#Seconde peau

[ruemorinpointcom]

Atashpishinanu / Seconde peau, l’art du vêtement ilnu

Du 18 novembre 2023 au 28 avril 2024 à La Pulperie de Chicoutimi / Musée régional Continue reading Untitled

[muse219]

Second life - Clef de Peau Evox Miae Demo skin+Maiteya X

[ssisch]

#18 - 2024

~ lookbook - 17/03/2024 ~Lelutka (jaden nova)/ HEAD / lel EvoX Sugar 4.0 NEW! DeeTaleZ (Steffi Villota) Skin *Love* for LELEVOX / BROWS: red/ European Demos are available at the mainstore, where you can also now find a Sale Section!DeeTaleZ LinktreeDeeTaleZ MU *Veins * for LELU EVOX/ Light SkinDeeTaleZ *Applier* - LeLu EvoX HD LIPS "KissMe Lips" Izzie's enhancementsIzzie's (Izzie Button) - Body…

[grantvaleska]

Glasses: SKN - Rowan Glasses Necklace: BALLY - Highs Necklace NEW @ MAN CAVE! Jacket: Boys to the Bone - Nalle Jacket Shirt: Guilty - 120 Oscar Shirt NEW @ ALPHA! Pants: Clef de Peau - Allan Pants Shoes: Versov - Nardov Sneakers Hairbase: Volkstone - Jave Hairbase

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 12 - Je T'ai Dans La Peau

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: Teen-rated... non-graphic references to sex/sexual situations.

Word Count: 2.7k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Our couple are sneaking around Aubrey Hall, trying to get time alone together, but it was always going to be noticed by a certain eagle-eyed mama. Sorry this has taken a while, life got very busy. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Aubrey Hall, UK, September/October 1939

It's the early hours when you finally get a moment alone with Benedict.

Throughout the evening, including a raucous but entertaining family dinner, your attempts are stymied at every turn. At the end of the evening, Eloise shows you to your guest room and lingers long after you have gotten ready for bed, waxing lyrical about Phillip, her plans to get a place in London (“Come with me!”) and her ambitions to get a job at the British Library. 

You listen as intently as you can, but your eyes droop as you climb under the covers, the bed so plush, promising her you are still listening even when you settle into the pillows. At some point, you drift off, maybe her as well, but when you awaken, your wristwatch says it is after midnight, and she is gone from your room.

Just as you are drifting again, there is a soft knock at your door. You wonder if you heard correctly at first, but when it happens again, you sleepily alight from your bed. Upon opening, the sight before you has you wide awake - Benedict, looking cosy but dashing in navy blue silk pyjamas. After a quick check that the corridor is clear, you grab his arm and haul him into your room, closing and locking the door behind you.

You look at each other, breathing heavily for a beat, then crash into each other, him grabbing you and hauling you off the ground into his arm, your legs winding instantly around his hips as you kiss greedily, hungrily. He groans, cupping your jaw and kissing you more, always kissing, until you are breathless for air. Your need for him is like an eternal flame, burning slowly all the time, but the second he touches you, it roars, awakening something primal, a physical need that burns your lungs and aches deep inside.

“Can we?” 

“Can we what…?” He replies, lips sliding to your neck.

“Have sex?” 

“Oh god…I didn't bring protection,” Benedict rues, sinking his forehead onto your shoulder.

“Benedict!” you whine, a touch petulant.

“I’m sorry… I will go get it…” he offers apologetically.

“Don't you dare leave me again so soon,” you growl, winding yourself tighter around him.

He chuckles. “Then perhaps maybe we can just find pleasure in other ways…” his promise dusky as he lowers you onto the bed.

Half an hour later, you are staring at the ceiling, panting, utterly sated as he once again used his mouth to bring you to a shaking pinnacle, your cries muffled into a pillow.

“We must find somewhere private,” he sighs, his face resting on your belly as you card your fingers through his thick hair. “I like to hear you scream…” his wistful, cheeky addition makes you gasp and swat him gently on the shoulder. He laughs heartily and crawls up over you on all fours. “We can steal away somewhere on the grounds where no one would find us,” he assures, eyes shining in the low lamplight.

“I shall keep you to that promise, Mr Bridgerton,” you threaten softly, pushing his shoulders until he lies on his back, you hovering over him now. “Do you think you are capable of being as quiet as I was?”

“Why do you ask?” a flicker of confusion over his face, until your hand slides down his flat stomach and lands upon the warm bulge in his pyjamas.

“I would like to return the favour…” you offer, as his breath hitches beautifully. “I have never used my mouth as such, but you will teach me, won't you? Tell me what you like?”

His groan is like music as you shuffle lower, looking up at him with fluttering eyelashes as he stares down at you with utter devotion.

—

Bright sunlight slices through a gap in the heavy velvet curtains when you stir, sad to be alone. Benedict said he would leave at some point in the night but insisted you fall asleep in his arms. 

As you descend the main staircase, Eloise catches up to you, looping your arm in hers and dragging you to breakfast. It's a far cry from your trips to the boulangerie together for croissants. It is a full buffet with gleaming silver chafing dishes lined up on a sideboard.

“Is your life here always like this?” your mind boggles as you help yourself to scrambled eggs and some bacon.

“Yeah, pretty much. Boring, right?” She pulls a face.

“Your idea of boring is so very different to mine…” you respond drolly, pouring a cup of coffee and taking a seat at the ornate, long dining table.

No one else appears to be taking breakfast now, but as Eloise natters away, you always have one eye on the doorway, hopeful Benedict will come in. But he doesn't, so you agree to a post-breakfast walk around the estate with her to enjoy the unseasonably warm, early autumn day. 

However, as you head to the door, Violet appears as if from nowhere.

“Eloise dearest, I hope you did not forget our plans today…?”

You watch Eloise turn around in slow motion, a pained expression on her face. “Surely that can wait?” she appeals before tilting her head back towards you. “Mother is under the impression that now I am back home, I wish to join the Woman’s Institute,” 

“We only meet once a month, and today is that day,” Violet attests, looking at her expectantly. “You have been abroad for the best part of a year, my dear; I would appreciate this quality time with you.”

It's the most loving, motherly manipulation, and you can tell by the way Eloises’s shoulders slump that she cannot argue that point.

“Come with me?” she appeals brightly, tugging your arm.

“Only members are allowed, my dear.” Violet cuts in calmly. “Next month, I can petition for y/n here to join, but she would have to wait until then.”

As you observe their back-and-forth, Benedict appears, wandering down the main staircase, dressed casually in a collarless shirt and brown trousers. He looks so good that you are tongue-tied, wanting to run to him and jump into his arms. You realise you are staring and have to tear your eyes away quickly, but it's too late. You can feel Violet’s watchful eye, made worse by knowing you have a darkening blush over your cheeks.

“Good morning, ladies,” he breezes, doffing an imaginary cap that makes his wedding ring catch the sunlight.

“Benedict dear, Eloise and I are off to Canterbury today. But perhaps you could show y/n around the estate grounds while we are out?” Violet breezes, fixing her son with a winning smile.

His eyes shoot to you and yours to his, a warm flicker behind your ribs at the thought you get a few hours alone together.

“Yes, no problem,” he smiles, attempting nonchalance.

“Don't do anything I wouldn't do…” is her parting shot as she gently drags Eloise towards the car outside.

“That covers a lot of ground; she's surprisingly daring,” Benedict states drolly as you watch them pile into the vehicle.

“Do you think she suspects something?” you ask faintly as you both stand in the doorway waving.

“Perhaps…” he concedes, not looking at you. “I suspect this was at least partially engineered. Not that I am complaining,” he adds hurriedly as the car pulls away.

“Same…” you offer quietly, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

—

You are staring at the wispy clouds puffing gently over the sky, the long grass lush under your back, the midday early autumnal sun warm on your skin as you lay naked, entwined together in post-coital bliss on a remote hillside of the estate.

“You kept your promise, Mr Bridgerton, to find us a secluded spot together.” 

His crooked smile is boyish, and his eyes dance in the sunlight. “Indeed, I did. And I greatly enjoyed your screams,” he teases with a wink.

