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pricegouge · 13 days ago

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Get Her a Dog (She'll be Happier For It)

Part Five | master list | taglist | MDNI

Soap x reader, Price x reader, eventual PriceSoap x reader

series cw: cheating. dubcon. angst. cuckholding. pet play.

chapter cw: angst, cheating, dubcon, breeding kink. john gets slapped

reader is fem and fat

He comes home with a puppy some weeks later, timed perfectly to coincide with your house finally starting to look like a home; no boxes left to be chewed up, as if he were really trying to be considerate. A puppy was not discussed but you're helpless against its charms, infatuated from the moment it first teethes on your fingers. You name him Gilbert because it makes Johnny laugh the hardest, though it gets shortened to Gil within the hour.

You've heard that one of the biggest tests a couple could go through was a move, but clearly that statistic was measured among couples who tackled these issues together , as the move goes through surprisingly easy, even despite the stress of handling most of it yourself. Not to say Johnny doesn't help where he can, touring houses with you and signing paperwork without a fuss. It's just hard to wrangle him when he's suddenly needed much more often around base so you shoulder the brunt of the work and clap excitedly each time he praises you for a job well done when you make progress, traversing the unknown terrain of legalese and open houses with no aid besides an (admittedly very helpful) realtor. Johnny calls it your solo mission, makes it into a bit of a game for you. It's sweet, fun. Everything you've been missing about his company, and despite all the apprehension the ambitious project had instilled in you, you end up feeling closer to your husband than you have in years. It's nice to feel like a team, and you wonder if maybe this is the exact reason he spends so much time with his own. Hard to be mad at him when you think of it like that.

He's with you when you attend your final open house, broad shouldered and strong in the oversized kitchen; the only man among those assembled who can fill it out, make it seem homey instead of austere. You make out like teenagers in the master bath when you both decide this is it, the one . Johnny lifts you onto the counter with a heavy grunt as you whisper against his lips about putting a baby in you, fueling him on as he rips his belt off and rucks up your skirt. He only shushes you when your begging gets too loud, afraid of being caught, though it's almost rendered meaningless with the way you whine when he pulls out, painting your belly. Johnny tells you you should wait until after the move to avoid stress on the baby and you can't deny he's right so you put on a happy face for the rest of the tour, keep it in place through the whole hair pulling process of finalizing the sale. It's not hard to fake, pleased as you are with Johnny's initiative to move, and it's still in place on moving day when the two of you collapse, exhausted but relieved, onto the mattress that still sits on the floor of your new bedroom.

It finally breaks that first night, when Johnny's got you on your back, heavy weight bearing down on you where he leans against the backs of your thighs, pinning you in place underneath himself. He's worked himself into a sweat, breath coming in heavy huffs which spill hot as a bellows across your cheek. You're useless but to clutch at his thick shoulders, moan your encouragement. He answers in deep grunts, synchronized with the slap of his full balls against your ass. You don't beg him this time, don't think you need to with the way his eyes are locked on the sight of your cunt clenching around him, trying to keep him buried deep.

You know something is wrong when he pulls out to jerk himself off over your tits, but he's so sweet afterwards that you let it slide, allow yourself to be lost in the warmth of his embrace, at least for the night. You weren't ovulating, anyway.

Gil is a handful, the best kind of trial run - one you're not sure you can give your husband the credit for considering you're not entirely certain he had the foresight necessary to assign you a trial, though one you're committed to rise to regardless. The dog's a quick study, breezing through potty training within two weeks, though the chewing takes a little longer to break. He trains you just as much as you do him, molding you into the perfect dog owner in record time. You coordinate vet visits with practiced ease, spend an inordinate amount of time reading dog psychology books (seriously, you never realized how developed the field was), and walk him religiously - a practiced balance between just enough for exercise and not enough to hurt his fragile little joints, meticulously calculated based on vet feedback. Johnny becomes enamored with him just as quickly as you, though he's not quite as strict about adhering to the rulebooks as you. (Another perfect insight gained into your upcoming trials as new parents. You were learning so much already.) There are some days you don't know who has more puppy energy, Johnny or the dog, Gil often collapsing into a small, fluffy heap long before Johnny would clamber to his feet, complaining about his bad knee. When you tell him he could be helping burn off Gil's energy by training him to play fetch properly, he interrupts before you can prattle on about what your books say about the benefits of fetch by reminding you that wrestling is how puppies play with each other, so that's what he will be doing.

"Besides," he affirms, scooting Gil's supine form along the kitchen tile with a heavy hand planted on the pup's bloated, exposed belly as the beast gave half-hearted nips to his owner's thick fingers, "it's good. Teaches him how tae handle rough pats and stuff, jes' in case."

"Like, in case an overeager baby pokes him too hard?"

You tell yourself you're imagining the way his shoulders tense, thick delts creeping up toward his ears. "Aye, exactly."

***

The idea for the housewarming party comes up after Gil's first obedience class, when the trainer comes around your car at the end of class to ask how you've liked it and Gil barks his head off at her from the backseat. You're shocked, having never seen him behave this way but the instructor just smiles, unconcerned.

"Do you have many guests around the house, Mrs. MacTavish?"

It takes you by surprise, realizing that you haven't really, not since the move. Behind it comes an odd sense of pride in your husband, ashamed you hadn't realized before that moment how far he's come from needing to be with the boys nearly every night. "No, not often lately."

"I see. This is pretty normal behavior for a puppy. Just a little territorial. It should be an easy fix with proper socializing, given how smart Gil here is. I'd start with having some guests over and make sure you calm that -," she motions to Gil's anxious whining from the other side of the glass illustratively, "- reaction before allowing your guests inside. I don't sense much aggression in his behavior, probably all bark and no bite," she laughs, "but do you think you'll need help?"

Ego flares hot for a second, undeserved and unaccounted for. You'd blame the strange way you've equated raising this dog with proving you're ready for a baby if you stopped to think about it for more than three seconds but you don't, too busy biting out a positive response.

Johnny takes to the housewarming party idea enthusiastically, probably happy to have this strange self-inflicted embargo on visitors lifted. You treat it all very officially, happy for the distraction amid dog walks and dog parks and dog grooming and -.

It starts with handwritten letters instead of texts, though you can't admit to yourself why until you're thumbing through your contacts list for P.O. boxes and your thumb hovers over John's name too long, the urge to call him hard to combat. You don't need the back and forth, the memory of how you'd almost kissed him still far too fresh despite how you've tried to bury it deep. You leave his invitation short and impersonal, even managing to make yourself laugh when you picture yourself spraying it with your favorite perfume like some lovesick teenager. But the invite is sealed unsprayed, and it's shuffled off into the post just as unceremoniously as the rest of them, and when John texts you days later to confirm he will be there, you note it just as mildly as the rest as well, and you lay yourself down that night with some sense of pride.

Even if you're ovulating now and your husband definitely shouldn't be letting you drift off to sleep with any dignity.

***

Years of hosting the boys for dinner should have prepared you for an evening such as this, but friendly gatherings around the tiny kitchenette of the old apartment were one thing, and the first proper dinner of your forever home was another beast entirely. It didn't help that in all your excitement of fancy proper invites you'd managed to invite Kate and her wife, though the severe woman had shown up stag and you can only imagine that meant she'd been in town on business, a fact that lends itself to the intensity with which she stands in your kitchen now, probably thinking to be congenial but only serving to make your hands shake as you pull a bread bowl from the oven under her watchful eye. You can hear Johnny greeting yet more guests in the other room, his loud boisterousness infectious enough to have the newcomers laughing with him before they'd even properly stepped through the door. You keep an ear out, asking Kate if she'd like to go say hi to the new guests when you detect the light lilt of Kyle's latest fling because you were determined to pawn her off on someone before she watched you - disinterestedly, scathingly - ruin the whole dinner because you were not made out for the cooking reality show lifestyle and you couldn't handle the pressure of her very presence.

"He'll come to me," she says mildly, sipping on her wine so elegantly it didn't even stain her teeth and you curse when she proves herself right, Kyle filtering in mere moments later as if paying respects to a mob boss. His easy charm loosens Kate incrementally, but you attach yourself to his date, Maddy, regardless, throwing yourself into her company for as long as she offers it, your little gaggle growing when your cousin joins some minutes later.

Gil trots around happily, the mild concern you'd had about his approachability dead and buried after the first guest's arrival had prompted only a singular bark before being reprimanded with a water bottle, rewarded for being calm on the second greeting with trainer treats. He'd been nothing more than a vibrating bundle of excitement ever since, wagging his tail with each new guest and chewing on the end of your aunt's ugly scarf only once. You coo at him about being a good boy whenever he deigns to approach you, but for the most part he's just happy enough to mingle, weathering clumsy pets with a dignity better suited to a much older dog. Johnny catches the impressed way you watch him at one point, nodding smugly as if he alone could take credit for the dog's behavior. The peck you press to the corner of his lips after draws hoots from his teammates when he can't let you go without a proper kiss.

John comes uncharacteristically late, though you're aware of his arrival from the moment Johnny answers the door for him like a neighboring planet with which you are locked. Orbital resonance, affecting each other before you even lay eyes on him. From the kitchen, you pretend not to listen as he greets his boys each in kind and you wonder how quickly he notices your absence, if he's calculating the appropriate time necessary to wait to come through and greet you with just as much care as you. For all the restraint you'd shown while sending his invite, now that you can hear the rough scratch of his voice in your home again, you suddenly remember it wasn't always near-misses, and you want your friend back. Want him to scoot Maddy and your cousin off to the side so he can help you put the finishing touches on the meal, or maybe distract Kate who is still having a hard time mingling with the other women .

He does neither, instead distracts himself with Gil for as long as the dog lets him, commenting to Johnny about he wasn't aware the two of you had adopted.

You nearly slice through your own finger when you hear Johnny's answering laughter over the sound of cutting chives, the way he says it was at John's own behest.

It irks you, more than it ought to. You'd joked to yourself from the beginning that you didn't believe Johnny had an idea like that in him but still, Gil has been the highlight of your days ever since Johnny had brought him home and you didn't much relish attributing the idea to John at this point, especially not after…

'John's own behest.' Where did he get off anyway?

You move through dinner with a practiced detachment - though, one you've never had to use on most of the assembled before. When he does finally come to greet you, John is put off by your careful reservedness, though he seems to be the only one to notice it, blessedly. Johnny sets the jovial tone for the night with ease, the assembled crew following after his general cheer easily. You even see Simon loosening up a bit, playing with Gil when he thinks no one is watching him. Determined to have a good time with your friends and family, you allow yourself to be carried along as well, settling in between Johnny and Kyle at the table when dinner is finally served. It's nothing terribly formal, an overflow of guests having taken up residence on the couch in the adjoining living room. When you look around you see plenty of people already eating, the din of laughter having abated a few decibels seeming to confirm that at least everyone seems to like the food enough to keep them from chattering too much, a point Johnny seconds when he doesn't sit immediately, instead deciding that was the moment to thank everyone for attending.

"Okay, sorry, this'll only take a sec, but ah jes' want tae thank everyone for coming tonight. Ah ken it's a wee bit of a trek outside the city now, afterall." Johnny pauses to allow the small crescendo of polite laughter. He seems slightly embarrassed, the apples of his cheeks ruddying under so much attention, but he did it to himself and you're not about to share the spotlight so you let him flounder, ever the better under such circumstances out of the two of you. "Honestly, though, everyone here tonight is very important tae us and I ken I speak for both me and the missus when ah say we love each'a ye's and thank ye fer always bein' there fer us." He plows over the small collection of coos from your family evidently unable to weather the storm. "An' a special thanks tae ye, cap. Wit'ou' ye talkin' some sense intae me, there never would'a even been a new house tae warm!" He holds out his glass as if to give a toast. You see a handful of people follow suit, but Johnny only has eyes for his captain, watching expectantly as the older man struggles to bite back the grimace the sergeant's words brought on. After a slight pause, John raises his tumbler stiffly and Johnny grins, seating himself with a small, pleased smile.

John avoids your eyes, long enough that the moment stretches while everyone waits to see if you'll take up the reins, or if Johnny will follow through on the toast he'd started. Distracted, you tuck your hands into Johnny's arm as if to portray the doting wife, but you remain seated, as if confused. Your voice is thin and brittle when you tell everyone to please dig in. The tension swells and ebbs, a tide brought in by a collective shrugging on shoulders, let out with a handful of awkward chuckles. Johnny seems oblivious, tucking into the spread with a borderline indecently appreciative moan. His hand finds your leg under the table, squeezes to gain your attention so he can compliment the chef. You feel vapid and airy when you tell him it was nothing really, as if you've become untethered from the scene around you. There's something you're missing, or rather something you haven't missed at all but which you refuse to look directly at.

Diagonal from where you sit, John refuses to look directly at you.

***

Without the distraction of wrapping up the meal, you're actually expected to host. A terrible development considering you're two Scottish expletives away from filing for divorce. Irritation eats at you, has you peeling absently at hangnails with too much abandon. After your second trip to the bathroom to staunch some mild blood flow and contemplate your financial standing without Johnny, you emerge to find John waiting for you in the hall, his face stern and grim, yet dire. The same expression you'd nearly kissed off of him.

You pass by him without a word when he goes to reach for your elbow.

The worst part is that none of it is even John's fault. You don't know the circumstances under which he told your husband to get his head out of his ass, but he's not to blame for the fact that it was necessary in the first place. Effect, cause. There's a whole song about it. But you don't want to be mad at Johnny for once, not after how well the two of you had been doing. Finding out Gil had been John's idea was bad enough, but that wasn't an issue in the same way knowing your husband would have been content to live the rest of your days - raise a kid - in some cramped York flat was. All the ways Johnny had changed, all the maturity he'd shown. All the reasons you'd been feeling so much more positively about your marriage as of late.

All because of John.

You're becoming less adept at hiding your frustration as the night drags on. Kate is among the first to leave but she lingers in the door, eyes hard and scrutinizing as you ramble farewells, for once too unconcerned about putting on a good face for her. It's not your smartest decision, as Kate - who has likely known something was wrong since the moment she stepped through the door - chooses then to show her hand, parting with a cryptic, 'He's no better,' before making her exit properly and the thing is, is that you know that, but without lense of Johnny's would-be recent growth to obscure them, all you can focus on are all his massive shortcomings the last few months.

He'd called buying your forever home together your solo mission, for Christ's sake. And you'd thought it was cute.

By the time the party has dwindled to the small collection of regulars, Johnny's mates, you've had just about enough of playing your role, wandering off to the kitchen without so much as an excusal. There's a version of tonight that ends with you making too much noise while cleaning up, a passive aggression that would draw the attention of the other team members who'd then filter out the same way Kate did earlier, with small, meaningless words of advice that will also go unheeded. It's hard to decide what you do want when the list of things you don't seems to go on forever, but a fight with Johnny when you're so very wound up is not a good idea and even you can recognize it in the moment.

Though there's another option, left of center.

Where before your dance with John was oppositional, it was too graceful, coordinated to be adversarial - more polar, fixed and measurable. Whatever it becomes as the night drags on is too pointed, an aggression gauged by the lack of it. John yields when you linger, follows when you need space. Peripheral presence, stalking.

So you let yourself be herded into the laundry room and you hiss and you spit but he doesn't weather it for once, instead using every opening he can find to lay blame at your feet, tell you you should have been more outright with your wants from your husband all along. You demand to know how he can say that when he of all people has known your building frustration with Johnny's disinterest in listening to your desires, and he turns it back on you by suggesting you never should have told him in the first place, should have spent all your energy learning to communicate with the man you'd said your vows to.

You surprise yourself, how low you're willing to sink. "Oh and I should take your advice on that, should I? Did you learn to listen before or after she left you?"

To his credit, John barely flinches. Or maybe he does, in his own way, such tells trained into unrecognizable ticks. John draws himself up to his full height, lets himself drift half a step closer into your space so his next words seem uncharacteristically menacing. "Your welcome for the house. Your welcome for the dog, " he snarls - sarcastic and cruel. A side of him you've always known existed but which has been carefully kept from you.

Bait is easy to spot, harder to resist. "Where do you get off, anyway, suggesting we get a dog? Afraid I can't handle a baby? Think I need some sense talked into -?"

