#Silent Realms Rescue

[murdrdocs]

female masturbation; voyeurism; monsterfucking; some weird cheating stuff idk no major spoilers for nosferatu (2024) MDNI 18+ w/ NOSFERATU/COUNT ORLOK

it's silent, as it should be at this time of night.

not a single candle is lit, not a single foot falls onto the hardwood floors around your home. there is no chatter slipping through your open window. no owls hoot, no cicadas sing. it is completely silent, except for the sounds that slip from you without intention.

the sound made from the friction of your fingers slipping into your enlarged entrance, arousal coating both digits and creating an audible shlick! with each and every movement. the sound of your breaths and moans, as light and airy as the gentle breeze that blows your curtains away from the windowsill and in towards the rest of your bedroom.

for a moment in the beginning, you thought you should be quiet. you worried about being found like this, turned on your side with your nightgown bunched around your hips, your hand between your parted legs, your eyes blankly staring at the wall across from you as you pleasured yourself. but the only person who could find you at this hour would be your husband, who you know to be sound asleep down the hall, his boisterous snores drowning out any other sound that could be made.

should a shadow intrude upon your home tonight, your husband would not wake to rescue you.

but if it is him, you do not wish to be rescued.

you think of his lordship now as you search deeper within you, trying to force your fingers as deep as they could go. your wrist prevents complete freedom, you cannot get as deep as you wish with your own fingers.

you know he would be able to.

the shadow that lays his body atop of yours in your sleep. the face that lingers in your dreams, never completely visible yet you can feel the fear that the visage invokes as he slips his fingers down your body, sharp claws feeling almost dainty as the lightest touch trails down your pure skin.

you wish you were dreaming now, dead to the living world and only alive in a realm where he can visit you as he pleases. then, you would part your legs as you have them now and give yourself to him as you have done many times before.

but alas, sleep eludes you tonight, leaving you here—forced to search for satisfaction on your own.

with a frustrated grunt, you push your fingers deeper into you and you graze a spot that makes you keel.

your toes point and your legs fall open as you writhe onto your back. finally, you're getting somewhere.

you screw your eyes shut with concentration. the heel of your hand clumsily knocks into your clit with every determined drive of your fingers, and satisfaction trickles throughout your entire body.

you try to imagine him doing this, but it's not right. you fingers are too short compared to his. there is too much life in your digits, your nails are too neatly trimmed. you are not him and you need him.

your eyes open as tears burn behind them, and it is then that you see it.

a shadow pressed against your wall. long fingers that you know so intimately reaching out, as if reaching for you.

there is no physical form to accompany the shadow, but you still know.

"my lord," you whisper, newfound vigor added to the movements of your fingers. "my lord you came." you sound girlishly excited as a relieved grin spreads across your face.

of course he came, he has always made his devotion to you known, even since you swore yourself to him. you are his, and he will always come to you, especially when you are like this.

his shadow creeps closer, looming across the hardwood floors and nearing your bed.

your eyes fall shut peacefully this time as you await his voice.

it comes in a harsh whisper that cuts through the air. bare yourself to me.

you use your other hand to pull the skirt of your gown completely of of your legs, pulling your thighs apart as far as they would go. a wave of cold air hits you. it startles you, a shaky moan ripping right from your diaphragm.

you speed up even more if possible. the sound is resounding at this point, it is unmistakable what is happening in these four walls.

knowing that he's watching you provides you with more comfort than you've ever known. feeling his eyes on you, even if you cannot see them, shrouds you in a warm embrace, even if his skeletal body has not produced true warmth in more years than your feeble mind can comprehend.

you're getting close. your toes curl and you grasp your breast in your free hand.

you cannot stop chanting his name as you pull yourself closer and closer.

release. allow me to see. allow me to watch.

it's easy for you to let go after that. you soak the bed as you do, essence squirting from between your thighs and wetting your hand, legs, and nightgown.

you can sense his pleasure as well as you can sense his presence. both coax you off into a slumber that befalls onto you in that very position, legs parted, comforter kicked off of the bed, hand loosely lingering over your womanhood. in your dreams, he finds you as you are.

he moves your hand away from what he owns, and takes from you until the sun rises.

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Our sweet sister ⭑

Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Sister!reader x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: Aemond has been waiting for years to marry his favourite sister, Aegon agreed it was the only way of keeping her close of making sure she only belonged to them. But her being given away to a dornish prince changes everything.

Warnings: NSFW, +18 mdni, targcest, murder, threesome (my first), making out, mastrubation, grinding, fingering, oral (both m and f receiving), vaginal sex, breeding kink, mommy kink, titty sucking, creampie, switch Aegon, dom Aemond and Aegon being drunk as always.

Word count: 3.3k

The early morning rays shone through your window in the Red Keep as your handmaiden finished up with your hair. She always had a need to have your hair perfect, not one strand out of place. With some pins she adjusted the headpiece with the sheer black fabric and green and gold details. Your mother, Queen Alicent, could arrive any moment with your twin sister Heleana, to pick you up for prayer at the sept. 

You absolutely despised it but you could never disobey your mother. You were her favourite daughter after all. She always tried to get close to Heleana but you knew your twin preferred to keep her distance from everyone. Even though you were twins, you didn’t really look alike. Both of you of course had the silver hair and lilac eyes of house Targaryen but your facial features were different from hers.

The door opened and your mother and sister entered your chamber. “My dear, how did you sleep?” Alicent asked as she adjusted your headpiece a bit, at which your handmaiden frowned. “Fine, shall we leave?” You stood up and Alicent stopped fussing with your hair, following you out instead. Strolling through the halls with your mother and sister in front of you, Aemond walked passed giving you a small smile. To which you mouthed a silent “Help me”, he chuckled as he gave you one last sympathetic smile over his shoulder. 

You thanked the gods the morning passed swiftly, for you were already on your way back to the Red Keep. When you reached the door of your bedchamber you hurriedly went inside as your handmaiden stood at the ready for your, often daily, dragon ride with Aemond. She helped you quickly change into your dragon riding attire. You and Aemond have always been extremely close, always there for each other, both the favourite children. But ever since Aemond started to grasp for more power, he started to lose the favour of his mother, her now fully turning her attention to you. 

Your eldest brother, Aegon, had never been much loved by your mother. And because of your maturity and grace, he started to cling to you instead. This was the root of your complicated but deep connection with your older brother, everytime he got scolded or drunk he would turn to you. Now this used to be in an innocent way but lately the winds started to shift, Heleana was more distant from him then ever, his mother had just been ignoring him and his father on the doorstep of death. You hadn’t seen him yet today, so you assumed he was still asleep, you would check on him later. 

As for now, you would take to the skies with your other brother. You couldn’t admit it but the way people were terrified when the two of you flew together made you feel so powerful. Yes the two biggest dragons of the realm were a godly sight indeed. You claimed Vermithor, The Bronze Fury, at age ten and two. That evening at Dragon Stone with your family was an interesting one. Everyone either preparing for bed or still drinking and talking was disrupted by the notice of your absence and the terrifying screeches and roars from the Bronze Fury below. Your mother demanded you to be rescued at once, for Vermithor was known to be relentless and fierce, having not accepted a rider after the old king died. But you were much like the dragon when it came to fierceness, you weren’t afraid. And so when the guards, dragon keepers and your family arrived at the cave where the dragons resided. You stood there, in your nightgown, hand on Vermithor’s nose. After years the Bronze Fury had been claimed... by a little girl.

Aemond joined you in the training yard where your horses were waiting to take you to the outskirts of the city, for Vermithor and Vhagar were both too big for the Dragon Pit. You were both quick to mount and race through the city to get to your dragons. When you arrived, Vermithor and Vhagar were both resting next to each other, they too, formed a close bond, as they only had each other outside the dragon pit. Both of them lifted their heads and grumbled and roared at the sight of the two of you, knowing they could fly with their riders again. You both climbed on your mounts and took to the sky, frightening the shit out of towns beneath you. 

It felt good to be with Aemond, natural but powerful at the same time. You knew his desperate want for the throne but that still couldn’t change how you saw him. By the time you came back the sun had begun to set and you both knew supper would be soon. So you returned with your brother to the Red Keep where two guards were waiting to take you to the dining room. As you both entered your mother wore a disapproving look on her face, she didn’t like the two of you flying for so long but when it also cut into her time with her family she really got annoyed. “You stink of dragon.” She began. “We only just got back mother, time gets away from us on dragon back.” Aemond defended. You took your seats next to each other, Aemond to your right. Aegon to your left. Heleana to his left. Her head down as she mumbled to herself. Aegon slumped in his seat as always, probably already drunk and waiting for supper to end so he could sneak out to his whores. 

There was a tension in the air, your mothers and grandfather's eyes were on you. Only then did you really take in your mother, teary eyed, red cheeks, looking down. Weird. You thought, you looked at your grandfather, the hand of the king, questioningly. “You are twenty years old already,” He began, you still looked at him confused but deep down you knew where this was heading, again. “For 4 years I have been searching for a good match for you, I have tried again and again to match you with someone you could grow to like, maybe even love and yet, you refuse them.” Otto stood up from his chair, “Alas, I have had enough. Your father, sadly, cannot make these decisions anymore, so I have. Now an opportunity has arisen, one that I have been waiting for.”

“House Martell is looking for a fine lady to marry their second son, prince Robyn. I sent a letter a while ago and they have agreed to accept your hand.” Two hands slammed on the table as Aemond stood up in rage. “You will do no such thing! She is a Targaryen princess! She will not be married off to some Dorne cunt!” He yelled, you could only look down. You knew this day would come, where they would be fed up with your defiance and force you to marry. But it seemed your brother would not give up without a fight. 

What you didn’t expect was for Aegon to stand up as well. “My sister is the most beautiful and fine Targaryen princess of the realm, I stand with Aemond. You will not marry her off to some plain man of house Martell.” You were taken by surprise, Aemond’s reaction was expected but you didn’t know Aegon cared so much too. Otto Hightower leaned slightly over the table. “She will marry him, he and his family should be here on the morrow. End of discussion!” He sneered. You stood up and left without a word. You went to bed that night knowing your calm, easy life in King’s Landing was alas over. Aemond however, thought otherwise. 

After everyone had gone to bed he was still awake, mauling over the dinner. In a fit of rage at the memory he left his chambers and almost ran to his older brothers. He could hear the disturbance inside yet he did not care, not when his beloved sister was about to be sold off like a broodmare. He passed the guards and pushed open the door. Aegon's bedchambers were completely destroyed, cups, tapestries, pillows, blankets were everywhere, glass and wine splayed on the grounds and walls. Aegon was standing over a small table that used to hold his wine. “Brother.” Aemond urged. Aegon looked up, his eyes bloodshot and fist balled up. “There is only one way to stop this, to keep her here.” Aegon didn’t even respond, he just nodded. They were very different from each other but they both had one thing in common, they loved you.

You woke up from a restless sleep to the entire Red Keep in disarray, you could hear shouting and arguing from inside your bedchamber and just as you were about to open the door. Heleana entered your bedchamber, hands covering her ears. You knew if Heleana looked to hide with you, it was bad. “What is it? Hel, what happened? Tell me.” She looked at the ground and muttered. “They’re dead.” Fear struck your heart as you thought the worst, her children? Your brothers? “What?! Who is Heleana?” You grabbed her hands and sat her down on your settee. “House Martell, at least, the prince and his father. Qoren Martell is now to be their new king.” You couldn’t help but smile. “How did they die?” Heleana finally looked at you, “They say Aegon and Aemond left in the middle of the night. No one could stop them as Aegon mounted Sunfyre and Aemond mounted Vhagar, they burned them on the Fork Road until nothing but ashes were left. Grandfather is furious as you might have heard.” 

That was the end of a short betrothal between you and the prince of Dorne. It took two weeks for things to finally calm in the Red Keep. But the two brothers' plans to keep you here were not completed. Sure their enemy was dead but it would be sooner or later the hand found a new match so they had to make sure you couldn’t marry. You were sitting in your bedchamber on your settee, in your nightgown, your long silver hair down while reading a book about The First Men. When all of a sudden your bedchamber creaked open, as you looked up from your book both Aegon and Aemond entered your bedchamber. You weren’t allowed to speak to them, for two weeks you hadn’t been able to leave other than to pray by your mothers request. You couldn’t help but smile as both of them entered with a mischievous grin on their faces. You also noticed the guards outside were gone. 

“You know you aren’t allowed to be here.” You said closing your book. They didn’t say a word as Aegon went and sat down on the settee in front of you, while Aemond settled next to you. “For two weeks we have lived in agony of not seeing you, not speaking to you. But as you know, Aegon and I have taken matters into our own hands. You, are ours. And we will do anything and burn anyone to keep you here.” Aemond spoke as he moved your hair behind your ear, placing a featherlight kiss on your neck making your eyes flutter shut. A fire started to burn inside you, heart thumping in your chest and a tingling feeling in your abdomen. When you opened your eyes you saw Aegon looking at you through half lidded eyes, his lips parted as you noticed a bulge in his pants. You weren’t stupid, you knew what sex was and you knew what they wanted and oh did you want it too.

“You, I think, know how we can keep you here. If your innocence is ruined, you’ll have no choice but to marry Aemond. You’ll stay here and have his children and of course you can keep taking care of me as well, right sister?” Aegon spoke, now standing up and moving to sit at your right side. You could only nod as Aemond groaned and moved his hand up your thigh, while Aegon grabbed your chin and smashed his lips on yours. Moving his lips feverishly against yours. Teeth clashing, tongue entwining and hands moving to rip off any clothes that were on you in the first place. Aemond finally had you bare next to him as his hand moved between your thighs, his lips and tongue moving over your neck. You moaned in Aegon's mouth, even your filthiest fantasies couldn’t compare to the real thing.

“Need you so bad mommy.” Aegon whined against your lips. You could hear a faint chuckle from Aemond who now used two fingers to tease your wet folds. “Listen to him, you haven’t even touched him yet and he’s already begging for it.” You couldn’t even speak as Aegon refused to stop kissing you. Aemond now circling your clit with his fingers making your free hands grip the fabric of the settee. Aegon started to remove his own clothes while never leaving your lips as Aemond paused to take off his as well. Both men now in their breeches, their hard ons evident between their legs. The effect you had on them made you feel like a goddess. You had them wrapped around your finger and they had you wrapped around theirs.

Aemond moved off the settee and kneeled between your legs, you looked down at him as he undid the clasp of his eyepatch, the sapphire in his eye socket twinkling in the candlelight. Aegon moved his lips down towards your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth and suckling on it like a babe. Aemond started to kiss between your thighs moving further until he reached your aching cunt. Tongue darted out as he began to lap at your folds. You could barely breathe as pleasure consumed you. Aegon sucked and licked at your breast hungrily, holding the other in his hand and using his right hand to pull down his breeches enough to free his cock. As Aemond continued to eat you like a starved man making you moan and whine, Aegon started to pump his cock, eager for that pure bliss. "Fuck- mommy-" Aegon mumbled.

Both brothers groaned and panted against you, Aemond now palming himself through his breeches. He couldn’t help it, he was too impatient. Precum started to leak from Aegon’s tip, he moaned and whined around your nipple. You couldn’t take it anymore, the erotic sounds, the feeling of one brother fucking you with his tongue and the other sucking on your breast while he was pleasuring himself, with a gasp and a plead you reached your peak. Seeing spots of how hard you squeezed your eyes shut. Your thighs clamping together around Aemonds head, which he forced right open before he stood back up. You hadn’t even noticed he removed his breeches as well. His cock stood proud, also leaking from the mere sight of you bare before him.

Aemond eyed Aegon hungrily, also seemingly turned on by the noises he made. Not to mention the sight of him at your breast while fucking his own fist. Aemond pulled Aegon of your nipple by his jaw and forced him to face his brother, before pulling him in a harsh kiss. Aegon made a strangled noise at the action and stopped pleasuring himself to hold the back of Aemond’s head, not wanting to let go of him. Then Aemond pushed his knee between Aegon's legs right against his hard cock. 

Aegon gasped against his brother's lips, you whined at the sight, never had you seen such an erotic scene before you and you were begging the gods to not let it stop. Aemond didn’t stop there but started to move with more pressure against Aegon’s cock, capturing his moans in his mouth. Aegon removed himself from Aemond’s lips for a moment. “Please- don’t stop- feel so good.” He mumbled. Your hand unconsciously slid down your body, touching yourself was the only way to relieve that nagging ache that returned again. But to Aegon and to your surprise, Aemond did stop. Making Aegon whine at the removal of the contact. “On the bed, both of you.” Aemond commanded, and both of you scrambled towards your bed. 

