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monstersholygrail · 22 days ago

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dray the crisis is hitting again can I get yandere mad scientist and their also mad scientist reader who loves experimenting with them? Thank u!!

Omgeee my first yandere ask, thank you sm!! Hope you like it, it kinda went all over the place (much like the couple lol)

Ever since Yandere!Mad Scientist was a boy the twisted darkness of scientific exploration spoke to the depths of his soul. He carried it with him throughout his childhood and the so-called deranged experiments he would conduct on the neighborhood animals.

When you, the new neighbor’s child, cried over the loss of your cat, Yandere!Mad Scientist felt something shift inside of him for the first time in his few years on this earth. He wondered briefly if this is what his parents meant when referring to emotion. He wanted… more of this strange sensation. He also wanted to use his gifts for someone else for a change. Another first your presence has given him.

He knew you would appreciate the gift that resulted from his experiment, and appreciate him, even when no one else ever has. Something in him told him you would understand. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny, no, he believed in cold hard facts and science. But perhaps in this one exception… it was your soul calling out for him. It had to be. Who was he not to answer?

The moment you throw open the gift box in your family’s living room to reveal your cat’s moving head on a mechanical body and your joyous squeals mingle with your parents horrified screams, he knew. The way you marveled at his accomplishment as you hugged your cat close before your parents tore it away from you in terror.

He knew you were meant to be his. And someday when he wasn’t so little and you weren’t under the control of your parents, you would be. By the possessive look you flash him as your parents usher him out and threaten to call the cops, he knows you have the same idea.

As you both continued to age, Yandere!Mad Scientist’s experiments only got more complex and dangerous. Though now you were right there by his side, driving his theories down even darker avenues. Your creative mind just as twisted as his, if not more so. Your genius unparalleled.

Of course, a series of strategic maneuvers had to be set in place every time you both snuck away to meet up given your parents had permanently banned you from seeing ‘the freak kid next door.’ They still hadn’t gotten over the little cat incident. The fact that you kept the cat alive to this day probably not helping them move on either.

But nothing could keep you away from each other. He was yours and you were most definitely his. With your work together you two would take control of the world and destroy anyone who tried to get in the others path. They were all of inferior minds to you two, they had no right to deny you what rightfully belonged to you and him.

No one would be able to touch you or keep you from him again. It was only a matter of time.

When you and Yandere!Mad Scientist got to college it was the real first taste of freedom either of you had ever had. He thought that this was it. You two would never be separated from now on. He’d be in an off campus apartment with you after school and during school you two would have all the same classes.

But then you have to go and betray him, doing the worst thing imaginable. Choosing a different major than him. While he had gone the expected path— the correct one— of a Science Major. You had chosen… Psychology. It was possibly the first time in his entire life that Yandere!Mad Scientist had been furious at you. You wouldn’t believe how tempted he was to handcuff you to him so you’d be forced to always remain by his side

He was actually searching online for a good sturdy pair the night you came to him asking for help with a project, the first you two had spoken in days following the fight you had about it. And that’s when he learns of your true motivations, the reason behind your desire to be a… Psych major of all things.

You see, you had started working on a memory control device that would surely help your plans for world domination. Of course, he immediately agreed to working on this with you. You two had never worked separately since you met and he wasn’t about to start now. Only he was allowed to know the inner workings of your mind, to understand the way your genius wove its clever webs. He was the only one who ever understood you and that would remain true for as long as he had a say about it.

Together, the work on your project progressed rapidly. The two of you working on it day and night. It was a little tricky, given you two only shared a few classes together where you’d pass flirtatious notes filled with complex algorithms. But he made do.

Though as you learned more from your classes and began applying them to the device, something started feeling… off about it all. More algorithms were attempted that he doesn’t remember running, beakers he doesn’t recall turning on were left running till they overflowed, and days seemed to pass him by where it felt like he had done absolutely nothing despite your excited rambling on the progression of the project.

One night, as you two are cleaning up from that night’s experiments, he comes across one of his many notebooks. Buried deep under a dozen others just like it. But this one has a book mark with an arrow pointing down saying ‘Read me.’ On the marked page lays a whole series of numbers and formulas he’s never even seen before in his one handwriting. With a sticky note at the top reading ‘Forget Something?’

He reads through what appears to be his work over and over again. No, this can’t be real. He never did any of this, it’s impossible. But as he watches the formulas grow more successful with each equation, realization dawns on him. It is possible. He just lost his memory of it. He looks up, eyes instantly catching onto your form across the room just as you look back up at him.

That playful smirk and mischievous glimmer in your eye that he loves so much. It’s as clear as day. As is what you’ve been doing to him. His lips curl into a mirroring expression and you just laugh, returning your gaze to your work.

Ah, so that’s how you want to play it, huh? That’s more than fine by him. He can play it right back to ya. To show you that his brain is all yours for fucking around with, so long as you’re his to do the same.

The next time you come to, the pair of you are sitting in an unfamiliar lecture hall. The teacher droning on about a topic you can’t really hear. Still half-asleep with your head resting on your arms.

“Wakey wakey, darling,” he murmurs in your ear, hand petting your head affectionately. You look too cute all groggy and disoriented as you slowly wake up from the device’s effects. He understands why you used it so much on him. Seeing you like this was absolutely irresistible.

You groan, eyes scrunching up tight. Your head feeling like it weighs about a metric ton and your eyes begging to remain closed forever. You open them anyway, lashes fluttering as you try and focus in on your surroundings. The lecture hall is completely unfamiliar to you. And given the stone walls, you’re in a completely different department.

“W-where am I?” You ask, voice slightly slurred from misuse.

He is having too much fun watching you. It’s wild seeing the device be used and the impacts it has on its users. He briefly wonders if you’ll forget all about this feeling just as he had. He cups your chin with a surprising tenderness, slowly bringing your attention back on him.

“Don’t you remember, dear? You decided to transfer into the Science department. Now, we’ll be together in all our classes. Just like you wanted,” he rumbles, his voice like a hypnotic lullaby as his thumb soothingly caresses your jaw.

It takes a moment for you to break through the comforting haze of his touch so his words can register. Your brows furrow deeply, having no memory of leaving your previous major. The words begin to repeat in your head, echoing and pounding against your skull.

Remember.

He can the moment clarity begins to dawn on you. Your eyes losing that dazed effect to them. He practically watches as you put the pieces together, realizing what must’ve happened just like he did. Though he has to give you props for how fast you realized. Your genius only made him fall harder for you, want even more of you.

But when you burst out into a fit of quiet giggles, your eyes lighting up with pride, he can feel the strings you have wrapped around his heart grow impossibly tighter. It was that pride in your work, pride in the success of the device, and even pride in him for managing to get one on you.

Your laughter is infectious and soon he’s laughing right along with you in the lecture hall, leaning in close and marveling at what you two can do when you put your minds to it.

He looks into your eyes, his hand sliding to cup your cheek and holding you like you’re the most the precious thing in the world to him. And just like back when you were kids, with one look he knows what you’re thinking.

That there is nothing better than experimenting with each other. In every way possible.

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zablife · 3 months ago

Text

A Great Legacy

Tommy Shelby x female reader

Summary: When the master of the house makes a strange request in the wake of his wife's death, it tests the loyalty you hold for the family.

A/N: Requested by the lovely @thomasshelbyswife.

Warnings: dark!Tommy, manipulation, forced pregnancy

One night was what he'd promised and so you agreed to a lovely evening of seduction that lasted until the morning sunlight streamed through the curtains. It was the heady delight of him proclaiming he hadn't felt this way since Grace that caused you to cave to his desires. You would have agreed to anything, but he only desired to claim you with his seed. "I want all of you," he'd whispered in your ear as he filled you and somehow you'd trusted him.

His late wife had never fallen pregnant so you weren't concerned. Not to mention the fact that you'd only spent one night together. However, you realized your folly as your stomach rapidly swelled.

When Mary informed Mr. Shelby of your condition, he hadn't reacted as you imagined. The imposing gangster was kind and gentle toward you, offering his aid as silent confirmation of his knowledge. You were relieved of any strenuous duties and allowed to remain at Arrow House as long as you wished.

When you thought the time was right, you approached him to express your gratitude and assure him you'd be gone after you'd given birth. However, it was not the conversation you'd been expecting. "This is precisely what I wanted," Mr. Shelby confided.

"You invited me into your bed hoping for this?" you asked uncertainly, gesturing toward your abdomen. How could someone as powerful and handsome as Thomas Shelby OBE want someone as inconsequential as a parlor maid?

"You'll be a wonderful mother," he assured you, the smile gracing his lips never quite reaching his eyes.

You nodded, politely accepting the compliment, while wondering how he would know that about you. You'd rarely spoken in the two years you'd worked for him.

Mr. Shelby's strange behavior continued as your pregnancy progressed. He began posting armored guards around the property all hours of the day and night. When you asked him about this, he brushed off your concerns. "I'm an important man, can't be too careful," he explained.

His reasoning seemed plausible until you were no longer allowed to roam the grounds freely. In fact, if you so much as touched a toe to the threshold of the door, you were harshly scolded for forgetting your impending due date. "Wouldn't want you having Mr. Shelby's son in a pasture now would we?" his men chided in a condescending tone.

You tried to cut roses from the garden once, but Mary intercepted you, a thunderous look settling over her brow. It was enough to keep you confined to your room, reading and sewing to pass the hours until the day you went into labor.

The morning had passed slowly after breakfast, your tired limbs struggling under the weight of your belly as you climbed the stairs. When you'd finally settled at the small desk by the window, a sharp pain erupted at your side. Running a hand across the taut flesh, you whimpered in pain at what you believed to be a sharp kick.

As the pain grew, you couldn't help the scream that ripped from your lungs, alerting the maids who would carry news to Tommy. You couldn't recall how long you'd been doubled over before he rushed to your side, a look of excitement burning in his blue eyes. "It's time," he declared with such exultation, you couldn't help but be buoyed by it.

As your labor progressed, you felt encouraged by the support he'd shown, recalling his joyous expression as you attempted to push. When you finally heard your baby scream, you fell back onto the sweat soaked pillow, comforted by the thought of Tommy's approval.

You heaved for breath as he entered the room to meet his child, raising your trembling body to watch him interact with the tiny bundle the doctor cradled in his arms. Tommy readily accepted the babe, fingers carefully pushing the blanket aside to view the blue eyed cherub, his perfect replica. Smiling to yourself, you felt a peaceful calm wash over you, father and child studying one another in the sweetest silence. But the moment was short lived, the doctor leaning in conspiratorially to whisper something into Tommy's ear.

"That can't be," Tommy replied sharply, head snapping toward you with murderous intent.

"Wh-what's happening?" you asked, struggling to keep your eyes open after your strenuous effort, but you swiftly lost the battle.

When you awoke, your baby was gone. You scrambled from the bed to search for her despite your weakness, only able to reach the landing before you stumbled.

"The mother died in childbirth," Mary explained as she gave your daughter to the nun waiting in the foyer.

"I'm here...I'm..." you croaked before fainting.

The next thing you remembered was Tommy's face hovering over yours. "You've had a shock," he explained.

"They took...my...baby," you faltered, head throbbing and mouth feeling so dry you could barely speak.

"The child was too weak to survive. Passed away in the night, I'm afraid," Tommy said in an even voice, devoid of any emotion.

"It's not true. She was taken," you shouted at him.

Tommy asked the maids to leave, moving to your side as they exited the room in hushed whispers.

"What did you expect, it was a girl," Tommy spat in disgust.

"I don't understand, she was healthy...perfect," you objected, before the tears began flowing down your cheeks.

"But not a boy," Tommy declared pointedly. "I want someone to carry my name."

As you struggled to accept his acidic tone, he pointed a finger at you menacingly. "Two months," he pronounced, remembering the doctor's warning about miscarriage. "Then we'll try again. Perhaps this time you'll give me the son I desire."

Breath stolen from your lungs you watched him storm from the room, the door slamming against the frame from the force of his movements. It was shameful and humiliating, but the fear blooming in your chest was greater as you wondered how many times you would be asked to endure this for the sake of his legacy.

-----------------------

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#Peaky Blinders fanfiction #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x Y/n #Tommy Shelby

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sakkiichi · 1 year ago

Text

HERE COMES THE SUN.

They comfort you while you’re having a difficult time.

ft. Childe, Lyney, Albedo, Shikanoin Heizou x gn! reader.

cw/genre: hurt/comfort.

for my dear @https-furina I know you’ve been going through trying times lately, so I hope this can comfort you a little <3 I also struggled a lot with Heizou’s part, so I apologize if it’s no good at all…

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ CHILDE

Linen sheets feel like ropes on raw skin against the morning chill.

Its warm cream color, ashen, nothing like the mirror sunrises you were used to witnessing right after you opened your eyes.

What’s the point in opening them anymore? You wonder.

You bury your face against the pillows. In any other occasion, you would have been grateful for the coolness of its silk.

Now it’s just an iceberg. Like a missing shard of your shallow beating heart.

“Someone’s sleepy today.” A familiarly perky voice greets, the mattress dipping slightly with new weight.

You rolling in the other direction is all the greeting that meets him.

“Hey, love! It’s time to wake up!” Childe chuckles, his hand gently shaking your body.

Yet something already tells him this is not right; you usually would have already shoved him away by now.

But today you’re just… unresponsive…

The dull oceans of his stare rise in dangerous waves at your state.

Hesitant, he calls your name, his tone more like a question.

And this time, he does get an answer.

Familiar arms he adores wrapped around him loop around his middle, your face burying against his chest.

You’re warm, yet you feel so… faraway… as if the pain of past memories was seeping out your light.

