.”

”Thank you, father.” Vega returned his smile, took a deep breath and clasped her hands to prevent them from shaking. Just say it, her heart whispered, and she quickly prayed for strength beyond her usual. ”Father, I want to tell you something.”

Lord Vimar nodded and took another mouthful of stew.

”I have met someone that I care deeply for. In fact—we are courting.”

The expression on Lord Vimar’s face was something Vega would remember forever, and she was suddenly glad she chose to tell him while seated. He chewed slowly as if her words were hard to take in. As he slowly recovered, his initial shock was replaced with the serious look Vega knew too well, and when he spoke, it was the exact words she already had predicted. ”Is he from a good family?”

”Yes… I suppose you could say that.” Vega sighed.

”Excellent! You know how important it is to make good arrangements.” He lifted his hands in defense. ”I know what you are thinking and want to say now, for you have said it many times before. But it doesn’t change the reality under this Mountain.” He tapped his index finger on the table to accentuate his last words.

Vega kept quiet; it was not the type of conversation she wished for. Her father seemed to mistake her silence for consent, and he went on.

”Do I know him? Or maybe his father?” Unable to stop the blush from spreading over her cheekbones, Vega only nodded in reply. Lord Vimar became eager, and his voice changed with his mood, ”I do? Now you must tell me at once. Who is he?”

There it was—the question she dreaded answering but could not escape. She put on what she hoped was a confident smile. ”The king,” Vega replied, but the smile died on her lips when she saw the change in her father’s eyes.

”The king? Don’t be ridiculous—this is no time for games. I am being serious.” Lord Vimar’s nasal voice was slightly raised.

”So am I, father.”

”Vega,” his voice held no doubt a warning—he was too tired for nonsense.

”Vimar, she is wearing the king’s clasp in her hair. What she said is true.”

Vega was not sure if her mother’s words helped or made things worse, but her father stared at her, and Vega could only guess what thoughts were gathering behind his stormy eyes. The silence in the dining area was so thick one could cut it with a dagger. When Lord Vimar finally spoke, it was with a voice filled with bitterness.

”That sly king, he looks me in the eyes almost every day and not a single word has he ever spoken of you.”

Vega tried to find a reason for her father’s strange reaction but failed.

”I hoped for you to be glad. I thought you wanted me to find a man—to get married even.”

”To a wealthy lord, yes. Not to the king!” Lord Vimar shook his head, still unable to control his tone. ”Vega, are you out of your mind? Have you any idea what he will ask of you? Demand even?”

Vega did not reply. The truth was she had no idea what wouldbe expected of her. She had spent half the night pondering that question, along with several other thoughts which simply refused to leave her alone.

”I love him.” The words she had reserved for Thorin slipped from her in an attempt to add more depth to her situation, and she met her father’s piercing gaze with her head held high. Lord Vimar sighed deeply and stroked his long beard.

”Where in Mahal’s name have you gotten to know the king?”

Vega hesitated. ”Thorin and I—”

Lord Vimar slammed his palm hard on the well-polished wooden table. ”King Thorin!” he roared, and with his long index finger, he pointed at Vega. ”Nobody disgraces the king like that in my home!”

Silence fell heavy around the table. Vega’s heart was racing, and tears stung in her eyes, but she refused to cry. She forced a piece of bread into her mouth and swallowed it down almost without chewing. It hurt her throat, but she did not care.

An unexpected knock on the door made them all glance at each other, and Vanadis instantly stood from the table and marched to answer the door. Dark, muffled voices were soon heard, and then it became silent again. Vega’s mother called her to the door, and Vega stood up, grateful for the distraction. She had no idea what to expect and for a short moment, she almost hoped it was Thorin who had come.

In the hall stood a very large package resting against the wall. The piece was wide and tall but not very thick. It was carefully wrapped but possibly too unwieldy to be lifted by one person alone.

”For you, apparently.” Her mother pointed at the package and smiled encouragingly at Vega. ”May I guess it is your first courting gift? Maybe larger than the customary gifts, but I suppose the king can send whatever he finds suitable.”

Warmth spread in Vega’s chest, and she smiled back at her mother. ”Will you help me move it to my chamber? It doesn’t look too heavy.”

The women lifted the package easily and carried it to Vega’s chamber—without passing through the dining area. Safely behind the closed door, Vega could not resist starting to unwrap it.

”May I stay or do you prefer to be left alone?” Her mother’s thoughtful question made Vega pause, but she did not need to think long before answering.

”I want you here, amad. Please stay.”

The smile she received warmed more than the hot stew had done earlier, and she eagerly returned her attention to the package. Soon the large piece was freed from the wrapping, and Vega stared at a large piece of art. It was a stunning painting of the night sky, with stars and a full moon above the Lonely Mountain. She instantly spotted both Durin’s Crown and The Hammer. The Mountain was painted with all the familiar details known to its inhabitants, and the sky was almost as breathtaking as the real sky. Only the most skilled royal artists could have created such a masterpiece, and Vega silently wondered how long it took to finish. She gasped as she realized the painting must have been ordered long before Thorin returned from the Iron Hills. Before they both revealed their feelings and shared all those kisses under the stars. Vega could not find a card, but she giggled as she looked at the painting again. No words were needed with such a personal gift, and she would think of their first meeting on the rampart every time she looked at it.

”That is an impressive scene,” he mother said softly. ”I assume it means something to you and only the king knows what.”

Vega nodded. She was not ready to share all the details yet but she promised herself to speak of it when things became a bit more common to her. Suddenly she felt very tired. All the tension of the day was fixed between her shoulder blades, and the air in her lungs seemed heavier than before. She rubbed her temples and gently let her fingertips glide over the courting braid. It was on full display but attached to her other braid. By a small miracle it escaped Lord Vimar’s gaze when he came home, but maybe he was just too tired to notice.

”Your father will calm down, Vega.” Her mother’s reassuring voice was like a warm blanket wrapped around her.

”Are you certain?” Vega did not feel so sure, but her mother took her hand and gently squeezed it.

”Do not worry. He is shocked. Maybe also envious for he no longer stands closest to the king in this family. He would never admit it of course, but I know him. I trust you remember how he reacted when he was invited to that banquet? It was a big moment for him.”

”I remember,” Vega nodded. At the time, she was so confused by the invitation, but she did not miss the proud look on her father’s face as he decided they were all going.

”When your father asked me to court him, our future was more or less already clear for us. We did not have all the things we do today, but we had our love and our mutual family goal. He promised me he was going to do everything in his power to improve our situation, and he really did. I married him out of love, you know that already, but it was more than that. We belong together and when you find that sort of love, nothing can keep the hearts apart.”