"Of course not. I think you'd make an excellent mother. " Though his words are reassuring, his tone still falls over you like a rock slide, threatens to crush you under his frustration. "But it was either a dog or nothing because that man -," his fist clenches hard where it hovers by your ear, pointing over your shoulder in the vague direction of the living room on the other side of the wall, "- was not going to give you a baby. And I know you're lonely, so I -."

Slap.

Through the stinging in your palm, you have a brief moment of satisfaction, noting the way John indeed does flinch as you scowl up at him. "Some substitute."

If you had thought about the way you pictured this route going before setting upon it, you suppose you would have pictured a moment of stunned silence, storming past John's shocked expression, perhaps knocking your shoulder into him just to watch him sway on locked knees. But you hadn't thought it through, because you're impulsive and a fool for thinking you've known John well enough to predict him. But there's that other side of him, that side you've never seen before tonight which can call even your reckless husband to heel, out there in whatever hells they toiled under. It's that part of him who stands before you now.

John is confident where you'd expected confounded, decisive where you'd expected dazed. Your hand doesn't even make it back to your side before he's grabbing you by the wrist with a firm, callused grip and spinning you until your back rests flush against his chest, his arms wrapped around your front so he can pin you there, keep a hand planted over your mouth when he leans in to huff harsh breaths over the shell of your ear. "You're a spoiled little brat, you know that? Soap's a good lad, just needs some guidance. But you're so bloody impatient you can't wait for him to grow into it."

Protests fall flat from your tongue, get swallowed up by the firm hand which remains clamped across your jaw. John shuffles forward and you're forced to move with him, your steps clumsy and tangled with his own until he gets you hinged over the dryer, his body still flush against the back of your own. He presses close enough that his knees worm between yours, heavy boots knocking your stockinged feet aside to make room for himself. When his free hand paws across your hip to the apex of your thighs and just grips you there, your breath stutters through his fingers, heavy and humid.

"Got you a house, woman, christ , what more do you want?"

When his grip changes on your jaw, you seethe. "You know what I -."

"Yeah," John's fingers slip through your folds with slick ease when he pushes the gusset of your panties aside, his fat digit testing your cunt with barely any preamble. "I'll get you that, too."

It's rushed, skirt thrown over your hips and a few fingers to make sure you're wet enough. John's not quite as thick as your husband (a relief when you think about what it had taken to accept Johnny's fat cock in that open house quickie), but he seems to feed into you forever, forcing a place for himself so deep within you that you were certain he'd take all of you with him when he left it, all your soft vulnerable bits pulled right along behind him.

Lucky he doesn't seem to be going any time soon.

For all his rush to get inside you, John takes his time about bottoming out. Takes even longer after , pressed up flush against you with his fingers circling your clit carefully, just enough to keep you from tipping over that edge of pain. His other hand cups your breast, seems to take its measure with a satisfied huff. You wonder if he's imagining them all full and swollen, and pull a curse from him with the way your cunt flutters at the thought.

"John, we can't -."

"Really shouldn't," he agrees, but his hips have finally started moving, and he leans you further into the dryer, the hard metal biting into the plush flesh of your thighs. Your hands brace against the top of it, send some of Johnny's folded t-shirts tumbling to the floor.

"I mean it."

"'S'what you wanted, sweetheart." His next thrust scrapes along the entirety of your back wall and you can feel the way your cunt grips to keep him close. "Want this pretty pussy bred, yeah? I've got you."

Your voice is too whiny to be taken seriously when you try again, the thin sound of his name too desperate.

John's hand trails down to your belly, holds you there just as reverently as he did your tit. "Tell me you want it, sweetheart. Tell me you want to filled with my fuckin' seed."

It's not worth it to respond at first so you let yourself be carried by the slow tide of his movements, entire body rocked up and back with how deeply he fucks you. Your panting by the time the rigid line of your spine loosens with it, your head lolling back onto his shoulder so he can brush a whiskery kiss against your cheek, trailing up to your mouth. His lips are more chapped than you'd expected, his beard softer. You don't think about what it means that you'd had expectations. He tastes like smoke and burnt tea, heavy and bitter because god forbid he add any sweetener to anything. You want to sit him down at your kitchen island and make him a proper cuppa. You never want to see him in your house again.

"Don't cum inside."

A low grumble builds in his chest, like an avalanche against your back. You can hear the echo of it in his voice when his lips glide against yours, deceptively soft. "No? Don't want my baby, sweetheart?"

"John, I'm married, " you plead, though the ring you actually bothered to wear today feels more like a leash than anything now - a flimsy mark of ownership, easy enough to slip.

There's no masking the snarl in his voice this time. "Yeah, I'll fix that too."

#get her a dog #pricesoap x reader

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estellan0vella · 1 month ago

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Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

-Jang Hayun, Lee Felix and Han Jisung are college students who run a very successful true-crime podcast called Three Sunshines' Guide To Murder. For their one year anniversary, they decide to cover the five year old murder of Shin Yuna and the subsequent confession and suicide of Yuna's girlfriend, Lee Chaeryeong who is the older sister of one Lee Minho (Heavily Inspired by Holly Jackson's Book Triology; A Good Girl's Guide To Murder)

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem!reader (College AU) (reader is named Hayun)

Uploading Schedule: Will Be All Over The Place

Profiles: Murder Specialists; Theatre Kids & 1 Lawyer

Prologue Chapter One: DEFCON ONE Potential Chapter Two: WHORE HOUSE Chapter Three: Be Anything But Yourselves Chapter Four: I Murder Women For Fun Vibes Chapter Five: Scooby Squad Chapter Six: Playing Baby Sitter Chapter Seven: Waiting For Death Chapter Eight: Cornered Animals Bite Chapter Nine: Out Chapter Ten: Only She Knows The Rules Chapter Eleven: She's Too Powerful Chapter Twelve: I'm Praising You Chapter Thirteen: The Minho Way Chapter Fourteen: Burn It Chapter Fifteen: Who's The Daddy? Chapter Sixteen: All This Time Chapter Seventeen: MIRACULOUS LADYBUG Chapter Eighteen: Windows To Your Soul Chapter Nineteen: You Made Her Your Downfall Chapter Twenty: Cool Cool Cool Chapter Twenty One: It's Over Chapter Twenty Two: The Minho Way Still Sucks Chapter Twenty Three: Gil? Chapter Twenty Four: A Fuckton Of People Chapter Twenty Five: The Duke Or The Viscount? Chapter Twenty Six: Detox Chapter Twenty Seven: RUE WHEN WAS THIS? Chapter Twenty Eight: I Bite Chapter Twenty Nine: Narnia: The Bullshit Chronicles Chapter Thirty: Toad In The Pond Chapter Thirty One: Sounds Illegal As Fuck Chapter Thirty Two: Merry Fucking Christmas Chapter Thirty Three: Sex Starved Maniacs Chapter Thirty Four: Fan Event Chapter Thirty Five: You’re Too Good Chapter Thirty Six: There’s No Getting Away Chapter Thirty Seven: Title TBD Chapter Thirty Eight: Title TBD Chapter Thirty Nine: Title TBD Chapter Forty: Epilogue

Moodboards:

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount @lily-loves-kpop @stilldontknowhoiam

@ziggy1221 @justaspoonofjam @tr-mha-fan @candycurshidkwhatthehell

@heeseungspookie @smigcrazy @skzstannie @nightmarenyxx @beaann

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wild-typo-turtle · 22 days ago

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Threads - Part 12

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content (parts 9 and 11), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning.

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44, @melmel-fandom, @hufflepufferine, @shadows-and-flowers, @xcrybaby555x, @bespectacledhuman

Face claim: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 (contains smut), Part 10, Part 11 (contains very brief, light smut)

A/N: Once again, the chapter ate words, and demanded that it be split into two. So here's the actual wedding, and then the coronation and wedding night will be in the next part! Also - the Quenya is probably pretty horrible/inaccurate, and I take full responsibility for bad translation. -WTT

Part 12

The morning of the wedding dawned bright and clear. The sun shone down through the trees, turning everything a pale gold, as if the weather itself were smiling and approving of what was to come.

The servants had brought her breakfast, but Linnea had barely been able to eat. She had managed tea, and had nibbled on a piece of fresh, hot bread, but the thought of anything more sent her stomach twisting into knots. She reminded herself that there would be ample food at the wedding feast - and perhaps her nerves would settle by then.

She slipped into the bath and let Pendes carefully wash her hair, trying to relax in the hot water. Steam drifted around her, scented with roses and lilies, and she ran her sponge over herself as Pendes massaged her scalp. It felt so ordinary - the same motions as she performed every morning - and yet, there was a sparkling haze over it all. The previous night had been restless, everything almost too clear and sharp to her eyes. Today was softer, as if half in a dream.

When the bath was finished and she was dry, Linnea wrapped herself in her robe before going into her dressing area. Her wedding dress waited for her, another thing that didn't seem entirely real; as she drew the dress over her head, it felt like it was barely there in her hands. Lavan laced it for her up the back, and once it was tightened, she lifted the skirts and stepped into her shoes.

Hair next. She seated herself at the dressing table and Pendes carefully combed out her curls, arranging them just so on her shoulders. For the wedding feast, she would wear the gold filigree circlet that she had worn the prior day, but that would be replaced by her new crown at the coronation.

The crown was not in her rooms. It was waiting along with everything else for the wedding; the gold rings, and Gil-galad’s cloak, that she had carefully wrapped in gold silk. Elrond had been entrusted with the logistics of the ceremony, and even though she had not spent much time with him, she felt confident that everything would go smoothly. She had been able to give Elrond the cloak and whisper that it was a surprise, and trust that her secret would be kept safe.

Pendes finished with the comb, and stepped back. Linnea looked in the mirror.

Her hair shone. Her skin was clean and flawless, glowing with health and vigor. Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks were pink.

She was ready.

The courtyard that they had chosen for the ceremony was fitting. It was just the right size for the small group, and moreover, it was private, and it was reasonably close to the kitchens for purposes of the feast. And it also happened to be the courtyard that Linnea had arrived in, that very first day in Lindon.

Adabes had overseen the decorations. Poles had been erected, with cloth streamers and garlands of flowers stretching between them. A small dais had been set up for the musicians, a harpist and a flautist and a singer. More flowers had been strewn on the tables; lanterns and banners had been hung; candles had been placed. The tables themselves were small, no more than four seats each, allowing for more intimate conversations. It had also avoided any awkwardness in seating; it had been easy to put groups together that would not risk offending anyone.

She couldn’t see it, but she could picture it; she had seen it all the previous day, one last look to ensure that everything was ready. And she could hear it; the guests were mingling, and she could make out the murmurs of conversation.

Linnea had paused in a small antechamber that led to the large terrace out front, the terrace where Gil-galad had waited for her. He would do so again now; she would emerge so that everyone could see them, and they could greet their guests. And then the feast would begin.

She waited, but she did not wait long. Adabes came into the cool, shadowy side room, beaming. She was dressed in gold and green, and had wrapped the silk shawl Linnea had given her over her shoulders.

“It is time,” she said. “All awaits you, my lady.”

Linnea inhaled deeply.

“Thank you.”

It didn't even sound like her voice, coming from her lips. But she smoothed her skirts, and then stepped forward.

As she’d known he would be, Gil-galad was waiting for her on the terrace, where everyone could see them coming together. And he glowed.

He had chosen white samite, shot through with threads of gold, and she understood his smugness when he had seen the color of her dress. The cut was similar to his council robe, long and fairly simple, with an overrobe of the same samite. The edges and the sleeves were bordered in pale gold, and the gold was embroidered with flames in silver thread - the noble fire of his name. His dark hair looked even darker against the white and gold, brushed smooth and shining, and his crown shone atop it.

The crown was not his only adornment. He wore the gold pectoral he favored, and a gold belt hugged his waist. And both Vilya and his betrothal ring sparkled on his hand.

She wondered how all of this had happened. What she had done, how she had been so fortunate to wed him. He was beautiful in every way that an Elf could be, but seeing him now - how was it her he had chosen to wed?

No sooner had she had the thought, than she felt the ósanwë come to life.

I am the fortunate one, rîn vuin. You have chosen me, and I will be grateful for it until the end of my days.

She could feel it, too. His joy, his gratitude, his wonder.

The warmth of it made her smile, and as he held out his hand, she placed hers in it without hesitation.

Gil-galad led her to the edge of the terrace, to the stone railing that circled it. The musicians, that had paused when she stepped out, began to play again. And, still with her hand held in his, he raised his voice in song.

Eldalie!

túl rimbë símen esse sina sinome

i lillassea laurë, i nen lutta

túl ar morco cetta ana sina ertie

i tuine sir, i wilin líre.

Eldalie!

Túl sina, i amaurea o veryanwe

i salque na lai, i úrin na calima

túl ar líre, túl ar merenya

túl cen sí ve emme vanda melin oiale.

It was a song of welcome, a song of invitation for all to come and celebrate their marriage. A simple melody, but one that set the tone - and Linnea would never tire of hearing him sing, whatever the reason for it.

Once finished, he led her to the stairs, slowly descending to the table that had been prepared for them as the guests took their seats. The expectation was that the two of them would not stay seated for very long at once; they would move about the other tables to speak to the guests. The feast was presented in courses, and after each course, they would visit another group.

And they would also receive their gifts.

She had realized it only a few days ago, but of course there would be wedding gifts. And given that this was a royal wedding, they would likely be extravagant. She had shyly asked Gil-galad if there was any way they could request that gifts be foregone, but he had shaken his head. And she understood why; this was political too, just like the wedding itself.

Gil-galad seated her gracefully, keeping her hand in his as she took her chair. It had been plain to her from the start that he enjoyed these small courtesies of a husband: helping her from the saddle after a ride, giving her his arm when they walked together. And those things delighted her as well; small though they were, they added to the constant feeling of being loved, being cherished and cared for and protected.

Once she was seated, he sat beside her. They were the only two at the table, allowing for a few private moments while they ate. The wine had already been poured, and he raised his full glass in salute to the guests.

“Á tule! Mate ar suce merendesse.”

A rumble from the assembled group, everyone else raising their glasses as the first course was brought out and set before the guests. It was a light start, an arrangement of fresh sliced fruits and berries, and Linnea was grateful for it. Her stomach had settled slightly, and the sweet aromas tempted her.

But there was another small ritual that accompanied the food, and it was one she had looked forward to. Perhaps unreasonably so, but seeing it at other weddings had touched her heart in a way she could not explain.

She picked up her fork, loading it with a small bite of the fruit, and turned to Gil-galad.

He was smiling, as he opened his mouth to receive the food. She carefully extended the fork and he took the bite, chewing and swallowing, and then repeated the exchange for her. The juice spread on her tongue, bursting with flavor.

A bite from her plate for him, and one from his for her. A wedding ritual for commoners and royalty alike. Perhaps it was the symbolism that had always moved her so, that bride and groom would always care and provide for each other, putting each other first. And she knew that her own marriage would not always be so - she was marrying a King, she was going to be crowned queen. There would be times when the realm’s needs would have to come above their own. But seeing his smile, the love in his eyes, none of that seemed insurmountable.

“Gi melin,” she murmured, once she had swallowed.

He reached over, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “Gi melin. Once again you render me speechless, rîn vuin. I shall have to find a better way to praise you than to call you beautiful.”

“When you discover it, I would be glad to know of it,” she smiled back. “For I am in need of such as well, aran vuin.”

He kissed her hand again, and perhaps it was for the best that they sat by themselves. She nearly laughed at the thought of others having to tolerate these words, these displays of affection. It was often so, at weddings - part of the joy in celebrating was to see and share in the couple’s love. But it felt more intense now than she had ever been part of, and perhaps that was simply because it was her love. Perhaps everyone felt this way, when it was their turn.

It seemed no time at all before they had finished the fruit and were standing, walking arm-in-arm to the first of the tables, where the four commanders of the armies were seated. Once again, this had been carefully planned; the most important of the guests would be greeted later in the feast, corresponding with the main dishes. Yet there was still honor in being first, and the choice of the commanders was an acknowledgment of the storms that awaited them and the fights to come.