Ajax is no stranger to the despair palpable in your strong grip around him, he’s endured it himself, through years robbed of him by an abyss that turned him into a master of all weapons.

So because he’s known the cold of endless nights where all he had was a tattered red scarf to remember the warmth of a distant home, he now holds you.

And for someone whose hands were tainted in the filth and bloodshed of a lifetime of slaughter, Ajax is undeniably gentle.

His fingertips ghost over your skin, easing the burning anguish of bed covers that felt too rough, too suffocating, too wrong.

When your lover’s hands get lost in your hair, combing it, you swear sun rays filter through the deep sea you’re falling through.

And then, suddenly, the choice to swim upwards presents before you, scarred sun-kissed hands extended towards you.

You take them.

When you open your eyes, russet sunsets and constellations over your beloved’s skin greet you.

His lips find yours, a bit chapped but gentle; not his usual playfulness, but soothing aquamarine waves.

You swear Childe’s kiss tastes salty. And that’s when you realize the dry tear-tracks down your cheeks.

He made them dry, sunlight evaporating puddles after grey days.

You break the surface, the waters now turquoise beneath Ajax’s light.

He won’t let you sink again.

✧ LYNEY

A whole audience’s cheers fill the Opera Epiclese. Lights shine upon every smiling face, every vigourous clap of hands after the magician’s grand finale echoing through the theater.

However, the illusionist’s gaze of amethyst is focused on the sole grim expression amongst millions of joyous others.

Yours.

Your hands move, clapping together, as if automated; your eyes stare at everything, seeing nothing; your mouth is a taut line, your lips devoid of their usual vibrant tint.

Lyney doesn’t like that being his last memory before the curtain closes.

When you step out of the Opera House, an infinity of starfields is abloom across the crepuscular skies.

What a mockery; a cruel jinx on display, for you to see the unfulfilled sparks dimming inside your heart.

A sigh escapes your dry lips, a small cloud forming when it meets the late night chill.

“You’ll catch a cold there, mon coeur,” Someone you know, tricks and all, utters behind you.

Welcome warmth tinted in lavender envelops you the instant your eyes meet the magician’s starry ones.

A small smile tugs at your lips, the curse of melancholy still clinging to you through it.

“Lyney…” You start. The twilit breeze picks up around you, your arms instinctively wrapping around yourself for some semblance of a warmth you haven’t felt in days.

“That won’t do, ma chérie.” Your lover chuckles.

Then, with a wave of his hand, a piece of the night sky itself seems to become tangible in his grasp.

“Here,” he offers, draping it over your shoulders.

Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s a shawl; the cloth feels delicate to the touch, quite fine too, and yet, you feel the warmth of a thousand suns. If you had to describe its color you would come up empty. Silver glitter seems to be embedded in the fabric, but at the same time, it looks like multiple tiny lights had been stitched to the material. You suppose you’d call the hue, dark; a myriad of indigoes merge into violets, threaded together with navies and cobalts. And yet, when you move it, the colors seem to shift, almost like the clouds drifting across this midnight.

“I take it you liked it.” Lyney smiles, softer than his usual cheshire-like grins, when he observes your wonderstruck features.

“Very…” You muse, awestruck at the magical silk.

“It’s a châle de ciel,” your beloved explains, “It will change depending on the state of the sky at each time of day.” He pauses, eyes, the color of lumidouce bells and rainbow rose petals merged, glinting as he admires how the garment fits you. “But I can guarantee,” your illusionist steps closer to you, plucking something out of your hair. “That it will always keep you comfortable… warm or cool, whatever you need.” He finishes, handing you a pluie lotus.

You take a few seconds to appreciate the second gift of the night. The flower’s petals are the same color as Lyney’s eyes, yet not as vivacious.

“Shall we go, mon amour?” Your boyfriend inquires, already offering your arm to him.

Together, you leave the opera house behind.

You hope for light blues on your new cape tomorrow morning. And somehow, you know that’s what you’ll find.

You squeeze Lyney’s arm gently. The sun will rise soon.

✧ ALBEDO

When he sets foot on his camp in Dragonspine, Albedo finds the heater already on.

Strange.

The sun hasn’t even quite awoken yet, the snowy peaks outlined against skies still clinging to dreamless cloudy nights; shards of ice, embedded in the softness of dawn clouds. An accurate representation of the region of freedom’s snowy mountains: menacingly beautiful, brimming with lethal charm, for one step in the wrong direction, and the cold might as well consume you for good.

At this hour, no one was ever already working at his lab, making of these moments calm sunrise-tinted memories in the alchemist’s mind, before the day’s hustle and bustle began.

However, today, the running heater is not the only out of the ordinary salutation to greet the chalk prince.

The acute sounds of clicking vials, books being rearranged and crunching snow are confirmation enough that he is, indeed, not alone.

With silent steps, Albedo advances, keeping one hand hovering over his trusty sword. Then, he finally lays eyes upon the cause for the commotion, and despite the lack of danger, the sight doesn’t calm him any better.

“My dearest?” He calls. The instant your gaze meets his, your condition scares him more than any bandits ransacking his research material. Your hair is messy, falling on your face; dark circles are etched beneath your lower lashline, darkness clinging to you like remnants of turbulent nights; and you’re shivering, whether from the cold or because you’re distempered he can’t quite discern, although it’s most likely due to both.

“Hello, ‘Bedo…” You mutter, the flesh of your lips bitten, flecks of Dragonspine’s freeze coating them, the cold lacing with your bones, chilling you to the core. Your eyes widen when you notice your lover’s teal gaze scrutinizing you. You quickly busy yourself with classifying some potions, by color and texture, whatever takes the longest for him not to worry about your less than ideal condition.

However, perhaps you underestimated his attention to detail; for he has a skilled artist, after all.

“My love, are you feeling alright?” He questions, gloved hands gently taking the crystal vial-filled wooden box you were carrying off your trembling hold.

And in that instant, you don’t know if it’s the warmth of your prince’s hands on yours; or the comfort of his voice, like honey on bitter tea, but you find yourself taking a deep breath, the fresh air of a midwinter’s sunrise filling your lungs.

And then you talk. You spill every worry and bad dream, your shadows opening up to the gilded starlight of him.

And through it all, the alchemist’s hands warm yours, fingers interlocked, very much in the way your souls are undeniably so too.

Because no matter how daunting the river seemed when you faced it alone, when you were with Albedo, its typhoons calmed down, stone bridges and his outstretched hand painting safety and comfort in hues of gold before your eyes.

While the kreideprinz grounds you, the sun reaches its peak, a canvas of aureate and cornflower blue grazing the mountaintops.

You would be okay.

✧ SHIKANOIN HEIZOU

Emerald eyes read through you as if you were made of clear glass.

The way you worry your lower lip between your teeth; your fingers almost going white at the knuckles as you clutch a pencil, its wood creaking in your grip; and the general absentminded state you’re in, papers scattered over your desk, several case files stacked in disarray.

Something is clearly weighting on your mind.

“I think a break’s in order, wouldn't you agree, sweetheart?” Heizou suggests, standing up, those striking eyes of his fixed on you.

The detective’s voice is enough to stop the quickening clock ticking in your mind, regrets and dark spirals momentarily coming to a halt.

When you rise your furrowed brow, shades of maroon and viridian flood your sight, vivid as summer and warming your up just as much.

Nodding, you stand up too, limbs feeling heavy despite the comfort of your lover beside you.

The brown shades of your office turn into blue skies and soft pink sakuras not long after, the scented tree branches swaying above you, like fragments of dreams someone had given up on, waiting to be picked up by another soul who dared to imagine.

Your back rests against your lover’s lean but strong torso, the sweet smelling breeze combing through your hair, as Heizou’s chin rests on your shoulder.

“So will you tell me what’s wrong, darling?” Are the words of his that break the birdsong-filled calm.

A pang settles on your chest, you didn’t want to take away that cheeky grin that most of the time decorated his quick-witted lips.

“I…” You hesitate. “Well, it’s- it’s complicated, Heizou��” Your lids flutter closed, a shaky breath raking through you, as you turn around in his embrace, your hands bracing on his shoulders. “I don’t want to bring the mood down, you know…”

The detective places a thumb on your lower lip, smoothing over the bite marks you left there earlier.

“You never, ever, bring the mood down, dear. Never.” He leans in, brushing a soft kiss over your forehead. “My intuition told me right away there was something up.” He takes a stray cherry blossom petal from your hair. “So, why don’t we take the rest of the day off, love?” Your partner proposes, as he takes your chin in between his fingers, mischief flashing in his features.

And perhaps your lover’s smile was more infectious than you had ever given it credit for; and maybe the way he flashes his green eyes at you has your heart trembling in ways that have nothing to do with the fear and guilt you’ve been festering, but you find yourself retorting back, with a grin of your own:

“Don’t you have cases to solve, detective Shikanoin?”

This time, he takes a full sakura flower, delicately placing it behind your ear.

“I have something more important to solve right here…” He smirks, cheekily, as he admires your now flustered expression.

When you lean the side of your head against his chest, he cradles it with one of his hands, the other playing with the ends of your hair.

It would be unfair, if gloom were to take your soul captive when spring seems to linger through Inazuma’s breeze.

With a last look at you, the detective’s maroon lashes flutter closed too. He hopes, at least for today, he managed to protect precious you from the crimes of cruel sorrow.

He leans his head on top of yours.

The case is solved.

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driftersreverie · 10 months ago

Text

For the lifetime he has lived, Scaramouche had nothing to favor.

There was nothing for him to pick, anyway. He had no hobbies, for all the tasks he learnt to do in the past were just that - tasks. He'd done those out of a need for a purpose, a drive for validation, but Scaramouche was no longer a fledgling stranded on a branch. Flowers and trees are all the same to him, and this unsubstantial world never lacked its flora anyway - always something new to find, to marvel at, then to be bored of in the end. Don't even get him started on mortals — animals and humans alike — that lived the most boring and short and miniscule lives when compared to the lifespan he spent alive. Scaramouche would spit and scowl and curse -- how absurd for one to think he'd care for another worthless life that would just die out in barely half a year he'd know them.

Scaramouche had nothing special to call his favourite, and there was no reason for him to do so then.

But the Wanderer does now.

The Wanderer wakes up in the morning, mechanically so yet humanly still blinking away the fog of sleep. He forgets not his hat, not his scarf, and definitely not the personality of a man-puppet that's lived 500 years and more, then he leaves Buer's side to find you.

His day only truly begins when it's your face that he sees first. He wastes no time; he greets you, says his 'hello's, maybe add something remarkably sassy just to see you hold back your irritation and force a smile so awfully unlike you. The Wanderer snickers, a battle won in which he knows you liked him enough not storm off like a certain "senior" Kshahrewar (he's older, mind you) or scatter like bugs on a kitchen floor. Without warning, you then held his hand in yours, perfectly fit as all things should be, and he doesn't shy away - at least, you don't think so. The only thing that gave him away, had you looked closer, is the downwards tilt of his hat, and the uncharacteristic smile he cannot suppress.

With you, the Wanderer finds good company in ridiculous, inaccurate history books; in boring, nosy lectures he loathed to join; in the busy streets and bustling bazaars that he disliked strolling through; and in the stillness of the night and his quiet mind. He never realizes it, but he looks forward to seeing that wonderful smile on your face. Every sarcastic quip he would anticipate your bright laugh, no matter how many times he'd call it grating for his mechanical ears. In each and every joyous expression, this childish and naive puppet hopes that he'd remain the sole reason for them.

Yes, the Wanderer fails to see a reason to start having favourites in this new chance of life, but he didn't need a reason nor excuse to allow you to claim your place in his heart - his number one priority and first exception to everything.

(And because I partake in EBG; @iceunhie @naraven . Thank me later ;D - assistant)

#- gales of reverie #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x reader #wanderer fluff #wanderer x reader #genshin x reader #wanderer genshin #scaramouche genshin impact

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dnd-writes · 1 year ago

Text

It's Not You, It's Me

AO3

Tags: Non-con, surprise surprise Sex toy!Gowon, con to non-con, forced creampie, painal, lots of painal, slapping, fingering, forced orgasms, sexual slavery, bondage, sex toys, mind break A/N: Happy birthday to Princess Gowon! (hello @kaedespicelatte)

You pull out then take the condom off and offer it to Gowon. While you head toward the edge of the bed to look through your things, Gowon is busy audibly slurping the cum out of the condom. She likes the taste of cum but hates blowjobs, at the same time she loves having sex with you but doesn’t like creampies (and because she’s a responsible, sexually-competent woman who doesn’t want the risk of getting knocked up or risk getting STDs). You’ve always wanted to cum inside of her, in any hole really, but no matter what you ask the answer was always a no. Even just simply anal she wouldn’t agree to, with or without a condom. Even just once you would want to cum in her but it seems like that moment is years away, maybe it might not even arrive. You love her but sometimes you hoped she would consider, what about your needs?

You finally find your wallet but to your surprise you find no condoms inside, you search through your pants but to your dismay, nothing. You suddenly remember that you left all the ones you bought back at your place and it’s too late to go back and get them. What do you do? You’re still hard and horny and the birthday girl wants her gift of vaginal sex and a mouthful of cum. Maybe today is the day?

“Oppa, is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing. Just… couldn’t find my wallet,” you flat out lie but it did the trick anyway, Gowon lies back down and continues sucking your cum out of the used condom. You take the wrapper of the used condom and pretend you’re opening another one, you hurriedly put on the “new condom” to make up for lost time and quickly get back on top of Gowon.

You bury your face into Gowon’s neck, peppering her exposed skin with kisses and nibbles, tickling her but only to avert her attention from what you’re really doing. The tip of your cock presses against her opening and you can already tell how much you’re going to enjoy it. You push your dick inside and the initial feeling is already orgasmic, the warmth, the wetness, the freedom, previously restricted by those damned pieces of rubber now able to be felt by your cock.