”I know what I feel, but how do I know I am the right match for a king?”

”That is why you agreed to court him. Take your time, get to know him well. All dwarves have good and bad sides and make sure you cherish both. The same goes for the king, he needs to be able to understand you. If you are right for each other, the rest will sort itself out.”

Vega nodded. Never before had her mother spoken to her in that way, and it made her heart swell. With all the comfort she could offer, Vanadis wrapped her arms around Vega’s shoulders and held her close. Her mother smelled faintly of lavender, and Vega knew it meant she would soon have a new tiny bag on her bedside table. Thankful for her company, Vega hugged her back tightly, seeking solace in her presence. They stood in silence for a while until Vega felt the stress caused by her father’s outburst leaving her chest. With a soft voice, Vanadis finally declared that she needed to check on her husband too, but she would return later if Vega wished. Too tired to face her father for the second time during the same evening, Vega agreed. Before Vanadis opened the door, she turned to her daughter one last time and offered the most supportive smile.

”True love conquers all, Vega. Have faith in yourself and in our king. How your future will look only the stars can tell.” Then she looked at the painting again. Its significance was unknown to her, but she sensed the beautifully painted full moon was not a coincidence. Mahal never let anything happen without reason.

💙 If you like my writing, please consider spreading the love and reblogging.💙

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[k9mon]

ᥫ᭡ — childe & thoma’s favorite winter activities with you

╰➤ gender neutral , modern au , no cws

— childe

childe’s always felt most at home in the snow — the streets, icy cold and filled with heaps and heaps of snowy goodness waiting to be thrown around and trampled with unadulterated childish joy. he drags you out in the cold, making sure you’re bundle up nice and warm before laughing about how amazing the snow is. he adjusts the scarf around your neck periodically, gloved fingers brushing against your cheeks and wiping away tears formed following sudden gusts of wind. the smile never leaves his face, teeth shining and eyes squinting as a byproduct of the joy filling his body to the brim.

he begins to pelt you with snowballs as soon as your guard’s down. childe doesn’t back down, egging you on to fight back against him without restraint. he’s sneaky with the way he maneuvers around the snow and ice, easily evading your attacks and always managing to hit you with his. he makes a point to not land snowballs on your face, instead using your arms and torso as targets. the last thing he wants is for you to be facing snow-induced-sickness as a result of his carelessness

childe makes it his first priority to warm you up once you’re back inside. armed with blankets and kisses, he cocoons you into a cozy little circle of pillows and comforters in your bedroom. he makes sure to hold you in his arms nice and tight, pressing his lips to your cheeks and forehead every so often. it’s almost like childe’s trying to mold your body into his with the way he leaves little space in between the two of you — he claims that he’s a major advocator for “sharing body warmth”

— thoma

thoma’s cooking feels especially inviting during the winter. it’s hard to pass up on the offer to work alongside somebody as homely as him, so you end up working alongside the warmth and comfort that comes in the form of thoma. somehow, he makes processes in the kitchen as easy as breathing. the two of you work in harmony, gentle laughter and wafts of delicacy following your every movement. by the time you’re finished, the dining table’s ready with plates of steaming food, love etched into the making and enjoyment of every bite.

he appreciates spending quality time with you, no matter what it is the two of you do in each other’s presence. that being said, one of thoma’s favorite ways of spending a quiet evening with you is with a good book by the warmth of a fireplace. admittedly, the feeling of having you leaning against his chest, seated between his legs is one of his favorite things in the world. a new book is picked up by the two of you every winter, to be read through in the presence of each other and occasionally with a complimentary mug of hot chocolate. thoma nuzzles his chin into the top of your head, dutifully flicking through whichever page you’re on after making sure that you’ve both made it through the page.

every since realizing his feelings for you, thoma has always kept the thought of you at the back of his mind. while he had been knitting clothes for the neighborhood animals for a good while, he soon began to knit you things every so often as well. as the weather drops and you start returning home with increasingly cold body parts, thoma takes it upon himself to handcraft you various articles of clothing. ranging from sweaters to socks, you soon find yourself dedicating an entire section of your wardrobe to his gifts. he press you to wear them whenever you go out, and feels pride bubble up in his chest every time you come home with no complaint of the cold, evidently thanks to thoma’s thoughtful offerings

[desos-records]

Chapter 3: Little Talks

First | Prev / Next

Ghost possession doesn't happen often, but fatality rates are high. Even if an agent does survive, there are the aftereffects to worry about.

After surviving a possession, Lucy Carlyle struggles with recovery, delving ever deeper into the memories of Visitors and, in the process, stumbling into the world of blackmarket Sources.

Meanwhile, George Karim races to learn the truth behind ghost possession in order to protect Lucy and save future agents.

And Anthony Lockwood must face his own past with the London underworld if he wants to save his friends and himself.

-

Little fragments of Lockwood's childhood appeared wherever Lucy looked in the little attic room. While clearing out the wardrobe, she found quilts sewn with iron threads and decorated with cartoonish lions and unicorns, done in the agency colors of Rotwell and Fittes. Silhouettes of animals made from colorful silver-glass hung from strings by the window, catching the morning light and throwing cheerful shapes over the walls. A small rubber duck with glasses and a pith helmet guarded the shower. She found toy rapiers while poking through boxes one sleepless night.

The other boxes held old mosaic tiles or bits of statues—ears, noses, fingers—wooden flutes or maps of countries she'd never heard of. What had Lockwood's parents done for a living anyway?

Usually it helped, having concrete proof of her present, when she caught herself slipping into the past—hers or, more often these days, someone else's. But nothing seemed to help her against Annabel Ward.

Lucy struggled to breathe through shallow lungs. She leaned against the cold wood of her attic room door and slid down until she landed, curled up in the space between it and the stairs. Even many hours later, the thick hands of Annabel's killer still pressed around her neck. 

Frustration boiled in her gut. If she had to relive a death loop, could she at least remember what the man looked like? All she had to go on was a looming silhouette. The outline of him cut into her eyes, superimposed over Lockwood's pale face.

you love me, don't you? you love me

She remembered saying it and desperately wished she could just be embarrassed about it. Instead, she felt everything Annabel felt, a sickening need to placate the man's every outburst, a blind, obsessive, careless love, and a fear running deep through her like cold water under ice. Betrayal tore through her chest, or maybe that was pain from lack of oxygen.

They weren't real feelings—she repeated that over and over to herself. Or not her real feelings. She damn well wasn't going to placate him about anything. She certainly wasn't afraid of him. And she wasn't in love with Lockwood, just like he wasn't in love with her.