A long box lay on the table waiting. And after the greetings and wishes for happiness, Gil-galad opened the lid to find a matching pair of daggers resting on a bed of blue silk. They were fashioned expertly, sheathed in ivory leather, and the handles were chased with gold and silver. Beautiful, but also simple; there was no disguising that these were weapons of war. They were meant to be used.

The day that they had begun their journey to Lindon, Hellathas had - without comment - presented Linnea with a dagger to carry. It had been plainer than these, but no less a weapon for that. She had not had to use it, and had been relieved. Her hand, accustomed to shuttle and thread, did not know how to hold a blade. The dagger in the box - the smaller one, plainly meant for her - would feel foreign to her, she who had never had cause to go armed.

But those thoughts tickled at her again, the reminder of her responsibilities as queen. The responsibility to defend not just herself, but the realm she and Gil-galad ruled.

She echoed the thanks he bestowed on the commanders, praising the skill and beauty of the craftsmanship, and took his arm again to return to their table, her thoughts astir.

A light vegetable soup for the next course, and a visit to the Lorien table, where Amdír and Amroth sat. Their gift was simpler than the daggers, but Linnea privately thought it was much lovelier; they had brought a set of wooden drinking bowls, carefully carved from tree burls and polished to a brilliant, smooth finish. She was on more solid ground here than she had been with the weapons; she lingered, examining and handling each of the bowls carefully. Gil-galad stood watching, smiling as she praised the work, and he chuckled as he nearly had to pull her away for the next course.

“Nán alassea alassetyanen,” he murmured, as they finally returned to their table. Your joy gives me joy.

The next course was fish, poached with wine, and accompanied by root vegetables. And afterward, the table of the Dwarves.

The guests had placed their gifts on their tables, and Linnea had been curious about this one. It was a wooden crate, large enough to where it was difficult to see Durin and Disa sitting behind it, taking up most of the table. It was simple; the shape gave no hint to what it contained. As they approached, the Dwarves stood, and came around to the front of the table to greet them.

Disa spoke first, beaming as she curtseyed. “High King. My lady. May your marriage shine as bright as Aulë’s own forges.”

As she straightened, Linnea extended her hands, clasping the Dwarf princess’s. “We thank you, Princess Disa, and are honored by the presence of yourself and your lord husband.”

“Indeed,” Gil-galad murmured from beside her. “We look forward to continued goodwill between Lindon and Khazad-dûm.”

Durin cleared his throat, nodding. “There is much that is uncertain,” he rumbled. “As you well know, High King. Yet let our gift be an indication of the potential we see in friendship.”

Gil-galad raised a brow, and reached to open the crate. As he lifted the lid and set it aside, Linnea’s eyes widened.

It was ore. Silvery ore that shone with its own light, heaped in the crate. They had been given mithril.

Linnea was no smith, but even she could tell that this quantity was vast. It would forge a full set of armor and to spare, or multiple weapons. And with that thought, she was struck by the political brilliance of the gift; something made by the Dwarves would have been difficult for the High King and Queen to accept and use, but the means to make it was entirely different.

Gil-galad looked as stunned as she felt. He reached into the crate, picking out a small piece of the ore. A hush fell over the guests as he raised it up, as everyone saw the light emanating from the depths of the metal.

“Lord Durin,” he murmured. “Your generosity honors us beyond words. This gift is indeed above mere friendship.”

“There's more,” Durin said. “We brought two others. Didn't want to break yer table with the weight.”

Linnea had to stifle a laugh. Gil-galad had shared the incident involving the stone table with her from when Durin had first visited Lindon; he had known the entire thing was a ruse, but had gone along with it as an investment in the future, a seed of friendship planted.

“My bride and I give you our most humble thanks,” he said. “And we bid you enjoy our hospitality here in Lindon for as long as it pleases you to remain.”

“We depart in the morning, High King,” Disa said. “There is much that demands our attention at home. But perhaps you and your Queen would honor us with a visit one day.”

She had made the offer to Linnea the previous evening, after Tinnaril had left. The expression on her face had been shy - strange to see, on a Dwarf - but it had been honest, and hopeful. And Linnea had assured her that she had not overstepped, that she too would take pleasure in it.

Gil-galad's face did not betray any of his thoughts, not even to Linnea; he merely inclined his head. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “If the King and Queen of Khazad-dûm wish it, such might indeed be possible.”

He had writ between his words, and it was clear enough as to his meaning. If Durin came to the throne, the friendship between the realms could continue. But it was contingent upon that, and perhaps would even serve as some encouragement to Durin. Seeds planted, indeed.

Gil-galad once again offered his arm to Linnea. As they moved away, back to their own table, she could see servants coming to retrieve the crate - and even they grunted at the effort to lift it.

“What will we do with it?” she whispered.

He looked down at her, his eyes dark. “I know not,” he murmured. “But I feel it should be kept until we are certain. Such a gift has a purpose, even if we do not know it yet.”

His words echoed her own thoughts, and she nodded. “We shall save it until the time is right. Our minds are as one in this, meleth nín.”

He smiled as they reached their table, once again gracefully seating her. “May it always be so, melethel. May it always be so.”

There were several more courses, each more delicious than the last, and in small portions to allow everything to be fully enjoyed. And between them, more gifts; it was an effort to keep track of them all, but Linnea was conscious of Adabes’ watchful eye in the background. She knew there would be a list the following day, precisely noting who had given what, to allow her to send letters of thanks after the wedding was over.

And at last, the final course was finished, a layered pastry confection that was so light it practically melted on the tongue. And the last table waited for them; they had saved Oropher and his family for the end, to allow their gift all the attention that it merited.

There was no box. It was a bundle of leather, placed on the table carefully. The Woodland Elves stood as they approached; Linnea fancied that Tinnaril’s gaze held a trace of warmth, but Oropher and Thranduil were stern and cold. They looked as though they might be twins, with their blond hair and distant eyes.

“Gil-galad,” Oropher said. “Lady Linnea. Please accept this gift to celebrate your marriage.”

No flowery words; that was not Oropher’s way. Gil-galad had dealt with him enough to know that, and knew better than to push back. Instead, he simply nodded, and began unwrapping the leather.

Just like the very first gift, it was a pair of matched weapons. But these were bows, both light and sturdy, made in the fashion of the Woodland Elves. Unadorned and yet beautiful; the grips were carved bone and wrapped in virgin leather, and the limbs were smooth and shining. Linnea did not know the wood by sight, but it was dark in color.

One bow was smaller than the other. She reached out and lifted it free, and her hand curled around the grip in a perfect fit.

The daggers had not spoken to her. This did.

She felt Gil-galad's eyes on her, watching as she turned the bow back and forth. He had not touched his own bow, but he was smiling faintly as he looked at the one in her hands.

“It pleases you, melethel?”

She would need to learn to shoot it. There would be no lack of teachers among Lindon's warriors. And for the first time, the thought of having to fight did not fill her with trepidation; rather, it was a sense of pride, a sense of honor that she would do so for her realm. It was a responsibility that was hers to accept, and with the bow in her hands, she felt that she could accept it.

“Yes,” she breathed. “It does.”

She turned her gaze to Oropher, and bowed her head deeply to him. “We are honored by the workmanship of our Woodland kin, King Oropher. You have our gratitude.”

Oropher nodded at her, and then shifted his gaze to Gil-galad. “I hope you are not so preoccupied with your new bride that you cannot return to the Greenwood soon,” he murmured. “I await the continuation of our discussions. Especially given your queen’s acknowledgement of our craft.”

Inwardly, Linnea groaned. Oropher was proud, she knew that, and she saw the trap too late. The Woodland Elves were skilled, but the Noldor were more so, and it was a sore point for Oropher that his people were less well armed and armored than Gil-galad’s.

But Gil-galad did not rise to the bait; he simply lifted a brow a fraction of an inch. “If my queen is welcome to accompany me, we would be pleased to visit as soon as it is convenient.”

Oropher didn’t reply; he simply nodded once more and sat back down, and Tinnaril and Thranduil followed his lead.

Do not fret, melethel.

That candle lit back in her heart, even as Gil-galad turned from the table and extended his hand to her. Oropher is a slippery snake. But there is honor in him, and we will find our way to pin him yet.

She took the extended hand with a wry smile. Your patience will outlast the stars, my love.

Perhaps in some things. But in others…no, my queen. I have spent these last hours growing more and more impatient.

The ceremony.

Now that the feast was finished, it was time.

He led her to the far end of the courtyard. The murmuring and conversation among the guests died down as they walked, their destination clear; a bower of flowers and vines had been set up for the ceremony. Elrond had seen their movement, and was already waiting there, his hands folded in front of him. He bowed as they approached, and offered Linnea a smile as he straightened up and stepped to the side.

They needed no priest or commander to officiate, as Men did. Their marriage was between the two of them. Silence fell over the courtyard; the only sound was the occasional chirp of the birds. Linnea turned to face Gil-galad, and he did the same, carefully taking both of her hands in his.

“Nál melme coivienyo,” he said simply. “Ma aþal vesta ninna?”

A tear welled in her eye, spilling down her cheek. She knew it would not be the first.

You are the love of my life. Will you marry me?

“Nál melme coivienyo,” she whispered back. “Aþa.”

He had known her answer, but he still smiled at it. His eyes shimmered, and closed briefly.

“Ta, nai Manwe Súlimo tiruva me, Ereinion ar Linnea, ar nai Eru Ilúvatar alyuva me.”

Then, may Manwe Lord of Wind watch over us, Ereinion and Linnea, and may Eru the Father of All bless us.

The invoking of Eru’s name sent a shiver up her spine.

“Ar nai Varda Tintalle hlaruva ellorlma, Linnea ar Ereinion, ar nai Eru Ilúvatar alyuva me.”

And may Varda Star-kindler hear our calls, Linnea and Ereinion, and may Eru the Father of All bless us.

The words were simple enough, but as they rolled off her tongue, she felt the power in them. It was similar to how it had felt walking to the clearing of the Yavannildi; the eyes of the Valar were upon them, and she could practically feel those gazes pressing against her skin.

And a warmth, too. An approval of the love that filled the clearing. A feeling even greater than the sense of the Valar, a feeling that made her tremble in its power and its vastness.

But all that paled next to the look in Gil-galad’s eyes.

She could have beheld it until the sun set. But Elrond was coming forward, taking a small bundle of velvet from within his cloak, and that meant it was time for the exchange of rings.

Once he reached them, he unfolded the velvet reverently, letting the two rings rest in his palm. They were plain bands, no jewels or engraving, just an unending circle of gold.

Gil-galad went first, and Linnea couldn't help but marvel at his confidence. He took her hand and slipped the silver star off her finger, setting it back in the velvet that Elrond held, and then lifted the smaller of the two bands of gold. In another moment, it was resting cool on her finger, simple and pure.

Her turn.

The betrothal ring slid off his finger easily, as if even it knew that its task was done. And the gold ring went on just as easily. It was the work of a few seconds at most, but even in that short time, that gold ring looked like it had always been there. Vilya itself was overshadowed.

Another tear welled up and spilled down her cheek. She saw his hand move, and a moment later, felt his warm palm cup her face.

“Melethel,” he said softly. “I have something more for you.”

At that, she looked up, her eyes blurred from the tears. He smiled gently at her, and then tilted his head slightly so that his voice carried out to the guests.

“On this our wedding day, I bestow a gift upon my new wife.” His words rang out clear, and even had the group been twice the size, no one could have failed to hear him. “For you, melda tarí, as a symbol of the light you have brought to my heart.”

She wasn't entirely surprised. Not after she'd revealed having a gift of her own. And she guessed he had adhered more to tradition, as he extended his hand to Elrond and the herald filled it with another small cloth-wrapped bundle. But she still lost her breath when he opened it.

It was a pendant, wrought of gold, on a golden chain. It was faintly oval in shape, but formed of swirls and curls, evoking the flames she'd thought of when she'd first seen the embroidery on his robes. But at the center of the swirls was a fire opal the size of the pad of her finger, glowing from within, and setting off glittering sparkles in its depths as the light struck it.

She dragged her eyes from the jewel to Gil-galad's face, unable to speak.

“Calagûr,” he murmured. “May I?”

Calagûr. Heart-light. Linnea had never taken an epessë; not her, a simple weaver. But the word resonated in the air as Gil-galad spoke it, settling upon her shoulders like a cloak of her own. A name, and one that she would carry for the rest of her life; she knew that with utter certainty.

In the face of it, all she could do was nod, and turn her back to him. His arms came around her, his hands deftly settling the pendant in place and maneuvering the chain beneath her curls. And once he hooked the clasp, the necklace settled into place just above her heart, and the gold was not cold, but as warm as if it had been in the sun all day.

She turned back, and she met his eyes.

“Melda aran,” and her voice was soft; it was only for him. “Hantanyë tyen.”

It was the most thanks she could give at that moment, with everyone there; it would be most improper for her to grab him and kiss him as thoroughly as the gift merited. But she would do that later - and there was something else she could do now, something she'd been eager for ever since she had begun working with the brown wool her mother had woven.

She took a breath, raising her voice. “On this our wedding day, I bestow a gift upon my new husband,” she said. “For you, melda aran, the work of my hands, that you may feel me near even if we are apart.”

She saw him smile at her words. As Gil-galad had been putting the necklace on her, Elrond had discreetly slipped away, and now he was returning with a much larger bundle. The bulk of it filled Elrond's arms, the gold silk wrapping shining.

Gil-galad didn't look entirely surprised either, but of course she had told him she had a gift, and it would not take great wisdom to surmise that it was something of fabric. She accepted the bundle from Elrond and then extended it to Gil-galad, and he took it. He shifted it to one arm, using his free hand to unwrap it, and then the gold silk fell to the ground as he shook out the cloak.

Linnea had cut it with ample room, using every bit of the brown wool. There were pockets inside, reinforced and concealed within the lining, and the lining itself was of brown velvet. She had given it a deep hood as well; if the need was there, he could wrap himself in the cloak and draw the hood and be all but invisible.

Even without touching it, she could feel her mother's work. Lhénes’ charms had held strong through the cutting and sewing, and the cloak hummed with them.

And she herself had done more. His vision had stayed with her, of the brown sheep and the snow and the fiery heat of Sauron. Between the wool and the velvet, the cloak was warm and heavy, but she had embroidered charms into each of the seams and along the hem. Inside, protected by the lining so they would not snag or unravel, dozens of charms against fire and heat. He could not stand in the middle of a bonfire in the cloak - at least not for long. But it would buy a few moments, and it was often enough where even moments counted for much.

She flattered herself that the cloak was pleasing to the eye, but it was a purposeful garment - its place was in war, not at a wedding. But Gil-galad cared nothing for that; he swirled the cloak around himself, draping it over his shoulders to try it on. The edge stopped just above where his feet would be; she had gauged his height well. He looked at the fabric where it hung over his chest, stroking his hand down it.

“It is as beautiful as its maker,” he said softly. “And wearing it will remind me of my wife's embrace. Thank you, melethel.”

She smiled, and bowed her head to him. He slung the cloak off and handed it to Elrond, and then extended his hands to her again. This was the final part of the ceremony, and she placed her hands back in his with no hesitation. Normally, they would speak these final words in Quenya just as they had done with their blessings, but out of consideration for their Dwarven guests, had agreed to do so in Common.

“What was two, is now one. Let all assembled see and know, that Ereinion Gil-galad and Linnea Calagûr are wed, now and forever.”

His voice was still soft, but again it carried. Linnea swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on his.

“What was two, is now one. Let all assembled see and know, that Linnea Calagûr and Ereinion Gil-galad are wed, now and forever.”

She wasn't certain that anyone had heard her, the words had come out so quiet and so choked. And her eyes were fixed on Gil-galad. But she heard the applause start - restrained and polite from the Elves, exuberant and joyful from the two Dwarves - and that was proof enough.

And then Gil-galad leaned down.

It was a chaste kiss, a brief and gentle touch of lips. Appropriate for such a public setting. But she felt just the softest nibble, the briefest hint of the desire and the love behind the kiss, and she nibbled back just as quickly.

It would do for now.

Continue to Part 13 - warning, contains smut!