Aemond followed, positioning you like you weighed nothing. Putting you on your hands and knees, commanding Aegon to move towards your head while he stayed behind you. Aegon knew exactly what Aemond wanted and already held the base of his cock to smear his precum across your parted lips. Aemond grazed your other lips with his cock, smearing your arousal around. He reached out his hand to Aegon. “Spit.” Aegon did as told immediately and let his saliva drop onto his little brother's hand. Which Aemond used to coat his cock making it easier to breach your maidenhead. Aegon entered your mouth and hissed at the feeling, somehow this was better then any whores cunt. His sister and his brother sharing the bed with him was better than a thousand whores. 

You softly sucked on Aegon’s cock while Aemond pushed the head of his into your cunt. You whined around Aegon while Aemond sank further into you, a shuddering breath leaving his lips at the feeling of his sister's tight hole around him. He had waited so long, feeling sure that the two of you would be wed but that day never came, and it would never unless he took the matter into his own hands. Moans, gasps and panting filled the moonlit room, it was almost an ethereal sight. Three silver haired bodies becoming one. When Aemond felt you relax and Aegon started to carefully fuck your mouth, he started to move as well. Wanting nothing more than to fill you with his seed that would hopefully take root so he could finally make you his wife and mother of his children. "Oh mommy feels so good-" Aegon whined.

As your moans grew louder, Aemond started to fuck into you harder. Gripping your hips so he could move you against him as well. Aegon was the first to finish, being already so pent up and horny he didn’t last long in your warm wet mouth. With a gasp of your name he filled your throat with his cum, fingers entangled in your hair for support. He pulled his softening dick out and laid down next to you catching his breath. Aemond started to now pound into you like a wild animal, it seemed as if he was so lost in pleasure he couldn’t hear or see anything else but you. Aegon however, with a clearer mind, sat up and moved closer to you. Letting his hand trace your body to where you and Aemond were connected. 

Moving his fingers until he found your clit, you confirmed with a moan. He let his fingers rub against your sweet spot adding to the pleasure of your building orgasm. You pleaded for more, and Aegon started to move his fingers in rhythm with Aemond. This was all you needed, all you needed to scream out their names while gripping the sheets in ecstasy. Your walls clenched around Aemond, making him see stars. Aegon removed his fingers and watched in awe as his brother fucked you relentlessly. 

However Aemond’s thrusts were getting sloppier. And his cursing and groaning made it clear he was about to peak as well. With a couple of final thrusts he came hard. Making sure to go as deep as possible, he spurted his cum right against your cervix. Surely filling your womb with his spent. Giving you a couple of lazy trusts he made sure to be completely milked empty before pulling out. Letting himself fall on the bed next to you so he could pull you against his side. Aegon, not wanting to be left out of it, crawled against your other side, cuddling up next to you. What you didn’t notice, was how the door was accidentally left ajar. Your brothers made sure the entire Red Keep knew of your bedding. Surely they can’t deny Aemond his sister now?

[1mlei]

An unknown entity is tormenting a city (Gotham, Metropolis, etc, doesn't matter) and at this point nearly the entire Justice League is on location. And they are loosing, badly. The flaming green robot should have been easy enough for the entire JLA to take out, but none of their attacks have any effect, they can't even touch the robot, who is capable of devastating amounts of destruction. At this point the heroes have shifted their focus to rescue and evacuation efforts, while the JLD members present are scrambling to figure out how the hell to fight a being from the Infinite Realms. The idea of summoning someone from the Realms to help is brought up but ultimately dismissed as an absolute last resort, the risk of summoning something even worse being too great.

The robot is hovering in the sky, his mechanical face somehow morphed into a mocking grin as he looks down at the heroes. His arms morph into massive blasters, and the heroes hurry to get the area as clear as possible, then brace for impact. Except, nothing happens. And then, a loud metallic clang sounds. On the ground in front of the heroes lies the body of the robot, or what remains of it after falling 50 feet. They notice it's missing it's head. As the heroes look up to where the robot had been hovering a moment ago, they see a person flyi- no, just standing there. A regular looking kid with black hair, wearing an oversized ghostbusters hoodie and jeans, is standing on the roof right behind where the robot had been hovering. But what everyone can't help but focus on, is the decapitated head of the robot he's holding upside down in his hands.

Everyone there stares at the kid in... relief? trepidation? Mostly in disbelief, they watch as the kid looks at the head in his hands (there's a small flicker of something bright green sticking out of it) then down the side of the building at the body below. The kid lets out a pleased hum that is only audible to those with super-hearing, then turns around and walks out of sight.

The heroes are quickly snapped out of their trance and all hurry to get up to the roof, but in the 0.2 seconds it took them to get there the kid had disappeared, robot head gone with him.

They are later unable to find any clear footage of the kid, or any other clues on how to find him, he's simply vanished without a trace. .....

Danny had been busy studying for an upcoming exam, when he was rudely interrupted by Skulker being annoying outside. Phasing through his wall and invisibly flying over to take a look he finds several city blocks that have been levelled to the ground, and a Skulker hovering in the sky grinning down at his handiwork as if he's done something special. Danny is frustrated at being interrupted for this, and doesn't have time for a long, drawn out battle right now, so he lands on the roof behind Skulker and walks up to him silently. He quickly grabs the head of Skulker's suit and yanks, effectively decapitating him and making the body of the suit fall down on the ground. He checks to make sure that Skulker's actual blob of a body is in the head, then that the suit on the ground is fully powered down. Satisfied, he hums and walks away, turning invisible once more and flying back to his apartment, where he puts Skulker in a thermos for a time-out. Then he sits back down and begrudgingly opens his textbook to where he left off, unaware of the heroes collectively having a breakdown.

[ryoalouette]

Machi's #10 DP x DC idea

Someone called on the Fenton's and now Danny is hiding from the CPS. He hides in the GZ and is only find out when he goes back home bc he missed Jazz.

Time goes differently on the realms, Danny has spent years in the GZ but only a couple days have passed on Earth. Unfortunately, after so long in the GZ Danny has gotten used to speaking by emotions and not by words so he barely talks. Until they can solve the situation with the Fenton's it is decided Danny should go to a house that is used to deal with this kind of behavior.

Cue to Danny being sent with the batfam.

He arrives late at night and Bruce decides that it will be better for Danny to meet the children in the morning (especially since some are on patrol rn) Danny is offered a room in the family wing but he rushes to Cass' room.

Cass immediately wakes up and pokes at Danny. Real? She asks and Danny nods.

Cass baby core sings in pure Bliss bc now they have a big ghost that they can talk to (Jason doesn't count bc Jason is corrupted) Cass slaps Danny on pure instinct and Danny smiles and chases after her. They both run and play in the room while having a silent conversation but when Bruce puts a step on the room they freeze and hide.

He tells them that he doesn't want to interrupt their games but it is time to sleep. They agree so they grab all the blankets and pillows they can find in the room, build a nest in the middle of the bed and hide inside.

From then on they have this bubble around them, Cass is more comfortable and relaxed with Danny than with anybody else and the same goes for Danny. They are always cuddling and touching each other and having quiet conversations. Thanks to this, Cass' powers show up and Danny doesn't officially join the Bats but he always seems to know when Cass is in danger and goes to her rescue every time, even if she is in another country.

[theonottsbxtch]

describing the drivers’ eyes poetically.

the other day i saw a picture of lando’s eye and i described it and people loved it and some people asked for more and i had no eye photos so i couldn’t BUT ALAS f1 has come to the rescue and posted all their eyes! (starting to think f1 admin is on tumblr) here we go this has been done over the course of a few days so i hope you enjoy x

carlos sainz

a tempest of amber and chestnut swirls within the iris, a molten galaxy reflecting hidden depths. encased in the inky embrace of dark lashes, it glows with an almost unearthly luminance, catching the glint of electric blue - a whispered secret of the night. each blood-kissed vein upon the sclera tells a story, a silent sonnet of wakeful dreams. and above, the bold arch of an untamed brow stands like a sentinel, guarding this portal to the soul.

alex albon

a quiet fire lingers within this gaze, where the warmth of ember-red meets the cool hush of midnight blue. light bends and shatters upon the glassy surface, painting stories of neon reflections and whispered city dreams. the iris, deep and knowing, holds secrets wrapped in flickers of electric glow, a window to both wonder and melancholy. framed by the soft curve of a furrowed brow, it watches the world with quiet intensity-half in shadow, half in light, ever caught between reality and reverie.

lance stroll

a smouldering ember of amber and oak, this eye holds the quiet weight of unsung tales. hints of emerald light flicker within its depths, casting an eerie glow, as though the world itself is reflected in its silent vigil. encased by a bold, untamed brow and fringed with dark lashes, it watches with an unyielding curiosity. lines of experience crease the skin below, whispering of time’s gentle passage, each mark a testament to moments lived and remembered.

yuki tsunoda

a midnight pool, deep and endless, glistening with the hush of secrets untold. reflections dance upon its obsidian surface, moonlit whispers woven in liquid gold. a sentinel framed by silken lashes, watching worlds both near and far, shadowed by the hush of twilight, a lone and silent guiding star.

isack hadjar

this eye is a dark mirror, deep and reflective, holding the quiet weight of unspoken thoughts. its inky depths seem almost endless, absorbing the soft glow of distant lights like a midnight sea catching fleeting stars. encased by delicate lashes, it watches with an intensity that feels both knowing and mysterious, a silent observer in the hush of blue-lit twilight. the smooth curve of the brow above stands like a guardian, shaping the gaze with quiet strength. there is something haunting in its stillness, as if it carries the echoes of a story waiting to be told.

george russell

this eye is a frozen galaxy, its iris a swirl of blue and green, fractured by the reflection of distant light. there is an electricity in its gaze, a quiet intensity that seems to pierce through the veil of the present, searching for something beyond sight. the intricate web of lashes, dark against the cool glow of the skin, frames it like the delicate edges of frost on winter glass. each subtle detail-the fine lines, the sharp glint of the pupil-whispers of depth, of curiosity, of a story written in fleeting glances and unsaid words. it is an eye that sees not just the world, but the unseen spaces in between.

jack doohan

this eye is a universe unto itself, a stormy sea of blue laced with intricate, ice-like fractures that radiate from the dark abyss of its pupil—a black hole pulling in secrets and light alike. swirling within its depths are echoes of distant galaxies, constellations trapped beneath the delicate shimmer of its surface. framed by bold lashes and a shadowed brow, it exudes an intensity that feels almost otherworldly, as if gazing through it might reveal hidden realms beyond human sight. the neon glow of purple light kisses the skin, adding to the cosmic allure, turning this eye into a portal-a celestial mystery waiting to be explored.

gabriel bortoletto

this eye is a cosmic rift, a swirling nebula of deep green and shadow, as if the essence of an untamed forest or an alien world has been captured within its depths. the iris shimmers with hidden dimensions, fragments of light bending and refracting like the glow of distant stars caught in the event horizon of its dark pupil. evey reflection dances across its surface like signals from an unknown galaxy, an unspoken message waiting to be deciphered. framed by a bold brow and lashes that cast delicate shadows, it radiates an enigmatic intensity, made all the more ethereal by the neon green light that bathes the skin. it feels less like an eye and more like a portal-an invitation to step beyond the ordinary and into the vast unknown.

max verstappen

this eye is a cosmic storm, a swirling fusion of cool blues and burning reds, as if the birth of a star has been captured within its gaze. the iris, a fractured ice field, reflects the universe in miniature, with distant neon lights shimmering like celestial bodies caught in its gravitational pull. shadows and highlights dance across the surface, shifting like the aurora borealis on an endless night. encased by a bold brow and delicate lashes, it holds an intensity that feels both electric and infinite, as though staring into it might reveal the fabric of time itself. bathed in the glow of violet and crimson, it is less an eye and more a gateway-an uncharted galaxy waiting to be explored.

oscar piastri

a deep ember glows within this eye, rich with hues of molten bronze and flickering gold, as if harbouring the last light of a setting sun. encircled by dark lashes, delicate yet resolute, it gazes with quiet intensity, a window to unseen depths of thought and feeling. the brow, bold and well-defined, arches above like the crest of a distant hill, framing the eye with quiet strength. there is warmth in the skin, kissed by firelight, lending a softness that contrasts with the unwavering sharpness of the gaze. it is an eye that speaks-of secrets kept, of dreams half-formed, of stories yet untold.

lando norris (again)

a tempest stirs within this eye, where stormy blues and silvery greys collide like waves beneath a moonlit sky. threads of gold flicker at its heart, tiny sunbursts in an ocean of shifting light. the dark lashes, long and feathered, cast fleeting shadows, framing the gaze with an air of quiet mystery. above, the bold arch of the brow speaks of intensity, of thoughts that run deep and untamed. thre is a coolness here, a glacial beauty softened by the warm glow that kisses the skin, as if fire and ice have met in perfect harmony. this is an eye that sees beyond-an eye that knows.

esteban ocon

drenched in the glow of neon light, this eye is a portal to a world caught between shadow and illusion. deep and enigmatic, its inky darkness reflects the fractured gleam of artificial brilliance, as if it holds the city’s restless pulse within its depths. the lashes, slightly weary, frame the gaze with an almost haunted allure, while the bold arch of the brow stands as a sentinel of unspoken thoughts. crimson and electric blue spill across the skin, painting it with the hues of twilight reveries and sleepless nights. this is the eye of a wanderer, a dreamer, a soul lingering at the edge of the unknown.

liam lawson

a storm of colour brews within this eye, where twilight meets the embers of a fading sun. shades of indigo and crimson dance upon the delicate skin, as though kissed by neon dreams and whispered secrets of the night. the iris, a portal to untold stories, reflects the glow of distant worlds, flickering like a candle in the grasp of a gentle wind. beneath the weight of a furrowed brow, it watches-silent yet knowing-drinking in the light, absorbing the mystery of all it beholds.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @driverlando @chilling-seavey

[littlefireball]

ᴍɢ|ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʀᴜᴇ (ᴍ)

@lezleeferguson-120 thx for requesting.

ᴋɪɴɢ ᴍɪɴɢɪ x ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜰᴋ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ꜱᴇx|ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ|ɴᴇᴄᴋ ᴋɪꜱꜱ|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ���ʜɪᴛ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ, ꜱʜɪᴛ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ(?)|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ:3.4ᴋ

"Speak up. Who is it that you wish to save?" Mingi, the King of the Far East realm, confronted the warlord John, who had taken Mingi's brother captive. "Let my brother go, and I will return one princess to you." 

Your sister frequently slipped away to the borders of the Far East realm for secret meetings with Mingi's brother. But fate took a turn when Mingi caught her in the act. You and the army rushed to intervene, igniting a fierce conflict. In the chaos, you and your sister found yourselves captured by Mingi, while his brother was taken hostage.

"Make your choice. Don't force me to ask again," Mingi pressed, his gaze sharp enough to cut through steel.

You hold your breath, hoping John would choose you. Despite being a princess, you were often overlooked, overshadowed by your mother's unpopularity. Raised in a military camp, you had always been a soldier at heart. John, your childhood love, had vowed to marry you on your eighteenth birthday. Yet, the war had postponed your dreams time and again, and still, you were willing to wait for him.

However, this promise was about to be shattered.

"Please choose me, please. It hurts!" Your sister whined, tears streaming down. "Y/N, you won't let me suffer, will you?" 

"So you want me to suffer?"You countered. 

"But you are living in a military camp. I'm not as strong as you…" she said pitifully. You grasped the deeper meaning behind her words completely. What she's really saying was that rescuing you would be futile. Having been raised in a military camp, you've endured far more hardship than she had, and given your lack of favoritism, you being a hostage seems to be the most sensible option. 

You averted your gaze, fixating on John, silently wishing he would ignore your sister's remarks. Yet, the general standing behind him shot you a harsh glare. John's expression was devoid of the affection you craved; instead, it brimmed with pity for your sister. Though their words were muffled, you could sense the generals were pressuring John to side with your sister, given his close ties to her. 

You instinctively shook your head, as if to reject the entire situation. In response, all you received was an even more frigid stare from him.

"Please choose me!" Your sister was begging again. "I don't want to die!" 

"Shut up!" The men looming behind you yelled, their voices laced with irritation, causing your sister to scream. John glanced at you, then turned his attention to her, his fist tightening in frustration. He longed to protect you, but the king's orders held him back. Your sister's words rang true; you could endure the trials of being a hostage. He would rescue you, but only after ensuring your sister's safety.

"I choose her." John's finger trembled as he pointed at your sister, his voice quaking. Your eyes grew wide with disbelief, a deep sense of betrayal washing over you. The cold blade of the sword pressed against your neck, drawing a thin line of crimson on your skin, yet you felt no sting. Instead, the ache in your heart rendered you motionless.