“Stop it,” you demure, burying your face into his armpit, enjoying the scent of his skin there.

“Don't be bashful now,” he chuckles, rearranging your bodies so you are under him, his head resting upon your chest. “I would keep any promise I made to you,” he continues after a pause. His tone sincere, his breath dusting warm over your nipple, and his ear pressed to the skin on your sternum as if listening to your heartbeat.

“And I to you,” you confess, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, fingers mapping a constellation of freckles near his shoulder blade.

“Will you be wanting a divorce?” his question is almost hesitant—like he is torn between wanting to know and not know all at once.

“Would you want one?” you volley back, knowing it’s cowardly to answer his question with another.

“I see no reason to,” his words are quiet as he tilts his chin to look at you. “I do not plan to marry another,” he adds pointedly.

“Me neither…” you answer, meeting his gaze imploringly, wanting him to believe it. The last thing you want to do is go back to America now. You want to stay here with him—for as long as he will permit.

“You will stay here?” There is a hopeful lilt in his voice, his left hand lacing with yours, wedding rings pressed together.

“I have my freedom to remain in this country. I wish to be nowhere else but here…” Your answer is so dangerously close to a confession of what you genuinely feel, but you hold back, even as you know your heart is now thudding hard under his ear.

“Here with me?” he flips up onto all fours and climbs over you, that beguiling smile seeming to capture his whole face.

“Yes, with you, if you’ll have me…” you smile back at him as he looms above, his face in shadow, his hair a riotous halo around his head, backlit by the sun.

“Oh, I will have you plenty of times…” his promise dusky as his lips land on yours.

“That sounds like a promise, Mr Bridgerton…” you join in the banter between kisses.

“And you know I keep my promises,” he smirks before grasping both of your hands in his and stretching them into the tangle of wildflowers above your heads as you get lost in each other's bodies again.

—

And so it continues, night after night, days becoming weeks. Stealing away precious moments together whenever possible, knowing the risk you are running but unable to resist any opportunity, physical longing takes over, falling into each other, desperate and yearning. As if a part of you lives under each other's skin. Every night, he comes to your room long after the house is asleep, and every night, you fracture around him, your ecstatic cries muffled into his dewy skin.

The clandestine nature is partly not wanting to confess to Eloise but also to keep it a secret from the world—a precious, rare thing, just a fledgling you want to shelter. Give it time to breathe and grow. Although, on some level, you know that Violet knows. Her glances at you both, when you are in the same room, feigning nothing untoward, are too pointed. Yet she says nothing outright. 

It's two weeks since you settled into Aubrey Hall when Eloise is in a sour mood one morning. She had just received a phone call from Phillip, and you suspect their London rendezvous has been delayed again.

“Why the hell are you still wearing that?” she grouses uncharitably, pointing at your wedding ring.

“It means a lot to me; it’s a symbol of our escape,” your answer is a partial truth.

Eloise can’t seem to find fault with that, so swings her attention elsewhere. “So what's your excuse?” she gruffs to Benedict, who is reading the paper on the opposite sofa.

Across the room, you sense Violet's pause in her jigsaw puzzle.

“Why does the jewellery I wear bother you so much, sister?” he evades, crumpling down his newspaper to shoot her a withering glance. “I’ve never heard you comment upon my signet ring.”

“That's completely different, and you know it,” Eloise decries. “That's a ring you inherited from Dad. Also, where were you last night?” She abruptly changes the subject.

“What do you mean?” he bristles slightly.

“I went to your room late to borrow the Agatha Christie book you stole,” she pauses to pull a pointed face. “And you weren't there. Your bed didn't even look like it had been slept in.”

“Are you my mother now?” he rebuffs airily. “If you must know, I couldn't sleep either; I was out.”

“Your car was here…”

“Out as in outside,” he shoots back, “walking the grounds by moonlight.”

He's not lying. He is, however, omitting the fact that you were with him. The summer house by the lake has become your new clandestine spot, fashioning a comfortable bed of towels and pool lounger cushions. You can make love passionately in secret without fear of interruption or being overheard, falling asleep wrapped in each other as you stare out of the French doors at the blanket of stars reflecting on the still water.

Eloise gives him a lingering side-eye but returns to the book—Agatha Christie’s Death on the Nile. Once she is distracted, your eyes dart to Benedict, and he gives you a reassuring smile that you can't help but mirror, even as Violet peers at you mutely once again.

—

Later that day, you are perusing books in Anthony’s office when a painting of a man who looks remarkably like Benedict makes you stop short. Violet seems to materialise beside you.

“My husband, Edmund,” she explains, her voice wistful and evocative of the ache of lost love, undulled by the passage of time. “True love is a wondrous thing; never let it slip through your fingers, and treasure every moment,” she counsels, twisting to look at your face.

“I would never,” you answer quietly, even as you steadfastly refuse to do the same, staring at the painting, heart speeding up.

“That's a good thing, my dear, and don’t worry about the judgement of others, especially those who are spirited and headstrong.” She can only be referring to Eloise: “They all come around eventually, believe me.”

At that, you have to look at her askance, unable to hide the nerves on your face. “You know?” unable to resist any longer.

“I know my children better than they know themselves,” she responds lightly, “and I certainly know when they are hiding something,” she adds softly, saying but not saying so much.

It feels like a weight is lifted from your heart, the undeniable urge to confess to someone - unable to do so to your usual companion.

“I have no idea how to tell Eloise,” you rush out. “This was never my plan, not what I intended to happen,” you clarify. “Benedict sacrificed his future to give me my freedom.”

“You sacrificed yours too…” she gently interrupts.

“But I never wanted mine,” you admit, your eyes drifting back up to the handsome man in the painting as if admitting it to Benedict’s dad as much as his mum at your side. “At least, not once I met your son…. I thought I knew what I wanted in life. But I was a fool. And now… I….” you trail off, unable to finish.

“You love him, don't you?” It's a delicate, comforting inflexion.

“I can barely believe it myself; it's been such a short period of time. But yes…” you admit sotto voce, hanging your head as a tear wells in the corner of your eye.

“As I said, I know my children better than they know themselves,” she repeats, wrapping an arm around your back, “and I know when one of them is hopelessly in love.”

Your head jerks up in surprise, and you finally look into her kindly gaze, your heart a kaleidoscope.

“Yes, my dear. It may take him a while to say it,” she qualifies, “but it's no less true.”

That tear escapes your eye as she pulls you into a motherly hug. Already knowing this will be a secret you keep between you, for now at least.

“Welcome to the family, y/n.”

Join my taglist here

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[chic-a-gigot]

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 40, vol. 10, 7 octobre 1888, Paris. 1, (1.) Toilette en drap alezan et velours noir, à 195 francs; — (2.) Toilette en peau de soie olive, surah rose pâle, à 135 francs. (S’adresser à Mme Gérardin, 60, rue de Verneuil.) Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

(1.) Toilette en drap alezan et velours noir. — Jupe ronde montée à plis, garnie au bas et devant de soutache et motifs de passementerie; polonaise droite mi-partie en drap et velours ouverte sur un plastron plat soutaché, encadré par un gilet de velours agrafé de côté, pouf rond gracieusement drapé monté à fronces au bis du dos, manche légèrement plissée avec revers de velours au bas, dessus de manche en velours. Col droit agrafé de côté.

Manière de faire cette toilette.

Sur un fond de jupe ordinaire (voir la description sur le no. 33 de la Mode Française) disposer 2 lés 1/2 de drap sur 1m,10 de haut, coupé en biais sur le côté, afin de moins gros sir les hanches, puis de gros plis plats derrière, la doublure de la polonaise est courte comme celle d’un corsage, le côté droit croise sur celui de gauche, et droit au milieu avec deux bandes de velours en biais disposées de chaque côté pour la polonaise, un lé de drap coupé eu deux forme les devants, second devant en velours, formant le dessous de bras, relevé de chaque côté, manche plate en doublure sur laquelle est plissée une bande de drap, droit fil, serré au bas par un revers de velours, taillé en biais et doublé de mousseline, bande de velours droite droit fil, formant le reste de la manche, dessous de manche en drap.