You feel Gowon shift as you start pumping your cock, out of fear you start sucking on her skin to bring her attention back to your mouth. “Oppa, don’t…” You pull away quickly, slowing down your thrusts as you stare at Gowon scared. She, however, just chuckles at your reaction. She pulls your head to the other side of her neck, “Don’t stop…” she mutters.

You raise Gowon’s legs as you start thrusting harder and faster, the heavenly sensations brought from fucking her cunt raw exhilirating you. You’ve never heard Gowon moan so much before, your quick thrusts and your attack on her neck sending waves of pleasure throughout her body, and it’s all thanks to you finally fucking her raw. Maybe she’ll thank you even, thank you for such a wonderful fuck, then maybe she’ll let you fuck her raw another time. “Fuck, oppa… You feel so good in me! Yes, just fuck me like this all the time.”

Though as you ponder on the joyous reaction it is giving you, you also start to feel resentment grow in you knowing Gowon held this away from you, a two-year long relationship with an active sex life and not once have you two done something on your terms. No blowjobs, no anal, no raw sex, hell, not even handjobs were done without the use of a condom. You’re tired of it. This majestic feeling of her vaginal walls clamping down on you, you crave more of it. You feel a newfound boldness rush inside of you as you fuck Gowon raw against her wishes, you’re starting to feel an urge to fuck her ass tonight too… whether she lets you or not.

You feel your orgasm approaching and a hint of panic sets in you. Where do you release, inside or out? Does it really matter? Either way Gowon will find out you didn’t use a condom so you might as well make the most of it.

“Fuck yes, oppa…” Gowon cries out, though this is the first time you’ve heard her sound so enthusiastic and you know you should be happy about it but it just makes you angrier knowing that you two could have experienced this much sooner. You channel your rage into your hips and now you’re practically drilling into her. “Cum with me… Oppa, let’s cum together.”

Gowon’s fluids gush out and shortly after you feel your cum shoot into her womb, her body rocks and shakes as the pleasure fills her head. “That was am— Wait, what the hell?” Her euphoric state is short lived as she feels an unfamiliar warmth residing inside of her pussy, she pushes you off of her and, upon seeing your dick exit her without a condom, she punches your arm. “What’s wrong with you?! I told you to use a condom, you jerk!” Gowon punches your arm again and you flinch, caressing the part of your arm she hit twice.

You flash her a wicked smile, “But you loved it didn’t you? You were moaning so loud and you came hard. Don’t tell me you didn’t love that.”

“Love it? I hated it. You came inside me! Now get out of my place, you ruined my birthday, thanks so much.” She slaps your face as she stares at you with a mix of frustration and confusion. “I just ask you to use a condom when we have sex, is that too hard, oppa?” She twists her pronunciation of your nickname, adding a sarcastic twist that makes it sound like she’s reminding you of what you’re supposed to be to her.

Gowon tries to get up but you push her back into the bed. This time around you slap her face. She gives you an angrier look, her hand flies towards you but you catch it and grip her wrist, then you slap her again, and again, and again. Anger quickly turns to fear and her eyes begin to water. “I-I’m sorry…” she chokes out. “P-Please, oppa… You’re hurting me,” she begs, but you grip her wrist tighter and she shouts in pain.

“Two years. Two years and you never want to have sex the way I want. I just ask to fuck without a condom once, or even anal, or even a blowjob. But. You. Won’t. Allow it.” You punctuate each final word with a slap to Gowon’s face and now she’s full on sobbing.

“I’m sorry, oppa. Please…”

You should be ashamed of yourself for doing such things to her but the stinging in your palm and the sounds of her crying just invigorate you instead. You feel your cock throbbing heavily, lightly slapping against Gowon’s wet pussy. You take your cock and ready yourself to fuck her pussy raw again but the moment you see her tiny asshole, you quickly switch plans.

Gowon notices your slight pause and starts to scream when she sees you aiming lower. “NO! No, please. Not there, please, anywhere else but there. We can have sex… without a condom any time, you can cum in me always. Just not my butt please, oppa.” Gowon begs and tries to negotiate as if her life was on the line but you’ve already made up your mind, there’s nothing she can say or do that will stop you from claiming her anal virginity.

“Just relax, Gowon. Unless you want it to hurt.” Gowon quivers in fear as you poke your index against her rectum, you try to start by fingering her ass but Gowon is already whining as you struggle to even fit in one finger. “Hnnnggg… I-I can’t, your dick won’t fit, oppa. Please… You don’t have to use condoms, ever! I’ll… I’ll let you use my mouth, and, and, and my pussy… Yes, I’ll let you use those any time you like, just don’t… Just not my butt, please!” Another futile protest falling straight into your ignorance, it’s so funny seeing her squirm, struggling to fit a tiny finger inside her tight butthole. You just know wrecking her ass with your cock will easily become the best thing you’ve ever done and the best experience you’ve ever had in your whole life.

You try for one last time, you dip your finger in Gowon’s mouth and coat it in her spit. You try fingering her ass again but you only manage to insert up to your fingernail before you start struggling. Maybe you can forcibly stretch her ass using your dick, that sounds like a much better plan to you.

You grab Gowon’s hands and put them on her butt cheeks. “Spread your ass for me, bitch.” Gowon’s reluctant and hesitant, but seeing your stubbornness she knows there’s nothing she can do to persuade you from destroying her butt though she still tries. “Please, oppa… I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you, just… not like this.” Her voice is much weaker now as her hands try so desperately to open up her asshole, even so, her ass looks relatively the same, it’s like her ass wants to stay as tight as ever. You don’t mind, it just means it’s more painful, which means you’re going to enjoy every second even more.

“Hnnnngggg… Please, PLEASE! It won’t fit,” Gowon screams, begging for another time as she feels your cock poking her ass. Her sphincter is so tight that you can’t even get the tip through, it feels like you’re a chisel cutting through stone. You dig your fingers into her hips, anchoring yourself as you push further. Gowon’s screams intensify as you slowly rip her ring open. It takes so much effort just to make it past the entrance but your tip forces its way through and you feel her hole wrapped tightly around your girth.

“I can’t take it… Oppa, please… It hurts so much… Please, PLEASE, FUUUCCCKKK!!!” It really does feel like you’re tearing her insides apart, even though you’ve breached the entrance you feel yourself pushing through her anal walls, still making room for your entire dick to fit inside. Gowon’s cries are relentless, only ever stopping when you stop moving or to inhale some air. It’s so different compared to when you usually have sex with Gowon, she usually just moans or yells she’s coming. But right here, right now, her voice fills the room, screaming like there’s no tomorrow. You much prefer this side of her, much louder, much more expressive. You no longer feel like you’re the toy in the relationship, no longer feel like you’re only being used during sex as you turn the tables around and use her instead.

You suddenly feel Gowon’s soft butt pressing into your crotch, you look down and realize you’re fully sheathed in her ass. Gowon’s screams stop and are replaced by erratic breaths as she still struggles to hold you inside. Her ass is like heaven, sure it doesn’t have the warmth and wetness her pussy offers but it’s so much tighter, it feels snug but at the same time it squeezes you like a vice. “Wow, your ass is the best. Now I know why you wouldn’t let me fuck it, you knew I would get addicted, fuck…”

“Oppa… please take it out… I’ve learned my lesson, I’m sorry,” she squeaks out after recovering some of her energy.

“What lesson? There isn’t any. I’m just claiming what’s mine.” Your hand snakes up to Gowon’s neck and you see her brace herself. Your fingers wrap around her delicate skin and you just begin to squeeze. You can feel Gowon’s breath, her rapid pulse, and all her swallowing as you continue to constrict her neck. At the same time, you feel Gowon’s ass clench and tighten around you, the more you squeeze her neck the more her ass clenches. She really is a toy, a toy for your own personal pleasure.

You’re not even fucking Gowon at the moment, you just have your cock stuffed fully into her ass, but the way her walls tighten and clench periodically, you might not even have to. You toy with Gowon’s neck, randomly switching up how tight you grip it. You clamp down on Gowon’s neck, suffocating her, you can feel every struggle through her neck, every choke, every gag, every attempt to breathe, it’s wonderful. You let go before things get too far, the life in Gowon’s face lights up again as she’s allowed to breathe, but you keep your grip on her neck, just enough to feel every sensation coursing through it.

You give Gowon’s pussy a nice hard slap and her body jolts violently, her ass clenches harder and as her hands give way and let go, her asshole tightens way more than it just did. Gowon tries to stretch her ass open again but you have a different plan for her hands.

“Touch yourself, make yourself cum,” you order.

“Please, oppa… I don’t—”

You slap her pussy again and she screams at the top of her lungs. “Fine then.” You take matters into your own hands as you shove three fingers into her cunt, still wet as earlier. “You’re liking this, aren’t you? You’re so wet. You love my dick in your asshole, don’t you, you whore,” you say, mocking her for still being wet despite what you’re doing to her ass.

“No, I don’t. I… don’t…” Gowon tries to refute but you squeeze her neck and prevent her from talking further.

You haven’t moved your hips in a long while and yet you feel yourself so close to cumming. You keep your grip on Gowon’s neck hard, just enough for her to still breathe. You start pistoning your hand in her pussy, practically punching her crotch at the speed you’re going. You use the other parts of Gowon’s body like buttons on a remote, affecting the way her anal walls clamp around your cock.

“Cum with me, let’s cum together,” you say, repeating the very words she told you earlier. You continue to piston your hand into her pussy without abandon. The closer Gowon gets to her climax, the tighter her ass squeezes you, and the closer you are as well. You slowly start to lose yourself in the sensation, gripping her neck harder and pumping your arm faster. You keep going and going until you’re practically crushing her windpipe and turning her pussy lips red.

Gowon starts screaming with what little air is left in her system as you feel the rush of her juices surge past your fingers. Shortly after you reach your own high as well, shooting rope after rope of your cum deep down her ass. You pull out and collapse beside Gowon, both of you panting after such intense orgasms.

Gowon starts to speak, forcing out words as she regains her energy. “Get out. I’m not gonna tell anyone about this… just as long as you leave me alone. I’m gonna clean up first but after that… I never wanna see you again.” Gowon sniffles as she fights tears after breaking the relationship. She makes attempts to get up but her legs are barely getting off the bed. Finally, after a few tries, you see her stand up. You notice Gowon grabs her phone as she heads to the bathroom and you immediately get to your feet. “What are you doing with that?” you shout, stopping Gowon in her tracks just a few feet away from the bathroom door.

“Nothing. I promise. Nothing. Just… leave me alone!”

You catch a glimpse of Gowon’s screen, the numbers “112” already pressed shining bright as day. You lunge after Gowon, she tries to turn around and use the bathroom as shelter but she trips on her own feet and ends up flat on the ground. You quickly pin her arms behind her back and use your other hand to reach for her phone, you quickly press the red button in time while it is still ringing.

You press Gowon’s head down, pushing the side of her face even harder into the floor. Gowon wails as she tries to squirm from underneath you but her strength is unmatched with your entire weight on top of her.

“I’M SORRY, OPPA! I’M REALLY SORRY! I PROMISE I WON’T DO IT, I PROMISE!” Gowon shouts and apologizes but you’ve had enough of all of it. You shove Gowon’s face even harder causing her to groan in the additional pressure burning into the side of her head. You’ve had enough of her, her antics, her false promises, her empty apologies, her pussy.

Maybe Gowon does need a lesson after all, maybe she needs a lesson to not mess with you. And what better way to teach her than to give her what she truly deserves—a good pounding.

You try to keep her steady but her small body keeps squirming to free herself, one simple slap to the face does the trick as she goes limp. The tip of your cock presses against Gowon’s asshole again. “Scream. Scream for me, bitch. I want to fucking hear it,” you whisper into her ear, knowing just how bad it’s gonna be for her.

No more of that slow and steady bullshit you did earlier, Gowon’s had her time to adjust to your size, if she still can’t handle it then that’s on her. You shove yourself inside, spearing through Gowon’s anal walls. You groan as you hurt yourself from trying to force your cock inside a tight hole but that doesn’t compare to the absolute feral, guttural scream coming from Gowon.

“AHHHH STOP STOP! I’M… SORRY! STOP PLEASE PULL IT OUT!” You drown in the sounds of Gowon’s pain as you thrust relentlessly into her body. The pleasure you garner from her screams drowns out the pain you feel as you struggle to fuck such a tiny hole.

“Fuck… Your ass is so tight, it’s gonna milk me forever. You wanna be my cum slut? Just taking my cum in your ass all the time?” You lightly tap her face a few times, reminding her that you’re talking to her.

“NO PLEASE… I’M SORRY, I REALLY AM!” Gowon barely manages to shake her head with her face literally pressed against the floor.

“Well, too fucking late. I make the decisions now.” You let go of Gowon’s body and lean forward, finding a better angle to destroy her ass in. Though her hands are free, they just fall lifeless at her sides, not even attempting to do anything to save herself. Gowon’s ass really is made for milking cocks as you feel yourself approaching yet another orgasm. The tightness of her anal walls just proves too much for you to even contain yourself for too long.

“Take my cum, you dirty fucking whore!” you shout as you feel your cock draining into her insides. You pull out and stand up and Gowon just lies there motionless with a trail of white leaking between her legs. “When I’m done with you… You’re going to want nothing but my dick up your ass.”

You can’t risk letting Gowon out, can’t risk her talking to anyone else. You have to keep her, you must keep her by your side forever. You get up and start looking through Gowon’s belongings, though she’s still unmoving on the floor since you left her alone, your eyes still shift constantly at her body just in case she tries anything.