Besides, Anthony J. Lockwood fit right in with all those polished people in the society pages he read. Lucy could just imagine that Headline Hero smile of his lighting up a magazine. Whether Lockwood & Co ever got off the ground or not, she knew he would be shaking hands with Fittes and Rotwell and whoever else one day. 

She was no starlet, just a nobody from nowhere. Her self-cut bangs, wrinkled skirts, and Northern accent made her stick out, and not in the right way. She knew that. Not that she envied Annabel Ward, mind. She'd much rather be a nobody than end up dead in a chimney with all the gory details splashed over the papers.

you'd never hurt me

Annabel's doubt twisted her stomach even as she said it, but Lockwood would never strangle her and brick her up in a chimney. She trusted him like she trusted the sun to come up in the morning—more so, given the dark London winters.

It was not real. She knew that. Even through the cold, twisting ghost fog turning the light of the library a plasm green, she'd seen the expression on Lockwood's face when she touched him. He flickered like a broken magnesium flare, sparking with shock, concern, unease. Light fractured over his eyes—ordinarily dark and warm, always reminding her of returning safely home following a difficult case—carrying a hollow kind of pain she couldn't place.

She'd asked him if she hurt him and for the most part she'd meant the long, jagged gashes Annabel Ward left in the arms of her killer. Part of her also meant that flash of pain she saw in his face, the hitch she heard in his breath.

Tears cut burning tracks down her face that would. not. stop. no matter how she screwed her face up or brushed them roughly away. A frightened ache of betrayal, laced with delayed anger, twisted through her, infecting every vein and artery.

She leaned her head back against the door, hands curling into fists so hard her nails dug crescent moons into her palms. Agents controlled their emotions above anything else. She could beat this if she just tried hard enough.

But she couldn't breathe. Her hand came up to rest against her throat like she was still trying to break the man's hold. Strangled sobs leapt out of her no matter how she braced her teeth together.

Back home, Lucy never cried. Not if she could help it, not where anyone could see or hear her.

Stop sniveling, her mother had said once, or I'll really give you something to cry about

Now, tears spilled down in heavy waves. She bit into her fist trying to keep her heaving breaths quiet. As she shivered under the weight of them, she suddenly realized that these tears did not belong to her and so she could not stop them.

A knock vibrated the wood behind her and she shot to her feet, stumbling against the stairwell walls as her head spun. Distantly, she understood she was hyperventilating, but she could not work out how to break out of it.

"Luce?"

Fear struck her hard as lightning at the thought of Lockwood—anyone, but especially Lockwood—finding her like this. Some agent she was, he'd bench her for sure, probably turn her out when he found out how she couldn't control her emotions like a proper agent. He'd already overlooked her lack of a Grade Four. Who would trust a cowardly, blubbering girl like her to back them up on nasty cases like Annabel Ward? The cases that earned the money and prestige the agency desperately needed to stay afloat.

What would he do when she wasn't useful anymore?

The memory of her mother's cold, dead eyes glaring at her from the doorway washed over her. She could almost feel her cheek still stinging.

"There's doughnuts. As promised."

Lucy shook her head and rubbed her hands hard over her face to shake herself free. How long had she been sitting there, drowning?

"Be—" She took a heaving breath, digging into her lungs in search of air. "—be right there."

Silence for a moment, except that she swore she could almost hear Lockwood thinking on the other side of the door. Her mind warred with itself. She wished he would leave, wanted him to stay, could not bear it if he opened the door.

"Is everything alright?"

Her gut churned with fear now that she'd been found out, but she managed to pull words out from her closing throat. "I'm fine," she said.

His disbelief had a sound to it, she thought, the hum after a bell stopped ringing. She shook from the effort of keeping herself from bolting and never coming back.

"Can I come in?"

Anthony Lockwood had many different tones of voice, more than most in Lucy's experience. He had the confident, steady rhythm of an agency leader, the low, charming roll of a rising star, the battered, limping voice of an exhausted teenager. She'd heard it all.

All except this one.

He spoke softly, but not in the hurried way he might on a case. The warmth of it sank down into her bones. It reminded her of his steadfast hold when their hands found each other during cases, the reassuring squeeze he sometimes gave her.

Not everyone is out to get you, Norrie would tell her.

Lucy opened the door.

The instant concern in Lockwood's face—like he'd found her bleeding instead of crying—only made another wave of tears spill over her cheeks, running down to her jaw. She caught them before they dripped off her chin and turned her face away, blinking furiously, trying to clear her watery vision.

"Sorry," she started, "Just—"

"Lucy." He reached out like he might take her hand—hers were still braced in shaking fists—but he hesitated.

The gentle way he handled her name pushed all the fear out of her lungs. She could take a deep, steady breath without her ribs feeling like they might crack.

Fuck it.

She put her arms around his shoulders and rested her head against his collarbone. Her tears bled into his jacket. For a moment, he stood there rigid, tense as hugging a ghost lamp. Doubt crept in around the edges, but she didn't move.

Please, please—find me like you always do, she wanted to say.

Slowly, he moved. He placed one arm across her shoulders and the other around her lower ribs—hesitant and so, so different from careless, confident Lockwood. He held her with almost no pressure at all, as if afraid she might break or bolt.

After a moment, when it proved obvious she wouldn't do either, he relaxed and pulled her closer. His hands pressed into her back, warm and secure. She could feel him breathing and tried to match the steady rhythm.

This was real. He was real. Not the shadowy hands and leering figure. This boy with his stupid, posh voice and his Greek fire smile and his big, old house filled with memories and the smell of burnt toast.

"It's okay, Luce," he said softly, voice humming against her ear. His head leaned comfortably against hers. "I've got you. You're safe here."

She couldn't bring herself to say anything. Whatever she thought of sounded just the wrong side of sincere. Besides, she didn't have much more energy than it took to hold onto him and breathe.

"Nothing like that will ever happen again. I promise." He squeezed her gently, only letting go when she stepped back and not a moment before.

[stray-kaz]

Reparations : a Bucky Barnes x reader FF : Two

As Bucky lay flat on his back on the leaves listening to Sam in his ear telling him he had gotten that whole disaster on camera, he sincerely hoped that you would never see it.

“Don’t you dare tell her” he warned, groaning as he hauled himself upright.

He heard Sam laugh, loudly.

“Oh, I’m gonna show her” he replied, still chuckling to himself. “I’m gonna show her what a klutz the big bad Winter Soldier really is.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and stood, brushing off the leaves.

“Shut up, bird brain” he muttered, and took off.

A couple of days later, you stood next to Sam in one of the many corridors S.H.I.E.L.D had to offer, staring wide eyed at the footage he had captured of Bucky stepping out of an airborne plane and crash landing on his back on the ground a few hundred feet below.