"Deal." Mingi nudged your sister ahead, while John mirrored the action with Mingi's brother. A torrent of words lodged in your throat, refusing to spill into coherent sentences. Instead, a whirlwind of questions and a deep sorrow filled your heart, the sting of betrayal from your lover weighing heavily on your chest. You stood there, powerless, as your so-called sister leaned against John, her voice trembling with fear as she recounted her terror.

You should be the one crying! Not her!

"Let's go back, princess." Mingi whispered against your ear, giving a shiver down your spine. He pulled you away, yet your gaze remained fixated on them . John apologized, promising to save you in ten days. But can you trust him? The sight of your sister's victorious grin made your stomach churn with unease.

—----

"Eat," Mingi commanded, gesturing for the servant to set the tray before you. "I don't want to bury your body." 

You hesitated, but your hunger got the better of you. You slowly reached for a piece of fruit, biting into it gingerly. The sweet juice filled your mouth, and you found yourself relaxing slightly.

It's been three days since the incident, and your emotions were a tangled mess. You were filled with anger over the feeling of abandonment, yet there was a shift in how you perceive Mingi. 

His unexpected kindness has made you question the harsh judgments you've heard about him. Rather than confining you to a cell, he's provided you with a room of your own. True, there were guards keeping a watchful eye, and freedom felt like a distant dream. Still, the conditions here were surprisingly more comfortable than what you experienced at so-called home.

"So, are you still waiting for your lovely warlord?" He sat by your bed, taking a sip from his drink. 

Doubt flickered in your mind as you absorbed his words, your fist tightening instinctively. Deep down, you understood he would never return, all because of your father. To him, your existence was insignificant, even in death. Yet, a nagging curiosity tugged at you—why did Mingi let your sister slip away? It seemed like a foolish decision. If you were in Mingi's shoes, you would never have given John the option to decide.

"I don't know." You stopped eating, lowering your head. "Can I ask you a question?" 

"Say it." 

"Why did you choose me?" 

He set the cup down on the plate before returning it to the table. Leaning in, he kept his gaze locked with yours. "Did you forget? It's your warlord's choice, not me." He leaned back, a playful smirk dancing across his lips. 

"Take a rest." These were the final words he said to you. In the days that follow, he didn't show up. A sense of unease begins to creep in. Did your question reveal to him that you hold no worth? Rumor has it that Mingi's brother has been spiraling into madness ever since that day, howling for your sister's presence daily and even issuing chilling death threats. Mingi, unable to tolerate his brother's insanity, decided to cast him out. 

But what about you? Would Mingi choose to banish you as well, or would he just kill you? Furthermore, just as you feared, your nation did nothing. It hasn't dispatched any forces or sought a truce. It truly regards you as if you no longer exist.

As the night deepened, you found yourself wide awake in bed, grappling with the relentless ache in your lower abdomen and a mind that refused to quiet. The ceiling loomed above you, a silent witness to your suffering. Oh, the agony of period cramps! Why must they invade your peaceful hours? You shifted restlessly, but the pain chased away any hint of drowsiness. Despite your efforts to cocoon yourself in warmth, it was futile. In the midst of your discomfort, you caught snippets of a hushed exchange between two maids nearby.

"Hey do you know that? The war lord would marry that princess!" 

"Oh reli?Poor Y/N. I heard she likes the war lord." 

"So, that means she is not useful anymore? See, they did nothing to save her."

"What would the King do? It's nonsense to send her back." 

"Maybe put her in jail?"

"Maybe just kill─" Their words were abruptly cut off as you swung open the door, making them shocked. 

"Bring me to the King." 

"But…" They looked at each other before shifting their gaze on the safety guards , not sure what to do.

"Please." You begged. "I promise I won't say you brought me there." 

—------

"Come in." Mingi commanded after hearing a knock from the door, still focusing on his work. But, no one spoke. 

"What─Y/N?" He lifted his gaze and found you poised in the center of the hall, draped in elegant white silk pajamas. As you glided toward him slowly, your pure and unassuming beauty made him gulp. There was no denying it; you were stunning. 

"Mingi…" You walked to him, slightly grabbing his forearm. "I'm in pain, could you help me?" 

"What pain?" 

"Menstrual cramps…" He gently pulled your hand away, his throat tightening as his fingers brushed against your skin. You noticed it. "Just call the doctor…"

"No." You grasped his hand, fingers weaving together. "There's still a pain in one spot." You guided his hand to rest on your chest, your heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and shyness. "Here." You whispered, biting your lips..

"Do you know what you are doing?" He suddenly sat up and shadowed you with his big frame. "Don't you─" "I know." You silent him with your words. "Just please." Upon hearing your begging, he could no longer bear his desire. He grabbed your thighs to pick you up, making you scream at surprise. 

Gently placing you down on the luxury sofa, he pecked at your lips. "Wait for me a while. Be a good girl and take off all of your clothes before I come back." A grin played on his lips as he turned to leave. "Oh yah, don't remove your underwear." 

You nodded and obeyed his words, lying naked on the sofa to wait for him. After a while, you saw him return with a towel. Cradling your thigh, he placed a soft towel under your body and removed your panties. 

"Did you have sex before?" 

"No." You muttered, shaking your head. 

"Then I'm the first one." Smirked, he crawled back to the sofa, kneeling in front of you. He was definitely big, making you worried if you could take it, even in your period.

"Don't worry. You can take it well." He leaned over you after wrapping up a condom, cupping your face with one hand, while another leading his manhood to your cunt. 

"Fuck…" you murmured while throwing your head at the back, opening and closing your mouth for better breathing. He filled you full literally, leaving no space left. 

"This is fucking good." His head landed on your neck, inhaling your lovely scent and dropping kisses. Wrapped by sticky blood was not that difficult for him to adjust, he felt satisfied. Although you squeezed him hard, he didn't feel pain thanks to your blood.

"Mingi…mingi…it hurts." You let out a whimper, tears welled up in your eyes. "It's okay, it's okay. Take it slow." He wiped away your tears, pecking at your nose, showering you with all his tender and love. You frowned as the period pain kept torturing your body, toes curling and nail drugging into his skin. 

"Relax." Grasping the armrest firmly, he pushed in painfully slowly. The way his tip kissed against your sweet spot made your head spin in pleasure. He kept reaching the same spot over and over again, fading away the pain in your body. Choppy moaning flew from your tongue as he continued to roll his hips into you, nothing left in your mind but only his name. 

His cock was so big, so long, making you could easily feel his every movement and twitch. You carved for more, no, you needed him deeper and harder, giving you endless pleasure to forget all the pain your family caused. 

"Please, I want more." "Want more what? Just say it." "Please please please. Harder and faster." "You beg for it. Don't regret it if I go too rough." Ｈe fold you up as a mating press, pressing your thighs as a support, shoving into you without any tender.  Every muscle in your body seems to be on the brink of being ripped apart, as waves of pain and pleasure crash over you in a relentless rhythm. He fucked you so fast, fast enough to ruin you. The skin slapping sound mixed with your high-pitched moaning, filling the whole room. 

"Ah!Fuck!" You swore, tears streaming down your cheek. Everything was just overwhelming. It felt as if your very awareness had been yanked from you, leaving the world around you a hazy blur. A parched sensation gripped your throat, the relentless moaning rendering your voice rough and strained. As he caught sight of you, a wave of tenderness washed over him; he slowed his pace, encircled your legs with his waist, leaned down, and tenderly brushed away the tears that streak your cheeks.

"Am I too rough?" He whispered against your skin, a warm breath landed on it. Wrapping your arms around his shoulder, you pulled him closer. "A little bit." 

"Then I'll be rough when you're okay with this. Maybe next time." He cupped your face, giving you a gentle kiss while kept sliding in and out, making your whole body move forth and back from his movement. He parted from your lips with a pop sound, meeting your gaze. 

"Will you stay with me, Y/N?" 

"If you don't kill me." 

"I won't kill you." He let out a chuckle before meeting your lips again. The sensation of that kiss was beyond words; was it love or merely desire? You were uncertain, yet one thing was crystal clear: you relished every moment. You savored the way he enveloped you in his warmth and tenderness. But then again, could it all be an illusion? Perhaps his passion was fueled solely by lust, ignited by your seduction. But none of that mattered, as long as you could stay alive.

"Damn it, I'm cumming." His thrusting lost its rhythm; a low growl left his lips. He chased his high and picked up the pace, making you moan with him. You could tell you were close too, a knot formed in your stomach, urging you to release it. 

"Mingi…I…" "Cum with me, dear." Throwing your head at the back, you panted heavily as the pleasure of climax took over your mind. With a swear, you reached your high before Mingi came all in his condom. 

Neither of you wanted to break free from the warmth of each other's arms, holding on even tighter. He placed soft kisses on your forehead and lovingly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "How about we take a shower?" he suggested. You smiled and nodded, allowing him to lift you up and carry you to the bathroom.

"I didn't expect you to get laid with me in just one week." Mingi splashed the water over you after checking its warmth. You never imagined you could act with such daring. Yet, when confronted with the essence of life, the value of purity has become less significant.

You spun around, wrapping your arms around him, your voice a soft murmur against his chest. "Are you really asking me to stay by your side?" Deep down, you recognized the insincerity of your own words. You had no intention of sticking around; one day, you would walk away.

But is that true?

He gently nudged you back, wanting to meet your gaze, lowering himself to match your height.

"I won't lie." 

—-----

Days turned week, week turned months. It appeared that the commitment John made to you has slipped entirely from his mind. If only you had held on a little longer for him to save you, you may have just died already. He repeatedly insisted he would come to your aid, yet his words were empty; he took no real steps beyond sending letters. He never confronted the king or sought a solution. Instead, he merely crafted an illusion of affection.

"What is that?" Mingi buried his face in your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist, leaving a trail of kisses while licking the red marks he left on you. With John, he was a different person; he honored his word and cherished you like a precious gem, enveloping you in a warm embrace of love and kindness. However, there was one aspect that wasn't ideal:he was too horny sometimes.

"A letter from John." You placed your hand on Mingi's head, letting a moan as Mingi sneaked his hand to your clothed clit, rubbing it gently. "Stop, Mingi. I can't focus." 

"Tsk. I'm more important than him. Your husband needs you to help him." "We haven't got married." "Soon." He slid down your panties to the thighs, pulling up your dress to press his cock against your ass, rubbing it before aiming at your entrance. 

"Shit…"You couldn't help but let out a moan as he eased into you. "What did he say?" His pronunciation was somewhat inaccurate due to his heavy panting. "Oh baby, you're so fucking tight." His cock twitched each time your wall tightened, sucking him in to reach your deepest. 

"Ah fuck Mingi~He said…umm…he would come to save me…he…" You couldn't even say a complete sentence as he nestled so deep, the way he battered your spot drove you insane.

"Again?How many times has he said it?"He thrusted with each word, making you gasp. 

"Yah. That's bullshit. Mingi, you're too deep." 

"Just reply to him after you milk me dry." Mingi threw away the letter and brought you into a deep kiss. "No. Don't reply to him. I don't like you talking with him." Before you could say anything, he picked you up to the bed, shoving you as nothing, entering your cunt once again.

"Fuckkk."

—-----

This evening, John at last got your letter and hurried to the spot where it all unfolded.

"Y/N!" He dashed toward you as soon as he spotted you. "I feared I'd lost you forever."

"Hold it!" You took a step back, lifting your hand in warning. "Don't you dare cross that line, or I swear I'll end you."

"What are you saying? I came here to rescue you."

"Funny." You smirked. "Are you happy to marry my sister?" 

"It is a forced marriage and I don't like her! I only like you!" 

"Like me?" You raised your eyebrow, speaking up. "So that you choose my sister on that day and let me be a captive? You said you would save me and what I was waiting for was the news of your marriage to her! That's how you like me?" 

"No,no.Y/N. I was forced, I…" 

"Did you even try to save me?Tell me." You stopped his words, making him hesitant.

"Why can't you understand me? I truly love you." Rolling your eyes, a hint of annoyance evident. 

"Shut up. John!What you loved was only your reputation and status, not me." 

"Absolutely not, Y/N! Just trust me!" As he lunged toward you, Mingi's voice rang out, halting him.

"How dare you lay a hand on my wife?"

"Wife?" "Mingi?" The two of you exchanged astonished glances, one filled with fear and the other with joy. Mingi pulled you behind him, warning John with a low voice. 

"If you touch my wife, I'll definitely kill you now." 

"What? You married him?" 

"It's not your business, asshole. And now I'm talking with you. How dare you ignore me?" 

"That should be what I say! You rape her?! Y/N. Don't be afraid!I'm here for you." You rolled your eyes again, unable to hold your anger anymore and rushed to slap him, making him stand still. 

"I'm willing!I'm already died if I had waited for you to save me." 

"So you get laid with him?How can you live up to your country?"

"Don't talk nonsense to me!It is not my country! Go back to your country and tell them, war is going to break out." Gave him a death look, you turned around to hold Mingi's hand. 

"Let's go." You dragged Mingi to leave, not giving a glance back. John surveyed the scene before him, a heavy weight settling in his chest as he grappled with his emotions. Was it a sense of regret gnawing at him, or was it the fire of anger? Perhaps it was simply the anxiety of what lay ahead.

"Y/N." Mingi said. "Hm?"

"I promise I won't let you down, I'll do everything you want." 

"Why so suddenly?" 

"I'm serious." 

"Okay. Thank you. I love you." You left a kiss on his cheek. "My confession is serious, too." Smiled, he brought you into a passionate kiss.

Time flies, a conflict is imminent against your homeland. The corruption that had festered under your father's reign had taken root long ago, and soon, the tides of war would turn in your favor.

And that was Mingi's promise─he would do anything for you.

tag list:@angelsaway

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

❤ Yandere Firefighter ❤

Credit for the amazing pictures goes to: @d-lioncourt (thank you so much for doing them)

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Manipulation; Memory Loss.

Special credit to @deceitfuldevout cause she's the one that came up with the idea, thank you!

--

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who jumps right into rescue when your building has a major fire on a Saturday night.

He doesn’t even hesitate before jumping into action, running inside the apartment complex, ready to save everyone. Control the damage. Be a hero. Save lives.

It’s his job, after all, right?

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who ends up saving what might be the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life - yes, you.

Your hair is ruffled and your face is tinged with tears and black smoke, but his heart stops positively for a moment when his eyes land on you.

You’re passed out on the floor and for a moment, all of his world stopped and everything made sense. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who doesn’t understand what’s happening. Never had he been one to believe in love at first sight, not him.

He was the one that steered far away from cheesy foolish things such as commitment and marriage - casual hookups were more his style. 

But meeting you changed things. He experienced what he never thought would happen to him. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter that fights tooth and nail to be by your side when the paramedics step in to take care of you. You’re passed out, having inhaled too much smoke but they assure him that you’ll be fine. 

But still he doesn’t relax, unable to take his eyes off you. You look peaceful while sleeping, a comforting aura around you as you travel in the realm of dreams. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who comes to visit you at the hospital, claiming the plastic chair next to your bed as he waits for you to regain consciousness.

When the nurses ask him who he is, he shrugs off his shoulder, muttering something unsure and shaky that sounds a lot like ‘boy friend’.

Doctors say that might take a day or two, that you probably gained a concussion from when you passed out and hit your head on the floor. In the meanwhile he does some research, he’s got some connections in the local PD and uses it to do some much-needed research on you.

You’re originally from another country, recently having emigrated for work. You’ve got no family alive. Not much of a record in the police files. You’re low-profile, having a small job as a waitress in a restaurant near your apartment. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter whose mind drifts to the worst scenarios as he impatiently waits for you to finally wake up. How will you react to seeing him?

Will you feel the same ardent and powerful emotion that has him completely enamored to you? Will you accept him or his feelings?

His insides are dancing with anxiety and apprehension at what will happen next and he crosses his fingers in a silent prayer for you to love him back. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who is borderline starstruck when you groggily start opening your eyes, feeling himself falling in love with you all over again. 

He calls the doctors and then panic is installed in the room.

You can’t seem to remember who you are, what your name is. Nothing at all. Doctors try to comfort you, explaining it’s normal.

You just suffered a concussion. It happens. Your memory will come back one day - tomorrow or in two decades, the doctors aren’t sure of that. 

And then, you look at him for the first time, acknowledging his presence. Butterflies erupt wildly in his belly as you give him your attention, confusedly looking at him. 

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he still does. The answer is unconsciously on the tip of his tongue, just ready to be spilled as you question who he is. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who shamelessly lies about being your boyfriend, the answer coming firm and steady.

He feels guilty for doing this, but isn’t this a great chance? It’s destiny, telling him that maybe he doesn’t need to spend months - or even years - courting you. 

So he takes the chance, creating a beautiful love story where you’re dating him. That you’re practically engaged.  

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who tells himself that this isn’t lying. It’s just…forcing the circumstances a bit. All the indecision and fear is resolved when you accept his answer, not throwing a thousand questions his way - questions he doesn’t have answers to.