At her desk you find her vibrator, just a simple wand massager, and you know just where to keep it. Rummaging through her drawers you manage to find some zip ties, perfect. You head back over to Gowon and start tying her wrists together behind her back. You carry her back to the bed then turn on the vibrator and press it against her clit. You close her legs around it then tie her thighs and ankles together.

“Oppa, please… I’m sorry…” Gowon’s voice is barely audible through the soft buzzing between her legs. You would love to hear her moan and scream but the constant begging is beginning to annoy you. You head over to her closet and the first thing that you notice is a green dress that you bought for her. You don’t even spare a second as you take it and start ripping through the fabric, its meaning lost on you, and not like Gowon would have a use for it anyway. “Oppa, please, no! Please, don’t! I hate—” You gather up some of the torn fabric and use it to shut Gowon up for good.

You yawn and realize that it’s getting late, it’s been a long night. You climb onto the other side of the bed and snuggle into Gowon. You turn her to her side and raise her leg up so you can insert your cock into her ass, still a struggle to do so but a little less than earlier. Once you manage to park yourself into her ass, you pull her close to you and embrace her, your naughty hands cupping her small chest and playing with her nipples as you close your eyes and slowly drift to sleep. “Happy birthday. Good night.”

Morning rolls around and you realize you’ve overslept, you quickly text in sick and decide to be productive with your day, in regards to Gowon of course. First, you check up on her. Your dick is still rammed inside of her tight hole and as you check between her legs, her side of the bed is soaked in her juices. Gowon’s eyes are half-closed, you can see her try to go to sleep but with the state of her lower half, it’s hard to do so. “You look like you had a lot of fun,” you joke.

Though before you leave, you want to take care of your morning wood, and with Gowon so generously already taking care of your cock, you might as well use it to solve your problem.

As you get above Gowon, you turn her around and bury her face into the sheets. You only now realize that you can feel the vibrator even while you’re inside of her ass. As you start thrusting into her, you employ your technique of choking Gowon out to force her ass tighter. “You’re really just a fleshlight, aren’t you?” you say, noting the similarities between your toy here and your toy back at your place, especially the way that Gowon’s ass squeezes just as you squeeze her neck.

It doesn’t take you long to orgasm, not with your cock trapped in that tight cage all night as it tightens and pulses frequently. You pull out and smile as you watch your load seep out of her rectum. Two years, that long you’ve waited to finally see such a wonderful sight, and you had to force her just to get it. You spank Gowon’s ass as you leave her. “Gonna be back, just gotta buy a few things for you.” You grab your clothes from the night before off the floor and get dressed, you also make sure you grab your and Gowon’s phone on the way out..

You get into your car and drive into the city to start shopping for new accessories for your toy. The first thing you buy is a dildo gag. As you shove the thing inside of her mouth she starts choking, having not sucked your cock ever her throat isn’t trained to handle anything down there. Maybe with that gag she can finally handle your dick soon enough when you decide to force yourself into her mouth too.

Next you buy two vibrators, the first is one you keep permanently in her pussy, the second is a vibrating butt plug that you use on her ass whenever you aren't home. The last accessory you buy are nipple clamps, with the chain just a little too short to wrap behind her neck but for you it was the perfect length, either Gowon raises her head to let her nipples rest or she rests her head but in turn her nipples are tugged.

Every day before work and every night after, you spend your time in the bedroom, just fucking Gowon’s ass non-stop, you keep a tray beneath her butt to catch all the cum that leaks out and all the juice she squirts, then you either mix it into her food or water before serving it to her. Even after a month of non-stop anal, Gowon’s ass still feels as tight as ever, every moment you fuck her feels almost as great as the first time you did so.

After a while, you move stuff over from your place to Gowon’s. After all, if you’re going to be by her side all the time, might as well just properly live together with her. Now lazy time has upgraded from lying in bed and falling asleep as you watch videos on your phone to cock warming and spooning Gowon while you both watch videos on your phone.

Days turn to weeks, weeks into months, and months into a full year. Your alarm blares and you jolt awake, it’s Gowon’s birthday! You hurriedly and abruptly take everything off of her body, the zip ties, the three vibrators, the clamps, and the gag. The sudden loss of the overwhelming pressure is in and of itself overwhelming, Gowon collapses spread eagled on the bed as her body is in peace, her pussy isn’t overstimulated, there’s nothing lodged in her throat, there’s no buzzing in her ears, and there’s nothing pulling her nipples. She looks over at your naked body standing to the side of the bed, “O… Oppa?” Her voice comes out a little hoarse having not said a word in a year.

You give her a warm smile as you play with her hair. “Hey, baby. Happy birthday! What present do you want from me this year?”

Gowon takes a while to answer, staring at you, at your dick, then back into your eyes. “A-Ass…” she whispers.

You lean forward with a bigger smile on your face, “Come again?” you ask, you heard it clearly but you wanted to savor the moment.

“Ass… I want… my ass fucked, oppa.”

You jumped for joy, you did it, you broke her mind. After a full year of endlessly force fucking her asshole, she’s finally asking you to stuff her butt. Lots of new avenues open up as your anal toy has just been upgraded to an anal pet, you can make Gowon drop to her knees and present her ass every time you tell her to or maybe even just make her present ass all the time she’s at home. But you choose to ponder on those thoughts for later, right now the princess has a wish and you’re willing to grant it. As you get on the bed, Gowon raises her legs and spreads her cheeks for you. “I love you, Gowon.”

#kpop #kpop smut #loona #loona smut #gowon #gowon smut

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thyras · 2 months ago

Text

→ of creation & devotion

PAIRING → mairon | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 6.7k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → more childish yearning, mentions of torture, fighting, mentions of blood

AUTHORS NOTE → welp here we are, again hehe, though this time I do have a plan and someone will kind of get revenge for this little mishap hehe. @enseekay you wished for me to tag you ❤️

SUMMARY → years pass, and mairon settles into his new life while you yearn for what may never come to pass.

PARTS → masterlist

“He seems utterly captivated by you,” Eärlindë remarked, her tone light with amusement as you walked past the forge. The clang of hammers on anvils echoed through the street, the apprentices bustling about their work, but you hardly noticed them. What caught your attention was the familiar sensation of Mairon’s gaze upon you, a weight you had grown accustomed to. His emerald eyes lingered, stealing a moment to take you in as you passed. It was never difficult to tell when he was watching; his presence was a part of you now, woven so deeply into your being that even Vairë herself might envy the threads that bound you together.

And yet, that was all it had been since he had taken over the forge—stolen glances, fleeting smiles, and polite nods as your paths crossed in the market. You had hoped, desperately, that he would seek you out after the moment you had shared in the glade. His touch, his words, his very presence had awakened something within you that could not be silenced. But he had kept his distance, offering no more than the warmth of his gaze from afar.

“I doubt it, Eärlindë,” you replied, clutching the basket of soiled linens a little tighter. The previous night had been a joyous one—the town celebrated the arrival of a new babe, and your heart had swelled with pride as you placed the child into its mother’s arms. The look of wonder and love shared between the parents had been beautiful, a reflection of Arda’s harmony in its purest form.

But as you had stood there, watching the couple bask in their shared joy, a quiet ache had settled in your chest. Your thoughts had drifted, as they often did, to him. You yearned to know what it might feel like to have his arms around you, to be held as though you were his entire world. You imagined him looking at you with the same adoration, his smile radiant as he beheld a child born of your union, the fruit of a bond unshakable and eternal.

It was foolish, you told yourself. A naïve maiden’s fantasy, nothing more. Surely, he could not feel the same yearning that you did. If he did, why would he keep his distance, leaving you to wrestle alone with this unrelenting harmony that sang between your fëar?

You sighed, shaking off the thought, but Eärlindë’s teasing glance told you she had seen through your words. She always did. Still, you walked on, carrying your burden of linen—and of longing—with you.

“Would it warm your heart to know he refuses any advance, Mornelótë?” Eärlindë’s words caught you off guard, and you turned to her, trying desperately to keep the sparkle of hope from betraying you. Her knowing smile only deepened as she continued. “Some of the maidens have tried, trust me, but he only has eyes for you.”

Her voice held a teasing lilt, but there was sincerity in her gaze. She paused for a moment, the hint of a youthful grin lighting her face. “I think you both are acting like two juveniles, dancing around what is so apparent to everyone else.”

The heat rose to your cheeks, and you quickly looked away, pretending to busy yourself with the basket of soiled linen in your arms. The weight of her words settled over you, and your thoughts spun with the possibilities they suggested. You dared not let the hope grow too strong—it was too fragile, too precious—but the warmth in your chest was impossible to ignore.

As the two of you approached the water’s edge, the gentle murmur of the stream mingled with the sound of Eärlindë’s soft laughter. You glanced at her from the corner of your eye, your heart both lifted and burdened by her words, the ache of your longing now tempered by a faint glimmer of possibility.

Laying his hammer down, Mairon removed his leather apron with practiced ease and draped it neatly over the wooden table. With a cloth in hand, he wiped the soot and grime from his face and clothing, a faint smile touching his lips. There was a quiet satisfaction in this work, in being the Master for once—a role he had never truly held, always serving under the will of another.

Now, he found a new joy in shaping not only metal but the minds of the young men who apprenticed under him. Their eager hands followed his guidance, their unformed talents beginning to take shape under his instruction. Through them, he could nurture his love for creation, order, and harmony, weaving his ideals into the very fabric of their craft.

They, of course, knew nothing of the depths of his true skill or the shadowed history that accompanied it. Nor did they grasp the full nature of the one they called Master—a being forged in fire and ambition, whose light was entwined with darkness. It was better that way, he thought. For now, he could simply revel in the act of creation, even as the weight of his true self lingered just beneath the surface.

Though echoes of his past still stirred in the depths of his fëa, haunting him in quiet moments, Mairon pressed onward. Sleep was a luxury he rarely indulged in, for he had no true need of it. Instead, his nights were consumed with work—designs and creations meant for other purposes. But not all his labors were practical or mundane. Some were more indulgent, more personal.

He toiled over creations of vanity, shaping wonders of unmatched beauty, treasures that no one could mistake for the work of another.

Jewelry for an elven maiden.

The one whose heart harmonized with his own, your soprano a perfect counterpoint to his baritone, weaving a melody that resonated through the very fabric of his being.

Jewelry making had never been a craft he favored; his love was for the grand and the enduring, for structures and tools that shaped the world itself. Yet for you, he found himself drawn to this finer art. He imagined the way the delicate pieces might adorn you, enhancing the radiance that already surpassed the stars.

He would do it for you—for the chance to see you graced with jewels forged by the same hands that had once shaped mountains and rivers. For the chance to give you something as eternal and exquisite as the bond that tethered his fëa to yours.

So he toiled deep into the night, his chamber filled with the faint glow of candlelight and the sound of his quill scratching across parchment. Designs littered the room, crumpled and discarded in frustration, none meeting the impossible standard he sought. His mind, normally so precise, faltered in its pursuit of perfection. Inspiration eluded him, and the longer he worked, the more the ache in his chest grew—a dull, unrelenting reminder of all he had lost.

In a rare moment of reprieve, Mairon leaned back, twirling the silver band between his fingers. It was a relic of an age long past, forged under the light of the Two Lamps before their destruction. The silver gleamed softly, its surface unmarred by time, yet the inscription on its outer curve remained obscured. It was as if the words had been veiled from his sight, their meaning withheld by some unseen power. His darkened heart throbbed faintly with the weight of it, an ache he could neither name nor escape.

He pondered the mystery, his mind drifting. Would the inscription return if he placed the ring upon your finger? Could your light, so pure and untouched, rekindle the meaning lost to him? Or was it gone forever, another casualty of his fall from grace? Perhaps it was a folly to even imagine such a thing. He had turned from Aman, from the purity of its light, and sworn himself to Melkor. What right did he have to hope for redemption—or to dream of you?

With a bitter sigh, he set the ring on the wooden table before him, its gleam dulled in the shadowed room. The thought nagged at him, unwelcome and relentless: something created in the brilliance of the Lamps could never truly shine in his grasp. His hands, once vessels of beauty and creation, had spent countless ages forging horrors in the dark halls of Angband, weapons to enslave and destroy the very people he now walked among. What right had he to even look at you, let alone dream of binding his fëa to yours?

Melkor’s voice echoed in his mind, a phantom that had never truly left him. He could almost hear the cruel laughter, sharp and biting, as if his former master stood before him. “You grow soft, Mairon,” the voice sneered. “Do you truly think she would accept you if she knew whose servant you were?”

And worse, Melkor would twist the blade deeper: “You are weak. A servant, nothing more. You were never meant to be a master—you exist only to obey.”

The rage surged in Mairon’s chest, hot and all-consuming, threatening to break free. He clenched his fists, the silver band forgotten on the table, as memories flooded his mind. When the Valar had come for Melkor, when Tulkas himself had dragged the Dark Lord screaming into the Void, Mairon had fled. He had abandoned his master, not out of defiance but out of fear—fear of what repentance might mean, fear of the light he had once embraced, fear of losing himself entirely.

And so he had wandered, hiding in shadow, evading both the eyes of the Valar and the judgment he knew awaited him. Melkor’s most faithful servant had become a coward, and though the Valar had never found him, he had never stopped fearing the day his master might return.

For when Melkor returned, there would be no forgiveness.

The thought chilled him. Melkor would exact vengeance with cruelty unmatched, and Mairon could imagine it all too vividly: his body torn apart, limb by limb, only to be pieced together again for further torment. And worse—Melkor would use you against him. He would fill Mairon’s mind with visions of your suffering, your demise crafted in every horrifying way his master’s twisted imagination could conjure.