As the video turned to something else, Sam met your gaze, grinning, expecting to see amusement. Instead, his grin faded to a faint frown as he glimpsed the shock and fear in your eyes. He put a hand on your shoulder and shook gently.

“Hey, hey, he’s fine. You know the bionic man, he’s practically unkillable. That wasn’t gonna kill him, not in a million years. Bucky isn’t hurt. And he’s home right now. You can go check on him if you don’t believe me.”

You nodded tightly, spun on your heel and headed for the nearest stairwell.

When Bucky opened his door, he didn’t expect to see you closely resembling a ball of pent up anxious fury, rocking back and forth on your heels on his Go Away doormat. Your name faded in his mouth as you planted your hands firmly on his chest and propelled him backwards into his own entryway.

“Whoa, what -”

But he was cut off and muffled by his henley being ripped off over his head and the warm, frantic sensation of your hands running all over his skin. It took him twenty dazed and confused seconds, and you circling him like a wildcat, to realise you were checking him over for injuries.

He stood there, rooted to the spot, dumbfounded, as you padded around him, your gaze and careful fingers prodding at his shoulders, his spine, the base of his neck, searching for a break, a bruise, anything to tell you he wasn’t okay.

“Okay” Bucky heard you breathe out, at long last. “You’re perfect.”

He felt heat flush his cheeks and chewed on his lower lip as you eventually came back to stand in front of him, your own gaze drawn to the thick scarring that roped what remained of his left shoulder to his vibranium arm. You had never seen him shirtless before, and now that your panic was over and done with, you could truly pay attention. You didn’t realise your eyelids had gone to half mast and Bucky shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, his hands twitching slightly at his sides.

“Doll” he said finally, and your head snapped up. “I take it Sam showed you the video of my, uh, incident?”

Your eyes narrowed just slightly.

“If by incident, you mean your idiotic fall out of a plane and less than superhero landing on hard, unforgiving earth, then yes. He did.”

He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face, and it was only then you noticed up close how tired he seemed, the fine lines that fanned from the corners of his eyes deeper than usual.

“James” you said quietly.

He tipped his chin up in response.

“You need sleep.”

He shook his head and you frowned.

“Nightmares” was all he said.

You bent and picked up his discarded henley, hugging it against your chest.

“Then I’m staying” you said firmly.

Bucky’s tired blue eyes widened as you reached out and took his hand, the cool vibranium hard against your skin.

“What?” he asked, stumped. “You’re staying?”

You nodded promptly.

“Yes. Where’s your bedroom, Sergeant?”

He jumped a little at the old rank.

“Second door down the hall to your left.”

You followed his instruction and pushed open the door to a spartan space containing only a twin bed, a built in wardrobe and narrow dresser. The bed looked like it was never slept in, and an untidy pile of blankets lay twisted on the floor. You glanced at them and then away, not meeting Bucky’s eye. 

Somehow you knowing he couldn’t sleep in his own bed stung more than him knowing it.

Then, before he could say or do anything, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you toed off your shoes and unbuttoned your jeans, shimmying them down your legs and over your feet. Bucky found himself staring at your lower body, memorising the swell of your hips and the gentle curve of your stomach as it was revealed, your hands tugging your black t-shirt over your head. Unknown to himself, he sucked in his breath at the sight of your bra, a vibrant blue he hadn’t been expecting.

Not that he had thought about you in a bra at all. But he hadn’t expected that.

Trying not to self combust under his stare, you turned Bucky’s henley in the right way and pulled it on, rolling the sleeves back until the cuffs were no longer swallowing your hands. The open top button settled right in the middle of your cleavage. Bucky’s gaze was drawn to it, his focus broken when you cleared your throat and pointed to his jeans, still attached to his body.

“Off, James” you instructed, raising one challenging eyebrow.

The butterflies in your stomach rioted as what you had imagined a thousand times in a thousand different ways happened before your eyes: James Buchanan Barnes took off his pants. His long, nimble fingers worked at the button and zip and then the heavy denim was shucked off and kicked over to land on yours. He looked at you, his gaze weighted and warm.

“What now?” he asked you.

Without replying, you walked over to his windows and pulled the curtains so the room was doused in gloom; but Bucky’s eyes adjusted quickly and he could still see you, wandering about in his blue henley, the hem brushing your thighs whenever you moved. He watched as you picked his blankets up off the floor and rearranged them on his mattress. Then you lifted up the edge and climbed under, holding out your arms. Hesitantly, Bucky climbed under the blankets on the other side, rolled onto his hip and backed up towards you until he felt the softness of his henley and the warm, surprising strength of your arm wrapping around his waist.

His mind and body were exhausted, but Bucky was still surprised when a dreamy blackness swept in over the edges, pulling him under just as sure as your hold on him.

When the sky turned to blush, you discovered that Bucky had switched places with you during the night, and was now asleep curled around you like a fiddlehead. He snored quietly. You glanced down to see his arm banded around you like an anchor.

Out of nowhere, you felt your throat thicken and tears burn behind your eyes. It had really been so long since a man had held you like this, since you had wanted a man to hold you like this.

Bucky was warm everywhere you touched him and his henley felt like soft heaven on your skin, the faint scent of him drifting around whenever you shifted in the bed.

Your heart clenched as you remembered a very different pair of arms holding you tight and a different heart beating against your back.

Bucky woke up to the sound of your tears.

Tagging: @hoodedbirdie​

[invisibleraven]

Winter prompts! 2 (sees snow for the first time) character of your choice!

When Julie's parents sent her away to live with her aunt in the countryside, she had hated them fiercely. Yes, they had assured her that they still loved her, and would come back for her as soon as they could. And deep down, she knew she was safer here in this little house than anywhere near where the war was raging or bombs were being dropped. But she didn't have to be happy about it.

She missed the city, the ability to get a bus almost anywhere, even if she wasn't old enough to ride it by herself yet. The museums, the shops, the cinema. All tia's village had was a little store that sold sweets alongside the postage stamps and the newspaper. Plus you had to walk everywhere, not a bus in sigh. And you could forget about culture, the closest thing was the library, and Julie had exhausted their small supply of child appropriate books months ago. She was half tempted to see if the librarian would loan her something more adult, but she knew that woman would rat her out to her aunt.

Thus she was stuck inside exploring her aunt's house more often than not. She had a healthy supply of records, and the wireless was a good distraction, even if Victoria scrambled to change it when news of the world came on. Julie scowled at that, wanting desperately to know if the city still stood, if the country was winning... if her parents and their fight for victory was succeeding.

Eventually she felt she knew every corner of the home, down to the last dust mite. Except the one room that her aunt kept locked. Julie found the key hidden in a drawer, and one day while Victoria was out playing bridge, she clicked it open. Only to find it empty save for one large wardrobe against the wall.