Gil-galad's welcome song:

O Elvenkind

Come gather here in this place

The leaves are gold, the water flows

Come and bear witness to this union

The river runs, the birds sing

O Elvenkind!

Come on this, the day of our marriage

The grass is green, the sun is bright

Come and sing, come and celebrate

Come see us now as we pledge our love forevermore.

#rings of power #gil galad #gil-galad #trop fanfiction #gil-galad x ofc #the rings of power #fanfic #fanfiction #fix it fic #fix it au

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beachyserasims · 7 months ago

Text

Geneva Island Legacy┃Chapter two┃ Bodies

Bitch, get it together bitch ♫

Spicy version + Transcript below 18+ ONLY PLEASE

Beginning / Previous / Next

#sims 4 story #ts4 story #sims 4 #Geneva Island Legacy #ts4 screenies #ts4 screenshots #GIL chapter two #tw drug use #tw sex #tw alcohol

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boizandgurlzinthehouse · 1 year ago

Text

𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐁*𝐓𝐂𝐇 (𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐑𝐀)

; 𝐆𝐔𝐍-𝐖𝐎𝐎 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈. 𝐍𝐎 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐒.

summary: killing kim myeong-gil would bring many people satisfaction. as hyeon-ju, gun-woo, woo-jin and the others begin to plan on how to do it, choi knows that there's someone in seoul who would take part in it with much pleasure.

wordcount: 3.348k (i got a little bit excited, the other chapters gonna be shorter don't worry)

tw: swearing, almost-fighting, so just plain bloodhounds-things (i update this section with every new part of the story)

author's note: i watched the k-drama in one day, it's wonderful. a little explaining for the "y/h/c", i wrote it with creme-blonde haired character so i'd recommend some extreme or light color. other than that, it's free for every hair color!!

in the burger shop, the pregnant silence after gun-woo's confession about the loan and his mother's café shop was broken by the arrived burgers, brought by woo-jin. hyeon-ju's face became hard again.

"as you heard, my grandpa is no longer a loan-shark. he provides zero-interest loans to people in need. but we occasionally come across punks who try to take advantage of his good heart. yang jae-myeong was one of them. he lied about his mother needing to get an operation. he borrowed ten million won and vanished. it took me half a year to track him down. i saw him begging in front of a train station. at first, I thought he had really become homeless, but i noticed how clean his teeth were as I was passing by. so i tailed him, I found out that he and his goons were pretending to be homeless and stealing IDs from actual homeless people. they use the IDs to create shell corporations and open bank accounts. then they con loan sharks and take out loans anywhere from tens to hundreds of millions of won. this tactic was so professional, we thought there could be someone behind yang jae-myeong. i heard that this person had connections to yang jae-myeong. do you know him?"

after the photo was shown, they talked about how to follow yang jam-myeong's gang, but before the trio stood up from the table, hyeon-ju nodded to the guys to stay sit. digging into her jacket's pocket, she took out a piece of paper that seemed to be like a photo.

"before you begin stalking the gang, i want you to find this girl. i didn't have the time to talk to her, since i was searching for yang jae-myeong, but now i want you two to talk to this girl. gun-woo, tell her about the loans your mom signed and what happened after. she's hard-headed and kind of keeping to herself."

"fine, but who's she?" woo-jin asked, as gun-woo looked at the picture. long y/h/c hair, the mask was on her face, but she had wide, clear speaking eyes. ones like woo-jin's, the ones you look in and can read from them without a loud word.

"she's y/n. i heard my grandpa talk about him on the phone, this was the only picture i could get about her. she doesn't have instagram, facebook or any of these apps, i took this from my grandpa's office. it's possible that she won't open up to you, but it's a must to talk to her."

"yeah, i get it. but why do you want us to find her?" gun-woo was also interested about this question. was she an enemy? young kids can also be stolen by criminals and raised by them, to be as loyal as a dog can to do anything for theirs.

"y/n is good, don't worry. as far as i know from what my grandpa said on the phone, she is someone whose parents were close to my grandpa. she followed her father's track and trained herself in the most brutalist martial arts, like the israelite krav maga, the russian systema or muay thai."

"aisssh, i wouldn't want to confront her in any way", woo-jin said. gun-woo thought about these fights; he only saw muay thai on tv, and that seemed really dangerous in itself. he knew that as soon as they begin to track the girl, he's gonna search up the other two martial arts on his phone.

"yeah, me neither" gun-woo added.

"will you two do? and asking for her phone number?" hyeon-ju asked, the guys nodded.

"yes, of course. but i'll bring a white flag just in case", woo-jin answered as they stood up from the table.

a few hours later, gun-woo and woo-jin were on the streets, wandering around buildings.

"fuck, how can we find someone in a town where nearly ten million people lives?" woo-jin asked. gun-woo looked at the picture.

“hyeon-ju said that she’s a pro in martial arts. maybe we should look in the gyms?”

woo-jin patted his chest, “look, a real genius here.”

going to every gym around the town, gun-woo and woo-jin began to lose hope.

“maybe she’s working today or just doesn't feel like coming down to train.” gun-woo began to think about what to tell hyeon-ju if they don’t find the girl. she sure will be pissed or angry, but this is a really difficult task.

“aish, gun-woo, don’t be like that! would you say something like this? people like us, people who train daily, their safe place is the gym. feeling sad? go to the gym! feeling happy? go to the gym! did your date went well? go to the gym! you just broke up with your girlfriend? go to the gym! look, for every problem, there’s a solution, and the solution is called–”

as woo-jin talked and talked, gun-woo thought he’s hallucinating. on the other side of the crosswalk, a girl tapped on her phone. same (y/h/c) hair, same (e/c) eyes, the same way she dipped her shoulder as she looked behind her, even the black sweater was the same. she wasn’t tall, the arms of her sweater weren't puffed from muscles. maybe she isn’t y/n, but they can try.

“woo-jin, look. do you think that is her? y/n?” he asked, cutting off his friend. woo-jin looked at the picture, than at the girl, than at the picture again, and the girl again.

“honestly, how could we know if we don’t ask her?” woo-jin smiled, just as he always does when he’s in some doubtful situation. they began to walk behind the girl. she wore earphones. woo-jin went to tap her shoulder, but when he touched her shoulder, the girl turned around, grabbing woo-jin’s wrist to keep him still so she could punch him in the face, gun-woo hurried to stand beside woo-jin. the girl took out the earphones with her free hand.

“what the fuck do you want from me?” she asked, looking up from under her eyebrows, looking from one second to another at each of them, like she waited for some attack. she really was a pro, gun-woo said to himself. gun-woo had to admit that she was quite pretty. not like pretty girls from clubs or his high school and university, or the nurses at the marine, but some pretty girl that his mother would like to date him. he bent deep down.

“we are sorry to disturb you, but we have a question. we don’t mean harm, we don’t intend to hurt you” he said fast, and the girl let go woo-jin after looking at the guy, and making sure he nodded. the girl turned, pointing to one of the restaurants.

“can we talk while i eat? i just came out from training, i’m starving.” woo-jin and gun-woo nodded, following the girl.

“so, what did you want to ask?” the girl began eating. woo-jin looked at gun-woo, who watched her dainty fingers grabbing the utensils. he sighed and took out the photo, placing it down to the table so the girl could see, she stopped eating instantly. pulling up her eyebrows, she distanced from the table a little bit. before any of the guys could talk, the girl began to speak fast and stark. “are you from the police? the secret service or some fucking spy-bullshit? what the fuck do you want from me? it doesn’t matter, i shouldn't talk to any of you, i’m not gonna do this shit. how did you get this photo of me?” gun-woo wanted to talk, but the anger in her eyes made his mouth shut. “doesn't matter, i hope i'll never see you again.” she began to pick up her things. gun-woo thought about hyeon-ju, sir choi, her mother, and the ugliest guy that beat him up that night in the coffee shop.

“we just want to ask you about your name,” he spoke clear. “we’re just curious if you’re y/n or not. anyway, my name is gun-woo, and he’s woo-jin.”

“yeah, why? you probably know this because you have every information about me.” she replied, her chest rising and falling a little bit faster than usual.

“no, we don’t. we… so, well… we know a man who’s name is sir choi. and her granddaughter… her granddaughter told us to meet you.”

y/n looked around herself, like checking if someone else was there as a spy or some third wheeler, but when everybody was lazily chomping down on their dinner, being on their phone with some boring video or tweet, she slowly sat back down. sir choi’s name moved something in her, because she leaned closer to the guys.

“if that’s what about i think it is about, then this is some serious shit. really, maybe the most serious shit in seoul’s money and business history, so if you truly mean sir choi’s name, than i really recommend you two to turn around and walk away from all of this. understood?” gun-woo sighed.

“i think that i’m deeper in this than i wanted to”, he replied, the girl looked at him from under her lashes.

“what do you mean? is this about loans?” gun-woo nodded, the girl looked up to the ceiling, sighing, letting out a long whisper of swearings. “then we aren't talking about the price of my dinner, aren't we?”

“we don't talk about money, we talk about catching the men who are behind this.” woo-jin continued, y/n looked up at him, smiling sadly.

“i hope that you are alright in the head, so you can understand that this is nearly impossible.”

“it is not, believe us. we gonna find a man who’s in contact with them.” y/n sighed, looked to the side, looking at her phone.

“how can i trust you two? really, anyone can talk to me about this, anyone who took loans from the old man.” “we found this photo of you in sir choi’s office.”

“you two? how did you get into sir choi’s office? not even his closest people could get there.” gun-woo looked at woo-jin, sighing.

“well, not us, but his granddaughter. her name is hyeon-ju, we are her so-called bodyguards.”

“i don’t know anyone who’s name is hyeon-ju. so, summing up, not sir choi, but his granddaughter wants to talk to me? why?”

woo-jin looked at gun-woo. “can we talk a little bit?”

“sure.” y/n responded, turning back to her food. woo-jin gulped.

“should we tell her about the plan? yang jae-myeong? but what if hyeon-ju wants to tell her this?”

“i think she would understand it better if we told her. she doesn't know who we are, and sir choi’s name means something to her, but in this case, sir choi doesn't know about our mission.” woo-jin shrugged his shoulder, turning back to y/n.

“it’s about catching a man who’s in connection with the loan-sharks, and the one smile capital. since hyeon-ju told us to find you, we think that you’d be interested to catch these guys.”

“this is real, they have some repayments for me.” gun-woo somehow knew that this wasn't about money, but how could he ask when they knew each other for two hours?

“so, are you in it, or not?” woo-jin leaned forward, offering his hand for a handshake. y/n pointed up her forefinger.

“one talk. only one session with hyeon-ju, and then i decide whether i'm in or not.” she stated, woo-jin and gun-woo nodded, while they smiled lightly. looking at each other, they shared the ‘we made it’-look, making the girl scrunch her eyebrows. “okay then, where and when should we meet tomorrow? i guess this can't wait, if that’s so important that you found me.” y/n brushed her hair behind her ear, gun-woo didn’t miss the tattoos on her fingers, and the

“maybe… tomorrow at noon? here, in front of this restaurant.” gun-woo offered, the girl nodded.

“deal. see you guys tomorrow!” she said as she stood up, gun-woo stood up too. he didn't know why, he just felt that he needed to accompany the girl, no matter where she went home.

“wait, y/n!” the girl turned around, woo-jin looked at him like he had some shock or something. “where… where do you go home?”

‘to yongsan, and you?” she asked, gun-woo’s eyes lighted up.

“me too. would you mind if i… so, maybe we can go home together?” he asked, hoping that the girl wouldn't mind.

“yes, we can. goodbye, woo-jin!” she answered easily, bidding goodbye to the guy beside gun-woo. after she went out of the door, woo-jin began to lap gun-woo’s back.

“aye, gun-woo! did little y/n just trickle some love into your heart?” he asked grinning, gun-woo shook his head.

“no, it’s just… what if she gets into trouble at night? it’s dangerous.” gun-woo answered innocently, making woo-jin do a little ‘tsk’ in the corner of his mouth.

“by her grabbing on my wrist before he almost punched me to death, the one who needs protection is me!” woo-jin dramatized the situation, pointing at his wrist.

“she didn’t do anything, and she won’t again. she seems… peaceful.”

“yeah, well, stopped beating me because she found his prince.” woo-jin continued the teasing by adding some eyelash flutter that girls do when they find someone really handsome, making gun-woo roll his eyes. “okay, well, just go. and tell me everything when you get home. or… if you haul up at hers. or i hope that your house has thick walls and your mother doesn’t mind the constant whining noise!” he giggled, having fun. he could tease his friend forever, now that this girl was in the picture.

“woo-jin-ah! don’t do this!” gun-woo replied, making woo-jin laugh.

“okay, okay! have fun, and bring her too! don’t forget to ask for her phone number!”

“goodnight, woo-jin.”

stepping out into the chilly night air, y/n waited for him. they began to walk to the bus station. gun-wo thought about what he should ask from her. family? no, that's too personal, and they just met today. he wasn’t good with girl stuff, only had one girlfriend and she dumped him after two months, when he applied to the marine.

“so, since when do you box?” she asked, making gun-woo looking at her wondering.

“how… how did you know that i box?” y/n snapped with her tongue, looking at him. she had pretty eyes, and although her mask was on, she seemed like this was the easiest question in her entire life.

“when your friend grabbed my shoulder, his grip was firm, his palms are not too big, but they are strong. he lifted his other arm, just in case he needed to protect himself. i think i even saw your friend on the tv. you two are muscular, it can be seen from under jackets, but your legs’ aren't as muscular as your torso. in other martial arts, you need to train your legs too, to kick as strong as you can, but in boxing, you only use your arms. oh, and bodyguards are most of the time professional agents, but you two are young. or am i wrong?”

gun-woo didn’t know how to respond, he wanted to tell her how cool it was to deduce what they did, just from looking at them.

“no, you are right. and… hyeon-ju told us that you are a pro in many martial arts, so… since when do you train?”

“since my childhood. it’s not that difficult, many movements and styles are similar.”

“did you fight competitively? like, in championships?”

y/n shook her head.

“no. only in gyms, i don’t like championships. you can get burned out easily. but i guess, since you asked that, you do championships. what is it like?”

gun-woo smiled under his mask. y/n was really cute as she asked about him. otherwise, maybe he could never tell her these things. he wasn’t a man of words, and only a few times he knew what to say.

“you would like it, really much. before covid, the arenas were filled with people, and the energies, the mood was really high and good.”

y/n hummed as they got on the bus, sitting beside each other. gun-woo protested that he should sit on the outer seat, and as y/n didn’t sense any dangers from him, she accepted and sat down.

“i hope that this hyeon-ju girl is cool, because i had some cat fights with others in the last weeks. girl fight in the gyms, you know.”

“cat fights? with girls?”

“yeah, but it wasn't so serious, i wondered where all the girls were, who'd ripped each other apart. a year ago, those fights were brutallic, like some freaking mma-cage fight, and now… at there, we say about these lazy gym-championships that there were no claws, but only strokes.”

gun-woo snickered.

“and these gym fights, do they pay well? or… do you work somewhere?”

the girl looked at him, scanning him from bottom to top while leaning to the glass window, leaning on her elbow, tilting her head. “you don’t look like a drinker, so i don’t think we would meet at my workplace.”

“you're a bartender? woo-jin would like this! he likes to drink, sometimes, always saying how good he can bear alcohol.”

y/n laughed.

“yeah, he looks like the typical tough guy who grew up on the bad side of the river, but when the two of you constantly looked at each other, i knew that he’s just as rookie as you.”

“yeah, that’s right. we began to work recently at sir choi, we are his granddaughter’s, hyeonju’s bodyguards. but she said she don’t need bodyguards.”

“but if she doesn’t need you, then how did you stay?”

gun-woo sighed.

“i… i begged for her to stay. i have a debt to work off to sir choi.”

“oh, so you work down the loan sir choi gave you, and this is the way you are affected personally by these loans?”

gun-woo thought about that night. when in-beom beat him up, when the boss threatened him not to call the police because his mother would end up dead, when he felt like he can’t do anything. looking at y/n, he didn’t want this girl to get involved in this business. gulping, gun-woo nodded.

“yeah. my mother too.”