“You will know, Mairon,” the phantom voice whispered in his mind. “You will remember who the master is. And you will bow.”

He shook his head violently, dispelling the dark thoughts before they could consume him. The candlelight flickered as if in response, casting long, wavering shadows across the room. His hands trembled, and his jaw tightened as he forced himself to breathe.

But the silver ring lay there, unmoving, its quiet gleam a reminder of the harmony he longed for and the darkness that would never let him have it.

So now, as he stepped away from his forge and toward the sweet, melodic sound of laughter drifting from the stream’s edge, Mairon allowed a small, wistful smile to grace his lips. He would find the courage to let your light pierce the darkness within him, to fill the hollow ache in his heart with warmth once more. Even if it was only for a fleeting moment, a brief chapter in the eternity that weighed upon him, he would cherish it—this harmony with you—before the shadows of his past claimed him again.

The sound of laughter and playful giggling grew louder as Mairon approached, cresting like a song reaching its peak. His steps slowed as the scene unfolded before him—you, radiant and carefree, and Eärlindë, your lively companion and the fisherman’s daughter who seemed to bring out the childlike joy in you.

This time, the two of you were engaged in a game so simple, so innocent, it could only belong to children—or those who had momentarily cast aside their burdens. You splashed each other with water, squealing and laughing as the forgotten task of washing linens lay abandoned on the stream’s edge.

Mairon stood still, watching, captivated by the sight. He did not know what lighthearted whim had brought you to this, but it filled him with a warmth he had thought long lost—a warmth he had not felt since the golden days under the Lamps or the shimmering glow of the Trees. It was a fleeting joy, a glimpse of something pure, untouched by shadow, and for a moment, it eased the ache within him.

Though his time watching you was intrrupted, and with his courage wavering he sulked back into the shadows of the forest.

“Calandil!” Eärlindë called out, her laughter trailing off as she noticed the tall warrior striding toward the water’s edge. You turned, catching sight of him just as he approached. “Brother, it is so good to see you once more,” she said brightly, moving to greet him. He chuckled, his arms wrapping around her in a warm embrace.

“It warms my heart to see you both well,” he said, his voice deep and steady, though his gaze shifted to you with a mock sternness. “Though I see neither of you has grown past your childish ways.”

You shrugged with a playful smile as Eärlindë swatted at his chest. “And you must tell us of your adventures! Surely traveling with the great Finwë has brought many tales of might and glory?”

Calandil looked down at his younger sister, his expression softening as he chuckled. “I can certainly share my stories,” he said, a hint of fondness in his tone. “But first, Mother requests that both of you join us for supper—if you are finished acting like unruly youths.” He winked at you, the playful gesture enough to draw a flush to your cheeks. It was not the searing heat Mairon could stir in you, but Calandil’s admiration for you was clear, as it always had been. His devotion had been unwavering, and you knew he would not let Mairon claim your heart without a fight, should it ever come to that.

Eärlindë laughed, but her words came with a teasing lilt that betrayed their sincerity. “Come now, brother, Mornelótë is pledged to another.”

Calandil’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression turning curious as he released his sister and stepped closer to you. “Is she now?” he asked, raising a brow in challenge. “Do show me this man who is worthy of your beauty, Meldanya.” The endearment, rich and unguarded, slipped from his lips effortlessly, and you felt your cheeks warm again under his gaze.

“Eärlindë speaks of things she should not,” you said sharply, your glare shifting to her as she began gathering the freshly washed linen, clearly pleased with herself. Ignoring your scolding look, she stepped away from Calandil with an innocent smile, leaving you to wade back to the shore alone.

Calandil moved toward you, stretching out a hand in assistance, but you hesitated and did not take it. Your heart was already bound, and his kindness, though genuine, could not sway the truth that sang within you.

For all of Eärlindë’s teasing, she had not lied. Your heart was pledged, irrevocably so, to the fiery being who worked tirelessly at the forge. To the man whose gaze met yours with a resonance that echoed the very fabric of creation. Every stolen glance, every imagined touch, every unspoken word that lingered in your thoughts was his. His song was intertwined with yours, the melody eternal and undeniable.

Even if it took an age, you would wait for him. You would wait for Mairon with a patience your heart could barely bear, even if the ache of longing threatened to consume you. For you knew, in the depths of your fëa, that your destiny was bound to his, as surely as the sun to the day and the moon to the night.

As you walked in step with Eärlindë and Calandil toward their parents’ home, your thoughts were elsewhere, your gaze drawn instinctively toward the forge. There he was, Mairon, toiling away in the amber glow of his craft, the movements of his hands precise and almost hypnotic. You chewed the inside of your cheek, hesitating as the urge to go to him warred with your sense of decorum.

Calandil noticed your faltering stride and gently grasped your arm, his touch careful yet questioning. “Mornelótë?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern. You turned your eyes to him, offering a gentle smile in reassurance, though your heart felt anything but settled.

“I will join you both in a moment,” you said, your tone steady though your resolve wavered.

Eärlindë, ever perceptive, tightened her grip on her brother’s hand and gave him a slight tug, motioning toward the man in the forge with a knowing look before pulling him along down the street. You caught the fleeting exchange as Calandil’s gaze darkened momentarily, his expression hardening as he glanced toward the fiery-haired smith. He thought he masked it well, but you saw the flicker of disapproval in his eyes, a silent challenge cast toward Mairon.

For a brief moment, you lingered there, the weight of Calandil’s protective nature pressing against the pull of the melody that tied you to Mairon. And as the siblings disappeared around the corner, you drew a steadying breath, steeling yourself for what would come next.

“Are you taking commissions?” you asked softly, stepping closer to Mairon’s forge. The heat of the embers radiated toward you, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of his presence. He had sensed your approach long before you spoke, and as you drew near, he paused his work, setting his tools aside with practiced ease.

“Not at the moment,” he replied smoothly, his voice carrying a note of intrigue, “but what does the lady have in mind?” The smile that curved his lips was magnetic, drawing you closer as you leaned your hip against the edge of his work table. Your cheeks warmed, not just from the heat of the forge but from the intensity of his gaze. You hadn’t yet thought of what you might request, and the realization made you hesitate.

Mairon’s eyes glimmered with amusement, and he chuckled softly, seeing through your pretense. “If you wished only to speak with me,” he said warmly, “you needn’t invent an excuse. You are always welcome.”

Your gaze fell to the table, shame blooming in your chest as his words hung in the air. You turned over the thoughts that had plagued you for so long. Mairon was a master of his craft, a smith whose skill could rival the greatest of the Noldor. His creations were coveted by lords and envied by those who could never match his artistry. And you? You were a simple maiden, without standing or title, your only claim being the quiet, unassuming life you led among your kin.

How could he ever lower himself to someone like you, whose worth seemed so insignificant in comparison to the brilliance of his presence and the magnitude of his skill? The thought weighed heavily on your fëa, and yet, the melody that resonated between you refused to be silenced. It called to you still, whispering of possibilities you dared not believe.

“I do wish for something,” you breathed softly into the warm glow of the forge, the embers casting flickering light into his emerald eyes. They seemed to burn with the same intensity as the fire behind him. “But I hardly believe you would lower yourself to it.” The words felt heavy with doubt, and you averted your gaze, surprised at the vulnerability that spilled from you. It was the effect he had on you, the way his presence unraveled all your carefully guarded composure.

Mairon tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity and tenderness crossing his features. Without hesitation, he stepped closer, his dirtied hand reaching beneath your delicate chin to guide your gaze back to his. The warmth of his touch sent a ripple of comfort through you as his steady eyes met yours.

“My dear,” he began, his voice as smooth as flowing silver, “there is no request you could ever utter that would be lower than I.” His thumb traced softly along your cheek, his touch grounding you even as it made your heart race. “For I am the lower being. You are the finest creation—one even my hands could never have shaped, no matter how much I might wish for it.”

A heat bloomed in your cheeks at his words, a shy smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. His own lips curled into a satisfied smile, clearly pleased with the way he had chased the doubt from your mind.

“Then—” you began, your throat tightening as your lips struggled to articulate the thought swirling in your heart. The hesitation felt insurmountable, the weight of your emotions too great to put into words.

“Mori,” he murmured softly, the affectionate nickname slipping from his lips like a caress. It was a name he alone had given you, a kindness that turned the town’s harsh moniker into something beautiful. “Please, do not hide your desires from me. I only wish to fulfill them with all my heart.”

His words, tender and unyielding, stirred something deep within you, and the harmony of your shared fëar swelled in unspoken promise.

He meant every word of his promise, and the warmth of his gaze gave you the courage to finally speak the desire that had lived in your heart for so long. “Craft me a ring,” you whispered, your voice steady yet soft, “so I may bind myself to you, and our fëar may finally sing in the song that only we shall know.”

For a moment, his emerald eyes widened, a flicker of surprise lighting their depths. But then, a slow, tender smile graced his lips as he leaned closer, his grime-streaked nose brushing against yours in a gesture so intimate it made your heart flutter. “And what,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection, “if I already have one?”

Your hands lifted of their own accord, your fingers gently tracing the contours of his face, brushing away the soot that clung to his skin. “Then place it upon my finger,” you said, the words filled with quiet certainty, “and let us wed, as I know we both desire to.”

The forge’s warm glow wrapped around the two of you, and for a moment, the world fell away, leaving only the unspoken harmony that sang between your souls, ready to be bound for eternity.

Mairon slipped the silver band onto your finger, the very band he had forged so long ago in the days when the yearning for an unknown being had first stirred in his fëa. Now, he realized, you were that being—the one he had unknowingly crafted it for, the one whose presence had filled the void that once consumed him. As the bluish inscription glimmered to life upon the silver surface, the fear that had long plagued him faded. His fëa reached out instinctively, and he felt yours respond, the tendrils intertwining as the bond between you sealed, eternal and unbreakable.

“It is beautiful,” you murmured, holding the ring up to the light of the forge. Its glow danced upon your features, and your words were filled with wonder. “Fairest of maidens, in the moonlight, you shall find me, for we are never truly parted.”

Your voice, soft yet sure, carried the words etched into the band—a mystery that had haunted him for ages. He had not known their meaning when he inscribed them, guided only by the melody in his heart. But now, as you spoke them aloud, they resonated with a truth that made his chest tighten. A smile graced his lips, and his hand lifted to cup your chin once more, his touch tender yet possessive, as if to ensure you would never slip away.

“I would find you even in darkness, my sweet Mairon,” you whispered, the words laced with conviction, “nothing could ever take me from you.”

Oh, how he longed to believe it, to cling to the hope that your love could withstand all that might come. Yet in the depths of his heart, he knew there were forces that could tear you apart—forces far beyond his control. Still, he let the moment linger, cherishing the promise your words carried, a vow he held onto with fervent desperation. Even if the darkness claimed him once more, even if time itself conspired against you, he would find you. For your bond, sealed now and forever, would endure, waiting to reunite you at another point in the endless melody of creation.

Your breath hitched as he leaned closer, his emerald eyes fluttering shut, and your heart swelled in anticipation. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the song that had bound your fëar to his was about to reach its crescendo. The air in the forge grew stiflingly warm, his fiery presence enveloping you like the sweetest embrace. And then, after a moment that stretched endlessly, his lips met yours.

The world around you dissolved as the harmony of your shared melody surged to life, wrapping around you both like an intricate, unbreakable thread. It was delicate yet unyielding, a reflection of the bond you had nurtured and the longing you had endured.

His kiss was soft at first, tender and reverent, but the intensity grew quickly, as though he could no longer contain the depth of his desire. His lips teased at yours, pulling at your bottom lip, and his touch deepened, exploring the taste of your sweetness as if it were a gift he could scarcely believe was his to claim.

His strong arms encircled you, drawing you closer against him, as if he feared you might slip away. In his embrace, the forge’s heat was nothing compared to the fire that surged between you, igniting a connection that felt as eternal as the stars.

The moment shattered as you felt a firm arm snatch you away from Mairon’s grasp, tearing you from the warmth and harmony you had longed for. Your blissed-out mind struggled to catch up, your lips still tingling, aching to feel his pillowy kiss once more.

Blinking, you turned to face the intruder, your tongue sharp and ready to scorn whoever dared interrupt—but the words caught in your throat as your gaze met white hair and piercing blue eyes. Calandil.

A lump formed in your throat as the intensity of his expression struck you. His eyes burned with a fury that rivaled Ulmo’s great wrath, his jaw clenched as though he were holding back the full force of his anger.

“Mornelótë,” he said, his voice low but trembling with restrained rage, “what is this?”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as your eyes darted back to Mairon. Your heart sank at the sight of his darkened gaze fixed on Calandil, his emerald eyes now sharp and unreadable. In all your prayers to the Valar, you had hoped this moment would never come to pass, this clash between the fiery smith and the stalwart warrior.

The weight of the silver ring on your fourth finger pressed against you like an anchor, a stark reminder of the bond you had chosen. The luminous inscription, which had moments ago filled you with joy, now felt heavy under Calandil’s burning scrutiny.

Words faltered on your tongue. You did not know what to say to Calandil, his expression a storm of betrayal and fury. Nor did you dare let Mairon speak, for fear of the provocation that might follow. Calandil’s anger simmered just beneath the surface, and you knew too well the rashness that could overtake him in such a state.

Desperation filled your chest as you stood between them, caught in the rising tension, praying silently that the fragile harmony of the moment might somehow be preserved. But it was not to be and among your silence, Calandil pulled you from between them and walked over to the smith.

“You think you can come here,” Calandil hissed, his voice trembling with barely contained fury, “share in our goods, take up the post as our city’s smith, and all would be well.” He stepped closer, his face now mere inches from Mairon’s, his posture bristling with indignation.