Opening it up, she saw a wealth of coats, some even lined with fur, luxurious ermine, soft angora wool, one even had mother of pearl buttons! Julie dug in, pulling one on, posing in front of the mirror, pouting her lips like she saw the movie stars do.

It was then that she felt a chill, heard the tinkling of bells, coming from behind the coats. She dug into them, finding the wardrobe went even further back than she thought, and dove in, leaving the coat in a crumpled heap on the floor.

She kept going until she found a light in the distance, and when she reached forward, it didn't feel like coats, but the branches of a great pine tree, the kind her parents always got at yuletide. She could smell the evergreens, and when she pushed past their scratchy branches had to stop.

The world around her was cold, and covered in snow.

Snow!

Julie was delighted, holding her hands out as soft flakes fell from the sky, watching them melt against the warmth of her skin. Giggled when she could see her breath dancing on the wind. Skipped and danced through the crunchy snow beneath her, heedless of the wetness seeping into her sensible shoes. Holding out her tongue to catch the errant flakes that blew past, and twirling once more until she found herself in a clearing.

Where there was naught but a lamp post.

She approached slowly, the warm glow feeling welcoming amidst this new world of icy delights.

"Well, what do we have here?"

Julie whirl around and stared, for before her was a man... well he looked like a man, only with the legs of a goat! His chest was bare save a bright red scarf around his neck, and she could spy tiny horns peaking through his unruly brown curls. "Hello my dear. Welcome to Narnia. I'm Mr. Tumnus."

"Julie," she said, giving a little curtsey. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The satyr grinned, giving a mock bow, and Julie immediately felt at ease. He even offered to introduce her to his friends, the badgers, but she could hear her aunt calling, so she regretfully declined.

She gave Mr. Tumnus a mournful goodbye, and made her way back through the tress, struggling through the coats until she collapsed onto the hard wood floor. Then rushed off towards where Victoria was calling her.

Resolving to come back, to see snow, see her new friend once more.

One thing was for certain though, her sojourn into the country while the war raged on was looking a lot less boring!

[yiiyiiwrites]

Please do winter warrior at winter solstice. What gifts would she give everyone?? Part two to tame the wolf? Please 🥲

Oh this is sweet :) I think winter warrior would bring a mixture of the most bizarre gifts to the most obvious. Nesta is not mated to Cassian 3461words not edited [Previous part]

❄️ Winter solstice

The heat hit you as soon as you entered the townhouse. Your fur coat still tinged with the pink hues of your blood, you'd patched the hole refusing Cassian's offer of buying you a new one. The Garments in Velaris were not as warm or heavy as the ones from the winter court.

Cassian guided your coat down your arms, a twinge of pain surging through your shoulder making you flinch. You were supposed to return in the morning, but you'd ventured into the heart of winter to buy some last minute gifts for your friends. The word felt foreign to you, but you'd come to realise that they were your friends as much as they were Cassian's.

His hand slid to yours, warmth spreading through your frosty veins. You allowed him to guide you down the hallway and up the stairs, the muffled sounds of your friends in the living room. Lights flickered against the narrow walls, Cassian nudging the door open with his foot as he dragged you and the bag of your belongings into his and yours bedroom.

The fire roared beside you, logs crackling in the silent room. Your gaze trailed after Cassian, his armour already shredded and the black swirls decorating his chest, a smirk tugged his lips.

"Is this where you give me my gift?" His brow arched, wings twitching as you stalked towards him. Always the predator in his gleaming eyes.

You traced your nails along his bicep, shaking your head and jutting out your lip. "Sorry, my love but you'll have to wait," you said, you fingers working the buttons of your undershirt. "Think you can manage that?"

He’d already gifted you your solstice present this morning, unable to keep it a secret. A silver locket, snowflake trapped between a glass pendant. Not just any snow though, it was a mixture of the Illyrian mountains and the winter mountains. To anyone else it was found anywhere, but the way the light caught the snow, you could see fusions of blue ice from the first place you met him in the winter mountains. The Illyrian frost a duller white in comparison to the crisp blue hue of your home.

Cassian grumbled, pulling on a clean shirt. His gaze wandered to you as you undressed, brows furrowing as you peeled off your shirt. He let out a deep breath, "God's they really did whip you like an animal," his whispered breath fanned against the back of your neck. He traced the three lines scored into your back, scabs stretching the healing wounds that you could feel the tight pull with every move.

"My love, you forget I am an animal." You stepped away from him, the knot in your stomach leading you back to him. "I deserved it, I shouldn't have lashed out at my sister." You kissed his stubbled jaw, patting his cheek.

"No one deserves that," he trailed after you, through the walk in wardrobe helping you reach for the lighter layered clothing you'd stored away. "Besides I'm sure your sister deserved it, the things that come out that mouth. That's an animal." His distaste for Veyna never hidden, he frequently told you what he thought of her.

You tried to push back the memories of your nails digging into her throat, even the blood spitting from her mouth as she continued baiting you. The wolf snarling, silvery gaze filtering the warm colours around you.

Blinking you, you pushed down the wolf and dressed in a tunic and trousers, inky blue velvet hanging from your shoulders. You were still getting used to wearing light weight clothing, the way your body moved like shadows and the silence of fabrics not rubbing together. The boots you wore thinner, the soft leather laced up and the sole smaller giving you less height.

“Come on,” you tugged him with you. “This is my second solstice, I think I understand the gift part much better now.”

Cassian chuckled behind you, “my love, I’m definitely looking forward to what you think as a gift.”

It was true, you’d messed up last year. Getting people what you thought was necessary, forgetting that they didn’t live in the rugged mountains. You’d hunted food to bring for the feast, only knowing what you’d read from old books in the mountains. That and you gifted them each a lock of lucky witches hair you’d bought from the keeper of forest high in the mountains.

You’d spent the last three months trying to figure out what would be a good gift. Even sneaking away to the healers quarters in the heart of the winter court to ask your sister, Senna’s advice. It was awkward, you’d never given a gift even to your family. Their life was down there whilst yours was in the mountains. The only gift you did get was from the high lord each yeah consisting of supplies and new clothes.

The winter solstice went on for a week below in the heart of the court. You had never celebrated it, your days spent patrolling the forest and mountains like usual. The wicked never slept, that’s what they’d reminded you growing up. You knew that families in the mountains had their own tradition of dinner of the night of solstice, but you didn’t have anyone close to your hut to bother with the holiday. Sometimes though when you woke the morning after, someone would leave food wrapped in a cloth on your doorstep.

Laughter echoed down the halls, the glow of yellow welcoming you into the living room. So much warmth, not just from the fire. Feyre rushed forwards and hugged you, force nearly knocking you over.