No, you’re calm, almost passive about it. You don’t cry in frustration of losing all your memories, accepting the short answers he gives to appease you, making up some of them.

He sighs in relief at how docile and sweet you are. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who kisses your knuckles, promising that you and him - together - will make new memories. The ones that will last for the rest of your life.

Promises to keep you safe and sound. To marry you. To love you. To cherish you. To treat you like the precious diamond you are. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who finally takes you to his apartment - your new home.

He doesn’t lie about what happened, saying that you were almost at the point of moving in together when your apartment burned.

Hence why your clothes aren���t in the wardrobe, but promises you can use his until he takes you shopping. 

Immediately falls in love with how cute you look with his oversized hoodie on, despite the slight uncomfortable expression on your face. Almost makes him want to keep you forever in his clothes. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who induces you into taking upon the domestic chores. Keeping your mind and body busy - hopefully that’ll help keeping old memories away. Memories where he doesn’t exist.

He never thought he’d be one to enjoy coming home to a freshly cleaned apartment, a meal ready to be served and a pretty girl waiting for his arrival but he loves it. 

He kisses you softly every time he arrives from work, making sure he doesn’t smell like smoke - doesn’t want the smell to trigger something in you - hugging you tightly before you pull away. 

You’re always reluctant when it comes to PDA, as if your subconscious knows there’s something wrong even if you don’t voice those thoughts.

But with time, he hopes to convince you to do more than just a few rushed shallow kisses and awkward cuddles where you pull away after five seconds. He says it’s okay, being understanding of your reactions but the fact is that he’s aching for you.

He wants you so bad that he has to rub one off every night, hidden in the bathroom cause sleeping in the same bed as you is so fucking tempting. 

Maybe once you’re finally married, he can convince you to accept him - all of him. Soon enough, he’s on one knee, presenting you a ring that he immediately slides on even if you didn’t answer. 

You’re his and that’s all that matters.

[vixensdungeon]

As the final participants of the Monarch's Melee are carted off the field, the crowd scrambles to take their seats at the lists. The Witch-Queen takes her seat in the royal pavillion, and the trumpeters blare out a triumphant tune. The royal herald steps forth as the crowd goes silent.

"Hear ye, Lords and Ladies, and common folk all, 'tis time for our main event, which is for the Realm's Heavy Horse Championshiiiip!"

A tourney officiator holds aloft the mystical and mighty Girdle of Champions for all to see. The crowd roars, then goes silent as the herald prepares to speak once more.

"Introducing first, riding in on Good Old Lad, from the Barony of Burnglade, weighing in at one thousand one-hundred and three gold coins, Siiiirrrrr Konstantyyyyyn!"

As Sir Konstantyn rides out and raises his shield, Sable, a burning tree proper, the crowd erupts into loud boos. The knights of Burnglade have won themselves no love from the common folk by enforcing the baron's excessive taxes.

"And his opponent, riding in on Shadeheart, hailing from parts unknown, weighing in at one thousand one-hundred and two gold coins, Siiiirrrrrr Elomeeerrrrr!"

As Sir Elomer raises his shield, Azure, a garb Or, the crowd erupts into enthusiastic cheers, especially loud the squeals of several recently rescued princesses.

The two knights take their places at opposite ends of the lists, and ready themselves for the first ride of the joust. The officiator raises his hand, then drops it, as the trumpeters announce the start of the contest, and both knights ride forth!

Sir Konstantyn raises his shield and takes aim at Elomer's shield, fess pale. Sir Elomer steadies himself in his saddle and likewise aims fess pale on Konstantyn's shield. With a thunderous crack, both lances shatter on impact, and both knights are thrown off their mighty steeds!

As the dust settles, Sir Elomer stands. Sir Konstantyn attempts to stand as well, but clutches his side in agony and drops to a knee. The panel of judges renders their decision: 9 points for Sir Konstantyn, but 19 for Sir Elomer!

The crowd erupts into deafening cheers as Elomer is handed the Girdle of Champions. He removes his helmet… nay, her helmet, as a locks of golden hair cascade out. There are murmurs in the crowd. Why, 'tis the Lady Elowen, one of the Witch-Queen's handmaidens! Sir Konstantyn angrily demands that Elowen be disqualified, and the tourney grounds descend into chaos!

[blueberrypancakesworld]

You are ours - Blacks

Blacks x fem!reader (hostage)

characters : Daemon, Rhaenyra, Jacaerys, Rhaenys

Warning : hostage (trapped), hurt/comfort, implied possession, emotional, kiss, war, fear, implied death, filth (slightly implied), Targaryen incest, f/f, m/f, no use of y/n

Summary : Held hostage after the Black's escape, the princess of the realm could do nothing but hope for rescue at last, while the color black shrouded her more and more in emotions far beyond hate and love.

info : so now the counterpart to the green ones yes yes i would like to be trapped on both sides but well let's see��i hope you enjoy reading and thanks for the support :)

masterlist

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

He was the rough prince he was the ete pirnz of the realm the brother of the king he was feared by all he was unpredictable maybe he was just like his great-great-uncle Maegor. He was the wielder of Darksister and flew on Caraxes the blood worm.

He had always had a right to the throne and even if he had children with his wife, even if he had two daughters with his second wife, in the end he was only the prince regent of the realm, subordinate to his queen and niece Rhaenyra.

But in the end, he still had her, ,,The green sister-in-law was a little mouse at court and couldn't do anything to prevent the rise of this false cunt king," he continued to talk to her as he stood in front of her cell.

He was grateful to his cousin Rhaenys that the queen had brought the widow queen's sister with her on her escape with Meleys, it was one more thing they had in hand against the leeches.

But perhaps it was because the prince had taken a fancy to the sweet mouse since he arrived in King's Landing more than ten years ago that he was amused by her.

She wasn't like her younger sister Alicent she was a wanderer she stood up for herself didn't let herself be manipulated by her father or at least less than the dowager queen and had an opinion. ,,The mouse that will survive the dragon…mice breed quickly and what family doesn't back its own blood?" she replied and rose from the simple bed, exchanging the dress that was once green on her for a black one and leaning lightly against the bars.

She saw the hatred for her, for her sister and nephews and her niece and twins. He hated her and hated all her blood, but above all he realized that the mouse was dancing around his nose, ,,Hiding in plain sight with the prince, what does your father say?" he asked, coming closer to the bars and seeing how she tensed up even though she showed no fear.

In all other cases he was stronger, he was always stronger and he realized this with a grin as her eyes lingered on his violet eyes and his center for a moment too long. The mouse had a fascination for dragons, ,,What would he say if his daughter came home with a bastard child? The star of Oldtown desecrated by me mhhh?" he came closer to her and saw her looking at him uncertainly as the dragon wallowed in her fear.

Daemon grabbed her wrist hastily before she could move into the cell and pulled her back so that he could see her body pressing against the bars, a little unsteadily and yet the fear in her eyes mingled with the daring smile on her lips. ,,Then my nephew the king will kill you-" she began, sure that the green ones would hound her, but his lips were quicker. He wrapped her in a kiss, making her fall silent and his hands held her.

It was one kiss of many they threatened each other keeping her limited position in mind and yet she couldn't help but wear more and more black and red the blood red as perhaps in the lost texts of the books she did give birth to a child but whether it was the dragon's no one knew in the centuries that passed. But who could say what was clear was that she was a prisoner of the black under the control of Daemon Targaryen the Rough Prince.

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

Rhaenyra : The Queen of the Blacks the Queen who was the first child of King Viserys was her step niece a woman of power. A queen who should not be lait the green according to her nephew, according to the Widow Queen's sister.

However, it was not in her position to say the contrary, it was completely different since she was taken as a hostage as revenge for the death of Lucerys, she was the bargaining chip in a war that was about to break out. A war that could have been prevented, but things had happened that had led to this.

The queen had chosen a new one in her circle of ladies-in-waiting. The Lady Hightower of Oldtwon the star of the house elder sister of her former friend Alicent.

Maybe it was because she had the look of the living Hightower, maybe it was because she was Alicent's sister or her voice was similar to Alicent's…maybe she was just looking for someone who was like her friend.

But it didn't matter because she had made her her lady in waiting, of course, with guards who were with her so that no attack could be made. But the color of the dress was black with red, the conversations went on about the past and Rhaenyra found herself looking for her former friend's company when she was alone in the evening, ,,You wanted to see me Rhaenyra?" she asked and came into the room and saw the queen standing at the balcony.

One of the Queen's Guard was in the room watching the two of them and was about to kill the star if they lost leverage, but they accepted that. But perhaps she herself liked the position she was in, ,,Stand by me, I want to watch the stars with you," the Targaryen ordered her old friend, who came striding towards her.

It was a position in which she felt like a beautiful thought back then, ,,They are beautiful like you," she replied and saw Rhaenyra's smiling face and the violet eyes on her.

There was a kind of back and forth between them, a teasing and a hatred that lay between them. ,,Flattery will get us no further dear," she reminded the star of Oldtwon before they both looked up at the sky again, looking at the star constellations they had already seen when the three of them sat in the garden or on the balcony and looked up at the sky.

But Rhaenyra was right, she was only here as a prisoner for information, if it went near Daemond she would be tortured but Rhaenyra hoped for other ways, ,,Even if it would be nice to have it like back then," the older one admitted and saw the sad expression on the violet eyes lips that seemed to tremble for a moment and hands that held on to the railing.

Rhaenyra looked away for a moment, seeming to want to gather herself, only to see her hand raised in a wave of her eye and her nostrils turned to panic. With a hasty movement she had her former friend against the railing of the balcony, ,,Is this what you want? Or do you want to hurt me?" asked the queen, pushing her further and letting her go, while the two women saw the tears in each other's eyes. They held each other tightly, seeing the pain, knowing that in the end there was a way out, a war that ended in death.

Before she could slowly break away, Rhaenyra allowed her to do so, leaning her head against hers and stroking the queen's cheek. It was silent tears that they exchanged, they just held each other and she knew that the black thread had been in her heart for years.

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

Jacaerys :

Jacaerys : The first prince of the realm to succeed his mother on the throne, the brave young prince with a duty to serve his mother.

A young boy born into a crige who tries to kill him because of his blood but before that he was a young man with a gentle nature who after the death of his brother wants to see an end to the war the sooner the better but whether his decision was right when his family fled King's Landing on his dragon to take his great aunt with him he did not know.

It was a thought, a feeling that he could not otherwise protect his family, a shield that would protect them all, but for them for long? But now after weeks of being on Dragonstone with his family and her still being here made him realize that his decision was wrong.

He had taken his own aunt hostage what prince does that or was he too lost in grief? Questions he couldn't answer and walked helplessly through the castle, his thoughts diminishing as he trained, when he was with his fiancée and her sister it was bearable but as soon as he saw them the feeling of guilt returned.

A feeling that consumed him and he didn't dare to speak out, she on the other hand always had a knowing look in her eyes when she brought the wine to the war table, cleaned the rooms or stood by the cliffs she was a green dragon in a cage of black fabric which was actually her family.

But the least he would do was apologize when his boots echoed in the corridors and he was on his way to the cliffs that pointed towards Driftmark where the dragons flew over their heads and he could call Vermax if he needed his dragon. But in fact she was there as she usually was in her free time he never knew why and the rest of the family and their vassals seemed uninterested.

His hand loosely on the hilt of his sword, his cloak blew gently back and forth with her dress as the winds on the cliffs were always stronger than in the castle where it was like a breeze.

Winds he felt whenever he flew over the castle on Vermax it was one of the few places of peace where he could talk, cry, laugh it was a place he hoped to stay forever. ,,You are always here, dear aunt," he said and saw how she did not turn her gaze away from the sea but a slight smile came to her lips, a sad smile.

He tried to follow her gaze to find out where she was looking until he saw her nod, ,,Two families Jace from here on a good day you can see King's Landing a bit I feel closest to them…but please can I do something for you?" she asked back and turned to him e saw the tears in her eyes she seemed to have weighed another stone of guilt inside him.

He felt his heart beat faster with nervousness as he looked away from her at the sea and breathed shakily, ,,I…I apologize for what I did I thought it would help us…help my mother the queen but now I see it was wrong" he admitted lowering his own gaze and smacking the lump in his throat and wiping away the tears as the memories came back, memories of his brother, of the short happy time until it all went down.

But suddenly he felt her hand on his, a gentle squeeze and a look that told him she didn't blame him, ,,A prince who wants to protect his family is nothing to condemn believe me I don't approve of what my nephew did either and yet I tried not to do the same to you the pain is the same" she reminded him and gave him a moment before pulling him into a brief embrace the sniffling of both of them lost from the winds as they knew they had to forgive and resent everything at the same time in this uncertain time as family and as enemies.

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

Rhaenys : The queen who never was was a title she had accepted for a long time since her birth, her beloved mother and father had perhaps hoped or wished that she could become queen. She was older, had a dragon and was of the blood of the heir to the throne but she was a woman and a woman would be dropped by the council in the face of her cousin Viserys.

It was hard, the beginnings were truly hard but the longer she watched the game with Viserys the more relieved she became as she realized the dangers and her beloved husband Corlys let her know that even if she was robbed of her throne he was there for her. Until she saw herself in another woman "the queen that was meant to be" a title that belonged to Alicent's elder sister.

A woman younger than Rhaenys and yet a fate that Alicent shared, being queen was a false choice her older sister more fit for the throne than a young woman.

But it had happened and after retreating from the castle they had simply taken her away, not that she was to blame, it was a decision of the Prince Consort and she would follow her Queen.

But now whenever the two crossed paths there was a caution and understanding between them, a "My Lady" and a "My Princess" as a formal and polite form of address, even though they were enemies, they came together again and again, it was a meeting of conversation and curiosity about how to deal with such a title. A title that Rhaenys gave up and a title that she wanted to have.

A fact they both did not deny but with another meeting that evening in Rhaenys' chamber while Corlys was away showed how they fit together. ,,I ask you now as the title of a woman who never received a crown…do you believe your nephew has truly inherited the throne?" came the question as the two women sat in a chair in front of the fireplace, the light making their shadows dance and the amused smiles appear as they took a sip.

The Lady shook her head, ,,I was there when my father proclaimed the title of King…but I think we both know that was not your cousin's wish," she admitted and took a long sip. Everyone in the black party knew that Viserys had appointed his daughter, that he had given his son to a ram but not to the throne.

Rhaenys sat up slightly in the chair and leaned slowly towards the younger woman, ,,I know that, but you deserve the crown, don't you? Being passed over for a queen because of your own younger sister's looks makes you sorry, doesn't it?" she asked and saw exactly how the wariness appeared in her lady's eyes, her gaze lowered for a moment only to want to retreat, which Rhaenys didn't allow.

She had it where she wanted it and knew that even if she never got the crown, any ally in green could be used to put the black on her and create the illusion of a crown.

She knew when their eyes met she saw the determination in the Hightower's eyes she knew there was something between them, always had been, that they would use.the Lady was not a dragon but when Rhaenys placed her hand on the younger one's the fire crackled in the hearth the green seemed as hot as the dragon's blood flowing through the black.

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

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 29: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

Warnings: 18+, kissing, groping

~No Thought Unheard~

A hot, undeniable flush spread from Nora’s neck, crawling up her cheeks and setting her ears aflame. She could feel it, a betraying heat, as the full, mortifying realization slammed into her. Every single one. The absurd, nonsensical ones she’d bravely recounted to break the silence, and the intensely private ones she’d only ever dared to glimpse in the deepest recesses of her own subconscious. The ones that involved longing glances, secret touches, and desires she hadn’t even consciously admitted to herself. They were all here. Cataloged. Available. Potentially accessible by the very subject of those dreams.

Her brain, in a desperate attempt to short-circuit the utter humiliation, tried to conjure a mental image of Lucienne, spectacles perched on her nose, meticulously shelving a dream where Nora was attempting to teach Morpheus to tap dance, or a particularly vivid one involving him dramatically rescuing her from a mundane grocery store armed with only a baguette. And then, the other kind of dreams. The genuinely heated ones. The thought sent a fresh wave of agony through her.

Nora squeezed her eyes shut, a tiny, strangled groan escaping her lips. She wanted the polished obsidian floor to open up and swallow her whole. The humiliation was absolute, cosmic in its scale. “Oh, that’s nice.” she muttered, a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over her. She began to subtly walk further into the library, putting more space between herself and Morpheus, as if she could outrun the mortification.

Morpheus, his features still a mask of careful neutrality but his eyes glinting with barely suppressed amusement, watched her retreat. “Why the sudden interest in the finer details of the Dreaming’s cataloging system, Nora?” he asked, his voice a low, resonant murmur, casual yet undeniably knowing. “A moment ago, your inquiries were of ancient playwrights. Now, this… specific fascination with the inner workings of dream storage?”