(1.) Dress in chestnut cloth and black velvet. — Round skirt set up with pleats, trimmed at the bottom and front with soutache and braiding patterns; straight half-part polish in cloth and velvet open on a flat bib with soutache, framed by a velvet waistcoat stapled on the side, round pouf gracefully draped set up with gathers at the bis of the back, slightly pleated sleeve with velvet cuffs at the bottom, upper sleeve in velvet. Straight collar stapled on the side.

How to make this dress.

On an ordinary skirt base (see the description on no. 33 of the French Fashion) arrange 2 1/2 strips of cloth 1.10 m high, cut on the bias on the side, in order to make the hips less thick, then large flat pleats behind, the lining of the polonaise is short like that of a bodice, the right side crosses over the left side, and straight in the middle with two strips of velvet on the bias arranged on each side for the polonaise, a strip of cloth cut in two forms the fronts, second front in velvet, forming the underarm, raised on each side, flat sleeve in lining on which is pleated a strip of cloth, straight grain, tightened at the bottom by a velvet cuff, cut on the bias and lined with muslin, strip of straight velvet straight grain, forming the rest of the sleeve, undersleeve in cloth.

Métrage: 3m,30 tissu pour la jupe, 2 mètres tissu pour polonaise, 4m,S0 tissu pour la jupe. Total: 6m,80 drap, 5 mètres velours.

—

(2.) Toilette en peau de soie olive surah rose pâle. — Jupe unie en peau de soie, seconde jupe montée sur un plastron qui tient au corsage, formant coquillé à gauche, pouf droit à droite relevé très peu à gauche sous une ceinture en ruban même teinte, corsage court à petite pointe ouvert en V à l’encolure, garni de deux écharpes croisées sur le devant finissant dans la jupe. Manches bouffantes terminées par un plissé.

Manière de faire cette toilette.

Sur un fond de jupe ordinaire disposez à plat 5 lés de soie sur 4m,40 de haut, seconde jupe droite coupée sur 4 lés de 1m,40 de haut, ourlet non compris, sur le côté gauche enlevez une pointe en biais dans la longueur afin d’obtenir le coquillé; pour le pouf assemblez 4 lés de 1m,20 de haut, plissé à droite et monté dans la ceinture, puis relevé à gauche par quelques points, et arrondir légèrement, coque de ruban avec pans garnissant le côté; pour le devant froncé, taillez un patron plat en biais, froncez l’étoffe dessus comme l’indique la gravure, puis montez Te devant de la seconde jupe, agrafez ensuite sur le corsage une fois la jupe mise; corsage droit fil devant. Côté et des sous de bras droit fil à la taille, dos droit fil biaisé au milieu, manche d’une seule pièce droit fil, écharpe coupée sur Om,60 de haut, plissée et cousue dans l’épaule. (2.) Olive surah pale pink silk skin toilet. — Plain silk skin skirt, second skirt mounted on a plastron which is attached to the bodice, forming a shell on the left, right pouf on the right raised very slightly on the left under a ribbon belt of the same color, short bodice with a small point open in a V at the neckline, trimmed with two scarves crossed on the front ending in the skirt. Puffed sleeves finished with a pleat.

How to make this ensemble.

On an ordinary skirt base, lay flat 5 strips of silk 4.40m high, second straight skirt cut on 4 strips 1.40m high, hem not included, on the left side remove a point diagonally in the length in order to obtain the shell; for the pouf assemble 4 strips of 1m,20 high, pleated on the right and assembled in the belt, then raised on the left by a few points, and rounded slightly, ribbon shell with panels garnishing the side; for the gathered front, cut a flat pattern on the bias, gather the fabric on it as indicated in the engraving, then assemble the front of the second skirt, then staple on the bodice once the skirt is on; bodice straight grain in front. Side and underarms straight grain at the waist, back straight grain biased in the middle, sleeve in one piece straight grain, scarf cut on Om,60 high, pleated and sewn in the shoulder.

Métrage: 5m,30 pour jupe, 4m,40 tissu pour seconde jupe, 4m,80 tissu pour le pouf, 3 mètres pour corsage. Total: 17m,70; 0m,60 surah.

[pompadourpink]

With respect to the earlier post of hot french actors please share some hot french movies/tv shows. Or simply some good shows and movies to watch

Hot movies:

Yves Saint-Laurent (by Jalil Lespert)

La baie des anges

La collectionneuse

La vie d'Adèle

8 femmes

Le mépris

Et Dieu créa la femme

La piscine

Belle de jour

La folie des grandeurs (in a romantic way)

Un été brûlant

Une femme de ménage

Trois coeurs

Swimming pool

Good movies:

Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain

Amour

Le scaphandre et le papillon

La jetée

Joli Mai

Pierrot le fou

A bout de souffle

Mon oncle

Playtime

Les 400 coups

L'atalante

Le voyage dans la lune

Les enfants du paradis

Le samouraï

Cléo de 5 à 7

La boum 1 + 2

L'étudiante

Peau d'âne

Le Magnifique

L'homme de Rio

Le rayon vert

De rouille et d'os

La haine

Le grand bleu (weirdly sexy)

Jo

La grande vadrouille

Fantomas

Le grand blond

Les tontons flingueurs

L'année dernière à Marienbad

Ciao pantin

Shoah

120 battements par minute

La classe américaine

Les demoiselles de Rochefort

Les parapluies de Cherbourg

Notre Dame de Paris

Les rivières pourpres

Polisse

Les diaboliques

L'assassin habite au 21

And many more! La folie des grandeurs has been my favourite French movie since primary school so I would add it to the second list - must-watch if you're the "most ardently" type.

(I can't help with shows, I haven't seen many French ones!)

[iranondeaira]

"La peau passe toujours en second.

Le plus important est de caresser l'âme en premier." 🕳

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝐖𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐕𝐈: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬 ⚜

Sources: One | Two | Three

Event Host: @wickblr

Summary: Vincent toys with a candle recklessly to tempt Chidi into playing a dangerous game with him.

CW: smut, wax play/temperature play, bratting, self-harm scare (it's not what Chidi thinks), previously established BDSM relationship

What can Vincent be holding in his secret heart? What patience will win that knowledge? And how can Chidi quiet his own heart without knowing?

With respect, and with love. That is, as always, the answer. Vincent is being silent tonight, and that frightens him every time. But Chidi's worry is his own to manage. He's lucky just to be in Vincent's presence.

The most exquisite man in all the world is sitting at the window, watching the sun die behind clouds too thick to transmit the glow. There’s only a little light at the horizon, as the day turns to night without sunset. Outside, a dismal rain falls gently but persistently, and inside, the lights are off in the bedroom. The only fire of this evening is in Vincent’s hands. He’s taken up a long, white candle, and he’s playing with it more idly than Chidi would like. But then, it lends him that daring quality which Chidi loves, the dark playfulness that sometimes comes over him in the midst of fencing or even a genuine knife fight.

“Assieds-toi avec moi. [Sit with me,]” he says, without turning towards Chidi, and Chidi can think of nothing he’d rather do. He sets a matching chair next to his master.

Vincent is fresh from the bath, warmed and flushed all over. He seems so small, so fragile against the vastness of the autumn evening. Pink rosiness glows out from under the loose fur robe that he’s allowed to slip down off his shoulders. It falls around him as a blanket, giving him the look of someone disheveled, debauched even, to match his tossled, damp hair. The candlelight singes its way across his features in yellow-gold, turning his irises to honey. But Chidi can’t read the look on his face. Pensive? Dreamy? Tense?

He’s staring into the flame, unmoving. The wax pools slowly at its tip, a little hollow of mesmerizing liquid. Chidi watches Vincent watching it, tries desperately to read him. He’s so caught up in the effort that it takes a moment for him to notice how the candle is hovering over Vincent’s lap. It’s starting to tilt.

“Marquis.” He doesn’t answer. He’s doing this on purpose. Chidi’s heart goes into his throat. “Vincent.” Still nothing, not even a change in expression. The wax shimmers.

It’s pure reflex. His hand shoots out to shield Vincent’s skin, a split second before the drip can make contact. On the back of his hand, there’s a fiery sting. It doesn’t hurt as much as he expected but he’s speechless at what just happened. He notices that his hand is still on Vincent’s thigh but doesn’t dare take it away because the candle is still hovering above it. 