“We didn’t know if you were coming or not…” she trailed off her rambling, gaze flitting to Cassian behind you. Her cheeks turning red as she linked your arm with yours. “Elain wanted to give you her present first,” she whispered patting your arm and pointing through the misted glass at the balcony.

You pushed the door open, shutting it behind you and tucking your hands around your body for warmth.

“I knew you wouldn’t be long,” Elain said, smile tugging her lips. She clasped her hands in front of her, a habit she did for you as she realised you followed her every movement.

You don’t know why but Elain made you very aware of every bone in your body as if the wolf would jump from its cage and unleash itself. The straightness of your back and the tightness of jaw setting the dull aches of pain as you willed yourself to walk towards her.

Her gaze was always soft, just like her face and her touch. Something you were still getting used to. The way she chose her words and coated them with kindness surprised you most.

“I respect that you fend for yourself, but everyone needs a little bit of help sometimes. There’s lots of things to aid you when you’re injured.” She said, stepping aside to retrieve a brown bag.

Elain rifled through the bag, pulling out an assortment of health tonics and soothing balms. She knew you too well, knew you wouldn’t look through the contents as if something lurked in there, you peered over looking into the unzipped bag and the ribbons of bandages balled up. It must have taken her weeks to collect it all and she would have had to research certain things you knew only tied to the winter court.

“Thank you,” you said bowing your head and mirroring her smile. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble, one tonic would have been enough.” Gods now your present paled in comparison.

“Nonsense,” Elain said, swatting her hand, you jerked back before her hand connected to your arm. Fists twisting in the fabric under your crossed arms.

As if sensing the change in mood, the house dropped Elain’s present into her hands. You looked out the corner of your eye, wondering if she’d like the gift.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, breath fogging the glass she held. A small flower nestled on top of a mound of snow, blue petals ruffling as a cloud dispersed snowflakes from above to fall upon them. “This is from your home?”

You nodded, “it’s from the highest peak of the mountains, only grows in snow.” It had taken you days to trek to the top, part of you needed to go that way on your patrol, but another telling you it was perfect for Elain.

“Thank you, I love it. I shall put it on my desk in my bedroom. So I can always see it.” A smile blossomed, the tip of her red nose reminding you to go back inside. She held the delicate glass, her eyes on the flurry of white flakes kissing the petals.

You held the door for Elain to enter first, scanning the balcony out of habit before you retreated into the warmth.

Turning on your heel, your met with the dark wisps and their owner. Azriel smiled down at you, he plucked a small box from the darkness swimming around him and gave it to you.

“Happy solstice,” was all he said before slinking away. He took up space by the door again, leaning against the wall and falling back into conversation with Feyre.

You pulled the thin yellow ribbon, the lid opening as you untied it. A silver coin laid upon shredded tissue, a wolf on one side and a sword on the other. You picked it up, examining the scripture on the side. The coin more of a medal nowadays, was given to patrollers in winter when they had reached a certain milestone. It wasn’t something your court did anymore, but there were still some floating around. You had never seen one though. He didn’t need to hear your appreciation out loud, he nodded to you across the room knowing that it meant a great deal to you.

“What did you get, Az?” Cassian said, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you onto his lap.

Azriel perked up at the mention of his name, he wasn’t expecting a gift and he’d told you not to get him one.

“I may have taken a days leave to hunt someone for you.” You prayed they wouldn’t ask for the gritty details, you squeezed Cassian’s arm before he could ask. “They’re being held in the winter courts tower and ready to be transported at your convenience.” You’d spoke in length with Azriel about a slippery fae who kept flitting between the courts in hopes of pleading sanctuary. Thought you’d make his gift the essence of time, hunt the fae and offer him up for questioning.

“Not today, Az,” Rhys said, stopping Azriel before he could get to work. “Solstice remember.” He patted him on the back, steering him to an armchair by the fire.

Azriel’s hazel eyes connected with yours, smile tugging the corner of his lips as Cassian was trying to coax an answer out of you. How did you find them? Wolf or warrior?

You slumped back, wincing as you back made contact with Cassian’s firm chest. “Gods, this gift giving is hard work,” you sighed, rubbing your forehead. Mor, Nesta and Amren were yet to join you, saying they’d be at the townhouse for dinner.

The rest of your gifts were piled up with the others. Yours could be spotted a mile away, brown cloth wrapped around and tied with string. Colourful shining papers and vivid ribbon bows surrounded yours. Maybe you’d have to ask where to get stuff like that, it did look pretty.

Rhys was busy giving out his gifts, the ripping of paper and gasps filling the room. He stopped before you, “if you’d allow me, I’d like to meet your wolf and help you understand the spirit better for yourself,” his words echoed in your mind, but his lips did not move. Words for you to hear alone and maybe for the wolf to hear too.

His gift meant more than he realised, no one had asked to meet your wolf or offered you help in a way that wouldn’t harm you. You nodded in thanks, his energy slipping from your mind.

You handed Rhys a thin long box, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. It was a gamble and you wasn’t sure if it made you look savage, but it was the only thing you could think of. He slid the lid off, frown settling his head, his violet eyes snapping to you.

“The talons from the naga that attacked Feyre in the spring court,” you said gesturing to the four claws rolling around the box. “The autumn court chased them through to the winter, I came across a group of them in the mountains. Could smell feyre’s scent on that one.”

The room fell quiet, all eyes on you and Rhys as he picked up one of the long sharp talons. Had you messed up? Was this not something normal, least you didn’t bring its head.

“What?” You blurted out, glancing at each of your friends around you. “I did good, right?” Cassian’s face softened, faint smile replacing the frown.

Feyre appeared beside you, palm smoothing up and down your arm. “Thank you, that must have taken a lot of courage. It’s a thoughtful gift,” she said, she took the talon from Rhys and placed it back in the box.

“Will make a good paperweight.” Rhys smirked, dodging feyre’s jab.

You settled next to cassian on the sofa, head resting against his shoulder. The heat radiating from him and the fire calmed you, twinkling lights draped the mantle piece with pine cones and branches. The scent of pine reminded you of home and all you wanted to do was bundle up in a duvet letting sleep take you. The past few weeks catching up with after your dazed hunt.

Mor, Nesta and Amren appeared in the doorway.

Nesta sauntering through the room, her icy stare focussed on you. “I’m glad to see you,” she said, stretching her hand for you to take. She pulled you up, hand clasped in yours as she led to the entryway. There was bite of frost you and eldest Archeron shared, the way it claimed you as cold and detached, made your friendship stronger. One look between you two and you knew what each other were thinking.