Nora stumbled slightly over an invisible seam in the floor, her cheeks burning hotter. “Oh, no reason!” she chirped, trying to sound nonchalant, her voice a frantic scramble. “Just… curious. You know, general intellectual curiosity about vast, cosmic libraries and their contents! Nothing specific at all!” She quickened her pace, her black boots silent on the gleaming floor, making a beeline for a distant shelf filled with particularly ornate, glowing volumes. I just needed to be anywhere else.

Morpheus’s amusement intensified, a deep, silent chuckle that vibrated through the air, though only Nora truly heard its subtle nuance. He let her gain a few more paces, enjoying her flustered retreat. Then, with a speed that defied the elegance of his movements, he was suddenly in front of her, his dark form blocking her path. He reached out, his pale hands gently, but firmly, taking her shoulders, stopping her escape.

Nora gasped, startled, her gaze immediately dropping from his starlit eyes to his hands. His hands. Even in her current state of utter mortification, her focus was drawn to them. She’d always found them impossibly beautiful, and her mind, unbidden, replayed fleeting images of them—the way they’d held her cardigan, the gentle, repetitive motion through her hair, the feather-light touch when he’d first reached for her elbow, the firm, grounding squeeze in London. Her thoughts, a chaotic mix of embarrassment and an utterly inconvenient admiration, tumbled over each other. His hands are so elegant. The way he holds things. They just look so… strong but soft.

Morpheus’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk, that familiar glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. He slowly, deliberately, lowered his hands from her shoulders, his pale fingers lightly brushing hers as they came to rest. “It seems,” he began, his voice a silken thread of teasing that was utterly, devastatingly effective, “that my library is not the only thing that holds your… interest. You appear to have a rather particular fascination with my hands, My Star.”

Nora’s eyes snapped up to his, her face now a vibrant, furious crimson. “I… I do not!” she stammered, her voice weak and entirely unconvincing.

Morpheus’s smirk deepened. “Indeed?” he challenged, his voice warm with quiet laughter. “And yet, your attention seems to gravitate towards them with remarkable consistency. A most curious focus, given the myriad wonders of the Dreaming now laid before you. Perhaps a volume on the esoteric aesthetics of anatomical structures is in order for your next read?”

Nora wanted to scream. Or perhaps melt into the polished floor. She closed her eyes for a fleeting second, willing the universe to un-exist her. When she opened them again, Morpheus was still there, his dark eyes brimming with that infuriating, affectionate amusement, his perfect, pale hands still tantalizingly close.

“In fact,” Morpheus continued, his voice dropping to a low, silken purr that made Nora’s stomach do a nervous flutter, “if my memory recalls, you seem to…” He paused, his gaze sweeping over her face as if searching for the precise word, drawing out the exquisite torture. “…think about them quite a bit too.”

Nora’s breath hitched. Oh God. Please no…

“Let’s see,” he mused, a phantom smile playing on his lips, his voice perfectly even, betraying no hint of the utter mortification he was about to inflict. “There was the time you thought, The way he moves… it’s like watching a statue come to life.” He took a deliberate step closer, narrowing the distance between them. “And, more recently, His hands are so elegant. The way he holds things. They just look so strong but soft.”

A wave of fresh, scalding heat washed over Nora, her face burning. Those were her internal thoughts, the ones she’d had in the quiet, isolated confines of their glass prison, the ones she’d dismissed as fleeting, private observations. He’d heard every single one. The realization struck her with the force of a physical blow, stunning her into silence. The century of shared imprisonment, the seemingly unbreakable mental link, had meant nothing was truly private.

Morpheus took another step, closing the distance entirely until they were almost chest to chest. He raised a pale hand, his elegant fingers gently cupping her chin, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. His eyes, dark as the void and swirling with starlight, held hers captive.

“You are quite correct, My Star,” he murmured, his voice a low, intimate resonance that bypassed her ears and settled deep in her core. “They are strong. They are soft. And they are, quite deliberately, for you.”

His thumb, still resting on her chin, began a slow, tender stroke, sending shivers down her spine that had nothing to do with fear. His gaze, unyielding and intense, held hers as he slowly lowered his head, his dark hair brushing her forehead. The air between them thrummed, thick with unspoken possibilities, with a century of silent longing finally given voice.

Nora’s breath hitched, every nerve ending alive. His words, his presence, the sheer raw honesty of his gaze… it was everything she had secretly longed for, amplified beyond any mortal measure. Her own hand, almost unconsciously, reached up to cup his jaw, her thumb tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone. The soft brush of his hair against her forehead, the faint scent of rain and starlight that clung to him, filled her senses. It felt impossibly real, more solid and true than anything in the waking world.

“For… for me?” she whispered, her voice barely a breath, filled with an awe that bordered on disbelief. The words, the feeling that resonated from him, were so utterly consuming, so beautifully overwhelming.

Morpheus’s eyes, those endless pools of starlight, deepened, reflecting a tenderness she had only glimpsed in moments of crisis or shared vulnerability. “For you, My Star,” he affirmed, his voice a low, intimate murmur that seemed to wrap around her soul. “It always has been. Even when I could not, would not, acknowledge it.” His thumb continued its gentle stroke on her chin, an anchor in the dizzying intensity of the moment. “You brought light to my silence, color to my gloom. You saw me, not merely as a king, but as a being worthy of… something more.”

He leaned in further, his dark eyes never leaving hers, the distance between their lips now agonizingly small. The air thrummed with unspoken desire, with a century of yearning finally on the precipice of release. This was it. The moment she had never dared to dream of, yet had lived for.

Morpheus leaned closer, the last sliver of space between them dissolving. Nora's breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed as his lips finally met hers. It was not a gentle brush, but a kiss of deep, overwhelming intensity, a century of unspoken longing and unacknowledged desire finally erupting. It tasted of starlight and ozone, of ancient dreams and newly formed hope, a taste utterly unique to him. His hands, which had cupped her chin, now moved to cradle her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as the kiss deepened, pulling her into a vortex of sensation.

Nora responded with equal fervor, her fingers tightening on his jaw, pulling him impossibly closer. The world, the vast library with its infinite stories, the very fabric of The Dreaming, seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in a singular, timeless moment. It was a kiss that promised forever, that healed old wounds, and ignited new, thrilling possibilities.

When they finally broke apart, it was only for air, their foreheads resting against each other, breaths ragged and uneven. Morpheus's eyes, usually so composed, were alight with a raw, almost fierce emotion she had rarely seen. His lips, still close to hers, were parted slightly, a soft, satisfied sigh escaping him.

Nora's own heart hammered against her ribs, a wild drumbeat of euphoria. Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips tingling. "Oh Morpheus," she breathed, the name a soft exhalation of wonder and disbelief.

He tightened his grip on her face, his gaze searching hers. "Nora," he murmured, his voice husky, laden with a tenderness that stole her breath away. "My Nora." The way he spoke her name, imbued with such possessive warmth, sent a fresh wave of shivers through her.

He pulled back just enough to look at her fully, his thumb still tracing the line of her cheekbone. "It seems," he said, a faint, contented smile gracing his lips, "my library is not the only place where dreams are given form." His eyes dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes, a silent promise in their depths. "And I find, My Star, that your dreams... are quite beautiful."

Nora didn’t need further prompting. The lingering warmth of his words, the heady intimacy of his gaze, propelled her. With a soft gasp, she tightened her grip on his jaw, pulling him back in. Her fingers threaded into the impossibly soft, raven black strands of his hair, a rebellious act that thrilled her to her core. She tugged, gently but insistently, drawing his head down as her lips met his once more.

This kiss was a conflagration, an unleashing of all the restrained passion and desperate affection that had simmered between them for decades. Her fingers tangled deeper in his hair, pulling him closer still, and she felt a low, guttural groan vibrate from deep within his chest, a sound that sent a jolt of raw pleasure through her. Morpheus responded with equal, unbridled intensity, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist, crushing her against his form, the familiar, comforting weight of his usual long wool coat pressing against her. The world, the vast library with its infinite stories, the very fabric of the Dreaming, seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in a singular, timeless moment. It was a kiss that promised forever, that healed old wounds, and ignited new, thrilling possibilities.

Suddenly, Morpheus shifted, his hands leaving her waist to cup her thighs. With a surge of unexpected strength, he hoisted her up effortlessly, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as she found herself pressed against a towering bookshelf. The faint scent of aged paper and dream-dust filled her nostrils, a surreal backdrop to the escalating passion. His body, hard and warm, pressed against hers, the movement itself an intimate dance.

Nora’s head fell back against the shelf with a soft thud, a breathless gasp escaping her lips. His lips, wet and demanding, left hers, trailing a burning path down her jawline to her throat. The sharp nip of his teeth, a light, teasing bite, sent shivers convulsing through her.

Her fingers, still woven into his hair, tightened, pulling his head fractionally closer. “All this time,” she gasped out, the words catching in her throat as his kisses ignited a trail of fire down her neck, “all my thoughts… you’ve heard.”

Morpheus gave her another soft, teasing nip, drawing a sharp intake of breath from her. Then, a low, rich chuckle rumbled up from his chest, and Nora felt his smile spread against the sensitive skin of her throat.

“You never thought to share that?” she whispered, a desperate plea tinged with humor and lingering embarrassment.

His voice, a low, utterly devilish murmur against her pulse point, sent goosebumps across her skin. “Why, My Star,” he purred, his smile deepening, “why would I not want to keep such delightful thoughts to myself? They were, after all, some of my most cherished entertainments during our… confinement.” He chuckled again, the sound vibrating through her, before resuming his slow, devastating exploration of her throat, each kiss a silent testament to the wealth of information he possessed, and his utterly charming, infuriating refusal to let her forget it. The library hummed around them, a silent, knowing witness to the newest story being written within its ancient walls.

Nora’s mind, reeling from the sudden, delightful chaos, tried to find something, anything, to latch onto that wasn’t the sheer, overwhelming intimacy of the moment. Her brain, true to form, defaulted to frantic over-analysis.

“You know,” she began, her voice a little breathless, her fingers still tangled in his hair, “this is a lot. Like, a lot a lot. First, the whole ‘you heard my thoughts’ thing, which, by the way, is a huge invasion of privacy, just saying. And now, you’re just, like, confirming you find my internal monologues about your hands ‘delightful’ and, honestly, that’s both incredibly flattering and also supremely terrifying because what else have you heard?” Oh God, what else? That time I thought he looked like a gothic statue carved by a Greek god when he was just sitting there, all pale skin and raven hair? Or when I wondered if his thighs were as impossibly firm as they looked, considering he never moved?

Morpheus gave her pulse point a little nip, a teasing spark that flared against her skin, and then began to lightly suck on that sweet, vulnerable spot just under her ear. Nora sucked in a sharp, involuntary breath, her head tilting back further, offering him more access. Okay, what about that time he was just unclothed and… and… oh, words… fumble… brain no work…

Morpheus, who had been listening to her delightful, rambling internal panic with a growing, tender amusement that shimmered in the starlight of his eyes, decided she had rambled quite enough. Her verbal deluge, while undeniably endearing, was a distraction from the far more interesting, unspoken conversation their bodies were having. Without a word, without breaking the intoxicating rhythm of his kisses on her neck, he raised his head, cutting off her stream of anxious chatter with a deep, silencing kiss on her lips.

It was fierce, possessive, and utterly effective. His mouth claimed hers, a hunger that brooked no argument. When Nora tightened her grip on his hair, her fingers tingling deeper in the dark strands, she felt the unmistakable tremor of his body, and Morpheus groaned into her mouth, a primal sound that dissolved into her, sending a jolt of pleasure through her that made her own body hum in response, vibrating with an almost painful urgency.

Morpheus, whose hands were already on her thighs, gripped tighter, his fingers digging in just enough to anchor her. With a surge of raw, effortless strength, he lifted her slightly more against the towering bookshelf, their bodies aligning with a seamless precision that left no sliver of space between them. Her body was flush against his long, lean frame, the comforting, yet suddenly maddening, weight of his wool coat pressing between them. Then, with a fluid grace that was uniquely his, he moved one hand, trailing it up the side of her body, leaving a path of tingles and warmth in its wake. He then grasped the nape of her neck, his fingers strong and demanding, tangling in the hair at the base of her skull, and forcibly tilted her head to deepen the kiss further. Nora moaned deeply into his mouth, a raw, yearning sound of pure surrender that was both heard and felt, a guttural sound that thrilled him in return.

One of Nora’s hands slipped from his hair, letting it slide down Morpheus’s back, over the smooth, rich wool of his long coat. The thick fabric, while luxurious, was a frustrating barrier, and an almost desperate need surged through her. Fuck, she just wanted to feel his skin. To feel the tautness of his muscles beneath her palm. Why did he have so many damn layers on? It was ridiculously, cruelly unfair. Her nails, almost unconsciously, scraped lightly against the wool, a silent plea for less cloth, more contact.

Morpheus subtly ground his hips into hers, a slow, deliberate movement that made Nora gasp against his lips, her body arching involuntarily into his, a sudden, sharp ache blooming deep within her. He took advantage of her sharp intake of breath, deepening the kiss even more, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, caressing hers with a possessive, exquisite rhythm that stole what remained of her coherence. Every nerve ending screamed, every thought evaporated into a glorious, formless haze.

After Morpheus had decided that Nora was thoroughly wrecked with that kiss, her brain a delightful, steaming pile of mush, he finally broke the contact of their lips. He leaned his forehead against hers, his breath coming in ragged whispers that mingled with her own, his dark eyes still closed for a moment.

He then slowly, slowly lowered her legs back to the ground, her feet finding purchase on the polished floor, the slight tremble in her limbs a testament to the intensity of their embrace. He kept one hand wrapped firmly around her waist, keeping her stable, his touch a warm anchor.

Soon, My Star, his thought resonated, a warm, overwhelming wave of passion, arousal, and deep, possessive affection flooding through their bond. As the initial thought settled, Morpheus opened his eyes, leaning back just slightly to appreciate Nora, her flushed face, her swollen lips, her eyes still hazy with lingering desire. He could almost see Nora’s brain kick-start, the words making their way through the blissful haze of the kiss’s aftermath, finally processing in her head. When the full weight of his words truly kicked in, Nora’s eyes fluttered open, looking up at him. She saw that Morpheus’s eyes were super dark, almost black, overcome with an undeniable, raw arousal.

Then, his voice, deeper and more rumbly than she had ever heard it, echoed in her mind: Very soon, you will feel every part of me.

Nora, who completely got the double meaning—the promise of his full presence, physically and emotionally—couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excited eagerness surge through her. Her own body, still pressed flush against his, throbbed in eager anticipation, every fiber of her being humming with a silent, fervent “Yes.”

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

Next Chapter

[darlingweareatragedy]

fated - part 3

Summary ~ There’s nothing worse for a deity than to be abandoned by their maker. You’re saved by the one who’s watched you for centuries, Morpheus, the King of Dreams.....But your rescue comes with a price.

Warnings: Smut, Dark Dream/Morpheus x Goddess Reader, Psychological Manipulation, Possessiveness, Obsession, NonCon/DubCon, Power Imbalance, Gaslighting, Captivity, Gothic Horror, Gothic Romance

Part 1, Part 2

There is no pain quite like becoming unwanted by the one who made you.

Once, you had stepped into Desire’s throne room like a second sun, burning, bright, impossible to look away from. Your lips were wine-dark, your skin kissed by golden fire, your presence magnetic. You had been their finest creation. Their favorite.

Now, when you return… they barely glance your way.

Their eyes don’t linger. Their praise doesn’t come. There is no punishment, only a subtler cruelty: silence. Distance. As if they are already unmaking you in their mind.

You feel the withering. Your power, once effortless, stutters. Where once you radiated seduction, now you are a pale beauty fading at the edges. Lips turned pink, hair no longer gleaming, the heat of divine attention gone.

When you place the pouch of sand at their feet, Desire snorts, tosses it back with two fingers.

“It doesn’t open for me,” they say, disinterested. “Must be broken.”

Still… later in the privacy of your own chambers, when you open the pouch and it responds to your touch, warm, alive, you feel a chill curl around your spine.

You try to hide among mortals, lean into old habits. You charm one—a soft-eyed poet, full of yearning. But where it once took a glance, now it drains you. Your beauty sways him, but it’s a performance wrung from exhaustion.

When he grows obsessive, when his affection turns sharp, you use the last flicker of your charm to escape him.

You let your lips brush his jaw. Whispered sweet nothings into the shell of his ear. You let your fingers drift across his chest, slow and trembling. You laughed softly….too softly, tucking your head beneath his chin like a lover who had simply needed a moment to remember her place.

And when he relaxed, when he sighed like a man forgiven by God, you slipped free.