Vincent, to his surprise, just breaks into a smile. “Tu trembles. Pour moi. [You’re shaking. For me.]” There’s real tenderness coloring his voice. He leans forward and leaves a reverent kiss on Chidi’s lips in reward. 

He swallows, trying to focus on the problem at hand. “Bien sûr que je le suis. Monsieur, pourquoi avez-vous - [Of course I am. Sir, why did you - ]"

“C'est une bougie spéciale. Tu aimes ça ? Je l'ai acheté dans un club à Rome. La cire fond à une température plus froide que la plupart des autres, suffisamment froide pour couler sur la peau. C'est pour le plaisir. [It's a special candle. Do you like it? I got it at a club in Rome. The wax melts at a cooler temperature than most, cool enough to drip on skin. It’s for fun.]”

Oh. Chidi’s heart refuses to fall back into its regular rhythm, even as he exhales. “Ne m’effraie pas comme ça. Je pensais que tu étais… imprudent. [Don’t scare me like that. I thought you were…being reckless.]”

All he offers is a smug grin and a shrug. “Tu as ressenti un frisson, je peux le dire. C'est tellement protecteur… En tout cas, c'est plutôt sûr. Bien sûr, il y a parfois des histoires d'horreur à propos d'impuretés dans la cire qui fondent trop fort. Des cicatrices permanentes… on ne sait jamais ce qui peut arriver. Mon garde du corps devrait s'en préoccuper, n'est-ce pas ? [You got a thrill out of it, I can tell. So protective… Anyway, it’s quite safe. Though of course, there are occasional horror stories of impurities in the wax that melt too hot. Permanent scars…one never knows what could happen. My bodyguard ought to be concerned with that, wouldn’t you agree?]” His hand drifts back, threatening a spot closer to his torso, where Chidi’s hand is no longer in the line of gravity. With a lurch of adrenaline, he follows, just in time to be struck by another searing droplet. He’s farther up Vincent’s thigh now, and acutely aware of how his thumb is pressing against the inside of the flesh.

A game is afoot. Follow the fire. Protect the Marquis.

Vincent leans back, as if he’s just getting comfortable, and lets the robe fall open. Chidi can’t help stealing a glance at his erection before locking eyes with him again. They’re both breathing too fast. But he’d better keep his focus on the candle - now it’s close to the V-line of his hip. (V for Vincent. V for voluptuous.) Chidi’s hand slides up to follow, feeling the dips and the curves and the sudden hits of pain. Vincent’s thigh is all disused muscle and gentle plumpness, the innocence of a body that has never known physical labor. Chidi presses into it to convey his urgency. The sense of danger still lingers, the need to prove that he’ll never let Vincent feel even an ounce of pain on his watch. 

Vincent keeps moving the candle. Up. Back down, up again. He’s puppeting Chidi’s hand, teasing himself with it. He bites back a moan but the way it changes his breathing still halts Chidi’s. In another second he moans anyway, frustrated - he’s teased himself too much and now he can’t take it anymore. 

Then the candle is over his cock. Chidi could swear Vincent’s eyebrow twitches upward just a fraction in challenge.

There’s no hesitation. Chidi grabs it, cupping the tip in protection. The candle flickers as Vincent tenses up with sudden pleasure. “Putain… [Fuck...]”

“C'est dangereux, monsieur. [This is dangerous, sir,]” Chidi admonishes. “Si ça coule ici, ça fera trop mal, peu importe le type de bougie. [If it drips here it will hurt too much, no matter what kind of candle it is.]” He's still shaking. But he doesn’t safeword.

“Alors tu ferais mieux d’être extrêmement prudent avec moi. [You’ve better be exceedingly careful with me then.]” The Marquis' voice is unnaturally soft and heady. 

God, this man will be the death of him. “...D'accord, je le serai. […Okay, I will be.]” Chidi puts a second hand at the base of his cock, now enveloping it completely.

The Marquis grips at the arm of the chair, making the most gratified sorts of noises, while a lazy drop of wax strays onto Chidi’s wrist. Vincent throws his head back, breaking eye contact for the first time in their little game. “S’il te plaît… ne reste pas assis là. Ne vois-tu pas que ce n’est pas suffisant de supporter ma douleur ? Fais-moi plutôt ressentir quelque chose de bien. [Please…don’t just sit there. Don’t you see it’s not enough to take my pain? Make me feel something good in its place.]”

And of course, Chidi obeys. He translates the heat in his hands into long, sensual strokes that wring heavenly noises out of Vincent. It seems to go on forever in that otherworldly space of total service and devotion. The candle is their hourglass and time counts forward only by each drop of wax. With every hit, both of them jump, heightening the tension. 

Vincent’s breathing is getting heavier, his eyes half lidded. The candle is burning low, and as the flame approaches his master’s fingers, Chidi’s fear becomes more real. He accelerates his pace until Vincent’s hips start to thrust upward into his grip. Good, he’s close to losing control.

Everything is on fire now. If Chidi has a body outside of his busy hands and the bulge straining at his inseam, he has lost all awareness of it. It’s swallowed in the pure sex of those delicious sensations, in the scent of wax and smoke and Vincent’s musky-sweet pheromones, in the sight of Vincent’s parted lips and shadowed eyes, in the next huge drop of wax building up at the edge of the candle.

The final rush of warmth comes not from above, but flooding into his palm, accompanied by a high-pitched whine and a string of French expletives as Vincent melts completely under his touch. Chidi loses himself in it, in a bodily sympathy for Vincent. He realizes too late that there’s a wet spot forming in his slacks. 

Vincent giggles. “Regarde ce que tu as fait. Je - [Look what you’ve done. I - ]“

“La flamme, monsieur! [The flame, sir!]” It’s glowing right against Vincent’s fingers now. Before anything can happen, Chidi’s breath snuffs it out. With a swift motion, he sends it flying onto the windowsill where it can't touch Vincent anymore.

There’s darkness. Silence. Only the light of the blue-black sky and the patter of raindrops and the ocean of their breathing. Vincent amends his phrasing. “Regarde ce que tu fais pour moi. [Look what you do for me.]” There’s no misinterpreting the affection in his gaze now. He leans forward.

The last whisper of smoke is trapped between their joining lips.

[alicedusstuff]

lost soul au 2(french)

C’était un jour agité sur la montagne de fleurs et de fruits. Pour une raison quelconque, tous les singes étaient très bruyants aujourd’hui ; et c’est sans doute cela qui a forcé le roi à quitter sa réflexion pour regarder la porte depuis le confort du lit de la chambre de Macaque.

­-Je pense que ce n’aurais pas été ton jour. Les singes sont bruyants aujourd’hui.

Wukong n’a pas osé se mettre sous les couvertures. Il n’avait pas envie de mettre du désordre dans la chambre de son ancien ami. Alors il s’était simplement allongé là, sachant parfaitement qu’il ne trouverait pas le sommeil. L’endroit était resté tel qu’il l’avait trouvé à son arrivée sur la montagne. Des feuilles de papiers étaient même restés sur le sol et prenaient la poussière. Quelques dessins à l’effigie de Wukong pouvaient être aperçus sur dans un des tiroirs à moitié fermé du bureau de Macaque. Certaines poudres reposaient gentiment sur la commode du singe de l’ombre, le placard où il cachait ses déguisements était fermé ; et l’un de ses coffres débordait toujours de rouleaux, tissus, et trésors en tout genre. La chambre était bien trop rangée malgré les quelques affaires qui dépassaient du rangement implacable de Macaque. Wukong s’aimait à penser que ce petit grain de désordre était une habitude que le macaque à six oreilles avait pris de lui avec le temps. La seule chose que Wukong avait touché était les senteurs que Macaque utilisait pour parfumer sa chambre. Une odeur de vieux papier et de fruits sucrée dans lequel Wukong se plongeait les quelques fois où il venait ici.