You moved instinctively to intervene, your heart racing as the tension between them grew. “Calandil—” you began, but your words were cut short as he pushed you gently but firmly back to where you had been standing. The action left you stunned, a flicker of concern flashing in Mairon’s eyes as he glanced briefly toward you. But the moment passed, and his attention returned to Calandil, his expression composed but steely.

“And now,” Calandil growled, his voice low and sharp, “you wish to defile one of our maidens?” His words dripped with venom, and your breath caught at the accusation.

“Calandil, please, it is not like that at all,” you pleaded, your voice trembling as you stepped forward once more. But the elf turned to you sharply, his blazing blue eyes cutting through you like a blade.

“You will silence your tongue,” he barked, the force of his words making you flinch. Tears threatened to spill as you gazed up at him, the sting of his harsh tone a bitter reminder of how much had changed.

This was not the Calandil you had known—the gentle, soft-spoken elf who had once protected and cherished you. His time away, wherever Finwë had sent him, had transformed him. It was clear now that the journey to the West had not been what he had hoped. The brightness that once filled him seemed dulled, replaced by a hardened anger that lashed out, even at you.

He would never have spoken to you this way before, nor would he have jumped to such cruel accusations. Something deeper was wrong within him, and it pained you to see it, even as his fury consumed the moment.

To your surprise, Mairon had remained silent, his lips pressed into a firm line as his piercing gaze stayed locked on the elf before him. He made no effort to defend himself, no attempt to argue against Calandil’s fury. But then your breath caught as you noticed his hand slowly glide toward one of the tools laid on the worktable. The motion was subtle, deliberate, and it sent a chill down your spine.

You shook your head sharply at him, your silent plea carried through the threads of your bond, tugging gently but urgently at his fëa. Don’t. Your eyes met his, wide with stress and desperation, imploring him to let it go.

For a long, tense moment, Mairon regarded you. Then, with a subtle exhale, he shifted his hand away from the tool, resting it instead on the edge of the table. Relief washed over you, though the tension in the air remained thick and unyielding.

Calandil turned back to him, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. “What do you have to say for yourself, smith?” he demanded, straightening to his full height, his presence radiating authority and challenge.

Finally, Mairon’s voice filled the forge, smooth and steady, its calmness a stark contrast to the storm brewing between them.

“I hardly defile your maidens,” Mairon said smoothly, his tone calm but firm. “For I have asked Mornelótë for her hand.” His emerald gaze remained steady as he watched Calandil’s reaction, the disbelief flashing in the other elf’s blue eyes like a storm. To Mairon’s mild satisfaction, there was more than disbelief there—there was hurt. It was subtle but unmistakable, a crack in the warrior’s hardened facade.

“Is this true?” Calandil asked, his voice low but edged with emotion. His piercing gaze flickered toward you, searching for the truth in your expression.

Mairon didn’t move, his heart attuned to yours, pulling at your fëa as though urging you to speak. Say the words, and be mine, he thought silently, his eyes never leaving you. He could see the conflict in your watery gaze, the way your throat worked as you struggled to form the words.

Finally, you took a trembling breath and answered, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, Calandil,” you said, your tone resolute despite the emotion laced within it. “His song matches mine in every melody known, and I cannot ignore what is destined.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with truth, as Calandil’s expression shifted, his hurt deepening. But your declaration was unshakable, your choice made. And Mairon, though calm in his outward appearance, felt his heart surge with a quiet triumph.

For all his darkness, Mairon felt a light and warmth now that rivaled what he had once known in Aman. You were his, and nothing could compare to the quiet triumph that swelled within him as your declaration echoed in the forge.

But the moment was fleeting. Calandil’s fist struck hard against Mairon’s cheek, the force of the blow staggering him backward. Pain bloomed sharp and immediate, but Mairon steadied himself, his gaze flickering briefly toward the enraged elf. He knew well that elves rarely turned to violence unless driven by absolute necessity. But the fury in Calandil’s eyes mirrored something Mairon recognized all too clearly—the same blazing fire he himself once bore in service to Melkor. It was the look of a predator consumed by wrath, striking without mercy or thought.

The blows came again, one after another, but Mairon did not retaliate. He stood firm, enduring the onslaught with a stoic resilience that only seemed to fuel Calandil’s rage. Each strike was met with silence, Mairon’s emerald eyes calm despite the chaos around him.

For Mairon knew. These blows, these moments of fury, would one day be avenged—not through violence, but through the quiet and unshakable bond that had been forged between you and him. In time, his triumph would echo louder than any fists could, and Calandil’s fury would fade into nothingness against the weight of destiny.

Though as he looked up at his attacker, he felt something else. The silent but deadly voice of his master. “You weak being, letting a mere mortal torment you over something so beneath you. I should flay you for your weakness.” Mairon’s eyes clamped shut as the taunting laughter and more degrading words echoed through his mind. His rage over came him and he pushed Calandil back with a forceful kick of his boot. The elf fell back on to the stone floor of the forge and in his consumed fury Mairon did something, he had never wished for you to see.

His fingers wrapped around the elf’s neck, squeezing down on his windpipe, drawing the air from his lungs. “She is mine,” he snarled at the choking elf. Eyes black with fury as the dark lines of his true nature stretched underneath his eyes. “Her fëa sings for mine, elf, not yours and you will do well to remember what Eru proclaimed in existence. Her destiny is with me.” Mairon snarled. Though in all his consumed fury and rage, your voice cut through him like a knife.

“Stop it,” You cried out. “Stop it, your hurting him.” You continued with tears in your eyes as he looked up to see the fear and desperation for him to cease his tight grasp on Calandil’s throat. That tiny amount of light inside him pulling and flowing once more, softening his gaze until he released the elf’s neck. Mairon moved off him and sat back against the work bench, trying his hardest to regain his breath as Calandil took in what he had been deprived of.

"Is there a problem here?" The question cut through the tension like a blade, as two guardsmen approached, their boots crunching against the cobblestones. Their stern gazes flicked between you and the commotion, shadows from the burning forge dancing across their faces. You turned, mouth half-open, ready to explain, but before your words could find air, Calandil surged forward, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and triumph.

"Arrest this man!" he commanded, pointing an accusatory finger, his hand shaking with indignation. "He dares to lay his filthy hands on me!" His breath came in ragged gasps, his face flushed, and the gleam in his eyes was that of someone savoring the power of the moment.

Mairon stared at the man in disbelief, the faint metallic tang of blood sharp on his lips as he wiped it away with the back of his hand. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, but his glare remained fixed, defiant even in pain. You turned sharply as the guardsmen approached, their deliberate steps carrying them toward Mairon, their expressions unyielding and devoid of question.

“Please,” you said, your tone steady yet pleading, like a balm over the fraying tension. “It was only a minor dispute. Escort my lord back to his home so he may recover in peace. I will see to our faithful smith.” The two elves exchanged a brief glance before inclining their heads to you. Wordlessly, they bent to hoist Calandil to his feet, the defeated lord sputtering protests as they guided him away.

You crossed the space to Mairon, your steps quiet but deliberate. His body sagged slightly, the tension in his shoulders melting away. Relief washed over him like the cool mist of a morning breeze, and his eyes fluttered closed as if seeking refuge behind the darkness of his lids.

You couldn’t suppress the flicker of satisfaction that stirred within you at his eventual defense of your honor. Yet, the events that followed left a shadow over your heart, a chill that gripped you tighter with each passing moment. The gentle, soft-spoken Mairon you had always known seemed to dissolve before your eyes, giving way to a darkness—raw, potent, and unfamiliar. It was a presence unlike anything you had felt in all your countless years among the spirits and the nurturing embrace of Arda.

Your fingers moved instinctively, tracing the curve of his split lip, the skin rough beneath your touch. They traveled upward, brushing aside strands of his fiery red hair, damp and clinging to his sweat-slicked brow, to reveal the bruised cheek beneath. The sight tugged at something deep within you, and you let out a soft tsk, the sound both chiding and affectionate. A faint smile curved your lips, tender yet tinged with unease.

“My sweet Mairon,” you whispered, your breath mingling with his as you settled yourself fully onto his lap, your knees bracketing him, steadying him as your hands ghosted over his injuries. Each touch was careful, reverent, as though the very act of tending to him might erase the pain he had endured. “You didn’t need to take such blows for my sake.”

A strong hand rose, his fingers curling around your left one with a firm yet tender grasp. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and the familiar softness of his emerald gaze pierced through the lingering tension. Without breaking his gaze, his lips pressed a lingering kiss to the silver band on your ring finger, an unspoken vow in the tender act.

“You are worth every torturous blow,” he murmured, his voice low but unwavering. “If it means that each man in this city knows whose heart you hold, who you belong to.” Heat rushed to your cheeks at his words, and your face warmed despite the coolness of the room.

“Mori,” he continued, his voice laced with an almost pleading tone, “I love you with all my being and wish for nothing but your happiness. Though I am sorry you had to see that side of me.” His tone shifted, laden with regret, but before he could say more, you silenced him with a soft shush, your free hand rising to cup his bruised cheek. Your thumb moved in delicate circles, careful not to worsen his pain, your touch a balm to his unspoken wounds.

“I love every inch of you, Mairon,” you said, your voice steady and filled with truth, “even the darker parts of you.” The weight of your words hung between you, unnoticed by you, but searing into him. For in that single, sincere statement, you unknowingly etched the lines of your destiny—an ending that would sear your place aside one of Melkor’s dark servants for eternity.

For now there would never be a place for you in the Blessed Realm. No white ship could bear this burden of darkness that you had pledged yourself too.

#trop fic #sauron x reader #sauron #mairon x reader #mairon #the rings of power #rings of power fic

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drdemonprince · 2 months ago

Note

I think think about your piece How to Go Places Alone And Not Feel Like A Freak Looser (or something to that affect) quite often.

While it is uncomfortable, tiring, nerve wracking, to feel like or be the odd one out, I am at least used to the feeling. It takes nerve but (especially as a kid/teen) have always gone to things alone and, once I get over myself, enjoy not caring what anyone thinks about my presence.

As an (ever transsexualizing >:) adult, I am getting back into doing & dressing however I want in public (embarrassing yourself is inevitable, might as well enjoy life!). This is a funner, freer, outlook, but I hoped being more myself would help me find my people.

I’m used to the awful feeling of being an alien freak looser (real or imagined) so I can hype myself up to be in my own world when I’m out. But I wonder if doing this, and choosing events based on interest instead of demographics or friendship, reinforces my felling of disconnect with people. It’s easier to accept, and dress like, I’ll always stick out (be alone) than it is to imagine mimicking those around me.

I went to an explicitly cruisey new years night and instead of studying the crowd intensely trying to fit in, wore my shiny platforms, smiled at people, and danced just for the fun of it. Feeling good about myself and enjoying my experience requires an ‘eh fuck ‘em’ attitude. I can enjoy being in public seeing all my fellow earthlings but it does not feel social. And I realize, my time there felt anything but sexy. I wasn’t about to walz into the darkroom (let’s walk before we run), but I hate that I couldn’t feel comfortable in this place I’ve always wanted to be.

I return to the same questions everywhere I go: I can exist, but how am I supposed to learn the codes of a space when I can’t study (ruminate) from afar?

How could I ever be social when (even joyous and embodied) I can’t get out of my own head?

How do you know when it’s time to listen to your gut and when to play into a social game?

I understand what you mean about the duality between doing your own thing in your own little alien bubble and actively placing effort into connecting with the people around you (which often feels like it requires masking).

But, from my perspective, both of those are strategies for dealing with social overwhelm -- one is more dissociative, and the other's more compensatory. Both of them reflect a discomfort with the people in the space. And they're both perfectly reasonable ways to deal with such feelings! But the way to move forward, at least in my experience, is to continue attending events until you attain enough familiarity with them that you actually start feeling more comfortable.

You said you didn't feel sexy at this cruisy party, and certainly weren't ready to venture into the dark room. That's fine! You can work your way up in whatever order of activities is least intimidating to most intimidating to you.

The first few times that I go to a club, I need anywhere from a few minutes to an hour to get warmed up enough to really dance on the floor and take up a ton of space and make weird gestures. I spend a lot of time lurking in the corner or reading a book at the bar at first. After I've been there a number of times, I know the deal of the space better, recognize a few people, maybe have developed a rapport with the door guy or a regular, and it gets easier to branch out and feel more at ease in my skin. People intuit this and approach me more often when I'm feeling more comfortable, and my reactions have fewer exit ramps built into them (one of my protective instincts is to throw out a lot of conversation-enders that make people feel rejected, lmaoo good one me).

The same general principles I've described here can apply to any new social challenge, including a bar with a backroom where people are fucking. Show up again. Do your thing. Maybe find a spot to post up and observe, since you mentioned an interest in doing that. Bring a book or some knitting if you want, and wear whatever outfit helps you feel comfortable and good with yourself. The first few times you do all this, people may get strong "I'm Doing My Own Thing Leave Me Alone" vibes from you, as they often do from Autistics, and that's fine. You're still learning and acclimating from being there. After a couple of tries, head into that back room. It's not as exciting as you think it's gonna be. You might get to watch some fucking or you might just see a bunch of guys pacing around who are just as awkward as you feel that you are. But then you'll know what it's like. And then you just keep showing up, and observing and participating in small ways (watching is participation in a sex club!), and you'll get steadily more involved in the space and connected to the people each time that you do.