You knew what she’d get you, clothes. She’d been the one to give you clothes more fitting for life in Velaris, your heavy set garments no use outside of the winter court. Nesta kept to the same shade of midnight blue, that hung in your wardrobe and complimented your complexion. A long overcoat, white fur trimmings circling the cuffs and hem. Silver embroidered stars and the traditional snowy pattern of your court decorating the soft material.

“Go ahead, try it on,” she said, holding the coat so that you could slip your arms into the sleeves. You winced at your healing wounds, shoving down the ache with a smile. You twirled around, her hand holding her chin as she examined the fit, she was well know to the tailors and you didn’t put it past her that she’d designed it herself.

“I should warn you,” you whispered leaning in to lower your voice as low as you could. “This book is banned so don’t go leaving it around.”

Nesta turned the book in her hands, fingers flicking the yellowing pages. She’d mentioned the author once before, the name never left your mind and you’d been searching for it since she’d confided in you. You managed to get lucky, finding one in a second hand shop in the heart of winter. As if you were meant to find it. She raised it in air, the house hid it away till it was time to leave.

You removed your overcoat, folding it back up in its neat box and set it aside on the cabinet in the hall. Nesta and you made your way to the dining room, plates full of food lined the centre of the table, thin pillar candles tucked between the dark green foliage.

Bottles clinked in your hands and you placed them in front of Amren, the only place at the table without a plate. “I may have drained a few beasts during the coldest months,” you said, popping the cork from a bottle and pouring the red liquid into the glass in front of her.

Amren downed the glass of blood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. A smile playing on her lips as she poured another. “Always full of surprises little wolf,” she said, raising her full glass at you. You wondered if she could tell which beasts you’d drained, but you’d leave that for another day. Letting her savour the gift.

She gifted you a weather warner, a metal device that predicted rain. You’d hated the rain ever since you’d arrived in Velaris and always got caught without shelter. Snow you could handle, rain you loathed it. How it drenched your clothes and left muddy splashes in its wake. Now you couldn’t be caught in it thanks to Amren.

The dinner rolled on, questions about your three months away and what everyone else had been up to. Your stomach and jaw ached from laughing so much. You all returned to the living room, more subdued than earlier. The wine coaxing Amren into a slumber on the window seat, Mor placing a fluffy blanket over her.

You hadn’t spent much time with Mor, she’d been busy with the hewn city before you left for winter. So you still didn’t know enough about her to get her a meaningful gift. That’s what you’d learnt, to get presents that the person would like or something they’d mentioned, to know you listened to them.

You’d settled with red lipstick that didn’t budge in the cold, only removed with cleaning balm that came with it. A winter court speciality that kept people lips hydrated in the biting cold, but added a bit of style. It matched the red encrusted gown she worn tonight, she dabbed it onto her full lips thanking you for the gift.

She handed you a flask, magicked to keep liquids warm. A welcome addiction to the supplies you needed for the coldest months.

Feyre hovered nearby, she’d asked you to wait till last to exchange gifts. She could hardly contain her smile as she finally got to her turn. You’d gifted her a wooden box, palette inside that kept paint cold and stopped them drying out, a few paints that were darkest colours which were only made in winter.

“Thank you, I can’t wait to test them out,” Feyre said, looking at the paint tubes and opening them to see the depths of colours. She set the it down, holding a finger for you to wait.

When Feyre entered the room again, you gasped. Snuggled in her arms was a scruffy furred white fox. It squirmed on her arms and leapt to the ground. Is darted towards you, snaking in and out of your legs.

“Flick,” you said, scooping your messenger in your arms. “But how did you? My general refused to let me take him.” You’d had flick since you were a child, his name given to him because his tail was forever flicking. His white fur wasn’t pure, a sandy hue to the shaggy coat.

The winter court had many white foxes they used to send messages, fast little things that blended into the snow. Flick licked your chin, teeth nipping gently at the braid over your shoulder.

“I asked Kallias.” Feyre stroked Flick, tears stinging your eyes as you buried your face into his fur.

“Thank you, this means so much,” your voice a hoarse whisper. You knew your general would have something to say to you when you returned, but you didn’t care. You’d cross that bridge when you came to it.

The evening blurred, your head heavy as you swayed in Cassian’s arms. You sank into the soft mattress, warm hands took off your shoes and pulled the sheets over you. You blinked, the bed dipping beside you and Cassian coming into view. His hand cupped your cheek and you held onto his wrist, resting the side of your face on his calloused palm.

“Your present,” you mumbled, sleep lacing your voice. The house dropped an ancient tome on the bed, his love for war and history running deep, but he’d never read texts on the winter mountains. Well till now, frost clung to the hardcover, you’d ventured far into the forest and begged the keeper of the forest for the old tome. Exchanging the scales of naga for it.

Thanks for the request :) I didn't realise how long this was but wanted to include all of the inner circle. Hope you liked it - Yiiyii

[maiiiwrites]

★ | CHRISTMAS EVE AND PROMISES . JPEG

PAIRING ! mattheo riddle x gn!reader

IN WHICH your beloved surprised you with a gift or the first time he truly appreciated the holidays

as the first snow of the season fell from the dimly lit sky, hogwarts remained silent and still, wrapped in an unusual silence that only winter could bring. the magic of the season slowly fades, as cheerful students departed for the holidays, leaving behind a void that even magic couldn’t fill.

the evident chill that swept through the corridors made you snuggle deeper into the warmth of your scarf. your pace quickened as you roamed the icy halls, each step echoing through the silence that loomed the grounds.

the journey to the slytherin common room felt dreadful as you walked through a wintry labyrinth. the portraits watched silently as you hurriedly walked past. the entrance of the slytherin dorms finally came into view within your line of sight. with a whispered password, the door creaked open, revealing a sanctuary from the winter chill.

the warmth from the flickering fire cast a soft glow around the room. you smile to yourself as you watch mattheo’s stare trail after the hogwarts express.

you understood how he truly felt about the holidays. it wasn’t a time of joy or celebration within his household. only a reminder of the family’s unwavering obsession with blood purity and ambitions to attain superiority within in the wizarding world.

mattheo had long distanced himself from the weight of his family’s name. opting not to attend family dinners that would inevitably lead to a forced acceptance of an arranged marriage. so, he hid, away from the clutches of dark magic and in the safety of your presence.

despite being confident that his parents would approve of your relationship, given your shared pureblood status and similar family standing. but he didn’t want that life for you, a life he sought to escape. mattheo would do everything in his power to shield you from the dark magic and prejudices within his family. he would spare no effort in ensuring you remain untouched by those shadows.

so here you are, alone, together in the slytherin chambers for the rest of the holiday break.