Wukong ne put pas rester bien longtemps à penser, car les cris de ses sujets lui cassaient les oreilles. C’était devenu insupportable. Qu’est ce qui pouvait bien les mettre dans un état pareil ? Wukong essaya au mieux de comprendre ce qui était dit ; mais ce qu’il se disait était dit et mélangé tant que Wukong ne put mettre le doigt sur aucun mot propre.

­-Il semblerait que je doive te quitter bourgeon. Mon royaume m’appelle.

Aussitôt dit, Wukong sauta du lit et sortit de la chambre. Immédiatement, dans le couloir, une foule de singe se tournèrent vers leur roi au moment où il ferma la porte derrière lui. Il se passa une seconde où tout le monde sembla s’assurer que c’était bel et bien leur roi qui sortait de la chambre du décédé qui était presque considéré comme le second roi de la montagne. Puis, la foule de singe lui sauta dessus. Petit comme grands, démons singes comme singes normaux. Tous ce qui se trouvait dans le couloir l’écrasèrent de soulagement, enfouissant leur roi sous une montagne de singe.

­-Hey les gars. Vous allez me tuer là. Se moque le roi.

Personne ne trouva ça drôle. Wukong fit de son mieux pour se dégager avant de demander plus d’explications. Pourquoi diable y avait-il autant d’agitation dehors et à l’intérieur ? La réponse lui fut donné par un singe étranger que Macaque avait ramené à la montagne. Wukong se souvient de lui car Macaque l’avait présenté lui-même, lorsque Wukong était rentré après avoir été chassé par le moine.

« Il te ressemble un peu » avait rit Macaque à l’époque. « Il est très bruyant. »

Wukong se souvient qu’il n’a pas aimé l’attention que portait Macaque à ce nouveau venu, et les deux amis s’étaient disputés pour une raison dont Wukong ne se souvient même plus après.

­-Mon roi, vous avez disparu depuis trois jours et trois nuits, et vous n’aviez averti personne d’un quelconque départ. Tout le monde s’inquiétait de votre absence. Nous avons pensé le pire.

Wukong écarquilla les yeux. Les cernes sous ses yeux semblaient tirer sur sa peau. Et ses orbites étaient un peu trop sèches. Le roi ferma les yeux et se les frotta pour les humidifier un peu, sous le regard inquiet de ses sujets en première ligne devant lui.

­-Je vais bien. Annonce le roi en clignant plusieurs fois des yeux sous l’inconfort d’avoir les yeux secs.

Il ne s’était pas rendu compte qu’ils l’étaient jusqu’à ce qu’il écarquille les yeux. Combien de temps ne les avait-il pas fermés ? Combien de temps était-il resté à perdre son regard dans le plafond de la chambre de son ami ?

­-Je vais bien. Répète le roi en continuant de cligner des yeux. Mais, trois jours ? Vraiment ?

Les singes hochèrent la tête. Dehors, le vacarme s’était arrêté. Quelqu’un a dû les prévenir que leur roi était retrouvé. Wukong cligna encore plusieurs fois des yeux. Des larmes coulèrent avant de finalement laisser une vue floutée par les larmes à Wukong.

-Woah…euh… Un dernier clignement pour chasser l’eau de ses yeux, et sa vue fut de nouveau claire. Désolé de vous avoir inquiété les gars. J’ai juste fait une super grosse sieste.

C’était un mensonge. Cela faisait des lustres que Wukong n’arrivait pas à dormir, à moins que l’un des petits singe ne vienne se reposer sur lui. Un frisson familier parcourut Wukong. Il l’ignora et se pressa de rassurer son peuple. Il attrapa quelques petits dans une main, pris la main de quelques petits démons singes de l’autre, et laissa le reste de ses sujets, le suivre hors du temple.

À l’extérieur, le reste de son peuple s’était réuni autour du temple. Ils formaient un mur immense de singe qui entourait l’entrée du temple. Wukong se rendit compte alors, à quel point son peuple était inquiet. Il n’y avait pas eu de telles assemblées depuis longtemps. Il soupira et murmura dans sa barbe.

­-J’ai vraiment le dont d’inquiéter tout le monde, hein bourgeon ?

Il était évident que Macaque ne lui répondrait pas. Mais il aimait penser que le singe de l’ombre aurait pu l’entendre peu importe où il se trouvait. Comme cela a toujours été le cas lorsque Macaque était de ce monde.

­- Ah…on dirait que j’ai fait peur à tout le monde hein ?

Comme un seul singe, le mur de primate hocha la tête plusieurs fois. Puis, un murmure fort commença à parcourir la foule. Wukong suivit le son inquiet de là où il a commencé, et le suivit se propager dans la foule en vague. Chacun voulait donner son avis. Wukong ne dit rien. Il laissa un temps s’écouler avant de demander le silence, et demander à une personne de se charger de représenter la troupe. Un chuchotement bref se fit entendre avant que la troupe ne donne un nom.

« Shi Luo »

Le même singe que Wukong avait vu plus tôt ; celui que Macaque avait ramené sur la montagne, s’écarta du lot. Maintenant que Wukong le voyait, il pouvait remarquer à quel point le singe était jeune. Il allait certainement atteindre sa maturité dans quelques années, mais il était encore assez jeune. Sans doute un peu plus jeune que lui et Macaque l’étaient la première fois qu’ils s’étaient croisés. Il avait une fourrure aussi claire que les nuages, qui virait au noir au niveau de la queue. Sa peau était un peu plus grise que celle de Macaque, et un masque bleu recouvrait ses yeux. Le jeunot se rapprocha au plus proche de Wukong avant de s’incliner de la même façon que le faisait Macaque lorsque ce dernier se mettait à agir comme son vassal devant des étrangers de la montagne. Le geste pinça le cœur de Wukong. Il serra sa prise sur ses vêtements.

­-Qui es-tu ? Demande Wukong.

Le singe au marquage bleu leva les yeux vers Wukong, et les cligna plusieurs fois avant de s’empresser de répondre le plus poliment possible.

­-La vieille Lune m’a donné le nom de Shi Luo. Je suis le premier protégé de la veille Lune, votre altesse. Je serais celui qui vous offrira la voix de votre peuple aujourd’hui.

Wukong ne savait pas que Macaque avait des protégés. Il savait que lui et le singe de l’ombre trouvaient souvent des singes en difficulté, et les ramenaient à la montagne. C’était un quelque chose que Wukong était sûr que Macaque avait continué à faire après son départ ; mais les appeler protégés était excessif. Cela donnait un mauvais goût dans la bouche de Wukong. La voix de Macaque le gronda dans sa tête. Comme si Macaque avait deviné que les prochaines actions de Wukong allaient être stupides. Wukong décida de ne rien faire. Il hocha lentement la tête, il interrogerait de Shi Luo plus tard.

­-Parle.

Ordonne-t-il enfin. Shi Luo ne se fit pas prier.

­-Nous sommes inquiets pour vous votre altesse. Des sifflements positifs s’élevèrent de la foule, encourageant le singe les représentants, à parler. Vous êtes restés des années à pleurer une personne qui n’existe plus. La montagne à besoin de leur roi. Nous pleurons avec vous la perte de la vieille Lune, mais vous ne pouvez pas vous laisser dépérir ainsi. Encore une fois, nous avons besoin de vous. La montagne n’a pas connu de véritables beaux jours depuis que vous avez cessé de sourire. Certains des fruits que la vieille Lune adorait ne donnent plus de fruits, comme si vous l’aviez commandé. Les humains et les démons s’aventurent un peu plus près de la montagne à chaque jour qui passent, et nous craignons que, si le chagrin ne vous tue pas, ce sera la prochaine attaque à l’encontre de la montagne qui prendra vos immortalités.

Wukong émit un rire moqueur à la dernière phrase du jeune singe. S’il pouvait mourir de si peu, il serait déjà parti depuis longtemps. Son immortalité le condamnait ainsi, à vivre sans Macaque.

­-Ne vous en faites pas. Je ne mourrais pas de si peu. Et je m’occuperais de vous.

Shi Luo leva les yeux vers la foule qui s’était remise à murmurer en désordre. Wukong réussit à retenir quelques mots. Mais visiblement, Shi Luo réussit mieux que lui à assimiler ce qui intriguait tout le monde dans la troupe. Il arrivait certainement à démêler les inquiétudes de tout le monde par ce qu’il avait les mêmes préoccupations. C’est comme cela qu’il démêlait si bien le charabia de mot si fermement gribouillé.