I've been going to pet patrol nights for a long time and I've only just now gotten to the point where I can chat up random people and get into hookups relatively easily, instead of just standing around mutely hoping someone will approach me. Bringing friends has helped a ton to relax me and make me seem more approachable to others, too, so you could try that!

for anyone wondering here's the full piece

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shotmrmiller · 7 months ago

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best to worst at handling the news that it’s gonna be twins/triplets/multiples? feel free to include other characters too if you want

john^2- so happy to be here oh what a joyous occasion (let's you tear his ear off his head because the one that's gonna be bearing the brunt of it will be you. must be nice being a man whose back won't feel like bella's in breaking dawn at 4 months if triplets. john wants twins, johnny wants as many nuggets as possible.)

kyle- he's cheeky because he was hoping for twins. runs in the family. didn't think to tell you because either he's gone no contact and doesn't think of them or they're distant relatives or something. didn't think it mattered. boasting about it to anyone that'll listen and now everyone's calling him kyle 'the over-achiever' garrick

simon- freaks over a pregnancy scare. he can't deal with new life. terrified of it. the thought of having a human dependent on him for 18+ years makes his palms sweaty. doesn't matter how many it is, he's looking at the belly like it's a world wonder.

graves is a southern man who dreams of a nuclear family so any kind of multiples is always good news. that's what he bought that big ol plot of land for in sweetwater texas.

alejandro thinks twins are a blessing ofc. latinos tend to have big families to fucking bring em. they gotta have so many cousins no one keeps count anymore. (and if he provides said cousins too, great! will get neutered when his so is ready to close up shop.)

and we all know konig is a bastard. he's got his austrian farm. has many apples to pick in the orchard. needs many helping hands.

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lendeah · 1 year ago

Text

Valentine's Day Special!

Merryment Festival

Synopsis: To commemorate the Merryment Festival in your hometown, you decide to give Astarion a gift. Pairing: Astarion x GN! Bard Reader Words: 2.6k Tags: Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff , Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, just cute stuff

a/n: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

"Back in my hometown, we had an annual festival called Merryment Festival," you said wistfully, tracing your finger over his bare chest.

He arched an eyebrow and smirked. "A festival for merriment? How delightfully cheesy."

You smiled, lost in the memories. "It was held at around this time of the year every spring and was a big event in our town."

"I never would have guessed that there's a single festival in your tiny little village."

You rolled your eyes, playfully punching his shoulder.

"What did you picture, Astarion? That we only had cows and pigs and chickens? That's so stereotypical..."

The vampire laughed, using his cold fingers to brush your hair away from your face. "Then enlighten me, my dear. What exactly is this festival you speak of? Please don't tell me it's just another reason for the common folk to get drunk."

You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed.

"Actually, there is plenty of drinking involved," you admitted with a chuckle. "But the Merryment festival was a time for everyone to come together and celebrate life and love."

"Celebrate love?" He let out a snort. "So it is an excuse for everyone to get together and make more commoners. How utterly wonderful."

A pout formed on your lips as you absorbed his words, a twinge of disappointment stirring within you at his lack of enthusiasm for your favorite festivity. But you were determined to show him just how special it was.

"It's not just about making more commoners, Astarion," you argued. "It's about celebrating love in all its forms. It's a time for couples to reaffirm their love for each other and for singles to hope for new beginnings."

"Oh? I wasn't aware that the commoners needed an excuse to fornicate." Astarion sneered. "They seem to be doing just enough of it without this Merryment festival of yours."

"Astarion! It's not like that!" you whine, "There was music and dancing. Everything was covered in wild flowers. And there would also be competitions for the best couple dance or the most romantic poem!"

"So you're telling me the entire village throws a party for the duration of an entire week to... Dance? And compete for romance?" Astarion looked at her, his mouth curved into a smirk. "That truly is a spectacular waste of time, the village must have nothing better to do."

You narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms. "It's not a waste of time, Astarion. It's a celebration of love and life."

Astarion's fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on your back as he challenged, "What about the people who are here alone? Do they just sit and watch as the couples make a spectacle of themselves?"

"Well, kind of... But sometimes they can participate in the competitions as well, or find someone to dance with." You explained, getting a bit flustered.

"Oh, so you danced with your villager loverboy then?" he prodded, a hint of teasing in his tone.

You swallowed nervously.

"I mean, I was there, but I mostly just watched from a distance."

Astarion's eyes widened and his hand paused its gentle caress on your back. He burst into a fit of laughter, his voice filling the room. You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you as you realized you had just confessed your biggest secret to him - that you had never experienced the joyous festivities of the Merryment festival.

"That's preposterous! How can you love something so passionately when you have never experienced it yourself?" Astarion exclaimed between giggles.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of shame and guilt wash over you. It was true, you had always been too shy to join in on the festivities. While everyone else was out there dancing and having fun, you would stay hidden in the shadows, watching from afar.

"Um... well, I guess I just never found the right person to participate with." You mumbled.

Astarion's mischievous smirk softened into a warm, genuine smile as he took in your shy admission. He leaned in closer, his lips almost touching yours.

"Oh darling, I think you already have found someone." His breath brushed against your lips, sending shivers down your spine. "How lucky I am to be your first," he purred.

You tremble beneath the thin bedroll, your exposed skin prickling with goosebumps and your cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson. Astarion's words left you at a loss for how to respond.

"I never would have imagined..." you stuttered, still trying to process his confession. "I often dreamed of dancing with someone and exchanging gifts according to our tradition... if only I had met you back then." Letting out a sigh, you gazed into his eyes and reached up to gently stroke his cheek. "But it doesn't matter now. You're here with me, and that's all that truly matters."

He grasped your hand and brought it to his lips, leaving a tender kiss on the back of your palm. The gentle gesture sent a shiver through your body, and you couldn't contain the smile that spread across your face.

"And what present would you have preferred to receive from your hypothetical significant other?" he asked, softly.

You paused for a moment, thinking back to your childhood fantasies of Merryment festival. "Maybe a book? Or a new flute?" you pondered deeply before coming to a sudden realization. "No, no! I know exactly what I wanted." You gave him a small smile. "I wanted someone to write me a dedicated poem."

"Ah, a poem?" Astarion wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Of all the things you could want, and you want a poem?"

His reaction made you pout. "I think it's romantic," you say, hoping he'll see your perspective. "But I guess romance isn't really your forte. The closest thing to romance we've shared was when we read that erotic book together."

Astarion reclined in his seat, a cunning grin playing on his lips. "My dear, if you were seeking lovey-dovey poems and romantic gestures, your time would have been better spent with Wyll or Gale."

You snorted. "Yeah, how unfortunate I fell in love with a grumpy vampire."

"Excuse me? I am not grumpy! I simply... I don't like all the fluttering romance. I'm more of a practicer, more a... seducer."

"Practicer," you chuckled, "That's a nice way to put it." You leaned into him, feeling the cold of his body against yours.

He gently wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. "And there's no better way than practically demonstrating my love for you, my dear."

You bit back a grin, your heart fluttering in your chest at his words. "So, you're saying... seduction is your way of being romantic?"

He gave you a quick peck on the lips. "Romance is a game for amateurs."

"You're incorrigible," you teased lightly, poking him in the side.

The two of you spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing, occasionally stealing kisses from each other. As the night wore on and your eyelids grew heavy, his strong arms enveloped you, cocooning you as you drifted to sleep. Your mind wandered to the Merryment Festival, just days away, and a wave of longing washed over you. How bittersweet it was to have finally found your soulmate after years of searching, only to be separated by a thousand miles from your hometown festivities.

But then, an idea ignited in your mind: why not give Astarion a gift? It didn't have to be anything extravagant, just something simple yet meaningful. Something to honor the spirit of the festival and show Astarion that you cared for him.

The next morning, you awoke with a renewed sense of determination. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting a warm glow through the small cracks in the tent. As Astarion peacefully meditated beside you, you carefully untangled yourself from the bedroll and tip-toed out into the brisk morning air. With a destination in mind, you set off towards the bustling Baldur's Gate town market, eager to find the perfect gift for Astarion. Amidst the rows of colorful stalls, you skimmed through an array of goods, admiring handcrafted trinkets and aromatic spices. The smells of fresh bread and exotic fruits mingled together, creating a tantalizing aroma that filled your senses. Each stall seemed to hold its own treasures, but you were determined to find something special for your companion.

Eventually, you stumbled upon a quaint stall adorned with exquisite, handcrafted jewelry. Your gaze was drawn to one unique piece in particular: a scarlet pendant that shimmered with a particular aura. As you approached, the stall owner, a strong half-orc woman, immediately noticed your interest.

"Ah, you have an eye for the unique, dear," she chimed in with a warm smile. "That is our special Bloodstone Pendant. Every piece is crafted from a drop of blood and imbued with powerful magic."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you picked up the piece, the stone cold against your fingers. A drop of blood...

"How is it made?" You found yourself asking.

The elderly woman's eyes twinkled as she explained. "A willing volunteer donates a bit of blood. That blood is then petrified through an ancient magical process only known to our kin. It's then shaped and set into the pendant akin to the one you now hold."

"And what makes it so unique?" you asked curiously.

"Every stone contains the emotions of its donor. When the holder touches it, they can experience those emotions as if they were their own. It's like carrying a piece of someone you love with you at all times."

Without any hesitation, you readily agreed to give a small sample of your blood. The half-orc woman smiled warmly at your eagerness and guided you to a small table in the rear of her stall. She arranged a vial and lancet on the table, ready to extract the needed blood. As she pierced your finger with the lancet, a sharp pain shot through your hand. But you ignored it as you watched the drops of blood fill the vial, mesmerized by its deep crimson color.

Once the vial was filled, the woman carefully sealed it and began working on shaping it into a pendant. You could feel a strange energy emanating from the stone as she worked, almost like it was pulsing with life.

Finally, the woman presented you with the finished product: a beautiful scarlet pendant with intricate designs etched into its surface.

"Thank you," you said with genuine gratitude, as you paid for the necklace. "This is perfect."

The woman smiled warmly at you. "It's my pleasure," she replied. "I hope it brings joy and love to whoever wears it."

The bustling market slowly faded into the background as you made your way back to camp, eager to give Astarion his gift. The pendant, nestled against your pocket, radiated warmth and seemed to hum with anticipation. As evening descended upon the camp, and you and Astarion settled in for the night, you reached out and took his hand in yours. He looked up at you with curious eyes.

"I have something for you," you said with a gentle smile, holding out a small velvet pouch to Astarion.

He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, taking the pouch from your hand. He opened it and his eyes widened in surprise as he saw the beautiful pendant inside. He held it in his hand, turning it over to examine it closely.

"What is this?" Astarion asked.

"It's a gift for you," you replied. "Happy Merryment Festival."

Astarion's lips curved into a genuine smile as he gazed at the necklace. "A blood pendant." he said.

You frowned slightly, "How did you know?"

"It reeks of your blood, darling." He brought it closer to his nose, inhaling deeply. "Though, what a lovely smell it is." His fingers gently traced the elegant patterns, his smile growing wider. "Thank you, I truly adore it," he said sincerely, his gaze meeting yours.

You watched him with a small smile, enjoying the peaceful moment before speaking.

"Now you will always have my blood with you, even if we are not close." you finally said.

"Is that so?" he murmured, reaching up to touch the pendant reverently. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and you could feel him experiencing your emotions as if they were his own. When his eyes finally opened again, they shone brightly in the dim light of their shared tent. "It's... remarkable."

"I'm glad you like it," you replied softly.

Astarion's gaze settled on you again, and before you could process what was happening, his lips were pressed against yours. The kiss started off soft and tender, but quickly grew heated as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in closer. You couldn't help but shiver as his fangs gently grazed your skin.

After a few moments, he pulled back slightly to catch his breath. His thumb gently brushed across your cheek as he stared into your eyes. "You truly are one of a kind," he whispered.

The two of you stayed in that position for a few moments, relishing the comfort of each other's company. Reluctantly, he broke away and seemed to fidget with nervousness.

"I- um." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I have something for you too."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Really? You don't need to give me anything just because-"

He rolled his eyes as he tried to hide his nervousness with a cocky grin. "Come on, darling, humility is such an unnatractive trait. I know I don't have to, but I wanted to," he stated confidently. However, his hands shook slightly as he reached into his bag and retrieved a petite book, extending it towards you with eagerness. He whispered a "Happy Merryment Festival, or whatever" under his breath, trying to sound composed but failing to hide his true emotions.

Turning the small book over in your hands, your fingers graced the embossed title on the cover. It was a collection of poems, each page filled with graceful handwriting. Your eyes widened as you realized that the handwriting was Astarion's.

"These are... your poems?" You asked, your voice echoing with surprise and awe.

Astarion nodded again, looking slightly embarrassed now, but feigning nonchalance. "I have been compiling poetry over the years, just for the chance I would have someone deserving to gift them to. And now that I have someone... you who has so graciously been keeping my life interesting, I just couldn't pass up the opportunity."

You looked up at Astarion, your heart swelling with emotion. "They're beautiful," you whispered, flipping through the pages and absorbing each word. The pages were filled with beautiful handwritten verses, each one more passionate and lyrical than the last.

"Most were only written while I was in a particularly romantic mood, though some I wrote specifically for you."

His words made you heart stop. He had dedicated you a poem. No, he had dedicated you multiple poems. Each word poured from his soul onto the page, declaring his love in the most beautiful way. As you read them, tears pooled in your eyes, moved beyond words.

"This is... I'm..." Your voice faltered as you struggled to find the right words. "I can't believe you wrote all of these," you finally managed to choked out between sobs, unable to contain the overwhelming joy and love in your heart. The pages felt like a treasure.

"Well, I have been around for quite some time," Astarion quipped with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

But his attempt at humor only made you cry harder. With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around you and soothed your back with gentle caresses. After some time, your tears began to subside and you pulled back slightly to meet his gaze. "Thank you, Astarion. This is the best gift I have ever received," you said sincerely, feeling your heart swell with love for him. And this time, you knew he could feel it too, through the pendant.