“shadow?” you quietly called out, pulling mattheo out of his trance.

mattheo met your gaze and smiled softly at the nickname. “c’mere, eclipse.”

you climb onto his lap and nuzzling against the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent – a mix of cigarettes, black vanilla orchid, and a hint of smoky sandalwood. mattheo’s arms encircle you, drawing you closer, content with your weight on top of his. feeling secured knowing you were safe in his arms.

a comforting silence enveloped the atmosphere. mattheo couldn’t help but smile, feeling the delicate kisses to his jaw. he felt you slowly slipping into a blissful slumber. gently, he lifts you, cradling you in his arms with care as he makes his way to his dorm. amused by the way you cling to him tighter.

upon entering his dorm, he places you on his bed before moving away to fetch more comfortable clothing for you. you rouse from the absence of his presence. your hand instinctively reaching out to stop mattheo from completely pulling away.

“mattheo?? stay,” you drowsily mumbled.

“eclipse, i need to get you into comfier clothes,” he reassures in a hushed tone.

you sit up, rubbing the drowsiness from your eyes, “wanna go with you.”

mattheo, smitten by the genuine warmth in your sleepy gaze, gives in to you.

“alright, eclipse,” he concedes, wrapping his arm around your waist. together, you navigate through the confines of his dorm. mattheo curses under his breathe noticing the emptiness of his wardrobe.

“what’s the matter shadow?”

he swiftly dismissed your question, pulling out a neatly wrapped gift from a secret compartment, one that escapes your drowsy state.

“here, i was saving this for tomorrow but i believe you would appreciate it more right now.” he mentions, presenting the gift with a soft smile.

you give him a quick peck on the lips, truly thankful for the effort he put in. you carefully unravel the gift, conscious not to destroy the wrapper, knowing you’ll keep it in your memory box later on.

the wrapper reveals an oversized jumper, its fabric a comforting blend of warmth and softness. you beam at him, feeling the fabric between your fingers.

“i thought you might find solace in this,” he says fondly.

mattheo helps you change into the jumper he got you, his touch gentle and caring. the garment enveloped you like a cozy embrace.

“it’s a little big, don’t you think?” you playfully tease.

mattheo chuckles softly, “it’s just cozy sized, perfect for my eclipse.”

he watches you twirl, showing off your new favorite garment. with a gentle touch, he arranges the hood, framing your face in a tender and protective way.

you stare at each other fondly, the dim glow of the room highlighting the intimate moment. mattheo leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. he wraps you in his embrace, walking you both to bed.

“rest now, eclipse. tomorrow can wait,” he whispers, his words carrying a promise of comfort and a future.

wrapped in your jumper and the embrace of your beloved, you gradually drift back into the arms of sleep, grateful for matteho and the warmth he brings to the quiet night in the slytherin dorm.

© maiiiwrites — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

[blogtalk360]

The Ensemble To An Accomplished Man’s Wardrobe

Men don't spend even a brief amount of time choosing their daily clothing, according to prevalent myths about men's fashion, which are brought up in conversation. While this viewpoint may appear reasonable to the outside world, it has repeatedly been shown that it is inaccurate and imprecise. Whether it is the extra width or breadth of their cuff links or the way their collar is spaced out to be on their shirt, men invest more time than the general public believes they have spent.

The cycle of fashion is unbreakable. All eras have it on constant rotation. A pattern that never stops stopping its existence, regardless of the design that emerges. Every article of clothing made for males is influenced by history and culture; rather, it is a derivative of passed-down customs that attempt to provide the wearer a more sophisticated appearance with each passing generation.

Men place a high value on expression. Men want to be free to express who they are by what they wear as opposed to fitting into a mold that the world has created for them and having to live up to everyone else's standards instead of their own.

The fact that every person of this gender is best matched with one style—one that pairs off with our bodies, our personalities, and our lifestyles in just the correct ways—is what precisely demonstrates and symbolizes the wearer. You may create a precisely tailored wardrobe that endures the test of time by adding variety and a larger scope to this one style.

Trek Along The Four Seasons With His Closet!

Menswear holds its breath to exquisitely culture up the items of clothing that pair exactly right in a race against the growing temperatures as the sticky and blistering heat of the sun flares up during summer.

-Put on a Men's Polo Shirt underneath your jacket and accessorize with a turquoise or white pocket square that can be stored away for after work. This would be the ideal piece of clothing to cover up a short sleeve while still managing to create a style that does accurately reflect a person's keen appeal.

-A plain white or even khaki-colored pair of sneakers can effectively absorb heat. The power of producing an outfit that appears simple on the inside is frequently underestimated because such a style offers so much more elegance. Lightweight chinos often provide the user an appearance that is both smart-looking but not overly stuffy and casual-looking but not overly juvenile. Even with suits, shorts would be a terrific summer outfit.

- Linen is the appropriate summer fabric that is authentic to its culture. All the spacy parts of your wardrobe will be breathable if you pair linen with your apparel.

Let's explore the season that has each of us covered in countless layers of clothing that, for whatever reason, never seems to be enough as the snowflakes prickle against our skin.

-Because of their inherent versatility, leather jackets that are laced and interwoven with wool at every inch offer the comfortability that every man seeks, serving up elegant and understated on a silver platter.

-Always and forever wear black jeans and a leather jacket. If you start with the fundamentals, everyone can fit themselves into any style, whether it's bohemian or professional. Black pants combine well with a leather jacket's understated style when you wear a scarf around your neck.

-If you experience goosebumps, a wool cloak in a color like charcoal or even camel would cure you perfectly.

- At the height of sophistication, winter boots complement your skin as a piece of clothing because of the warmth and style they provide. These boots are the standard for robust and well-built footwear since they may be worn with any style of clothing.

Autumn comes to life when the leaves rustle and fall announces its arrival with each splash of a deep and rich orange color you see along a neighborhood's paths.

-This season, cotton is the most prized material because of its historical significance. If you sew your jackets, long sleeve shirts, cardigans, or even men's polo shirts with cotton, you will truly be experiencing autumn.

- When creating the plan for your wardrobe, a more natural and warm color palette is preferred. Richness is added to the table by a burnt orange, navy, or even a burgundy.

A more humid and hotter climate. It starts to bloom as ground-level organisms do. The spring season prides itself on bringing color to the world's foolish and drab places.

-The early stages of Spring are defined by a bomber jacket, which is typically worn with casual chinos and a coat in a neutral color. It is acceptable to conclude that these items of clothing are the perfect suit at this specific period because they are neither too professional nor excessively casual. The ideal footwear to put your feet on is currently a pair of white or oxblood sneakers.

-Overall, men's clothing is designed to fit what you want to wear; to express who you are and who you are alone.

Resources:

Gazman

GAP Australia

Tarocash

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