­-Nous vous croyons mon roi. Mais nous tenons à vous. Nous aimerions que vous puissiez vivre à nouveau malgré le départ de la vieille Lune.

Le jeune homme sembla vouloir dire quelque chose. Il hésita une seconde, jeta un regard à la troupe, demandant s’il pouvait parler du sujet délicat que tous, semblaient avoir pensé, avant d’ouvrir à nouveau la parole.

­-Nous pensons que vous devriez peut-être chercher un nouveau compagnon.

La fourrure de Wukong se hérissa de colère. Il ignora même le fait que le plus jeune impliquait que son amitié avec Macaque était plus que cela. Ses griffes s’enfonçaient dans ses paumes pour essayer de ne pas tuer le jeunot tout de suite. Les petits qui étaient sur lui, descendirent en sentant la tension monter. La gorge de Wukong se serra, il fit de son mieux pour retenir la boule de rage au fond de son œsophage. Ignorant le danger, Shi Luo continua.

­-La vieille Lune est, et restera irremplaçable. Mais… nous pensons que peut-être, si vous trouviez quelqu’un pour combler le vide qu’elle… qu’il a laissé ; vous seriez capable de passer à autre chose. Il n’est pas bon de s’attarder sur le même problème indéfiniment. Nul ne peut vaincre la mort, une fois qu’il l’a traversé.

­-J’ai vaincu la mort. Grinça Wukong. Je suis allé aux enfers et ai retiré mon nom de la mort elle-même. Rien ne m’est impossible. Je suis Le grand roi singe égal au ciel. Et je le dis aujourd’hui et maintenant. Rien ni personne ne remplacera Macaque.

­-Ce n’est pas ce que je voulais dire… Nous pensons…

­-Alors ne pensez plus.

Wukong se tourna directement vers sa troupe, les crocs à découvert.

­-Alors c’est ça ? Vous voulez que je trouve un remplaçant à Macaque ?

Un brouhaha se fit entendre. Shi Luo repris la parole pour pouvoir retranscrire ce que la foule pensait et que Wukong avait déjà compris.

­- Nous ne voulons pas de remplaçants à la vieille Lune. Nous souhaitons seulement votre bonheur, grand-père Sun. Shi Luo hésita avant de dire ce qu’il pensait personnellement. La vieille Lune était une personne logique. Elle serait d’accord avec cette décision.

­-Assez !

Le cri de Wukong se répercuta dans toute la montagne. Chacun se tût.

­-Je ne veux plus jamais vous entendre, ne serait-ce qu’évoquer cette idée stupide. C’est un ordre. Si jamais l’un d’entre vous le fait, je l’écorcherais vif, moi-même.

Suite à ses mots, Wukong s’enfonça dans la forêt. Les singes ne le retinrent pas. Ils attendirent que leur roi parte avant de chuchoter.

­-Notre roi a perdu la raison.

Entendait-on.

­-La perte de grand-mère Lune l’a brisé.

Se chuchotait entre les parois.

­-Notre roi ne pourra plus être le même.

Les murmures résonnèrent encore et encore, reflétant la panique du peuple. Tout le monde aimait Macaque. Mais même eux savaient que la mort était définitive, et qu’ils ne pouvaient rien faire à ce sujet si ce n’est aller de l’avant. Il n’était pas question d’oublier le passé. Mais on ne devait non plus être ralenti par ce dernier. Ceux qui avaient survécu à l’incendie de la montagne de fleur et de fruits comprenaient certainement le mieux le roi singe. Mais même eux savaient que le roi devait agir comme tel. Macaque ne reviendrait pas. Tout comme les morts de ce jour-là. Cela faisait des mois, des années, quelques siècles, que le roi pleurait Macaque. Il ne pourrait pas le faire pour l’éternité. Il devait se ressaisir. Mais Wukong restait le même enfant têtu qui avait sauté dans la cascade. Et il ne voulait pas voir la réalité en face.

chapitre 1 _ chapitre 2_ Chapitre 3

[mrsines]

Il ne te mérite pas

Lilia Calderu X Reader

Le silence de la bibliothèque était seulement interrompu par le grattement léger des plumes sur le papier. Reader, le dos voûté sur un parchemin, était concentrée sur une incantation complexe que Lilia lui avait assignée. Mais ce jour-là, quelque chose d'invisible semblait peser sur ses épaules.

Lilia l'observait du coin de l'œil, son cœur battant plus fort que d'habitude. Depuis des mois, elle se surprenait à chercher des prétextes pour rester près d'elle, pour écouter sa voix ou simplement croiser son regard. Pourtant, elle savait que ses sentiments étaient voués à rester silencieux. Reader était déjà engagée ailleurs.

Mais aujourd'hui, tout semblait différent. Reader posa sa plume avec un soupir tremblant et, soudain, ses yeux s'emplirent de larmes.

Lilia se leva immédiatement, laissant de côté son propre travail. Elle s'assit près de Reader, une main légère mais réconfortante sur son épaule.

— Reader, qu'est-ce qui se passe ? demanda-t-elle doucement.

Reader secoua la tête, mordillant nerveusement sa lèvre. Après quelques secondes, elle murmura :

— Il... il m'a quittée.

La confession semblait déborder de douleur, et Lilia sentit son cœur se serrer pour des raisons bien différentes de celles qu'elle aurait imaginées. Elle aurait dû se réjouir, peut-être, mais tout ce qu'elle voulait à cet instant, c'était alléger la peine de Reader.

— Oh, mon enfant... Viens ici, murmura Lilia en l'attirant doucement dans ses bras.

Reader hésita, mais la chaleur et la sincérité du geste la firent céder. Elle se blottit contre Lilia, les larmes coulant librement. Lilia caressa doucement ses cheveux, murmurant des mots réconfortants dans une langue ancienne.

— Tu n'as rien fait de mal, dit-elle. Certaines personnes ne savent pas reconnaître ce qu'elles perdent. Mais moi... moi, je vois ta force, ta gentillesse, ton incroyable intelligence. Tu es bien plus précieuse que tu ne le crois.

Les mots semblaient résonner dans l'esprit de Reader. Elle leva les yeux vers Lilia, ses joues rougies par les larmes, mais un soupçon de soulagement visible dans son regard.

— Merci, Lilia, murmura-t-elle. Je ne sais pas ce que je ferais sans toi.

Lilia esquissa un sourire triste, retenant les mots qu'elle mourait d'envie de dire : Et moi, je ne veux jamais te perdre.

Mais pour l'instant, elle se contentait d'être là, le pilier dont Reader avait besoin. Peut-être qu'un jour, quand le temps aurait apaisé leurs blessures, elle pourrait lui avouer ce qu'elle ressentait réellement. Mais pour l'instant, tout ce qui comptait, c'était que Reader sache qu'elle n'était pas seule.

Lilia maintint son regard sur celui de Reader, ses yeux empreints de douceur et de conviction. Elle essuya une mèche de cheveux qui s'était échappée du chignon de Reader, la touchant d'une manière presque imperceptible. Un frisson parcourut le corps de Reader, mais elle n'osa bouger, comme si le moment était suspendu dans l'air, à la fois délicat et intense.

— Il ne te mérite pas, dit Lilia, sa voix calme mais ferme, avec un éclat de certitude. Quelqu'un qui ne voit pas ta beauté, ta valeur, n'est pas digne de t'avoir à ses côtés.

Reader sentit une chaleur envahir son cœur, un mélange d'émotions qu'elle ne parvenait pas tout à fait à saisir. Les paroles de Lilia résonnaient en elle, comme un baume apaisant, mais aussi comme un léger défi qu'elle n'avait pas vu venir. Un défi à se voir autrement, à ne plus se rabaisser face à la perte.

Lilia se pencha un peu plus près, jusqu'à ce que l'air entre elles semble s'électrifier. Ses doigts effleurèrent doucement la peau délicate du visage de Reader, traçant la ligne de sa mâchoire avec une tendresse infinie. Reader inspira profondément, sentant la proximité de Lilia éveiller quelque chose en elle qu'elle n'avait jamais vraiment exploré.