You walked away on trembling legs, heart hammering like a frightened bird against its cage.

What once had been effortless, natural…..now drained you.

The glamour flickered like a dying candle. You felt it leave you in pieces, through your breath, your pulse, the weight of each step. By the time you returned to your chambers, your limbs shook from exhaustion. Your hands could barely unlace your corset. Your body felt brittle.

And worst of all…

You couldn’t stop yourself.

You tried.

But sleep claimed you.

And for the first time in ages, you dreamed.

You, who had been born outside the edges of dreams. You, who once danced through the realm of sleep like a shadow no god could grasp. You, who had been untouchable.

Now, you were vulnerable.

Soft. Open. Unprotected.

And the Dreaming welcomed you like a lover who had been waiting far too long.

𓆩༺𓆪

The dream began with roses.

Dead, poisoned roses.

They bloomed from the marble floor of a cathedral built from bone and starlight, each black petal curling with frost, rimmed in blood. The altar dripped red like a wounded thing. Columns wept rusted wax. The vaulted ceiling groaned under the weight of skulls, cracked and silent, stitched together by strands of hair and blood to form a grotesque tapestry.

And you stood in the center of it all.

Barefoot. Pale.

Blood dripped from the ceiling like rain, cold and slick across your shoulders.

No longer the divine terror you once were.

Your beauty had withered into something tragic, lips faded to soft pink instead of red, skin leached of its golden warmth, hair dulled like wet ash. The glamour you once wore like armor now clung to you in tattered fragments. Every breath felt like a thread pulled too tight through your ribs.

Still, you lifted your chin.

You were Desire’s creation. A weapon forged in want. You would not flinch.

“I am not afraid of dreams,” you spat into the gloom.

The voice that answered was familiar, his voice, the voice of your soulmate. But no longer gentle. No longer reverent. It was laced now with betrayal. With anger.

“No. But you should be afraid of memory.”

Morpheus.

Your name echoed through the cathedral, whispered by unseen mouths. Then the whispers took shape, voices you recognized, lovers from centuries past, their words twisted in awe, broken by agony.

And then—

The first door opened.

From it stumbled Paris of Troy, no longer golden, no longer radiant. One half of his face was burned to bone, blackened and raw. His left eye sealed shut by melted skin. In his hand, he still clutched the shattered remnants of a laurel crown, blood-soaked, skeletal fingers curled tight.

“You told me I was worth the war,” he hissed. “So I gave you my world. And you vanished when the fire reached the gates.”

The second door creaked open.

Lord Byron stepped through, lips tinged blue with opium, fingers smeared in half-dried ink. One hand held a torn manuscript, slit down the center like a wound, the pages fluttering like dying wings. Blood dripped slowly from his ears, soaking the collar of his ruined cravat.

“You made agony divine,” he whispered. “And I drank it like wine. You kissed me once and left a thousand sonnets to rot.”

Next came Hamlet, barefoot and wide-eyed, a tattered doublet clinging with graveyard rot. Maggots squirmed in his matted curls. In his trembling hands, he carried a cracked mirror, and in it, your reflection smiled back.

But it was not your face.

It was older. Monstrous. Your eyes glowed with cruelty. Your smile was ruin incarnate.

Tristan followed, limping, the hilt of a broken sword lodged deep in his stomach. His once-white tunic clung like rotted flesh, crusted thick with coagulated blood and festering grime.

His hollow eyes gaped wide, empty pits of silent accusation, while darkened veins writhed beneath pallid, bruised skin.

You took an involuntary step back, trembling in fear, disgust, guilt, and still they came.

Dante, tongue cut out, scribbling his sorrow in blood across scraps of ruined parchment, his tears falling for a Beatrice he could no longer speak of.

Poe, eyes sunken, mouth dripping blood. A dead raven clung to his shoulder, whispering your name like a death knell.

Each man, a monument to your sins.

Each, a ruin that bore your mark.

A shrine of grief. A mirror of destruction.

You stepped back. Slowly. Trembling.

The cathedral walls crept inward. The incense turned to rot. Blood trickled faster down the columns like veins bleeding into the floor.

And then….his voice.

“You made them into tragedies.”

You turned.

And there he stood.

The King of Dreams.

Tall. Still. Terrible.

His cloak bled starlight and shadow. His eyes burned like dying stars, betrayal, desire, grief, fury, all woven into a gaze that pierced through centuries. The hem of his coat dragged sand behind him, and wherever it touched, the marble cracked and rotted away.

He lifted a hand.

The nightmare obeyed.

The lovers fell to their knees, marionettes now. Their mouths twisted into soundless screams.

“You call it love,” he said coldly. “But what you do, it devours.”

You clenched your fists.

“I never forced them—”

“No,” he said. “You enchanted them. You let them believe they were gods in your gaze. You gave them a taste of forever and left them to rot.”

A cold wind howled through the cathedral, unnatural and sharp as razors. The corpses wailed.

Their mouths opened too wide. Their teeth crumbled like chalk. Their eyes poured ink and ash. And still, they reached for you. Fingers missing. Skin peeling.

You turned, tried to flee.

But he was already there.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice like velvet pulled over knives, “do you even remember their names? Or only how they made you feel?”

You shook. You remembered them. Their warmth. Their songs. Their tears.

But you also remembered your purpose. Desire had made you to be worshipped, to be wanted. You had tried once to be more.

But gods do not escape their nature…..A wolf will feed. Even if it loves the lamb.

“Not like this,” you murmured. “Not when you throw it in my face like a funeral dirge.”

His hands gripped your shoulders.

Too tight.

You felt the rage coil beneath his touch. But worse, far worse was the longing.

“I should let their ghosts tear you apart,” he said, voice cracking like marble under weight.

His hands gripped your shoulders, drawing you close. Too close.

“But I am selfish too,” he murmured against your lips. “And I want you all to myself.”

You tilted your head, defiant still.

“Then punish me.”

His voice dropped to a velvet snarl.

“This is not punishment. This is prophecy.”

And then…the cathedral collapsed.

The skulls above shattered like glass. The stained windows screamed. The lovers’ bodies burst into ash, their wails folding into the stone. A storm of grief howled around you. The roses withered black.

And as the temple of your sins came crashing down—

You fell.

Into darkness.

Into him.

𓆩༺𓆪

You landed hard on the altar, gasping. The kiss tore through you like wine through an open wound. Hot. Violent. Claiming.

He pushed you back, onto a black marble altar rising from the floor like a tomb.

“You are cruel,” he whispered, trailing fingers down your thighs. “But even cruelty can be worshipped.”

His mouth moved to your throat, biting, sucking, leaving bruises in the shape of possession.

“I’ve dreamed of you.”

A thrust of his hips against yours.

“I’ve borne the silence of your absence, and now you’re finally here…mine.”

You writhed beneath him, too breathless to retort. He tore the silk from your hips, fingers sliding into your heat.

“Is this what you gave to them?” he snarled. “This sweetness? These cries?”

You tried to lift your chin in defiance. But then he thrust into you.

Hard.

Deep.

You gasped, head thrown back, pleasure and pain twisting tight in your gut.

“You wore their crowns,” he growled. “You drank their devotion like wine.”

Another thrust. Your fingers scrambled at the altar for purchase.

“But you never let them in. Not like this.”

His pace was punishing now, each snap of his hips an accusation.

“You think I haven’t seen them?” he snarled into your ear. “The way they begged? The way you smiled when they succumbed to their desire for you and fell into ruin?” His hand slipped to your throat, just the lightest pressure.

You were drenched.

Burning.

Ravaged.

“You wear your heartlessness like armor,” he murmured. “But I will make you feel.”

You sobbed….half-laughing, half-breaking.

Because you hated him. You needed him. You would never admit it. But his name was already slipping from your lips.

Morpheus….Morpheus….Morpheus.

He stilled inside you. And pulled out.

You gasped in protest, until he gripped your jaw, tilted your head back, and spilled his essence across your face.

Hot.

Claiming.

Sacred.

“If you would rather be Desire’s whore than be my queen,” he said darkly, “then I will treat you like one. But you’ll dream of me when they abandon you. And you’ll wake aching for the only one who never begged for your love….only your surrender.”

𓆩༺𓆪

You awoke on the floor of your sanctuary, trembling. Your skin glowed faintly, unnaturally. You could still feel him inside you, his voice echoing in your bones.

Then your eyes fell to the pouch. It lay just beyond your outstretched hand. Dream’s sand. Glinting faintly. Whispering louder than thought.

You stared.

In your chest, shame bloomed, hot and suffocating. Shame that you had let him have you. That you had wanted him. That you'd whispered his name like a vow in the hollow of your dream.

Rage followed. At him. At yourself.

You reached for the pouch. And in one trembling breath, one moment of weakness, you opened it. The power shimmered, seductive, endless, singing with the voice of galaxies.

You told yourself it would only be once.

Only a taste.

Just enough to remind yourself who you were.

But you remembered Rachel. The mortal woman who had breathed Dream’s sand and unraveled.You had watched her fall to pieces in a haze of fantasy, her skin turned to shadow, her mind to ash.

But you were no mortal.

You were a goddess.

You inhaled the dream sand.

And your body lit like a temple set aflame.

Color rushed back to your lips,red, rich, full.

Your skin shimmered, kissed gold by memory. Your laughter spilled out sharp, too bright, cracking the silence like glass. You were yourself again.

Or something like it.

The power surged through you like an old friend returned from war, loving, brutal, unstoppable.You laughed, softly.

Yes. There you were again.

But then—

The mirror across the room rippled.Just slightly. Like breath on glass. You turned. Nothing moved. And yet your reflection ..... didn’t blink when you did.

For a moment, your smile hung on your face like a mask, too fixed, too sharp. You looked at your own eyes and thought: That’s not how they used to look. You blinked.

And the reflection was fine.

The mirror was whole. Still, the back of your neck prickled.

Not with fear. Not yet.

Just a flicker of doubt.

Like waking from a dream you hadn’t realized you were dreaming.

And not being sure you’d truly woken up.

[eldritchscribblings]

Ever At Odds

Thranduil X Reader

Part 2

Reader is an artist who has taken up a temporary residence in Mirkwood, but keeps bumping into an irritatingly handsome elf king. What happens when a late night encounter forces them together?

Word Count: 2876

Warnings:

swearing

part two will have smut

Notes: I'm sorryyyyyy I didn't want there to be a part two but it took me so long to write this part and I wanted to get it out asap for y'all <3 Pt 2 will be out soon, I'm moving across the country, so writing is slow rn.

A cold autumn wind blew through the halls of Mirkwood, biting into the very bones of those who dared set foot in the ancient woodland realm. In the ages past that bitter wind would have only howled, but its teeth had grown sharper in recent times. Not only did the wind sink its teeth into those unprepared for the woods, but it had turned its teeth upon its own people; the elves, as well. The time of elves on Middle Earth was drawing to an end.

You, of course, were well aware of that from your perch in Imladris, watching as elves dwindled and men rose to power. You were a long way off from leaving for the Undying Lands yourself, but you had already begun to feel that tug in your soul to move from your idle nest and wander towards the sea. And so you’d decided to bide your time by traveling middle earth and sketching all that was old and new among the elves; making a record of what you’d leave behind. It had been a comforting work to put your brush and pencils to paper and convey the millennia of love and sorrow that each individual stone and sapling possessed, and it had satiated you to know that once your work was completed you could leave Middle Earth with a contented heart. But as every tree must survive a storm at some point, your storm came in the form of an elven man with thick furrowed brows and a disposition that would make soot taste sweet; King Thranduil Oropherion of the Woodland Realm.

You’d arrived in Mirkwood nearly two years prior after being rescued from a giant spider by the guards and losing your favorite quill (poor Flutterflick) among the leaf strewn ground. After a quick interrogation, you were released into Mirkwood to do your duty, and yet everywhere you went for peace and tranquility you seemed to run into the Elven King. The first time it happened you hadn’t realized who he was until he threatened to have you locked in the dungeon for disagreeing with him on the best elven wine and whether charcoal was best used compressed or as a powder. You’d tried to avoid him after that, and yet this maze of a realm kept twisting you back towards him whenever you tried to get away. Which was how you found yourself sitting in an archway sketching your view of the vaulted ceiling within this particular area of the hall in the middle of the night, using a candlestick as a light.

It was the wee hours of the morning; a time you were certain the tall blond of your nightmares would be having one of his own, far away from where you’d secluded yourself. The only noises were the hush of a breeze blowing through an open window and the soft scratching of your pencil against the parchment you’d clipped to the thin drawing board in your lap. Your eyes darted seamlessly from the page to the section of empty hall you were drawing, your steady hand moving quickly to gesture in the wider picture so that detail could blossom with ease when you pulled out your softer charcoal. With the silent night enveloping you, it had been easy to fall into a trance of placing your pencil to paper and letting the world fall away into lines and values. You should’ve known the peace wouldn’t last.

“It’s a bit late for sketching fine architecture.” Thranduil’s voice echoed from behind you, and you sighed and pressed your lips together in irritation.

“My aim was to be uninterrupted, My King,” you spoke slowly and surely, presenting each word as nothing more than it claimed to be in hopes he would leave you alone. “It’s a bit late for anyone to roam the halls alone, don’t you think?”

“I am not alone, and neither are you now.” Realizing you had no intent to face him, he walked around and knelt in front of you with a disappointedly curious expression. “How fortunate it is that we can keep each other company on such lonesome nights.”

“Oh, please.” You met his steely blue gaze with a challenging one of your own, attempting to prove yourself unafraid and ward him off. “You and I both know that the two of us together always leads to disaster.”

“Only because you bring disaster with you everywhere.” Thranduil laughed softly and licked the pad of his forefinger before pinching out the flame of your candle between his forefinger and thumb. You were grateful for the darkness to hide a traitorous blush growing on your cheeks, undercutting your disturbed expression. “Finish your sketch in the daylight. You’ll make fewer proportional errors.”

“Is poisoning your kindness with insults meant to be amusing or alluring? Because it is neither.” The only reason you were so confident with your words was because the worst Thranduil could do is send you where you already planned to go ahead of schedule. Of course that was only in theory. In truth, a part of you enjoyed the little games you played together; the spiteful spitting of venom brought energy to your day, negative or positive. You couldn’t deny he was a handsome King, but you could deny giving him the satisfaction of knowing you held him in any regard.

“Have I misled myself on the quality of your mettle? Forgive me if I have caused any true harm.” The first sentence was a sharp retort, the same wit you had begun to expect from him. The second was genuine in a way that surprised you.

“Don’t delude yourself. The only way you could bring any harm to me is with a blade. And I doubt you’d want to stain this lovely hallway.” You responded with a similar genuineness that you hid within your humor, although by the look of his expression he seemed relieved enough to surmise he’d picked up your intent.

What the fuck was your intent? Half flirting with a widowed king? He was an elf who could toss you out a window or carry you down to the dungeons as easily as he’d carry a sack of grain. You inhaled and sharply shoved your charcoal pencil back into your pouch, looking away from Thranduil to shove the image of him carrying sacks of wheat like a handsome miller’s son out of your mind. Truth is you’d daydreamed about kissing Thranduil to shut him up as much as you’d daydreamed about killing him for the same outcome. It was strange to think of how a two letter difference changed the entire context of your fantasies.

“I am no mortal man so easily prone to violence. I take offense that you would think I am capable of such a thing.” Thranduil’s voice changed tone, causing you to look at him again. He was dead serious with a furrowed brow as he knelt before you, reaching forward to take your hand in his. “My guards brought you here and promised you safety. I will not make liars of them.”

“A noble, if impersonal, thought.” You responded with an equal amount of seriousness, gathering your supplies in one hand and placing the other in his as he helped you to a standing position. His intent mystified you, making you unsure of if you’d been wrong about him or if this was a lure to finally catch you when you least expected it. Either way, as you began to walk down the hall back to your rooms he walked beside you with the smallest hint of a smile on his otherwise serious face.

“Do you really think of me as cruel and unkind?” Thranduil asked softly after you had traversed a fair amount of the hall.

“Yes and no.” You replied after taking a moment to chew through your words. It was strange of him to ask the question, stranger still for you to answer honestly. You were friends, but it was a friendship that danced a fine line between confidants and the king and his favorite jester. “I think you capable of cruelty. I think your role requires unkindness. Your presentation fits the role you fulfill. I would no more expect a thatched roof on a palace than a wisened king to be tender hearted.”

“I don’t like the word wisened; it makes me feel old.” Thranduil interjected despite you being done speaking. “But I understand. And I appreciate your point of view. You’re insightful. It’s fitting for your role as an observer. I am curious, I always see you drawing and sketching instead of talking to your fellows. I’m curious as to what you draw when you’re not intending on showing it off to people.”