“you work for your mother and her protection? you take life danger upon yourself so that she doesn't get hurt?” y/n asked, pulling together her eyebrows.

“we could say so.”

y/n sighed, looking forward, leaning back on the seat. looking at her hands, picking at the tattoos she had on her fingers. after a few seconds, she bent closer to gun-woo. she had dauntlessness and bravery in her eyes, without a blink of her eyelashes. her lashes were longer than usual, giving her the attitude on the outside as on the inside. pressing the get-off button of the bus, she gathered her bag in her lap.

“i understand it now. in this case, count me in, too.”

gun-woo looked at her.

“why? you doesn’t even know what is this about, this is serious danger, y/n.”

y/n shrugged her shoulders as gun-woo let her out from her seat, as they stood, y/n gave her a piece of paper.

“because it’s personal for me, too. see you tomorrow, gun-woo.”

gun-woo bent deep down as the bus stopped.

“thanks, y/n, for talking to us, and not beating up woo-jin.”

y/n giggled, and bent slightly down too.

“thank you for giving me an opportunity.”

as she got off, gun-woo sat back, folding out the paper. it was her number, they didn’t even ask for her number and she gave it to him! on the paper, there was a little message too.

show this to hyeon-ju. you guys forget everything. make sure she notes my number. and don’t worry, we are going to figure this out, one way… or another. y/n.

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐄𝐃.

author's note: i hope you liked the first chapter. sorry for my english, it's not my first language, and i just got back to writing after a looong break. leave a like or comment if you liked it!! by babes

ask for taglist in comment or here

#bloodhounds #gun woo x reader #woo jin x reader #netflix korea #kdrama #bloodhounds x reader #bloodhounds imagines #gun woo imagines #bloodhounds netflix #bloodhounds kdrama

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tootoomanycats · 1 month ago

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||UPDATE ||

Hello friends! I bring an fun little update on the first chapter of my Gil-Galad x Reader fic

"The Plan"

(if you are not sure what this is in reference to, please see this

(post here)

Currently, the first chapter is 2/3 of the way done and is 4,500 words 6,200 words long, with an estimated 1000+ words left to complete.

I have the full story outlined with all major plot points, smut scenes, and themes written out; currently sitting at five chapters-ish.

The reason it's five-ish is that I am doing something new that I haven't done before. There will be TWO different endings posted at the same time. I did not start with this intention at all, truley.

I love to write angsty emotional fics. However, Gil-Galad's character deserves a happy ending as well. And to be honest, I couldn't choose between either ending I devised.

I hope to have the first chapter out by Halloween (fingers crossed)

PS: If you're curious about the smut scenes, my current outlines are already at 3k words 5k words —and those are just word vomits, so I keep the emotional sequencing in order. If you are curious about what kind of flavor of smut I create, I recommend reading two other creations that I'm really proud of. Boiling Over (Geto x OC/Reader) The Closet (Buggy x OC)

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know in the comments 🖤

Tag List:

@morganas-pendragons @clairevoyant813 @wild-typo-turtle @liar-anubiass-blog @0heimwaerts0 @melithril @yesnessieme @perse-cora @xcrybaby555x @angel-astre @aliives @inyx-writes44

#gil galad x you #gil galad fanfic #gil galad x reader #gil galad #ereinion gil galad #the rings of power #gil-galad smut #gil galad smut

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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 4 days ago

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A Darker and Sinister Interpretation of Sauron and Galadriel scene in "Rings of Power" (2x08)

* Trigger warning: mentions of sexual assault ahead *

I see Charlie has been reading "Morgoth's Ring".

Part V - "Myths Transformed": The Making of the Sun and the Moon

The maiden whom the Valar chose from among the Maiar to guide the vessel of the Sun was named Arien, and he that steered the island of the Moon was Tilion. In the days of the Trees Arien had tended the golden flowers in the gardens of Vana and refreshed them with the bright dews of Laurelin [...] she was chosen because she had not feared the heats of Laurelin, and was unhurt by them, being from the beginning a spirit of fire, whom nonetheless Melkor had not deceived nor drawn to his service. Fair indeed was Arien to behold, but too bright were her eyes for even the Eldar to look on, and leaving Valinor she forsook the form and raiment which, like the Valar, she had there worn, and she was as a naked flame, terrible in the fullness of her splendour.

Arien - Spirit of Fire by KuraiGeijutsu: source

This is, indeed, a direct reference to Galadriel's monologue in "The Mirror" chapter from "The Fellowship of the Ring" when Frodo offers her the One ring:

"And now at last it comes. You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair! " She lifted up her hand and from the ring that she wore there issued a great light that illumined her alone and left all else dark. She stood before Frodo seeming now tall beyond measurement, and beautiful beyond enduring, terrible and worshipful.

Peter Jackson adaptation of this scene (2001).

However, “Rings of Power” has been placing several Easter eggs and drawing inspiration from diverse bits and moments from Tolkien legendarium to build up their story.

Another interesting parallel here is Tilion, the Maia of the Moon: Tilion was a young hunter of the company of Orome, and he had a silver bow. He was a lover of silver, and when he would rest he forsook the woods of Orome and went unto Lorien and lay adream by the pools of Este in the flickering beams of Telperion; and he begged to be given the task of tending ever the last Flower of Silver. In Volume 1 of the “Book of the Lost Tales” it is said that he loved Arien, but she was a holier spirit of greater power, and wished to be ever virgin and alone; and Tilion pursued her in vain: [he] sought to come near to Arien, being drawn by the splendour of her beauty.

Celeborn is Galadriel’s husband, and his name (Sindarin) means “Celeb” (“silver”) + a derivative of ornā ("tall").

Galadriel herself has "gold" and "silver" associated with her, due to her legendary hair:

...and her hair was held a marvel unmatched. It was golden like the hair of her father and of her foremother Indis, but richer and more radiant, for its gold was touched by some memory of the starlike silver of her mother, and the Eldar said that the light of the Two Trees had been snared in her tresses. Unfinished Tales

References to the Sun in "Rings of Power”

Nothing is evil in the beginning. And there was a time when the world was so young, there had not yet been a sunrise. Galadriel monologue, 1x01

He was here. Sauron was here. Tell the others to rest while they can. At sunrise we move on. We'll take the search further north. Galadriel to her company, 1x01

Galadriel sails to the sunset. You and I must look to the new sunrise. Gil-galad to Elrond, 1x01

It is strange. Most of my life, I've looked east to see the Sun rise over the sea. And west to see it set over the land. We're sailing into the dawn, and yet, to me, it feels like the coming of night. Elendil to Galadriel, 1x06

Perhaps we should bring our prisoners into the sunlight. Galadriel treatens Adar, 1x06

Celebrimbor: If only there was some way... of doing more with less. The Sun itself began as something no bigger than the palm of my hand. Elrond: And how could we possibly match the powers that wrought the Sun? We're out of time, Celebrimbor. We must inform the High King of our failure. Celebrimbor and Elrond are out of time to save the Elves from fading, 1x08

When Morgoth was defeated, it was as if a great, clenched fist had released its grasp from my neck. And in the stillness of that first sunrise, at last, I felt the light of The One again. And I knew if ever I was to be forgiven... That I had to heal everything that I had helped ruin. Sauron to Galadriel, 1x08

Do not ask of Daeron. Insufferable. But a voice, a voice that could make the very sun weep tears of fire. Círdan to Elrond, "Rings of Power", 2x02

I'm partial to the red. "Like the sun, rises a new monarch." It will show the people you're a new kind of ruler for a new day. They need change. Ar-Pharazôn to Queen Míriel, in 2x03

Down west sinks the sun Soon you will be gropin' Tom Bombadil sings, 2x04

Cold old be hand and heart and bone And cold be sleep under stone Never more to wake on stony bed Never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead Barrow-wights attack Galadriel, Elrond and co., 2x04

Many of Khazad-dûm plot in Season 2 revolved around the collapsed of this kingdom's sun-shafts, until King Durin finds the sunlight thanks to his ring of power, in 2x05: Pity those who dwell above. Slaves to the sun. Chained to its ceaseless rhythm of waking and sleep. In Khazad-dûm, we are free of its tyranny. Here, we bring the sun to us. At last, it is daybreak once more in our mountain!

Ar-Pharazôn: Have you ever seen it? Across our western seas. The white tower of Eressëa... the very gateway to the Undying Lands [...] Only the keenest eye can. And only from the peak of the Meneltarma. I reckon the Elves placed it there on purpose. So that every sunset serves as a reminder that our days must end and theirs will not. That no matter how high we climb, some things will be forever withheld from our grasp. Kemen: The Scepter is now in yours, Father. Is that not high enough? Ar-Pharazôn: All my life, I believed it was. The Scepter is what you make it. Kemen: The Age of Men is upon us, Father. Let us take it. Let us build the Númenor you have always seen in your mind's eye. Foreshadowing for Sauron x Fall of Númenor, 2x05

I am the one keeping the storm at bay. Balancing the very sun above your head. All to give you this one chance to prove your worth! Celebrimbor finds out Annatar's true identity, 2x07

And the sun yet shines. Galadriel final line in 2x08

Morgoth and Arien

The tale of the Sun (Arien) and Tilion (Moon) is present in “The Silmarillion” (a collection of myths, and legends written from the Eldar POV), but Tolkien expanded on it and Christopher Tolkien published it on “Morgoth’s Ring”. It should be noted that both publications are posthumous, and were edited by his son, Christopher.

Arien is the Sun-maiden, the Maia of the Sun, and she was a spirit of fire, a "naked flame", described as the most ardent and beautiful of all those spirits.

Part V - "Myths Transformed" of "Morgoth's ring":

This is named the First Battle; and though Manwe had the victory, great hurt was done to the work of the Valar; and the worst of the deeds of the wrath of Melkor was seen in the Sun. Now the Sun was designed to be the heart of Arda, and the Valar purposed that it should give light to all that Realm, unceasingly and without wearying or diminution, and that from its light the world should receive health and life and growth. Therefore Varda set there the most ardent and beautiful of all those spirits that had entered with her into Ea, and she was named Ari, and Varda gave to her keeping a portion of the gift of Iluvatar so that the Sun should endure and be blessed and give blessing. The Sun, the loremasters tell us, was in that beginning named As (which is as near as it can be interpreted Warmth, to which are joined Light and Solace), and that the spirit therefore was called Azie (or later Arie). But Melkor, as hath been told, lusted after all light, desiring it jealously for his own. Moreover he soon perceived that in As there was a light that had been concealed from him, and which had a power of which he had not thought. Therefore, afire at once with desire and anger, he went to As [written above: Asa], and he spoke to Arie, saying: "I have chosen thee, and thou shalt be my spouse, even as Varda is to Manwe, and together we shall wield all splendour and mastery. Then the kingship of Arda shall be mine in deed as in right, and thou shalt be the partner of my glory." But Arie rejected Melkor and rebuked him, saying: "Speak not of right, which thou hast long forgotten. Neither for thee nor by thee alone was Ea made; and thou shalt not be King of Arda. Beware therefore; for there is in the heart of As a light in which thou hast no part, and a fire which will not serve thee. Put not out thy hand to it. For though thy potency may destroy it, it will burn thee and thy brightness will be made dark." Melkor did not heed her warning, but cried in his wrath: "The gift which is withheld I take!" and he ravished Arie, desiring both to abase her and to take into himself her powers. Then the spirit of Arie went up like a flame of anguish and wrath, and departed for ever from Arda, and the Sun was bereft of the Light of Varda, and was stained by the assault of Melkor. And being for a long while without rule it flamed with excessive heat or grew too cool, so that grievous hurt was done to Arda and the fashioning of the world was marred and delayed, until with long toil the Valar made a new order. But even as Arie foretold, Melkor was burned and his brightness darkened, and he gave no more light, but light pained him exceedingly and he hated it. Nonetheless Melkor would not leave Arda in peace; and above all he begrudged to the Valar their dwelling on Earth, and desired to injure their labours there, or bring them to naught, if he could. Therefore he returned to Earth, but for fear of the might of the Valar and of Tulkas more than all he came now in secret. And in his hatred of the Sun he came to the North at night in winter. At first he would depart when the long day of summer came; but after a time, becoming bolder again, and desiring a dwelling place of his own, he began the delving underground of his great fortress in the far North, which was afterwards named Utumno (or Udûn*).

Let's break this down, and see how this dreadful episode can paralell Galadriel and Sauron's scene in 2x08:

Morgoth goes to Arien with both "desire and anger":

Morgoth "lusted after all light, desiring it jealously for his own". He intents to make Arien his wife and queen (like Manwë and Varda), and for them to rule Arda together.

Airen rejects Morgoth and taunts him that he will never be King of Arda. She also refuses to give him her light.

Morgoth dismisses Arien’s rejection and rapes her, desiring both to humiliate and take her light for himself (binding them together):

Due to Morgoth's assault, the spirit of Arien goes up in anguish and wrath, and departs from Arda:

The Sun was then forever "tainted" by the assault of Morgoth: "the Sun remained a Lonely Fire, polluted by Melkor".

Morgoth would not abandon his plans of conquering Arda, on the contrary. And soon, he would come to hate every source of Light. And his physical was "blackened and burned, and his form was thereafter dark". To Sauron, this only happens after the Fall of Númenor, when he loses the ability of taking on fair form. He also desires a dwelling place of his own, a great fortress named Utumno (or Udûn): Udûn is the name of the valley where the Black Gate of Mordor is located.

The Dome of Varda must have been contrived after the ravishing of Arie by Melkor, in order to keep out the Sun's polluted light, and Aman was lit beneath the Dome by the Two Trees. But on the other hand, it is an essential idea that the light of the Trees was derived from the Sun before it was 'tainted'. [...] the Sun is feminine; and it is better that the Vala should be Aren, a maiden whom Melkor endeavoured to make his spouse (or ravished); (10) she went up in a flame of wrath and anguish and her spirit was released from Ea, but Melkor was blackened and burned, and his form was thereafter dark, and he took to darkness. (The Sun itself was Anar neuter or Ur, cf. Rana, Ithil.)] The Sun remained a Lonely Fire, polluted by Melkor, but after the death of the Two Trees Tilion returned to the Moon, which remained therefore an enemy of Melkor and his servants and creatures of night - and so beloved of Elves later &c. (* [marginal note] But not to drive it away. It was necessary to have an alternation, 'because in Eä according to the Tale nothing can endure endlessly without weariness and corruption.').

Conclusion

This parallel seems very straightforward, except for the part where "Rings of Power" decided to include the "Original sin" symbolism, and it contradicts the scene itself, because "The Fall" (of Eve) was consensual, and she gave up into temptation (eating the apple of the Tree of Knowledge) willingly.

The end result is confusing and puzzling, because this “Eve and the serpent” symbolism shouldn’t be in this scene, at all. Especially when the showrunners have confirmed they are doing a Frodo/Galadriel x One ring/Sauron parallel in the show (and, as everyone knows, Frodo eventually succumbs and takes the One ring for himself). If this Frodo/Galadriel parallel is to be continued (and J.D. Payne did say it would), it was premature to have this symbolism in this scene in 2x08, where the subtext is, clearly, rape.

To me, this was due to a change in this scene. This idea wasn't probably their first, and for whatever reason the showrunners decided to have this happening instead. Maybe in the other version, Galadriel succumbed to Sauron willingly, and that explains the Original sin symbolism of the wardrobe and the marketing. And then, they decided to change the script to this rape subtext, but the costume design could no longer be altered, and we end up with a scene with conflicting symbolism happening.

What does this parallel can tells us?

Blood binding theory is correct;

Sauron's intentions by stabbing her with Morgoth's crown were to harvest Galadriel's light for himself, and he gave her some of his own power in the process;

Galadriel is now "tainted" by Sauron.

#rings of power #the rings of power #morgoth´s ring #sauron rop #sauron trop #sauron rings of power #galadriel rop #galadriel trop #galadriel the rings of power #melkor #morgoth #arien #sauron x galadriel #galadriel x sauron #saurondriel #haladriel

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quack-quack-snacks · 1 month ago

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Time Will Tell - Chapter 1.26

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The Time Will Tell Glossary

Warnings: N/A really Word Count: 1,318

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onto your clothes and didn’t even need to look down to see it was your two younger siblings. You wrapped your arms around them just as Jin-ok approached you and handed you your axe. “Take them somewhere safe and stay there. Protect them.”