— Tu es magnifique, Reader, murmura Lilia d'une voix plus basse, plus intime, alors que ses yeux s'attardaient sur les lèvres de la jeune femme. Ne laisse personne te faire croire le contraire.

Les paroles étaient un souffle, une promesse presque intime, qui fit se tendre les muscles de Reader. Un frisson plus fort qu'auparavant secoua son corps. Leurs visages étaient si proches maintenant qu'il semblait que le moindre mouvement les rapprocherait encore davantage. Reader se sentit emportée par la chaleur de la situation, par l'intensité de ce regard qui ne quittait plus ses lèvres, comme une invitation muette.

Elle n'osa pas bouger, comme paralysée par la tension, par l'envie sourde et conflictuelle qui naissait en elle. Elle voulait lui répondre, lui dire que tout était confus dans sa tête, mais avant même qu'elle puisse dire un mot, Lilia posa délicatement ses lèvres sur son front. Un simple baiser, léger, mais chargé d'une émotion inexplicable.

— Reste avec moi, chuchota Lilia contre sa peau. Laisse-moi te montrer à quel point tu es précieuse.

Lilia se recula légèrement, ses mains effleurant les épaules de Reader, la laissant respirer, mais la connexion entre elles était plus forte que jamais. Reader, les yeux fermés un instant, se laissa submerger par cette étrange chaleur qui montait en elle. Elle n'avait jamais ressenti une telle proximité, une telle tendresse, mêlée à une attirance indéniable qui la perturbait.

Elle rougit légèrement, mais ses lèvres se pinçaient dans une expression incertaine, avant de s'ouvrir timidement.

— Je... je ne sais pas si je mérite tout ça, répondit Reader, sa voix tremblante d'émotions contradictoires. Mais je sais que... je me sens bien ici, avec toi.

Lilia sourit doucement, mais cette fois, il y avait quelque chose de plus dans son regard, un éclat de compréhension et de désir silencieux qui passait entre elles. Le monde autour d'elles semblait s'effacer, et seule l'intensité de ce moment, suspendu entre leurs respirations, existait encore.

tag list : @theonefairygodmother @sayresse17

[ruemorinpointcom]

Pulperie de Chicoutimi | Musée régional

Visite guidée de l’exposition Atashpishinanu / Seconde peau, l’art du vêtement ilnu et atelier pratique, le 18 février 2024 à 13 heures (inscription obligatoire) Continue reading Pulperie de Chicoutimi | Musée régional

[sloubs]

lionel de gaunes dans le livre 5 : "imaginez pendant deux secondes....que l'épée ne soit pas retirée pendant dix ans...ou plus..."

astier espèce de petit CON il l'avait prévu dès le début ces dix années de mort là ????????je vais lui attraper la peau du cul vrmt

[ssisch]

#03 - 2024

~ Ahri ~[AK EVOX](kaoz.koba) - Grace Head TAXIDeeTaleZ (Steffi Villota) Skin *Ahri* for LELEVOX / BROWS: blond/ East NEW! @ Kawaii Project DeeTaleZ LinktreeDeeTaleZ MU *Lipsstick gloss RED* for LELU EVOX / Dark toneDeeTaleZ MU *Veins * for LELU EVOX/ Medium SkinWarPaint* (mafalda.hienrichs) Riyah liner collection [LeL EvoX] - foxy add-onIzzie's (Izzie Button) - LeL Evo X - Ear Piercing Holes…

[grantvaleska]

Special thanks to Charlie for merman’ing with me!

ON GRANT (left): Gloves: Clef de Peau - David Gloves Necklace: RAWR - Salvation Necklace NEW @ ALPHA! Blush: Dotty’s Secret - Glam Rock Blush Eyeshadow: Jack Spoon - Blame It On the Boogie Eyeshadow Tail: Cynefin - Nemissa Tail Scales: Izzie’s - Mermaid Scales Materials: This Is Wrong - Scales

ON CHARLIE (right): Armbands: Noche - Essential Arm Band Tail: Cynefin - Nemissa Tail Materials: This Is Wrong - Scales Hair by Vango

[teenytinyjimin]

je ne sais pas (j. hoseok)

dans mon esprit tout divague, (in my mind everything goes wild)

je me perds dans tes yeux (i lose myself in your eyes)

je me noie dans la vague de ton regard amoureux (i drown myself in the wave of your loving gaze)

je ne veux que ton âme divaguant sur ma peau (i only want your soul going wild on my skin)

summary: in which two strangers spend an unforgettable day together without actually getting to verbally understand each other.

pairing: hoseok x reader

word count: 2.8k

tags: fluff, language barrier, idol!hoseok, quebecois!reader, strangers to lovers, im bad at this tagging stuff

warnings: none, just enjoy some sweet hoseok fluff <3

author’s note: im really excited about this one yall 😭 i love the idea of language barrier romance because just think about it... u love someone so much that talking to them doesn't matter as much as the memories u create with them.. god ok ill stop speaking please please enjoy!

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

The province of Quebec is often quite peaceful for about 85% of the year, with the exceptions typically being one of two things. First, there's always the typical influx of tourists that happens during peak times of the year like summer, Christmas, things like that. However the second exception is typically related to whatever artist is in Montreal for the Canadian leg of their world tour. It wasn't uncommon for there to be a little bit of buzz around the famous singer in question, however no one seemed to go harder than kpop fans when their group or soloist of choice was coming for a show or two.

You weren't really a fan of kpop in the way that many of your friends were. Sure, you've listened to some songs before, but you never felt the desire to get invested in any of the artists or the lore that came with them. It would be nice to hear your friends babble on about a new song that was released or a new tour that was announced, however you were absolutely not expecting the absolute freakout that was to come when BTS announced that they'd be doing a show in Montreal.

"Can you believe it?" One friend asked you with excitement. Yes, you could. They were famous. Of course they were going to come to Canada for a world tour. It's not that you weren't excited for your friends, who called themselves 'Army', but you just weren't as invested so it didn't mean as much to you. It also didn't help that a lot of their discussions with fellow fans and the things they'd post relating to BTS on their social media profiles were in English.

The majority of Quebecois people were able to communicate in English as well as their native language of French, but for some reason your family lived under a rock and you didn't learn anything beyond basic greetings and conversations in English. You felt rather left out because it felt like you were behind your friends and everyone else around you, however as you grew older you tended to not let it bother you that much. Since French is a prominent language in Quebec, you weren't bothered about language barriers and knew you could get around and live life normally without worry.

Since your friends were much deeper down the Bangtan rabbit hole, they were able to secure floor tickets to their Montreal show and were extremely busy completely overthinking the event and what they wanted to wear. It was now the day before the show and they were last-minute panicking, roaming the stores of downtown Montreal to put together outfits that were both cute and appropriate for the vibe of the concert.

Given that they were rather busy with this, you decided that this would be a weekend to yourself where you could peacefully do whatever you wanted. The quaint cafe you work at full-time decided to close for the weekend given the occasion (apparently the owner was also an Army), so it was a perfect opportunity for you to go down to the local park and do some reading on a bench.

And that's exactly what you did. You found yourself parked on the lawn of Mount Royal Park, right next to the lake. You brought some light reading with you, a small romance novel that involved the typical coffee shop trope, prepared to do some reading but also some people watching in between. It was absolutely perfect, and you couldn't have asked for a better way to spend the weekend. As you peacefully read your cliche novel, cup of iced coffee from a local coffee shop in-hand, you thought the day couldn't get any better. Until it did.

"Hey, excuse me, can you help me?" You looked up from your book to see a boy standing a short distance away from you. He had the warmest smile on his face and his eyes were bright with cheer. You tilted your head slightly, not too sure what he was asking. After a minute of silence, his smile dropped slightly.

"Uh... E-English?" He asked. It was clear that he was struggling with his words as well, even though you didn't speak the language. You shook your head, a slight frown on your face. "Français?" You ask in response, to which he mirrors you and shakes his head in return. The boy looks down for a second, clearly stumped as to what to do at this point. Part of you thought that he was about to walk away, however his feet didn't move from where he was standing.