“Truth be told, it’s mostly animals and people. I carry around smaller sketchbooks for those and it’s idle work to do while I watch and listen to those around me.” You felt the words leave your mouth before you could stop them. Not even death would stop you from blabbing about your art when prodded. “Of course, for those sketches I prefer drawing with metals. You can use a stylus made of silver to make marks upon parchment as well as any charcoal. It’s quite beautiful in the light.”

“Then I must see them.” Thranduil stopped abruptly, causing you to have to turn around after several paces and realize he was at the door to your chambers. If you’d known you were close to your rooms you would’ve just stayed quiet. Having the Elven King in your bedroom, looking at your art, was a bad idea.

Art was your escape, your passion, your diary. There were notes about your feelings and poems about your life scrawled among the pages among grocery lists and drawings of cats napping in sunlight. There were also -you realized with sinking dread- one or two drawings of the King that you did not want him to see. You had to get out of this.

“Sire, it’s very late-“

“Nonsense, you’re up later than this quite frequently, as am I.” He stood by your door, waiting for you to open it for him. His excitement faltered for a moment as he seemed to consider the situation, and he then added; “If you truly do not desire it, I will not impose myself.”

“No, I simply hesitate because I am afraid you will not find my art as impressive as you hope.” Your eyes were firmly on the handle of your door as you opened it and allowed yourself and Thranduil into your rooms. He was very close to you as he entered behind you, and you caught a hint of his scent of petrichor and spices in a way that sent your head spinning. 

Your rooms were simple. Far from grand with books and papers strewn about haphazardly. As you entered you felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you at the state of your things, but you would not let it show. Your bed was in one corner, luckily you had remembered to make it up before leaving, but the bedside tables were covered in strewn papers and pencils. In the opposing corner there was a desk with your notebooks and sketches, and that was where Thranduil made his way to as soon as he entered.

“You live your life messily.” He stated, looking around the room before passively picking up one of your loose sketches from your desk. It was a picture of a young couple walking the halls together arm in arm, oblivious to any observer. Oblivious to you. “I do not question it. You prefer to be hidden away whenever you leave your chambers, so it must be comforting to have such things to hide yourself behind in your own dwelling.” He chuckled, glancing at you as he perused through your art, leafing through the piles of sketches on your desk. It wasn’t as if you could tell him not to, and although you were surprised at his understanding of you, you’d never admit to yourself or him whether he was right or not. 

“Or perhaps you simply collect too much and want it all near you, like a raven building its nest.” Thranduil continued despite your silence, unphased by it. He reached for a drawing closer to you, his eyes meeting yours for the briefest moment that sent a shameful shiver down your spine. It was only when his gaze left you that you realized he had grabbed one of the drawings of him, but before you could protest, he had turned it over to look at it. It was one of the less embarrassing ones; he was sitting with his chin resting on his fist, staring off into some uncaptured distance. His face was peaceful and yet melancholy. It had been at one of the star celebrations that you had forgotten the name of last year; you had been sat at the sidelines happily drawing those partaking in the merriment when you had seen him. His sadness as he sat on his perch above his kin had captured your attention, and you hastened to put his likeness on your paper lest the spell of the moment be broken. He was beautiful to you in that moment, beautiful and wounded. The moment had ended with your eyes meeting and him sending a prideful smirk your way that left your stomach churning, but you would always remember how striking it was to see past his hardened exterior for one brief moment.

As you watched him then, taking in that art piece that had truly cemented your growing fascination with the widowed king, you could not decipher the emotions on his face. His brow furrowed as he traced the lines of his face as they were portrayed on paper, and he hunched over the drawing to better see its details. You almost made a joke, just to break the hideous silence, and yet something stopped you. Your words were stoppered in your throat with tenuous curiosity and something inside you told you to bite your tongue.

“I remember this night,” Thranduil whispered, tracing the roughly sketched embroidery on his portrait. “I was lost in thought, not one of them was pleasant, but my mind was determined to see the end of the chain. I could sense eyes on me, but there is always one person or another watching my every move.” He looked up at you, and the depth of his gaze was hauntingly sirenic, like a calm sea below a dark gray sky. “You were different. I saw your brow furrowed as you looked at me, always fiery and determined to find a flaw where no one else will.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face, no more than a twitch of his eyes, and yet it comforted you. 

“A gap in your personified stoicism is more so due to a lack of divinity than any flaw.” The words flowed easily from your lips, and you stepped closer to him so you could look at your art. “Truthfully, when I found you ‘lacking’, I found you more fascinating than I did when I believed you perfect. Like how a fly, when caught in amber, reveals the quality of the jewel.”

“Am I to be the fly in this metaphor?” He teased, lowering the drawing and stepping closer to you.

“You are aware of what I intended, my lord.” The tone of the conversation had turned lighter, but the air remained tense. It was taking all your might to will yourself not to look at his lips, or his chest, or anywhere but his eyes or your feet. You were afraid any slight unexpected movement would be perceived the wrong way and break the wavering thread of connection between you. 

“What if I were not? What if we were to spend another year misinterpreting each other? Dragging out your stay here in Mirkwood for no perceivable reason?” He seemed as hesitant to move as you were, waiting for some unknown signal to allow him to act.

“Then I suppose, should I be prevented from completing my work, I would need to stay here longer.” You were beginning to catch on. Perhaps there was more to this banter and teasing than you had originally thought. Perhaps the guilt-ridden attraction that had festered deep within your gut was mirrored in his own tumultuous emotions. You leaned slightly closer, taking your drawing from his hands and setting aside. 

“To properly record Mirkwood in such sketches as yours would take decades…” Thranduil drew out the idea, but did not finish it. Instead, he stepped forward and tenderly placed his hand upon your cheek, caressing you gently. “May I kiss you?”

The thought struck you like a blind man meeting a drunken bird, and you inhaled sharply as reality dug its cruel claws into your skin. He was the king. He had asked you to kiss him. But more than the king, he was Thranduil. Your playful nemesis who was the bane of all your existence and yet whose presence you yearned for in the darkest parts of night. Was this change in your relationship worth it? Was this a risk worth taking?

“Yes.”

[dark-and-kawaii]

Tiefling bachelors reacting to someone smacking or coping a feel of his partner's butt in passing? What does he do?

˖⁺‧₊˚✦ Don't Touch ✦˚₊‧⁺˖

✦ Awhhh I loved doing this one!!! We love us some protective tiefling bachelors!!! I hope you enjoy these *nervous laughter* xoxo

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ I feel like Zevlor is a man that pays close attention to his surroundings, so you can count on him when it comes to those who wish to pass on by and cop a feel.

It was such a lovely day in Baldurs Gate, the air was filled with the scents of exotic spices and the colorful sights of stalls brimming with goods from across the realms as you and Zevlor walked through Baldurs Gate. Zevlor, ever watchful, stayed close by your side, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd, “You never know what could happen in a place like this,” Zevlor murmured. His presence always making you feel protected in the sea of faces.

“Oooh look at this one!” you paused to admire a stall with shimmering fabrics,. Out of the corner of Zevlor’s eyes, he noticed a man weaving through the crowd towards you, his intentions clear. Just as the stranger's hand stretched out towards you, Zevlor acted swiftly.

Without hesitation, like the seasoned soldier he was, Zevlor grabbed the man's wrist, stopping him in his tracks, “I’d Mind your hands, if I were you.” His voice was calm but carried a deadly warning. His grip tightening just enough to make the man wince, his face contorting in pain.

The man, realizing his mistake, tried to pull away, but Zevlor's hold was unyielding, “Think before you act, for you never know whom you might run into,” Zevlor added, his tone stern. After a moment, he pushed the man back into the crowd, his eyes never leaving the stranger until he disappeared into the crowd of people.

You looked up at Zevlor, “And here I was going to say you worry too much.” gratitude filled your eyes and you gently kissed his cheek, “always my steadfast shield.”

With a soft smile, his arm finding its way around your waist, he pulled you close, “let’s not allow that to ruin our day.”

For the rest of the day, Zevlor kept you close to his side, his tail gently coiled around your thigh, a silent promise of safety. His hand resting at your side, while you continued to explore the market.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ After everything happened with Lorroakan, Rolan was no longer afraid to get handsy with those that mistreated him or others, especially if it involved you.

Today Rolan found himself walking alongside you, Cal, and Lia through the city during a festival. The wizard would’ve preferred to stay in his tower but you all had insisted that he come with. Cal being the one to convince him, ‘she could get into trouble and need her fancy wizard to come to her rescue for once.’ Is what he had said. Crossing his arms annoyed, Rolan continued walking.

Laughing, you nudged him gently with your elbow. “Come on, Rolan. Even you can't deny it's nice to take a break from your books and potions.” Rolan's lips twitched into a rare, fleeting smile, “Perhaps. But only because the three children are enjoying it,” he said referring to you three.

As you absorbed the joy and laughter around you, a sudden jolt disrupted the harmony. You felt a sharp smack on your rear followed by a leering voice slurring, “Hey, sweetheart, how about a kiss for the brave festival hero?”

Instantly, Rolan's demeanor shifted as he spun around to face the pig of a man. Rolan’s tail quickly brought you behind him, “Stay behind me,” he murmured, his voice low and controlled, but with an unmistakable edge of anger.

The man laughed mockingly, stepping closer. “What's this? The little devil's got a temper, eh?”

Without breaking eye contact, Rolan raised his hand, fingers weaving through the air, chanting under his breath. The air around the man's feet began to shimmer, and suddenly, he yelped as his feet were bound by glowing ethereal chains, rooting him to the spot. Rolan's gaze was icy as he stepped towards the bound man, “I would choose your next words very carefully if I were you," he warned, his voice steady.

Lia and Call watched on the sidelines in awe, proud that their brother got to finally be your protector for once.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Dammon has a gentle heart, is soft spoken, and usually always tries to help someone in need. Confrontation? Nah, not really his jam. He had always been more at home among his anvils and hammers than dealing with confrontation. However, today something snapped, perhaps it was because it involved you.

As his hammer came down, shaping a new blade from glowing steel, a commotion- your voice, had broken his focus. Whipping around, he caught sight of a passerby hastily retreating his hand from your backside with a smirk, leaving you flustered and upset. Dammon's usual calm demeanor went out the window and was replaced quickly with anger and protection.

For a moment, he hesitated, his large, calloused hands tightening around the hilt of the sword. Then, with a swift motion, Dammon pulled the sword from the forge. The metal steaming as it was removed with an orange glow.

He walked over to the man, his heart pounding from the adrenaline of stepping so far out of his comfort zone. Dammon's approach was silent but swift, and as he reached the offender, he held the hot blade just inches from the man’s face. The heat from the steel was evident, a clear threat that no words could match.

"Never touch anyone without their consent, understood?" Dammon said, his voice uncharacteristically commanding, his brows furrowed. The man's eyes widened and he nodded. Pleased with this, Dammon flicked the blade in your direction, “Good. Now apologize.”

[mykoreanlove]

Unraveling fate

It is said that humans live a blissful life as souls up in the sky before they decide to incarnate onto the earthly realms. 

Up there everything is effortless and sweet, so perfect that we couldn’t ever imagine it properly. Yet, they decide to give up their eden perfection to come down to earth. Why you may ask?

Because they get bored. Too much of anything is deadly, even if it’s something as precious as blissful love. 

Hence, they make plans to come down to earth in order to play. Some souls are rather boring, whereas other souls are quite dramatic - making up a full play for them to enjoy. They look for other souls to play their part - mothers, fathers, villains or lovers. 

„You’re gonna do this to me and I’m gonna do that to you and we may hate each other for a while but in the end it will be all so sweet“, they giggle while making plots. What they don’t know though is that once their souls incarnate back to earth, they will forget everything they once knew - scheming plans included. 

The states of feeling mighty and powerful get replaced with vulnerability and insecurity, divinity in exchange for humanity.

A deep sigh escaped Eun Woo’s lips as he watched you cry into your pillows for the fifth time this week. 

„What’s wrong?“, his friend asked concerned.

„It’s y/n.“, he answered flatly.

„What about her?“

Eun Woo turned around and mustered his friend, thinking of the right words to predict his dilemma.

„Do you remember when she used to be with us up here?“

His friend nodded silently.

„Back then we made the perfect plan. We created our own drama, so to say.“

„What was it about?“

Flashbacks of those times entered his mind, filling his heart with a deep longing.

„Are you really sure, y/n?“, Eun Woo whispered while placing delicate kisses on your neck.

„Yes. I want to do it like that this time.“, you nodded enthusiastically.

„My love. Let’s go through the plan once more, then.“

„I will incarnate onto earth and live a miserable life. I will fail in love over and over until I can’t take it anymore. I want to discover love as a fragile, little human. I want to understand their pain and their agony. I want to be miserable, utterly miserable. I want to build my own hell and I want to understand how I’m doing it… And then, once I’m ready, then you show up, BOOM, the love of my life - in heaven and on earth and you rescue me from my deep despair and then we can be..“

„Happy.“, he interrupted. 

A big smile formed on your face. 

„Yes. Happy.“

„So, why are you so sad then? The plan seems solid.“, Eun Woo’s friend remarked.

„Somehow it’s not. She did fail in love. A lot of times. But somehow she can’t get past that stage..“, Eun Woo explained.

„How can that happen? Isn’t it written in the stars, like destiny?“

„It should be, yes.“

Both stayed silent for a while and thought about ways to resolve this. 

„Can’t you just swoop in and rescue her?“

He shook his head sadly. 

„Why not?“

„Because she wouldn’t let me.“

„Let you? Aren’t you like… her soulmate?“, his friend asked confused.

„I am. And because of that I will always find my way back to her, heaven or earth, doesn’t really matter. But she’s not ready for me, yet.“

„How can you tell?“

Eun Woo walked over to the shelf where he was keeping his collection of your play. Each act carefully documented, each act waiting for its grand finale. He came back with a heavy book, searching for the right pages.

„Do you know when souls finally find each other?“, Eun Woo asked.

„No idea.“, his friend remarked.

„It’s when they’re ready for one another. Now tell me - do you think this sounds ready?“, he asked as he pushed the book over to his friend.

It’s official - I am unlovable. Seems like everybody and their mother can find the love of their lives but not me. I’m not meant for love. I’m meant for heartbreak. Because that’s what men do - break your heart. First, they use me for sex and then they dispose me like a tissue. Reject me. Abandon me. Block me.

Relationships suck. Love sucks. This is too hard and it always ends in pain. Fuck this shit, I’m going to die alone. Because apparently nobody wants to be with me. Or get to know me. I’m just not someone you fall in love with.

„Yikes“, Eun Woo’s friend flinched. „Gotta give it to her - she does sound like a real human though.“, he drily remarked.

Eun Woo rolled his eyes in frustration. This shit was eating him up.

Even if he descended onto earth now and forgot about all your pain, he would never be able to get through to you. 

„Men really did a number on her, huh?“, his friend asked. 

„It’s what she wanted. Some drama to enjoy our love more. And drama she got…“, he explained sadly.

„So what are you going to do?“

Eun Woo averted his gaze back onto you, watching you from above as you cried and cried and cried. 

„Waiting for a miracle, I guess.“

„Aren’t you tired of waiting?“

„What else am I supposed to do?“, he snapped.

„The plan is already rigged, you said so yourself. Can’t you use that to your advantage and rig it further?“, his friend proposed.

Eun Woo thought for a second - could he really do that? Go against fate like that? 

Your sobs made his stomach churn once again, he had to act, no matter the consequences.

„Come with me“, he demanded as he left the room.

„Where are we going?“, his friend called after him.

„Rigging the fucking plan.“ 

[worldly-fluster]

Stingray

*Not my picture

God of Tides/Lumerian! Rafayel x Non-mc! Reader

Part 2 of ?

*the writing looks a little different- I have a good friend helping me edit my stories now lol

---

He's never been good at waiting.

Not for the old cods telling him to be still during mass. Not for prophecy. Certainly not for mortals whose time came and went like waves on the shore.

Yet- here he sat, unmoving after finally settling her onto her makeshift bed of old cotton and cloth that held the familiar colors of the people who used to reside here, his form half-shrouded in shadow as moonlight shined across the room.

How long has he been waiting here? Longer than he felt he should have.

The old structure she called home was silent, save for her quiet, shallow breathing and the creak of the wood beams settling under the weight of time. They didn't even hold anything up anymore, half of them broken or on the cold dirt and stone floor- being used as her storage to keep his small thank you gifts off the floor.

Oddly...he could feel something in her-a split. Like a ship’s hull torn between two raging currents. She did not belong fully, not the way others did. The realm she had come from… it had taken something from her. Carved it out cleanly. Left her hollow in a way even her own hands couldn’t trace.