You knew what she wasn’t saying because it’s what you were thinking as well.

‘At all costs.’

So you grabbed Yeong-su’s hand while he grabbed Su-yeong’s and you tugged them over to the safest place you could think of.

It was only after an hour or so had passed, when the sun was starting to fade over the horizon and all the growls and howls and bangs had stopped, that you were found by Eun-yu when she came looking for you. After that, you immediately went off in search of Hyun-su only to find him sleeping against a filing cabinet in a secluded room.

You watched as his chest rose and fell a few times just to give yourself some peace of mind before ultimately deciding to leave him alone for the night and get some sleep yourself after a quick shower.

You didn’t sleep for very long when Eun-yu somewhat drunkenly woke you up.

“It’s story time! Don’t be a bum, come and hang out with us!” She whined and you laughed, reluctantly agreeing and listening to Gil-seop tell his scary story. You didn’t want to be rude to him or Eun-yu, but you were falling asleep more and more with each word.

BANG!

The door to the daycare slammed open and you jolted awake with a yelp. Everyone had a similar reaction as they saw the unknown new man walk in and dash straight for the drained jar of Korean wine. He greedily ate scoop after scoop of the marinated berries at the bottom. Yi-kyung walked up behind him like a mother following her wandering child and sighed.

“Who are you?” Mr. An demanded while holding up a metal pipe.

“I think he’s a runaway soldier,” Yi-kyung explained her theory.

The soldier pushed the jar away from him when he saw the mess it made on his hands and started mumbling incoherently before falling to his side and passing out.

Everything seemed to blur as they took him into another room and everyone settled in for bed until you found yourself aimlessly wandering the dimly lit halls with a candle. Your side still hurt so it was more of just stumbling around while using the wall to help you, but you’d be damned if you woke someone up to help you have a midnight stroll.

You’d be damned if the perfect person you could ask wasn’t sitting on the staircase you were walking straight towards.

Hyun-su looked to be lost in his thoughts while staring at his wrist before you announced your presence with a small, “Hey.”

He looked up and his eyes widened at the sight of you. You stumbled over, using the rail of the stairs to help you as you ascended and sat a level above him, placing the candle you held between the two of you. “Hey,” he replied, a little too late for the conversation but you decided to ignore it in hopes of not embarrassing him.

“You shouldn’t be alone without a buddy, you know,” you teased. “I’m walking around without a buddy because both my official and unofficial buddies are passed out, drunk, in the daycare.”

“Are you scared?” He asked you after a beat.

You sighed, thinking about your answer before saying it. “I don’t think so. Not for myself, anyway. I’m more scared about what will happen to Yeong-su and Su-yeong, to be honest,” you shot him a non-committal smile. “Hopefully, when this is all over, they can go back to living a semi-normal life.”

“Do you… think there will be a time after this?” He questioned rather pessimistically with his head down.

The silence went on for a while until you decided to break it with an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Hey, give me your phone.”

“Huh? What? Why?” He asked in return and you flashed him a cheeky smile.

“Just do it. Just for a minute,” you insisted. He reached into his pocket and placed the unlocked phone in your extended hand. “Thank you,” you expressed as you searched around before settling on the Contacts app. “How about after all this…” You spoke as you typed, sounding a little distracted before finishing. “You give me a call and we can meet up, yeah?” You handed the phone back to him with a shy grin.

He took it back, staring at you for a moment before he glanced down at the cracked screen. There, he saw your name with a heart emoji written into his contacts. He was stunned, just staring at the phone until you gasped, remembering something and snatching the phone back out of his hands.

“Oh! I forgot to put a picture in! Hold on,” you insisted as you opened up the camera and held it up, fixing your hair and wiping a stray drop of blood from your cheek. Then, you scooted closer to Hyun-su, who had been stating his thoughts at you in bewilderment and awe and held the phone up to take a picture. “Say cheeseeee!” You took the photo, smiling brightly at the phone, but when you looked at it your smile turned into a frown. “Hyun-su! You weren’t even looking at the camera!” You complained, turning to look at him and finding him already looking at you.

He sneaked a glance at the photo and couldn’t help the stuttering of his heart when he saw it. You looked just absolutely gorgeous with your smile. Sure, he wasn’t looking at the camera - instead looking at you with the smallest hint of a smile on his lips - but it was 100% worth it for that joyful look on your face in the photo and the adorable pout you sported as you looked at him in real life. “It’s perfect.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at his soft tone and tried to huff it away as you started making it your contact photo. “I wish you would’ve looked at the camera though.”

He couldn’t help the warm feeling that grew in his chest, and he honestly didn’t really want to. When you handed the phone back to him, he spent a long moment just staring at the screen, admiring the way your smile was brighter than the phone itself.

He only broke out of his trance when your pinkie suddenly interlocked with his. “What are you doing?”

Your lips shaped a shy smile and the sight tugged at his heartstrings. “You’re making a promise to me. Promise me you’ll call me when this has all cleared. Please.”

He couldn’t deny you when you sounded like that, so he minisculely tightened his grip around your pinkie. “I promise.”

He said it so softly you thought you would have fainted on the spot if his touch wasn’t grounding you. With your shy smile growing even shier, you pressed your thumbs together with a soft giggle and a whisper, “Promise.”

Neither of you truly knew what the feelings growing inside you between each other were, but neither of you wanted it to go away anytime soon.

#Time Will Tell 💌 quack-quack-snacks #sweet home #cha hyunsu #cha hyun su #cha hyun su x reader #cha hyunsoo #cha hyunsu x reader #cha hyunsoo x reader #cha hyun soo #sweet home x reader

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pinkkittysaw · 9 months ago

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CHAPTER II

- MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE?

← chapter one

series master-list can be found here!

summary: the night of your brother’s annual birthday ball takes an unexpected turn

paring: knight! clive rosfield x princess! reader

word count: 9,613

content: NSFW (minors + ageless blogs DNI! you will be BLOCKED!) heavy plot, oral (f! receiving), fingering (f! receiving) handjob, power imbalance, dirty talk, spit, slight humiliation kink, parental loss.

disclaimer(s): although this series is inspired by the medieval and regency time periods, they are not 1:1 representations. although i will always do my best to represent both as accurately as possible, there may be some minor changes.

some of the plot points in the original game story have been altered or taken out to fit this au better. there are no eikons

a/n: i want to dedicate this chapter to my AMAZING friend, and fellow writer, jordy (@cryptictongues) who not only let me bounce ideas off her constantly, but also beta read some of this chapter as well. thank you for everything!!!!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

dividers by @/saradika-graphics and art is by edmund blair leighton

A month or so passed since your last tryst with Clive, leaving the relationship between the two of you to be strained with pent-up tension. In light of the momentary heat of passion, you both agreed that such conduct would be better kept private, in places where no wandering eyes could intrude, so as to not arouse any more suspicion. There were to be absolutely no dubious behaviors in public, which proved to be undoubtedly difficult.

With every promenade you'd take around the castle grounds, you'd see him training, all sweaty and flush in his fit form, and all you'd be able to think about was mounting him then and there, riding him until you were both run ragged.

Your confidants and lady's maid have caught your prolonged glances during your strolls in the sunshine, but you've always met their accusations with a dismissive flap of your hand fan, stating that you were "simply curious about the training regiment that the knights were conducting," even if your eyes always lingered on one knight in particular. Baddies

There was talk around the palace for a while about the sudden disappearance of a certain scullery maid, but seeing as the crown had more pressing matters to deal with than the loss of a single maid, one who could easily be replaced, any investigation resulted in the conclusion that she had simply "fleed her duties," and it was left at that.

In reality, though, you had visited her late in the night after your passionate affair with Clive many moons ago, offering to pay off her debts and then some if she swore to secrecy that nothing she saw that night would make its way into the ears of the public.

The amount of gil being offered was unlike anything she could have ever imagined. Seeing as your father amassed insurmountable fortunes during his reign, idle gossip wasn't worth the consequences if she were to be found out as the source of the rumor, so she took the small fortune and fled the palace walls that very same night.

Now you find yourself sitting in another store room, one that's presumed to be in less use than the previous one, perched upon an old barrel.

A royal ball was in attendance, and all nobility within the realm were invited. The occasion? Your younger brother and future heir to the throne's birthday. He reached the tender age of one and twenty, which just so happens to be the legal age of marriage in your country, so, of course, your father invited all the reputable debutantes in the realm in hopes that your brother would secure a future queen, though he'd never admit to such schemes out loud.

You were hoping that tonight would be another secret rendezvous with your lover, but you haven't so much as gotten a single word with him all evening.

All you had thought about during the preparation was how you were going to tease him throughout the night. The gown you had selected to wear was chosen with him in mind. The silhouette hugged your figure to perfection, and your cleavage was heavily accentuated in the lavender muslin. The hem was detailed with a layer of tulle tulips, and crystals of various sizes decorated the bustline. Put simply, you looked ravishing—the epitome of the most elegantly cut diamond.

Your father would spare no expense when it came to his son's birthday ball, so you were in luck to some degree, but the only man whose eyes you wanted on you was nowhere to be found.

The ball was supposed to provide perfect cover. All the orderly staff would be at your father's beck and call all evening, and he'd be too busy showing off your brother like a prized chocobo to notice your disappearance, leaving you to your own devices after a certain amount of time.

You and Clive would be able to sneak off without a trace or care in the world, but for some reason, every man of nobility just happened to be extremely insistent upon getting in at least one dance with you, all whilst having meaningless conversations regarding topics you couldn't bother yourself with caring about.

The ball started off well enough. You knew you couldn't immediately disappear into the shadows; you owed both your father and brother a dance to start the evening, as was tradition for the royal balls in your country.

The three of you walked out into the ballroom together. Your father went first, then you and your brother in succession.

The room was lavish, as it often was whenever such events were hosted in your kingdom. Multiple chandeliers holding long wax candles filled the ceiling, and the light reflecting off the gems on your gown made you shine beautifully. A golden hue encapsulates the entire room, casting wispy shadows and twinkling shapes on the hardwood floor. Your family emblem was painted in stark white chalk at the center of it. Various flowers from the royal gardens hung in sconces around the perimeter of the room, with vines filling out the empty space in between. Fine fabric in your kingdom's colors was draped over the windows in high arch shapes.

Scanning the room, you look for where to make your grand escape. After a few dances and perhaps some intermingling at the refreshments table, you'd be skittering along the ballroom walls, hiding in the shadows, before making your exit.

There was still a short amount of time before the guests started to file in, so after the final touches were made to the decorations, you took your place on the dais next to your family, with your father in the center and your brother to your right.

The royal knights line up in front of the small stage, and though Clive is always the pinnacle of orderliness while on duty—excellent posture and great form—you swear that you catch his eye as he files inside the room. He's not so careless as to let his emotions wear on his face while in the presence of others, especially your father and the Lord Commander, but you're certain that the slightest tinge of pink floods his cheeks at the sight of you.

As the knights continue to get into position, your gaze falls upon Clive's shaggy hair, reminiscing about how the thick yet soft tendrils felt between the length of your fingers as he made his presence known between your legs moons prior.

Your father's voice reels you back from your fantasies as you clear your throat slightly and hope that the bright lights of the chandelier won't give way to your previous thoughts.

Nobles from all across the realm begin to file in and make their greetings, some familiar and some new. A part of you is surprised that all these people traveled from their home countries just to visit your brother, but you supposed that none of the nations wanted bad blood between your kingdom and theirs.

After all the introductions were made, your father began his long-winded speech about your brother, the future of the country, and how proud he is of how far his children have come. The smile plastered on your face feels stiff, and your thighs feel as though they're about to collapse from the amount of curtsying you've been forced to do.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you're granted some relief from the spotlight while the band sets up on the stage where you and your family previously resided.

You make your way over to the refreshment table, nodding and curtseying to the fellow noble ladies as you make your way over to procure yourself a glass of iced lemonade.

It was not even three seconds later that your father was introducing you to some nobleman.

"Dearest daughter," he starts. You take a deep breath and settle your princessly smile on your face once more before turning around.

"I'd be pleased to introduce you to the Archduke of Rosaria and his mother." You gaze upon the both of them; this is the first meeting you've had with the current Archduke of Rosaria. You met the previous archduke, Elwin, when you were still of tender age, before your brother was born. You scantly recall the details of the meeting, only that he gifted both you and your mother bouquets of Rosarian wildflowers and that he had a penchant for making you laugh (as later on confirmed by your mother).

It's clear, though, that the man standing before you bears no resemblance to his father, sharing the same icy eyes and pale hair as his mother.

"His Imperial and Royal Highness, Joshua, the Archduke of Rosaria, and her Imperial and Royal Highness, Annabella, the Dowager Archduchess of Rosaria," your father continues, giving you room to make your formal introductions.

"It is an honor, your Highness," you state, giving a swift curtsey to the both of them, and although Annabella merely nods to you in acknowledgment, her son gives a full bow in return.

"Come now, Joshua. There's no need for that," she chastises, as if her son were still a child and not a grown man.

"But mother, how could I not marvel at the beauty bestowed upon me?" He responds in full. At your astonishment at his bold declaration, he takes your gloved hand into his own and presses a delicate kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Might I say that your gown looks exquisite tonight, my lady? You shine bright like a diamond." Both you and the Dowager Archduchess share a similar look of shock on your faces, and even though you can't see your father's expression from behind you, you're sure that he mirrors both of yours.

Heat floods your face as your eyes meet Joshua's, then his mother's, and although their eyes bear the same shade of cerulean, her gaze pierces through you like daggers of ice, whereas the strawberry blonde beside her carries a lot more warmth.

Time stands still, and you wonder if such flirtations were a product of his father, seeing as his mother held very little kindness or regard in her heart.

You feel your father's hands on your shoulders and realize you've spent the last minute or so gawking at Joshua and his display.

"Please forgive my daughter; she isn't used to such blatant declarations of affection from esteemed gentlemen." It's at your father's statement that your brain kicks back into gear. Your hand is withdrawn, and an immediate curtsey follows in its place.

"My sincerest apologies, Your Highness." As you raise your head, your eyes meet Clive's just across the way from behind Joshua, but he's quick to refocus and march forward in front of him.

"No apology is necessary," the Archduke smiles, "though if you truly wish to win my forgiveness, you'll allow me your hand in a dance."

Before you even get the chance to respond, Annabella interrupts, "Joshua, you mustn't. Think of your health."

"Mother," a domineering smile plasters itself on Joshua's face, "certainly I have enough energy to last me at least one dance with the most elegant princess in all of Valisthea."

Annabella sends another harsh glance toward her son before muttering, "Of course," and taking her leave elsewhere.

Joshua heaves a heavy sigh before extending his hand, silently asking for your dance card. You raise your wrist and allow him to pencil himself in before he gives one final bow, and retreats toward his inconsolable mother.

Your father exhales the breath you were unaware he was holding when the band gets in position for their first song. Both you and your father take place in the center of the ballroom as the first dance of the evening.

You couldn't help but notice as you scanned the faces in the surrounding audience that someone was missing. As the starting notes boomed from the instruments, you whisper to your father, "Papa, where's Dion?"

Prince Dion, next in line to be the Emperor of Sanbreque, had grown to be one of your close friends—well, as close of a friend as a princess could have when confined to castle walls for most of her life. You were close in age, and given that there weren't as many young heirs throughout the realm at the time of your childhood, it was only natural that the two of you would become fast friends.

Rumors quickly spread that you and Dion would become betrothed when you were older, securing an indisputable alliance between both nations, but as the years trickled on and both of you came of age, no such proposals were made. After he became leader of the dragoons, it was apparent that one such proposal would never come, but you weren't deterred; if anything, you were relieved.

You held love for Dion in your heart; you'd known each other since you were children, but the love you held wasn't the type of love fostered between two individuals who were passionate about each other romantically.

Your father's face held a quick grimace before lowering his voice as the two of you prepared to take your first steps in tune together. "Dion is busy preparing for a war effort; he sends his regards."

"What?" You mutter, trying to keep the look of shock from developing on your face.