After a second, he looked back up, his sweet smile once again appearing on his face. With his phone in hand, he pointed at it, then pointed at himself, then pointed at you. Was he asking for your number? Raising an eyebrow, you started to shake your head, however you watched as his smile dropped again and he shook his head rapidly. "No! No!" He said frantically, before mimicking the act of taking a photo, making a little 'click click' noise. He wanted a photo!

Finally understanding what he was saying, you grin and nod, causing him to squeal in delight. He approached you briefly to hand you his phone before backing up toward the lake a little more. You start to turn his phone landscape before he shakes his head and lets out a little yelp, indicating that he wanted the photo to be in portrait mode. You giggle at his antics as he attempts to pose in the way he wants, admiring his efforts to not only have a good photo but also to communicate with you.

Once it seems like he's ready for you to take the photo, you begin clicking the photo button and watch as he begins to move a little bit to hit different styles of poses. And wow, this man was incredible at modeling. You watched in wonder as he effortlessly moved his body in all kinds of directions, going from casual to silly to cute and back to casual. He was absolutely gorgeous, there was no denying that. A ten in a world of fives.

After a couple minutes, he stops posing and giddily bounces back over to you. When he takes his phone back to look at all the photos, he makes a couple of 'woaaahhhh' noises, clearly impressed with your photography skills. You turn away as a blush creeps to your cheeks, flattered that he's happy with the photos. When you look back you watch him slightly bow to you in thanks before pointing to himself. "Hoseok," He says, making sure to enunciate each part of his name in the correct way so that you know how to say it.

You smile and nod, offering your name back to him, to which his smile grows into one of the most beautiful smiles you have ever seen. If it weren't for your impeccable self-control, you probably would have fainted the very first time he smiled at you, given how absolutely charming he was. However, this most recent smile made you a little weak on your feet. You were able to tough it out and stay strong, but God, he was just stunning.

You go to sit back down on your spot in the grass, but before you get the chance to you feel a gentle hand grasp your wrist. Face hot with shyness, you peer back over to him and notice his smile has dropped. You watch as he points toward the exit of the park and into the main city, and gives you a 'come on' motion, indicating that he wanted you to come with him. If this would have happened a few minutes ago when he first approached you, you might not have taken the offer. But now that you've gotten to somewhat know this breathtaking stranger, it was an offer you couldn't turn down. Grabbing your book and iced coffee from off the ground, you decide to follow him out of the park.

As you step back onto the streets of Montreal, walking with this random man, you watch as he turns to you and thinks for a second. You can tell he was trying to figure out how to communicate his next thought, so you remain silent and patient. After a second, he points at his eyes, and then gives this huge gesture with his arms, almost like he's expressing something blowing up. Letting out a soft giggle, you tilt your head slightly, resulting in a laugh coming from his own mouth. His laugh was so loud, sweet, and full of joy, and it was like pure honey dripping from his tongue. He retries his previous charades, now acting like he is looking at something with his hand above both of his eyes. He then goes 'woahh!!' and gives an amazed look, and you realize that he's asking to see some of the highlights of the city. With a soft nod, you take his hand, watching a soft blush creep to his cheeks as you pull him along the street and show him everything he needs to see in your beautiful city.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

After spending hours with Hoseok, showing him about everything in Montreal and taking a picture of him with it, you found yourselves once again back in the park where you first met. It was a rather chaotic day, pulling the boy around and watching his face light up at absolutely everything, but what seemed to be weirder was the fact that multiple times during your tour you guys received a few looks and even whispers. Every time that it happened, Hoseok would indicate to you that he wanted to move on and go to the next spot while also pulling up the light scarf that he had around his neck to cover his mouth and nose. You thought that it was rather bizarre but dismissed it as people being disrespectful since he was a rather loud and excited tourist.

Now, though, it was just you and him, sitting in the grass in front of the lake as you ate a late lunch/early dinner. He asked you to go with him to a local store where he went around and picked out a bunch of ready-made food as well as a bottle of champagne, paying for it all and implying that he wanted to eat it with you back at the park. Considering this stranger was doing more than anyone had ever done for you in the last twenty-something years of your life, you were beyond flattered and at this point you were hardcore swooning for him.

You half expected your meal to be quiet and consist of you guys looking at the lake, looking at each other, and silently eating your meal. But this was Hoseok, the man you had learned was anything but quiet. Even though he couldn't speak your language and you couldn't speak his, he was telling you all kinds of stories through the power of charades and sound effects. For most of the time, he had you in tears, laughing at his impeccable sense of humor and all-around silliness. But he also provided you with moments of peace so you could eat without choking, which was rather respectful of him, you thought.

After a while of fun storytelling, you two fell silent. You gazed over at the lake, watching as the sun made the water shimmer, and let out a sigh. When you looked back over to Hoseok, you caught him staring at you, causing a blush to creep to your cheeks. Raising an eyebrow, you nudged him as a way to ask 'what are you looking at?'. Shaking his head, he hesitantly stretched out his arm to wrap it around your waist. Just by looking at him you could tell he was internally freaking out, his eyes wide with nervousness. You smiled softly and inched your way closer to him, accepting his embrace as you rested your head on his shoulder.

There was something about this man that was so much different from anyone else that you had ever met. His charisma, his kindness, his energy – all of it was so attractive. It was the fact that he wasn't just a pretty face, he was a pretty human. You could tell he was raised right with a heart of gold and you felt beyond lucky to have ever met him in the first place. For him to have asked you of all the people in Montreal to take a picture of him made you feel extremely lucky, because had he not approached you, the two of you would have never met.

He pulled back a little bit to prompt you to remove your head and look at him. You watched as he pointed at himself, then cleared his throat before singing a little bit of a song. His singing voice was as sweet as can be, and you were about to just sit there and admire him, until you realized that the song he was singing was familiar. You didn't quite know what the name of the song was, and he wasn't singing it in quite the right tone, but you knew it was by BTS. The kpop group that was currently in Montreal and about to perform the following day.

Your mouth gaped open as you realized what was happening. You didn't even realize that you had been spending the entire day with a member of BTS. The people looking and whispering throughout were probably people who recognized him, not people who were judging him. And he was hiding his face because he didn't want to be recognized. He just wanted to spend the day with a beautiful girl and feel like a normal human being. You didn't blame him for not telling you sooner, though. It's not like you're a diehard fan of his group, but you probably wouldn't have looked at him the same way had he told you immediately.

After processing what was happening, you closed your mouth and smiled, giving him a vigorous nod. Once he gave you a smile in return, you went back to resting your head on his shoulder and grabbing your glass of champagne to hold. You wanted to show him that it was cool, everything was fine, and things weren't going to change. You liked him as Hoseok, the boy he introduced himself as when he eagerly asked you for a picture earlier. Not the kpop idol that stands in front of thousands on a stage and performs for them.

As time continued to pass and the sun got to a point where the day started to become sunset, you two sat in blissful silence while enjoying one another's presence. After a while Hoseok once again nudged you, causing you to look up at him. You watched as he once again admired your face, a blush creeping to your cheeks as you became shy from the eye contact. Just as you were about to look away he reached his hand over to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, and then rested that hand against your cheek.

At this point there was no need for charades because all you needed to do was look into his eyes and he told you absolutely everything you needed to know. He dipped his head down slightly as you both pulled each other in for a kiss, his sweet lips meeting yours in absolute harmony. Your stomach did about five thousand backflips as adrenaline coursed through your veins and your brain went fuzzy. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, this was a moment that you were waiting for practically all day. Little did you know, however, this was a moment that he had been anticipating even before he spoke to you for the first time. It all started when he saw you from a distance and his heart almost beat out of his chest because he was so enamored by your beauty.

As you both pulled away from the kiss, you watched as his mouth curled into the sweetest heart smile and he leaned in once again to peck the tip of your nose. You knew that today was going to be absolutely perfect, but your new romance made it about ten times better than perfect if that was even possible.

It's safe to say that the next day you were at barricade at the biggest concert of the year in Montreal, courtesy of BTS' resident rapper and dancer, J-Hope. Or, as you knew him, your smiley Hoseok.