Memory. Rafayel could almost feel the absence of it like a guppy taken with the strong current. There was something deeper as well. Something tethered...half of something that shouldn't be there yet it felt natural, like it made itself at home. He could almost hear it calling for something...only to be left unanswered.

His fingers curled absently over the inky blue lines on his arm, tracing them like old currents.

"I've seen the sea take less than you and leave nothing behind," he murmured to her sleeping form, his voice soft. "So why..."

The words refused to form as he sat in contemplative silence. He didn't even know what he wanted to say anymore. This all was so confusing now that he got a closer look.

She stirred slightly, but did not wake.

Rafayel leaned back. The moonlight kissed his cheek, caught the soft gleam of his hair, lit his ocean-hued coral eyes with a bright reflection. He looked otherworldly, quiet and tired all at once.

He could leave.

He should.

But something held him. The same thing that had made him watch from the water. That made her presence hum under his skin like the echo of a storm far out at sea. Made him want to be found and rescued like the dolphin and stingrays.

Maybe it was fate. Or maybe it was just… her.

...

Nah, it was just curiosity. Definitely.

Especially when his hand seemed to move on its own, gently tucking damp strands away from her face.

---

The first thing you felt was coolness-soft and strange. Not wind. Not water. Something in between, brushing gently across your skin. It felt like cool hands, easing the ache and soothing the heat you felt from inside-out.

Then: a scent. Sea salt. Rain-washed stone. And something sharp and sweet.

Your fingers twitched on the blanket. Your body ached. Your head throbbed. You tried to lift your hand but winced at the effort.

A voice drifted through the haze, low and quiet. It was like hearing a dream out loud.

“You’re more stubborn than I thought.”

You turned your head-slowly, painfully-and caught only the barest glimpse of him as he sat next to you, his cold hand on your burning forehead.

A figure in the moonlight. Pale skin. Hair like dusk. Ink trailing down his arm like water pulled by gravity. And those eyes- blue and pink, both and neither. Watching you not with pity, but quiet, guarded curiosity.

You blinked.

Gone.

No footsteps. No sound. Just the gentle hush of the waves returning to shore. Maybe you fell asleep accidentally once more and he left? You were too tired and mind too foggy to fully think about it.

But his voice lingered in your mind long after.

And so did the sense that somehow, impossibly…

Maybe he has the answer you need?

...

But first- a little rest couldn't hurt.

---

*finally- the end of the long awaited part 2 hope you like it

Tags: @lavvytae @irandial @blobs-away

I think that's all the tags lol

[earthlybeam]

how would the elves react to this?

↓

↓

↓

Just celebrimbor Versions below here 3 types as man I have a lot of ideas for him ✨🥹❤️

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

𖢻 Captured by Orcs and Rescued Before Torture Orcs working under Sauron manage to capture Celebrimbor during a skirmish and intend to bring him to their master. The reader/you tracks the captors and launches a daring rescue before he can be taken away.

𖢻 The day had begun like any other in Eregion—quiet, serene, with the hum of the forge ever-present. Celebrimbor had been absorbed in his work, deep within his workshop, where the fires of creation had filled his mind with purpose. But that peace, so fleeting, was shattered by the sound of distant shouts. A sudden, violent tremor in the air. And then, the unmistakable clash of steel against steel, the echoing cries of battle from outside the walls of his home. Celebrimbor’s heart skipped a beat. Orcs. The dark creatures, vile and vicious, had appeared on the outskirts of the realm before. But this time, they had come in force—more numerous than ever, under the command of Sauron himself, no doubt. The calm, methodical pace of his work was now replaced by the rapid beat of his pulse, the pressure of his own fear mounting in his chest. He had known that this day might come. Yet, in the face of it, he had no choice but to fight.

𖢻 He donned his armor with swift, practiced movements. His mind raced, thinking of his people, the land he had sworn to protect. The sound of clanging metal grew louder, and he could feel the walls tremble beneath the force of the assault. His instincts drove him outside, where he found the battle in full swing. Elves fought valiantly, but they were outnumbered. Celebrimbor did not hesitate. He drew his sword, Azkâr, and joined the fray, cutting down the invaders with precision and power. His movements were fluid, his skill undeniable, as he defended his people with all his might. But even he could not have predicted the ambush. The orcs came from behind, hidden in the shadows, and before he could react, they surrounded him. The sharp pain of a strike to his side sent a jolt of agony through his body, and within moments, he was overwhelmed, unable to break free from their grip. His vision blurred from the pain, but he fought with every ounce of strength he had left, refusing to yield. Still, there were too many.

𖢻 In the chaos, the orcs managed to bind him, dragging him away from the battle. His limbs were weak, his breath ragged, but there was a stubborn glint in his eyes. They could take him, but they would not break him. Celebrimbor’s mind raced. He knew what awaited him—he had heard the stories of those captured by Sauron’s forces. Torture, degradation, perhaps even worse. The thought made his stomach churn, but there was little he could do now. His focus shifted, and in the midst of his pain, he found a small spark of hope: you. He had no idea how long they had marched him through the dark, but the rough hands of the orcs, the constant insults, the fear—they all melded together in a blur. His body felt as though it was being torn apart, but he refused to let despair take root. Even now, there was something that gave him strength—a quiet faith that you would come.

𖢻 And then, just as he was dragged into the depths of the forest, where the orcs hoped to disappear into the shadows with their prize, there was a noise—a rustle in the trees, a crack of twigs, and then… silence. Celebrimbor’s heart pounded as he forced his eyes to focus through the haze of exhaustion and blood. The orcs stopped, confused, looking around. He could feel it—someone was coming. Someone was hunting them. You. A shadow emerged from the trees, moving with a purpose that only someone driven by determination could possess. The flicker of steel in your hand. The swift, graceful movement of a warrior who had long mastered the art of battle. Before the orcs could react, you were upon them.

𖢻 The first orc fell with a silent cry, and then another. You moved like a whirlwind, cutting through the attackers with precision and skill. Celebrimbor could hardly believe his eyes—he had been so certain he would be left to the mercy of his captors. But here you were, cutting through the darkness to save him. A cry of alarm rang out from the remaining orcs, but it was too late. They were no match for your skill, and one by one, they were defeated, falling at your feet. You reached him swiftly, cutting through the ropes that bound him. His arms ached as they were freed, but the relief of his release was immediate. He could barely stand, his legs shaking with fatigue, but you were there, holding him steady as the last of the orcs were dispatched.

𖢻 As you helped him to his feet, his gaze locked on yours, and for a moment, he could do nothing but stare. His chest heaved with relief, and though the pain of his injuries remained, the overwhelming sense of gratitude drowned it out. The terror he had felt, the helplessness, all seemed distant now. “By the Valar,” he breathed, his voice rough. “You came for me. I…I didn’t think anyone would.” He paused, trying to steady himself, his knees trembling with the weight of his injuries and the realization of what had just occurred. “You’ve saved me,” he said softly, his voice filled with awe. “Your courage… your loyalty—it’s beyond anything I could have hoped for.”

𖢻 His words, though quiet, were heartfelt, and the depth of his gratitude was evident in his eyes. You had risked everything for him—your life, your safety—without hesitation. It was a bond stronger than any forged metal, and in this moment, it was as if nothing else in the world mattered but that simple truth. “You’ve proven your strength,” he continued, his voice a little steadier now. “Not only in battle, but in your loyalty. I owe you more than I can say. And whatever dangers lie ahead, I know that I will never face them alone.” His hand, though bruised and trembling, reached for yours in a quiet gesture of thanks, a promise of the respect and trust he now held for you. The ordeal was not over—the danger of Sauron’s forces still loomed, but with you at his side, he felt something he hadn’t in a long time: hope.

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

𖢻 Caught in a Deadly Trap in Ruins While exploring an ancient Dwarven ruin in search of materials, Celebrimbor activates a trap that seals him in a collapsing chamber or fills it with deadly gas. The reader/you solves the trap’s mechanism or breaks through to rescue him.

𖢻 Celebrimbor stood before the great, crumbling archway of the ancient Dwarven ruins, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and anticipation. The walls, once grand and decorated with intricate carvings, now stood silent and broken, their once-pristine surfaces worn down by centuries of neglect. Yet, to him, there was beauty in the decay—each crack, each worn stone whispered tales of an ancient people who had mastered the art of stone and metalwork. He marveled at the sight of it, drawn by a sense of wonder and a deep desire to unearth any remnants of the knowledge and craftsmanship that might still linger within these walls. His skilled eyes scanned the ruin with practiced precision, noting the patterns on the walls and the faint traces of once-glorious Dwarven artistry. Somewhere deep inside these ruins, he believed, lay materials—precious metals or forgotten tools—that could be crafted into something of great value.

𖢻 The air was thick with the scent of dust and age, and the only sounds were the distant echoes of his footsteps on the stone floor. He moved cautiously, though his enthusiasm drove him forward, eager to explore the next chamber. The deeper he ventured into the labyrinth of tunnels, the more the feeling of mystery pressed upon him. It was the kind of place that stirred his imagination, the perfect place for a craftsman like himself to lose himself in discovery. As he rounded a corner, Celebrimbor’s foot caught something—a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in the stone beneath him. His instincts kicked in immediately, but not quickly enough. A low grinding noise echoed through the chamber, followed by the unmistakable sound of stone scraping against stone. He froze, his eyes widening in realization as the ground beneath his feet began to tremble.

𖢻 A series of ancient mechanisms, long dormant, had been triggered. The ceiling above him groaned, a low, threatening noise, and the heavy stones began to shift, closing off the passageway. Worse yet, a faint hiss filled the air, followed by the sharp, acrid scent of gas. His breath caught in his throat as he realized what had just happened—a trap, designed to seal the chamber and fill it with deadly fumes, had been activated. He stumbled back in shock, but the trap was faster. The stone walls of the room began to shift with alarming speed, sealing the exits one by one. The air around him thickened, the gas growing more potent by the second. His lungs began to burn, and his vision blurred. Panic started to crawl up his spine, but Celebrimbor forced himself to remain calm, to think—he couldn’t afford to lose control, not now.

𖢻 With his heart pounding, he scanned the room for any sign of an escape, any mechanism that might disable the trap. His hands fumbled over the intricate carvings in the walls, but nothing was immediately obvious. The gas filled his lungs more quickly now, his breaths shallow and ragged. His mind raced as his body grew weaker, the effects of the poison taking hold. Desperation settled in, but there was no time to waste. His vision swam, and he slumped against the wall, struggling to stay conscious. I must hold on, he thought, the burning sensation in his chest intensifying. I must find a way out…But then, just as the darkness began to encroach upon his senses, he heard it—the sound of movement from the other side. Footsteps, swift and purposeful, approached through the ruin. The trap had not gone unnoticed.

𖢻 He managed to turn his head, his eyes barely able to focus on the figure rushing toward him. It was you—his ally, his friend, the one who had followed him into the ruins, always there when he needed someone to keep him grounded. Despite the disorientation and his failing strength, a rush of gratitude flooded through him. You reached the entrance of the chamber just in time to see the last of the stone sealing off the exit, and without a moment’s hesitation, you sprinted to the wall. Your hands moved with expert precision, quickly tracing the patterns in the stone, searching for a way to disable the trap. He watched in awe, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. You worked with a calmness and determination that he could scarcely believe. Every movement was deliberate, as if you had seen such traps before, as if you knew exactly what to do. Your hands traced the runes and levers hidden in the stone, deciphering their function with the kind of ingenuity Celebrimbor had always admired in those around him.

𖢻 As the seconds ticked by, the gas thickened and the world around him began to spin. His eyelids grew heavy, and he could feel the cold creeping into his bones. But still, you worked—never faltering, never hesitating. A few swift motions, and with a satisfying click, the trap began to recede. The heavy stones above him stopped shifting, and the rush of gas slowly ceased. With a final, decisive pull of a lever, the stone door slid open, and fresh air rushed into the chamber, filling his lungs with much-needed oxygen. You were there in an instant, your arms wrapping around him to steady him as his knees buckled beneath him. Celebrimbor’s eyes, which had been dulled by the poison, focused with difficulty on you. He struggled to sit up straight, but even in his weakened state, he found it impossible to contain the admiration that surged through him.

𖢻 “You…” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but it carried with it deep gratitude. “You… saved me.” He blinked, his mind struggling to make sense of what had just happened. He had been trapped—on the verge of death—and yet you had found him in time. Your quick thinking, your sharp instincts, had spared him. Celebrimbor’s breath hitched in his chest, the relief washing over him in waves. He knew what it meant to be in danger, to fight for survival—but this… This was something more. This was ingenuity in the face of certain doom. “I don’t know how you did it, but…” He managed a weak, appreciative smile, his strength returning slowly. “I owe you my life.” He looked at you with wide eyes, a deep respect in his gaze. “I’ll never forget what you did here today.” With that, he allowed himself to lean into your support, knowing that he wasn’t just saved from the trap. He was saved by someone whose mind and heart were as sharp as the very blades he crafted.

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

𖢻 Trapped in a Collapsing Forge During a sudden enemy attack on his workshop, Celebrimbor becomes trapped beneath the debris of his forge as it begins to collapse. The reader/you fights through the attackers and pulls him free just before the structure crumbles completely.

𖢻 The forge was alive, as it always was. The rhythmic clanging of hammer against metal, the crackling heat of the flames licking the iron, the smell of burnt wood and molten metal filling the air—it was the world Celebrimbor thrived in, a sanctuary of fire and skill. His hands, steady and practiced, shaped yet another intricate piece, his focus unbroken by the world outside. The heat did not bother him; it was a comfort, a reminder of the strength forged from years of relentless dedication to his craft. His work, as always, was his primary concern. But suddenly, the ground beneath his feet trembled. The air shifted, cold and menacing, as if the very earth itself was growing restless. He barely had time to register the change before a loud crash split the air, followed by the sound of stone and wood splintering apart. The walls of the forge trembled, then cracked, and the roof above him began to groan ominously. Before he could even react, there was a series of deafening explosions, and the very foundation of the forge seemed to give way beneath him.

𖢻 Celebrimbor was thrown off his feet, his work half-finished, forgotten as the ceiling collapsed around him. The weight of stone and debris crashed down, and the sharp, painful sting of falling fragments bit into his skin. His heart raced as he instinctively reached out, trying to shield himself from the devastation, but the force of the destruction was overwhelming. He felt his body pinned beneath the rubble, the air choked with dust and smoke. Panic began to crawl up his spine—he had no idea how much time had passed, but he knew one thing for certain: he was trapped. For a moment, the world went silent except for the distant echoes of battle outside the forge. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he tried to push the debris off himself, but it was futile. The weight was too much. He could feel the heat of the forge still burning in the background, the intense pressure of the situation making his head spin. His mind raced—had his people been caught in the attack as well? Were they safe? Was his own life the only one at risk?

𖢻 But then, through the haze of pain and confusion, he heard it. Footsteps, hurried, determined. And then—he saw them. You. Through the dust and smoke, there you were, fighting your way through the attackers. The figure of a warrior, resolute and fearless, cutting down enemy after enemy with a strength and skill that filled him with awe. His heart pounded in his chest as you approached. The last thing he saw before the rubble obscured his vision was the fierce determination in your eyes, and a sense of profound relief washed over him. There was hope. The world seemed to move in slow motion as you reached him, pulling away the debris with a single-minded focus. Your hands were strong, unyielding, as you freed him from the crushing weight of the ruin. His head spun as he was lifted into your arms, his legs unsteady beneath him. The shaking of the forge continued, but you held him firm, guiding him to safety.

𖢻 For a long moment, as you carried him away from the crumbling ruins, Celebrimbor could hardly speak. The world around him was a blur, his thoughts scattered, his body battered. His breath was shallow, each inhale coming with a painful reminder of how close he had come to losing everything. When the dust had finally settled and you had carried him to a safer place, he could only look at you with an expression of stunned gratitude. His voice, though quiet and weak, was sincere when he finally spoke. “Thank you,” he said, the words almost a whisper. “You… You saved me. I…” He paused, trying to catch his breath, but the gratitude in his eyes was unmistakable. “I don’t think I would have made it out without you. Your courage—it’s beyond anything I could have imagined. You’ve done more than I ever could have asked.”

𖢻 There was a humility in his voice that matched the humility in his heart, a quiet acknowledgment of the bravery you had shown. Even now, in the face of disaster, he felt the weight of his own limitations. He had crafted wonders, forged powerful weapons, but in this moment, he was reminded that his true strength lay not in his skill as a smith, but in the support of others. You, the one who had pulled him from certain death, were a reminder of that. As the smoke cleared and the echoes of battle died away, Celebrimbor stood, shakily, with your support. His hands trembled, but there was a spark of something else in his eyes—respect, admiration, and a deep, heartfelt appreciation. “Your bravery… It’s something I will not forget,” he murmured, the weight of his words more meaningful than any crafted metal could ever be.