Though you and Dion couldn't frequently meet in person, the two of you penned missives back and forth. In none of your most recent correspondence with each other, had he mentioned anything in regards to an oncoming war.

Your father wasn't a gossip, but being the ruler of an entire kingdom, one must be well knowledgeable about the state of other nations.

He lowers his voice even further: "It seems that the King of Waloed is insistent on reclaiming his territory from Sanbreque."

"Dion never mentioned anything of the sort in his letters."

Your father gives you a lopsided smile in an attempt to reassure you: "He probably didn't want to worry you unnecessarily, especially with the ball coming up."

Your father was more than likely correct in his assumptions, but you couldn't shake the sinking feeling in your stomach.

"I'm sure Dion will be alright," he adds, brushing his thumb over your hand after noticing the newfound stiffness in your movements.

You nod. Dion was and is strong; he turned the tides for Sanbreque in battle many a time before. This was a fact, but something about him having to go against Waloed's army shakes you to your core.

Your father and the king of Waloed, Barnabas Tharmr, were amiable allies for the most part, but you've heard stories, many in particular when he visited your kingdom after the death of your mother. You were still young then, so you couldn't quite grasp the weight and meaning of the whispers your handmaidens had shared in secrecy upon his arrival.

He visited annually for some years after his initial visit before they died down altogether, though you could never ascertain what the meetings were for besides the first one.

Barnabas was kind enough, as one of his nature could be on his trip, but you could never help the feeling that something more sinister lingered beneath the surface when your young eyes met his.

You did your best to quell the unease in your heart and continued to dance with your father. Although he had gotten up there in years, he still moved swiftly across the ballroom floor, even if you had to slow your steps a bit.

It seemed that just as soon as the dance with your father began, it was over, and you were anxiously anticipating the next dance with your brother. You go hand in hand with him while the band begins to play.

"So, Crown Prince," you begin, filling the air in an attempt to quell your nerves. "Future heir to the throne, how does it feel to be Papa's favorite?" You smile, albeit teasingly.

"Surely you jest, dear sister. For without you, I'd be hopeless."

"Now who's jesting?" Your grin graces your face once more as the two of you glide across the ballroom before a somber expression soon replaces your previous jubilant one. "It pains me to think that this ball may be the last time we see each other like this."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Look at all the people here," you whisper to him, "surely you don't think Father is just merely celebrating your birthday. You're twenty-one years of age now, dear brother; officially legal to be wed."

"You don't truly think he'd see to it that I'd be married right away, do you?

You both twirl around, and your father comes into view, standing next to the royal guard.

"Maybe not right away, but you know how he is. Ever since Mama died, all he's wanted is to see our futures secured, and in your case, our bloodline. If that means marrying us off early, then so be it, I suppose. At least you have the luxury of choices in who you'll marry."

"Then how come you weren't married off as soon as you came of age?"

"Because you still needed me. You had no mother to set an example, so I needed to be in your life to show you how proper noble ladies should act," you snirk as he rolls his eyes. "If I'm speaking honestly, I feel the answer is more sentimental than logical. I don't think Father wanted to lose another member of our family before we were both of breeding age."

"I suppose you're right. It's more than what most fathers would do. Now that I'm able to be wed, do you suppose that'll hasten his plans for your marriage?"

You sigh, the thought has lingered in the back of your mind since your brother grew out of being a child. "I'm not sure, but who knows?"

"Don't look so down," he smirks. "If you reach spinsterdom, you'll always have a place here with me."

You smile kindly. "Thank you."

As the instruments die down, signaling the dance coming to a close, you once again find yourself on the outskirts of the ballroom. You snag a look at your dance card to check where Joshua has penciled himself in. A waltz, of course. He'd undoubtedly use this opportunity of close quarters to flirt with you some more.

His name was listed far enough down the line that you could make a break for the storeroom now, and...

"Your Royal Highness!"

The next hour and a half was filled with nothing but dancing, with only a few minutes of rest provided in between.

You had been skirting along the edges of the ballroom when you just so happened to catch the eyes of an old presiding duke who resides in your kingdom, and it was all downhill from there.

What was supposed to have been a "romantic" evening was turning into a disaster. At every turn, you were swept into the arms of yet another elderly gentleman looking for a younger and more agreeable wife.

As you twirled and spun around the hardwood flooring, you were afforded only mere glances at your lover from afar. Every time you laid your eyes on him, he always appeared to be preoccupied with something else. Not that any of your concurrent dance partners would've noticed your wandering eye, as theirs were doing much of the same.

If there was one thing that all these men had in common, it was the ogling. Some of them "tried" to be more polite about it than others, going for glances at your cleavage in between the minimal required time they had to actually look you in the eye instead of blatantly staring at your chest the whole time.

It was clear, though, that all of them were oblivious to just how obvious they were being with their gaping looks, not realizing that you could tell when people were talking to your chest instead of your face.

Though you're certain that a drink limit was set for this ball, it was becoming quite clear that a majority of the "gentlemen" had imbibed to their pleasure, the smell of port lingering on their breath whenever they'd lean in close.

After a while, you had managed to escape all your suitors and camouflage yourself in a nearby group of gossiping noble ladies, the majority of them being mothers, who were well-equipped with an onslaught of questions about your brother and the future of the kingdom.

After quelling their curiosity, you nestled yourself in a corner, facing the wall of the ballroom, and let out an exasperated sigh, taking a few moments to collect yourself.

You were beyond frustrated, both sexually and mentally. All you desired was to climb between the sheets with your lover and have him pleasure your body until your thoughts were reduced to a mindless fog. To say you were having intense urges was an understatement.

It'd be easier to deal with if Clive wasn't a member of staff that you saw often, like a cook or a coachman, but being your sworn shield, he was in your presence a majority of the time. So close, yet so far.

His touch was often the source of your fantasies at night. Your mind wanders, flitting between thoughts of his scruff against your neck, his breath on your skin, and how his strong hands would grip your body.

You were never able to help but wonder what your first time together would be like. What does he look like when he comes? What does he sound like? Does he moan, grunt, or whimper? Would he be gentle with you? Similar to how he grasps your hand when helping you step down from a carriage, slow, languid thrusts into your heat as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, both of your bodies clinging onto each other for purchase. Or would he be rough? Similar to how he fights: powerful, unrelenting thrusts into your cunt, overwhelming as he batters into you, stealing the breath from your lungs. You were often unable to decide which scenario you liked better as you reached your climax, whispering his name as you came down.

You know you shouldn't have such intense lust for someone who's working in your service, but knowing that just excites you more.

"Princess!"

You release another deep exhale as you turn around. You're really starting to get irritated at the word "princess."

"Your Highness!" you exclaim with a half gasp. Apparently, Joshua was set on keeping his promise of a dance.

"My sincerest apologies," you curtsey.

He gives a dismissive wave of his hand before extending it toward you. "You owe me no such things, my lady. Are you still willing to accept my dance proposal?"

"Of course, Your Highness," you place your gloved hand in his as he walks you to the dance floor, and you can't help the smile that rises on your face as you take your place together.

"I know it's against propriety for you to deny me a dance, but I'm not so cruel to force a lady when she doesn't want to."

"It's a pleasure, Your Highness. I assure you. You're perhaps the most polite man I've danced with thus far, besides my father and brother, of course."

His hand makes its way to the small of your back as more couples fall in toe behind you and the Archduke. Your conversation lulls until the music picks up, your hand delicately resting on his shoulder.

"Although I am most disappointed to hear that these gentlemen would treat a beautiful woman such as yourself with little regard, I can't deny that I'm pleased to be the only one who's seemed to win your affections."

This man.

As much as you try not to fawn over the attention, his words are like silk in your ears, as if they're the most natural sound you've ever heard.

It doesn't register that you're smiling so brightly until he comments on it: "You have one of the most radiant smiles, my lady."

You shake your head from side to side as if trying to regain your composure. Despite all the time you shared with Clive over a month ago, you weren't used to such blatant flirtations in front of so many people at once. Even if they couldn't hear your conversation, the smiles on both your faces single you out from the other couples on the floor. It leaves you feeling exposed, as if a bright light has been shone on both of you.

"Forgive me if I speak out of line, Your Highness," you inhale, "but where on Valisthea did you learn to become so charming?"

He offers a chuckle and a swoop of his strawberry-blonde hair. "I'm quite a fan of the written word. It was often one of the few escapes I truly had as a child, so I may have picked up a few techniques after reading a romance or two."

"Perhaps you could lend your novels to some of the other gentlemen here so they can learn how to properly woo a lady."

"And risk losing being the sole recipient of your affections?"

"Feeling insecure over your abilities?" You cock your head to the side, a small smirk appearing on your lips.

Joshua ponders the question for a moment, putting on a good face of deep thought as if he's truly rolling the question around in his head before responding, "More so like...I don't want to give the poor blokes false hope when I'm sure to come out on top anyway."

"It seems that you're very confident indeed."

The two of you chuckle as he twirls you around, only to be met with the scorn of Annabella's icy gaze after locking eyes with her from the other side of the ballroom. The joy in your expression quickly dies off, and the figurative noose tightens itself around your neck, suffocating the life from your lungs.

With your newfound stillness, Joshua has to guide you back into his arms. He looks off in the direction of your eye line and sighs before speaking once more, "I apologize on behalf of my mother."

"You needn't do so for my sake," you're quick to respond, attempting to reassure him that you were unaffected by Annabella's glare.

"Do you think I can't sense the dread in your eyes?" He smirks, and you offer a strained half-laugh in response while waiting for him to continue.

"I was frequently ill as a child, thus it was very rare to step foot outside the archduchy," he clears his throat, "after my father had passed, it seems that her protective nature only grew."

"I'm sorry about the loss of your father. I've only met him a handful of times, but he was always very kind. My mother once told me that I frequently laughed in his presence." You understood Joshua's pain well, having lost your mother during the birth of your brother years before the former Archduke passed.

A solemn look graces his features before he relaxes once more. "He was a good man, from what I can recall from my memories of him," he pauses, "I can only hope that I can be half the man he was when it comes to ruling the archduchy."

You take a moment to mull over your words before voicing them. "It seems like you've managed to capture his kind and generous spirit. I'm sure you're already well on your way to living up to his name."

"You're very kind," he nods, and a genuine smile fixes itself on his face, unlike the charming one he's graced you with before.

The music slows to a stop, indicating the end of the waltz, and Joshua walks you back to the fray of the ballroom as slowly as possible. "Perhaps this is inappropriate to say given the present company, but I'd love to call upon you some time."

A part of you is surprised, not expecting a courting proposal from someone you could actually tolerate. Being thoroughly charmed, you agree.

"There's a jousting tournament within the next fortnight. It's always an invigorating time. You should attend if you're able."

He takes your gloved hand in his, raising it until your knuckles graze his lips. "I'd be most delighted to attend. Until then, my lady." He releases your hand and turns off in the direction of his mother, who looks all too unhappy with him, and you, by extension.

You sigh, ready to be completely done with the evening. You move toward your father, ready to meander around where he sits near the dais, hoping that any lingering suitors would see him situated nearby and turn the other direction.

Once you've raised your head and made your way toward your father, Clive comes into view. He's moving toward you at a fast pace, and before you can stop yourself, your feet turn to guide you in his direction instead. Momentarily forgetting your place, you call out his name, though it's difficult to hear over the chatter of the ballroom.

At the same time, two overlapping voices call out to you. One is Clive's; the sound of his voice is more familiar to you, but there's another that cuts through the air.

A gruff "princess" is all you're afforded in terms of a greeting.

Both you and Clive come to a halt and turn in the direction of the unknown voice.

The man has a familiar face, though you can't exactly place from where you know him. He's around your father's age, with wrinkles lining his eyes and forehead as well as dashes of grey in his facial hair, so you conclude that your father must be how you've made his acquaintance before.

The man is decently handsome, more so than the other creeps you've had the displeasure of dancing with. He has stark eyes, almost crystalline in nature, which are a sharp contrast to his raven-colored hair.

These traits prove to be startlingly similar to those of your current lover, but you decide it's best to dissect that later.

Clive is the one who breaks the silence. "My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty."

Your majesty?

You offer the man a curtsey in apology while Clive bows, but the stranger pays you no mind, choosing to focus on the knight instead.

"Is something the matter?" Though it's merely a question, his voice carries a wealth of command behind it.

"Nothing that can't wait," Clive begins, his eyes flitting between you and the unknown—at least unknown to you. "Please pardon my intrusion." He bows to the both of you before stalking off toward your father.

You suppose you'll be informed later if it's truly so important.

The silence fills between you and the man again before he asks, "May I have this dance?" His mouth quirks up in a smirk.

“It's only a country dance; nothing too intimate,” you think to yourself.

If you were being honest, the last thing you wanted to do was begrudgingly endure a dance with this gentleman after having more than your fair share of imbeciles indulge themselves in your assets, but propriety comes first. So instead of telling this man to kindly fuck off, you put on your best princessly smile and place your hand in his.

"Of course," you reply, and he leads you toward the floor.

You stand next to each other in between other couples before the band begins to pick up once again. The melody starts slow enough, so you take this time to ask the man exactly who he is, keeping your tone light and polite.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty; it seems that I remember the face but not the name.”

He must've made his entrance later on in the evening after the formal introductions, because you certainly would've remembered him during the greetings.

He offers a light chuckle before muttering, "Barnabas, King of Waloed."

King of Waloed. The very same king who's planning to go toe to toe with one of your closest confidants. He's aged quite a bit in the fifteen-odd years it's been since you've seen him last; it's no wonder you didn't recognize him.

Your body language gives you away despite your best efforts, and his laugh pierces through you. "It seems my reputation proceeds me."

The disdain is thinly veiled in your voice. "Don't you have a battle to prepare for?" you grit, and he laughs again as if the prospect were beneath him.

"I'm not worried," is all he offers in response. His presence must've been what Clive was trying to warn you about.

You take a deep breath, seeing it best not to stir anything up in the public eye.

You get a better look at him when the succession of people in the line with you turns around. He certainly doesn't dress like a king—definitely not one like your father. There are no bells and whistles to his outfit, no ornate capes lined with exotic furs, or gilded crowns.

If anything, it seemed like he'd dressed down for this event, and you can't tell what pisses you off more: his pompous attitude toward heading into battle that may surely send Dion to an all too early grave or his nonchalance in showing up to a royal ball in only a blue tunic and black leathers. It felt like a jab. Though his pompousness in battle may be deserved, this blatant display of disrespect was not.

He gave the impression of a venomous snake, intriguing to look at but ultimately best viewed from a faraway distance.

It takes everything in you not to grind your teeth together and overemphasize the stiffness in your movements.

As if sensing your irritation with him, Barnabas probes, "Are you enjoying yourself?"

No, you're quite simply NOT!

"I've gotten to the age where these sorts of gatherings lose their luster."

It wasn't exactly the truth, but it wasn't a lie either. As you got older and balls became more about finding matches, you started to dread them. You were hoping that it being your brother's birthday would be enough to spare you from marriage prospects, but alas, you were clearly wrong.

"A shame," he mutters, his words lacking enthusiasm.

The group moves along to the beat of the tune when Clive comes into your view, talking to your father.

"Who's that brooding fellow you're staring at?" Barnabas asks, trying to cut off whatever is taking your attention away from him.

The two of you move in succession toward the back of the group when it registers just how much you've been gawking at Clive in Barnabas' presence.

"Him? He's my first shield," you answer nonchalantly, letting no indication of fondness slip into your voice.

Barnabas snickers, "I had no idea noble ladies were so heavily invested in the lives of their shields."

"I know naught of what you mean," you scoff, acting like the princess you are.

His voice rises in volume as he declares, "Why don't you let a real man take care of you?"

Heat floods your body at his words, and you do little to hide your disgust.

"Excuse me?"

"He's nothing but filth," he continues to say, and the rage inside you reaches a boiling point.

"You speak of him as if he's nothing but a lowly street rat."

"He might as well be, compared to us. You could have an entire kingdom of knights protecting you as well as one of the most powerful men in the realm, instead of just one lowly feeble knight."

"Are you always so incorrigible toward those who are beneath you? It's a miracle that your kingdom still stands."

He laughs out loud, beside himself. You were sure he'd have your head. Instead, his volume just gets louder, so those dancing alongside you can hear.

"I've heard rumors that your precious first shield is actually a royal bastard, but from whom he's a descendant, I've no idea. A man of his standing is simply not fit to be in the position of protecting a princess. I'm just looking out for you."

If you were feeling rage before, now you're furious. As much as the people in your dance group tried to be respectful, heads couldn't help but turn at Barnabas' accusations.

Whether Clive being a bastard was true or not didn't matter; you refused for someone who valiantly defended your life to be made a mockery of over such trivial matters in your eyes.

"I was the one who held the sword that knighted Clive!" You start off loud, similar to him, but your voice gets lower as you draw near.

"My father gave him a title under his tutelage. Clive's been protecting me since I was the tender age of twelve years old and is the only man I'd trust with my life outside of my father and brother."

There's a pause before you continue.

"If you wish to win my favor, it'd be wise to watch what you say in regards to him," you grit.

You're not sure when the rest of the group stopped dancing alongside you, but by the time you realize it, all their eyes are on you. Though the people outside of the circle couldn't hear your conversation, the crowd caused those on the fray of the ballroom to turn their attention toward you.

Barnabas only snirks, scanning your face plainly when you turn back to face him. Your glare is prominent as he escorts you back off the dance floor once the music dies down.

He speaks in a low voice, right in your ear, "You're a feisty one, but don't worry, I enjoy a challenge." He smiles menacingly before releasing you.

All the wandering heads seem to return to their original activities upon the group's dispersal. You don't want to cause any more disturbance, something you're sure you'll get a lecture for later on, so you give a curtsey to Barnabas, lowering your head.

"I shall bid you adieu, Your Majesty." The words are choked out, and not a moment later you're turning on your heels and making your exit out of the ballroom.

Which is how you ended up in an old store room, with nothing but your various frustrations and the ebbs n flows of silence to keep you company.

You're not sure how long you've been sitting there, but by the time you hear the door open, you're convinced that it was a servant sent to escort you back to the ballroom, but instead, it's Clive.

There's no hesitation in his movements as he steps toward you, catching your face in his gloved hands as he reads your expression.

"Are you alright?" He asks. Even if there's no threat of physical danger, that doesn't mean emotional scars weren't left after your interaction with the king.

"I tried to warn you...I tried to-"

You cut him off, "I'm okay, Clive. A little embarrassed, but it's nothing I couldn't handle." You smiled softly at him, which he returned in full.

"What were you two talking about?"

Warmth flows throughout your body once more, and you don't want to admit that the cause of the outburst you had was because of him, so you act nonchalant.

"Nothing of importance."

He raises his eyebrows like he doesn't believe what you're saying at all, but he doesn't press you on it, not now at least, and you won't give him the chance to when you ask, "Jealous?"

He smirks, shaking his head back and forth slightly. "Do you enjoy tormenting me, my lady?"

"I beg your pardon."

"Do you enjoy watching my torment? Does it give you pleasure?"

"I'm afraid I know naught of what you mean. Have you perhaps forgotten your place, knight?" You put extra emphasis on the word as you toss a smirk his way.

He backs up from where you're sitting on the barrel. "All those men, dancing with you, ogling you. All the while, I'm forced to stand by and watch them all make a pass at you."

You offer a faux pout. "Aw, come on. They're not all bad."

"Enough of them are."

"Are you truly so jealous of those who're above your peerage?" You can't help but snirk in amusement. This was the first time you'd seen him act like this.

"Yes, no!" He takes a deep breath to collect his thoughts: "The Archduke and that bastard king."

Your eyebrows rise at his declaration. "You hate them so much that you've forgone proper titles?"

He rolls his eyes at your statement, and you're unable to hold back your giggles. You hop off the barrel and take his face into your hands.

"There is absolutely no affection for that king in my heart, I assure you. As for the Archduke, though he is roguishly charming, I happen to prefer meaner mugs to delicate pretty features like his," you move to press a kiss to his cheek.

His head hangs low in shame. "I cannot deny that jealousy and resentment burn in my heart at the thought of you with another."

"Believe me," you say, stroking his cheek, "I'd much rather spend my time with you than with stiff men who smell of port. I've been looking for an escape practically all evening.“

"They don’t deserve you at all, my lady. Those men don’t deserve to know the softness of your skin,” he lowers his mouth to place delicate kisses on your neck, then moves toward the exposed flesh of your bosom above your gown.

"Clive," you gasp, tangling your fingers in his thick locks.

“They don't deserve to know the sweetness in your voice when you cry out in pleasure," he whispers, pulling away from your skin to trace his thumb along the frame of your face.

“I’ve missed you," he states.

“I’ve missed you too.”

He pulls you into him for a kiss, one full of hunger and desperation, eager to taste each other once more. The kiss is sticky; the clear gloss painted on your lips transfers onto his. He’s licking into your mouth as your lips brush against each other, tongues wrestling each other for dominance.

You're moved backward until you're pressed against the storeroom wall. Clive reaches down, grazing your bum with his palms over the fabric of your skirts before lifting your legs in the air. The back wall holds you steady as he wraps your legs around his waist.

Desperate to get close to him once more, not even wanting to separate for a second, you pull him back into you and kiss him fervently, not wanting to be parted from each other. He angles his hips toward you, teasingly grinding himself into your heat, causing you to whine into the kiss.

“Looks like you did miss me, hm?” He separates from your lips, moving to kiss down your neck once more.

“Let me make it up to you for being so neglectful of your needs.” He continues kissing down your neck, moving over to your décolleté, and then finally down the swell of your breasts.

“Founder, how I wish I could mark these tits,” he murmurs, dropping your legs back down onto the floor so that he can skim your torso and squeeze at your chest through the fabric of your gown.

“You have an intense infatuation with my breasts, don't you?” You giggle, laughing at his awestruck countenance while he continues to knead the fat in his hands.

“You've no idea." He smirks at you, then suddenly kneels before you.

“What are you doing?” You pet his hair softly as he looks up at you.

“I’m just being a good knight, my lady. On my knees for you, like I should be.”

"Oh, really now?"

"Mhm," he mumbles, taking your gloved hand in his. “I truly did miss you, and I plan on showing you just how much.” He reaches towards the hem of your gown, bunching it up over your navel.

"If you'd be so kind as to help hold up your skirts, my lady."

"I suppose I should be so kind." You lift the hem of your dress over your hips as Clive places your leg over his shoulder.

“Now this is how I shall swear fealty to you,” he leans towards your bare mound, planting a few kisses upon your mons before blowing cool air onto your cunt.

“I’ve missed your taste. I dreamt about it for so many nights." His thumbs trace slow circles into the skin near your pelvis as he continues teasing. He trails his tongue where your thigh meets the stark white stocking covering the majority of your leg.

"Fuck." He leans his face into your pussy once more, inhaling the rich scent before finally dipping his tongue into your wetness. He groans into your cunt.

Holding up the skirts of your gown the best you can in one hand, you snake the other into his shaggy locks, taking hold of his roots. Your chest heaves in anticipation.

“Please, please, Clive, don’t tease me," you whine, "it’s been too long.”

“Aw, did my sweet princess miss me?” He goads, sticking his tongue in your entrance and greedily sucking up your arousal on his wet muscle.

“Did her princess pussy miss how good I made her feel?” He kisses up the seam of your cunt until he reaches your clit.

"Did she miss how I made love to her with my mouth?” He spits on your pussy, the glob of saliva sticking to the hairs that cover your mound, some of it dripping to the ground.

He's quick to remove his gloves, tossing them aside before he takes his thumbs and spreads your folds apart, watching as your quivering hole twitches in anticipation.

“She must have missed me, with how much she’s leaking just for me."

All you're able to do is bite your lip and nod, feeling embarrassed as his words generate heat in both your cheeks and core.

He plugs your warm hole with his tongue, not wanting a single morsel of your essence to be wasted.

“It’s alright, princess; I’m right here.” He speaks directly into your cunt, looking at you with a deeply enamored gaze.

"I’ve missed her too, you know," he says, sliding his tongue all around your sopping pussy.

“I’ve missed her wetness, her sweetness, and her warmth. I missed how she clenched around me as I gave her pleasure," he groans.

Making his way to your clit, he gives it sweet kisses and drags the length of his tongue along the entirety of the bundle of nerves before pulling it into his mouth. His teeth graze the nub, causing your hips to jump forward, pressing more of yourself into his face.

Your fingers curl into his shaggy locks, struggling to keep your dress in your hold as you lose yourself in the feeling of pleasure, his pretty face proving to be useful for more than just gazing upon.

His teeth nip at your inner thigh, “getting greedy now, aren’t we princess?” He traces the divots of your thighs with his fingers, enjoying the feeling of your skin.

You don’t say anything, choosing to instead respond with an angry huff and pull his face back into your cunt by his hair.

“Point taken,” he smirks against you before pulling your clit back into his mouth again.

He moves his hand from your thigh and down to your pussy, sliding his middle finger back and forth between your folds, coating it in your slick. He slips to your entrance, circling the quivering hole and waiting, drawing out a whine from you.

“Please,” you exhale, your head rolling back against the wall, desperate to have him deep inside you. Though you’d much prefer squeezing down on his cock, that’d have to wait for another day.

He chuckles, the vibration from his voice moving through you, causing you to keel over slightly. Clive breeches your warm hole, slowly, letting you enjoy the feeling of his thick finger stretching you out.

“Fuck yes,” you whimper.

“That’s it, princess; you’re so wound up. Just take what you need," he coos, murmuring against you, his breath hot on your skin.

He curls his finger into you, the pad of his digit hitting the spongey spot along your walls.

“Looking for another audience? Was the poor maid not enough the first time?” He’s smirking against you now as he begins to pump his finger in and out of your cunt.

“What if your father were to catch you with me, hm? How do you think he’d react to his little girl stuffing her cunt in the face of someone he deigned worthy enough to protect her?"

Your breath is ragged, unable to form words due to the sound of his voice, deep and gravelly as he spews more filth at you.

“Keep moaning like that, and we’ll soon know the answer yet.”

He moves to your clit once more, slurping and sucking at your swollen pussy, desperate to push you over the edge. He fucks his finger into you at a rapid pace now, and his tongue is quick to catch whatever dribbles out onto his fingers, dining on your essence like it’s the finest ambrosia known to man, and to him, it might as well be.

Your head is lulled back against the wall as heat creeps onto your face and into your core. You don’t dare look down at Clive, who's nestling his face further in the hair that covers your cunt, knowing that you’ll surely come undone at the sight.

After the night you’ve had, you more than deserve this a thousand times over, and if it were up to him, he would happily oblige in all your desires.

The tips of your fingers cinch into his scalp, tugging him impossibly closer to your core, your orgasm building rapidly.

Clive pulls no punches, suctioning his lips around your clit and sucking it like a piece of hard candy. His index finger has joined the middle digit, fucking in and out of your cunt.

With practiced strokes, he contorts his fingers until your climax is upon you. Your lips part with a silent scream as your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

Your thighs shake as they try to close around his head, and his steady palms hold them apart as he removes his fingers from your pussy. Every drop of arousal that leaks from your womanhood is lapped up by his tongue til your hands are pushing his face away.

Clive gets the hint, removing your thigh from his shoulder and setting it back down on the floor. You attempt to move away from the wall, but he holds you in position until the jitter in your leg ceases.

He wipes the remnants of your spend from his face onto your inner thighs, and the roughness of his facial hair sends a shiver up your spine.

Once you've settled, he moves to help with fixing the skirts of your gown.

"Do you like it?" You smile brightly. "I wore it with you in mind."

You twirl slowly, your dress billowing slightly, wanting to show off all the detailing. His face warms at the gesture, and he presses a soft kiss on your forehead.

"I think lavender may be my new favorite color."

You allow yourself a moment to indulge in the blissful feeling before Clive speaks up once more.

"We should get moving. The break for supper will be happening soon, and we don't want any whispers of our whereabouts if we're not in attendance."

He moves to make a break for the storeroom door when you grab his forearm.

"Surely you're not going to go out there with your... predisposition," you flit your eyes down to the front of his trousers, where a prominent erection has made itself known.

"I'll take care of it myself, later."

"Let me help you..." There wasn't much time for you to return the favor with your mouth, and any other activities would leave you disheveled in a way that everyone would know of what happened between the two of you, but you could provide relief with your hand.

Despite the time restraint, you wanted to tease Clive a little, putting the tips of your silk gloves into your mouth and pulling them off of each hand slowly with your teeth before setting them aside nearby, so as to not be sullied with bodily fluids.

You wanted to get a good look at what you'd be working with, so you sink to your knees and pull his trousers down to his thighs. You give him a wide-eyed expression as the appendage bobs free, hitting his stomach gently.

His cock looked a lot different than those pictured in the medical texts that you've snuck from the royal library. He had extra skin and hair and garnered a much bigger girth as well.

As tempted as you are to swallow the whole of him into your mouth, you settle for a simple kiss right on the tip, and his cock twitches back at you cutely in appreciation.

You rise to your feet once more with his aid and grasp him in your hand. His fingers are quick to cover your own, the size of them dwarfing yours.

"Are you positive that you want to go through with this? I truly don't mind taking care of myself," he asks.

"And not return the favor?" You chuckle. "I promise, I am doing this out of my own desire." You move to the column of his throat, placing soft and delicate kisses on the skin before moving toward the junction of his jaw.

"Now just relax," you coo, running your fingers delicately up and down his shaft.

He's so pent-up that it won't take long for him to climax, but you do your best to be as teasing as possible. His head lulls back as muffled sounds are delivered from his throat, and you can't help but admire how pretty he looks like this.

Not only does he have an impressive amount of girth, but his length is nothing to scoff at either, with a protruding vein running along the underside of him. The sheer size of him fills up your entire palm as you continue to pump slowly, the softness of your skin akin to silk upon his cock.

"So tell me, Clive, how many nights have you been fucking your fist to the thought of me?" You whisper in his ear, and his eyes shoot wide open as he takes in a gulp of air.

His hips buck lightly against you in response, giving you all the permission you need to continue your questioning.

"Come on, tell me. It can't be that bad." Your kisses continue on his neck as his hips continue to rock.

He takes in another gulp of air before answering.

"E-every night.”

"Every night? How cute," you tease, speeding up your movements on his cock. He bites his lip in an attempt to hide his noises while the rhythm of his hips meets your hand every time.

"I touch myself thinking of you too. Except my fingers are nowhere near as filling as yours," you chuckle to yourself as he groans out.

"Founder, above."

His cock is fully slick now, and at any moment, he looks like he's ready to burst, taking to wrapping his fist around yours and creating a vice-like grip with your fingers. All his movements are hurried and rushed as he chases his release.

For the final blow, you mutter to him, "Fuck my fist like you would fuck my pussy."

Clive full body shudders, tightening his grip once more before thrusting wildly. It's only a few short moments later that he's removing your hand from himself and laying his seed on the floor below, groaning your name in the process.

Afterward, the two of you take a few moments to collect yourselves and tidy your appearance. Old rags were used to wipe off the remnants of Clive from the floor, and you were just about to make your exit when the melody from one of your favorite songs played through the door.

"Clive, may I have this dance?" You extend your hand toward him, giggling to yourself.

From looking at your dance card earlier, this song was the second-to-last song to be played before the break for supper.

"And don't give me the excuse of not having enough time. We'll make it back to the ballroom before everyone's filed out for the evening."

"Even if that is true, my lady, I assure you that I know nothing of ballroom dancing."

"Did I ask you if you knew how?"

There's a momentary pause, one that he fills with a shake of his head. You nod in return.

"No, I did not. I simply asked you to dance with me. I'd still wish to so even if you had two left feet."

There's another pause as you extend your hand toward him again.

"I even saved you a spot on my dance card," you smile, shaking the parchment in front of his face, where the line for this dance is indeed left blank.

In his indecisiveness, you take his hand in your own and press yourselves close together.

"It's just you and me," you whisper, resting your head against his frame, the sound of the music filling the silence. His opposite hand moves to the small of your back, and the two of you end the evening in each other's arms, swaying to the sound of muffled music.

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