He gave you a soft smile and kissed your forehead. "Anything for my dear Merryment companion."

#astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 #bg3 fanfic prompt #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion baldurs gate #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #writing prompt

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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 9 months ago

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Chapter 3 - To Have and To Hold

A Mafia!Steve Harrington AU (featuring Mafia!Eddie Munson)

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Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Weddings should be joyous occasions but the union of two families only brings about distant memories and yearning for a life that could have been. Stolen glances and longing stares across the room, and finally finding yourself face to face with the one person who can change the future.

18+ Only! Minors DNI! (Future smut and mature themes!)

CW: Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is referred to as "Dove." Pet names. Slow burn. Exes to lovers. Mutual pining. Angst. Lots of tension. Spousal abuse - reader is assaulted and choked.

WC: 5.9K

Days at the gallery quickly turned into long nights. Sometimes not going home until the wee hours of the morning. After the last few interactions with Nik you decided it was best to avoid him altogether.

He'd never set foot in here, for which you were grateful. It was your own oasis from a life that was suddenly so stifling, drowning you without a life preserver in sight.

It was easy enough, the two of you had been sleeping in separate bedrooms for a couple of years now.

You would rather take an acid bath than let him touch you. Sex became completely non-existent when he'd started coming home with lipstick stained collars and trying to push himself onto you knowing he'd just fucked God knows who else, any illusion of a loving, dedicated husband completely dissolved.

You hadn't seen or heard from Steve since the day he'd bought that painting. You found yourself wondering where he might have hung it. It was one of your favorites and knowing it went to a good home warmed your heart.

Abigail knocked you from your current train of thought when she walked over to you with a massive bouquet of white roses.

“Mrs. Petrov, these were just delivered for you, though the card says Ms. Alexander. An old client perhaps?” You shifted the flowers from her arms as she spoke, their delicate scent faintly surrounding you.

“Thank you.” You called out, already heading to your office.

You gently laid them down on the desk, plucking the card from between the soft petals.

You couldn't help the smile that crept across your face as you opened it to read the contents, already suspecting who they were from. No one else in this town would dare use your surname anymore.

Passed the flower shop and thought of you. Hope they brighten your day.

S.H.

You immediately looked for an empty vase in the storage closet to display them on your desk, hiding the card away in the bottom drawer.

It wasn't unusual for clients to send you flowers from time to time, so it didn't seem out of the ordinary.

Much to your delight, it didn't stop there. A fresh bouquet was delivered every few days from that point forward. Not just roses, something unique each time all accompanied with a personalized note signed S.H.

His small way of showing you he was still here while reluctantly maintaining his distance.

For two weeks the flowers and notes never ceased but you still hadn't seen Steve.

There was a wedding slated for the weekend between two prominent families that you had to attend.

Finding yourself in need of a new dress, you were browsing the brightly lit showroom, admiring a very beautiful lilac colored floor length gown in the corner when he spoke.

“That's not your color. Much too pale. What about that one?” You rolled your eyes as he pointed to a deep red, lacey, eye-catching number across the store.

“It's for a wedding, Steven. The attention shouldn't be on me.” You quipped. “And that shows far too much skin.” Turning away, as you began to rummage through a few dresses on the rack.

“If you say so, but you're the only one I'll be looking at.” You stopped, hands stilling on the silk in front of you as you processed his words.

“You're going Saturday?” Managing to squeak out, despite the sudden lump in your throat.

It shouldn't really come as a surprise. All of the big named families had been invited. Maybe you were expecting Steve to be more like Richard in that regard. Send his well wishes but decline the invitation.

“Of course, Dove. Can't miss the wedding of the century. A Gambino marrying a Stratori? It's unheard-of.” He made a mock gasping sound that made you snort a small laugh.

“You should have seen the looks at my…” trailing off when you realized what you were about to say. It wasn't so long ago an Alexander marrying a Petrov was big news.

“Anyway, doesn't matter. I won't be going if I don't find something to wear.” Quickly changing the subject back to the matter at hand.

“Trust me, you'll look good in anything. Wear a potato sack and you’ll still be the most beautiful woman there.” His doting words and simple praises never let up when he was around you.

Your soft blushing and sweet smiles only encouraged him further, reminding him of the younger versions of you both. These moments he would hang onto for forever if need be.

You stared at him a moment, the way the sun filtering through the window cast a glow around him, appearing almost ethereal. His skin tanned by an Italian sun, making his freckles and moles only more prominent. Those same ones you would trace across his back, finding the constellations hidden within.

Your lips twitched at the thought of kissing those same marks, as a deeper blush crept your cheeks that had you quickly looking back to the dresses laid out before you, clearing your throat.

“Steve, I…” Mouth snapping closed when you weren't sure what you were attempting to say.

“What is it, tesoro?” Looking back at you expectantly, eyes soft, giving you his full attention.

“Thank you for the flowers. They're lovely, all of them, but you don't have to do that.” Your gaze drops momentarily as he regards you for a moment.

“Let me ask you something. Do they make you smile?”

“Well, of course.” A grin lifting the edges of your mouth you couldn't contain.

“Then yes, Dove. I have to send them. At least I know for one fleeting moment of the day I've had the pleasure of making you smile.”

You both stilled for a moment, silently gazing at one another.

“Excuse me? Can I help either of you?” One of the associates had walked over, interrupting the small moment.

You smiled at her, asking for a couple of dresses to try on in your size.

“Right away, Mrs. Petrov. And for you sir?” Looking back toward Steve, eyeing him up and down as she spoke. A small scowl of contempt passed over her momentarily, oblivious to who she was speaking to.

“Nothing for me today, thank you. I'll see myself out, momentarily.”

She nodded and walked toward the back to gather the dresses you had asked for.

“I suppose I'll see you tomorrow then.” Finally looking back to him, reluctantly getting ready to take your leave and follow her into the dressing room.

“Of course, Dove.” He says, leaning in close. “I still think the red would be a better choice.” Voice dropping an octave lower, winking as a shameless grin spread across his face.

His persistence had you fondly rolling your eyes, but a grin matching his own spread across your features.

“I think I'll find something a little less salacious but thank you for the suggestion.” Laughing as you walked away, a sound that was like music to his ears as he took his leave.

You glanced back once more, as you reached the back, but he was already gone.

The associate had gotten a large, very well-lit room ready for you. The dresses you had asked for were already on display, hung up across the back wall as you entered.

“This should be all of them. Will there be anything else Mrs. Petrov? Shall I stay and help you try any of them on?” She asked kindly.

“That won’t be necessary but thank you.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone with some of the fanciest garments that money could buy yet you stood there feeling hollow, sighing deeply to yourself.

You slid the first dress from its silk hanger. A lilac gown with beautifully beaded detail on the bodice. Once you had managed to get it on, you stood in front of the mirror with a grimace. Steve was right, it was much too pale. You hated that he was right. A man who barely knows you anymore and still knows too much.

It was much the same as you tried on each one of the expensive gowns. None of them seemed quite right. Either the color was off, or it didn’t fit quite right leaving you empty handed on the way out.

Later that afternoon, the sun was setting low, as you worked through a few things before you would reluctantly head home for the evening.

Abigail enthusiastically walked toward you with a large black box, wrapped with a red, silk ribbon and a large matching bow on top.

“Mrs. Petrov, this was just delivered for you. It's from Figueroa.”

The dress shop you had visited earlier in the day. Confusion spread across your face, as you took it from her opting to open it in your office and dismissing her for the day.

You gently lifted the edges, immediately met with matching red tissue paper and a small, white card that simply read: This was ALWAYS your color. See you tomorrow.

You pushed aside the wrapping to reveal a deep, burgundy colored gown held within. The material was a beautiful velvet, soft to the touch, letting your fingers melt into the fabric as you pulled it from the box. It was stunning. A mermaid cut, with long sleeves dropped for the sweetheart neckline that would show some cleavage. It was sexy yet stayed somewhat moderate.

You didn't remember seeing this one in the store because it would have surely caught your eye.

Steve always had good taste. It came as no surprise he chose something that you would have picked out for yourself.

You hid the card in the desk, amongst the ones that have accompanied the flowers, hiding away any evidence of where the dress had come from. Your insides twisted at the thought of hiding him away forever. It was never meant to be this way with Steve.

You gripped the edges of the box on the ride home with a permanent smile etched across your face at the thought of seeing him tomorrow, if only for a brief moment, you would be the one to make him smile.

You sat in silence, staring out the window, ignoring the grunts and protests from Nik.

“I shouldn't even be going to this stupid wedding. I've got shit to do at the club tonight.” Huffing out like a petulant child, pushing his back further into the seat.

You simply rolled your eyes and tried to picture yourself literally anywhere else. The thought of spending the entire evening by his side turned your stomach. All dolled up to be HIS arm candy, but it would be your secret who you were dressed FOR.

“Hey, are you going to talk to me? You've got to play the part sometime tonight.” He grabbed for your hand, but you swiftly moved away from his touch at the faintest brush.

“I'll play along in public, but do not fucking touch me when we are alone. I don't know where your filthy hands have been. Or who they've been in, for that matter.” You spat, already over his behavior.

He let out a deep, hearty laugh, throwing his head back.

“Someone is feisty. I like it.” Grabbing your knee, laughing once again when you pushed him away. “Oh, come on baby. Give us a kiss.”

“Fuck off, Nik.” You hissed.

“Don't worry, sweetheart. The feeling is mutual.” He straightened back up in his seat, promptly lighting a cigarette, blowing the smoke your way.

“Do you mind? I don't want to smell like smoke before we get there.” Waving it away from you and your face, letting out a small cough.

“Aw, don't want your new dress to smell like smoke?” He chuckled, pinching the fabric at your side. “Poor baby.”

Your hand tightened around the clutch you held in your lap, as you closed your eyes holding back your anger as best you could, seething just below the surface. You just had to get through a couple of hours, saying pleasantries and having lighthearted conversation while rubbing a few elbows with certain people.

Calming your nerves as best you could, taking a few deep breaths and slowly opening your eyes once more.

Nik was distracted on his phone, leaving you for a few moments of peace before you pulled up to the venue.

The driver came around to open his door first, but Nik made no attempt to come around to your side to let you out, making the driver go around to open your door as well. A real gentleman.

“Let's get this over with. I've got shit to do.” Finally coming to stand beside you, extending his elbow for you to take.

“You've already said that.” You hissed, reluctantly taking his arm as you headed toward the entrance. “Just fucking behave Nik, you can't act like an ass in front people tonight.”

As much as you hated your husband, he still had a portion of business to uphold with many of the attendees tonight. Your father's reputation was at stake just being associated with the prick.

“I'll do as I damn well please.” He hissed back through gritted teeth, glaring down at you as you entered the large room. Ignoring him, you will yourself to throw on the best fake smile that you could muster.

The wedding was being held downtown, at one of the oldest buildings. Its gothic architecture and high ceilings were a beautiful backdrop for a wedding.

Nik made a beeline for some of his associates, immediately grabbing some champagne from one of the waitresses as he pulled you along. It didn’t go unnoticed the way he so blatantly eyed her up and down as he passed.

You busied yourself looking around at the decor, sipping your own champagne trying to ignore the conversation he was having around you. Some things you couldn’t understand at all as he spoke in his native tongue. When you had first gotten married you took an interest in learning Russian but that quickly subsided as your marriage started falling apart.

The room quieted down to a dull murmur when he entered. His very presence commanded the attention of everyone present. Heads began to turn his way, all clambering to catch a glimpse of the so-called prodigal son of Richard Harrington as he made his entrance, his first public outing since the funeral.

He ignored the hushed whispers around him, walking in with Eddie falling right in behind him, the crowd parting as he made his way to pay respect to the happy couple.

He looked as handsome as ever sporting a black suit, with his hair slicked back and quaffed perfectly but his burgundy shirt and tie beneath his buttoned suit jacket is what really caught your eye. It was the exact color of your dress. A detail that brought a small smile to your face.

“Who the hell does he think he is?” Nik scoffed, as some of the other men chuckled, pulling your attention back to the small group.

He downed the rest of his champagne, eyes never leaving Steve, following his movements across the crowded space.

“I need something a little more stiff, come on.” He grabbed your arm, pushing his way through the crowd to get to the bar, dragging you along beside him. The abruptness caught you off guard. For a moment, you wabbled on your heels.

“Nik, you need to take it easy tonight.” You whispered through gritted teeth.

“And you,” he hissed. “Should shut the fuck up.” He gripped your arm a little tighter as you reached the bar tucked away in the corner before ordering a bourbon, downing it in one gulp, slamming the glass back down. He would never outwardly push it out in the open like this, showing his true colors but it was surprising, nonetheless.

He finally relinquished his grip to grab his next one, turning to meet his associates as they began to huddle around him, picking up their conversations from before leaving him to ignore you once more.

Steve spotted you as soon as he walked through the door, smirking to himself. The dress he had picked out fit you spectacularly, showing off your curves while staying somewhat modest. You were breathtaking.

Reluctantly, his attention drew back to the matter at hand as he made his way through the crowd to greet the wedding party and their family, wishing them the best.

Steve quickly made his rounds, shaking hands and chatting with some familiar faces or some new introducing themselves, but he couldn't keep his eyes off of you.

He and Eddie grabbed some flutes of champagne, chatting amongst themselves in the corner where he temporarily lost you in the crowd, but quickly caught up with you again heading toward the bar with Nik.

His jaw ticked seeing the way he gripped you, pulling you alongside him.

Eddie noticed how he stiffened, following his line of vision over to you just in time for them both to witness his hold on you grow a little more harsh.

Steve took a step before Eddie moved abruptly in front of him, halting him with a palm to his chest.

“Steve. Not here.” Eddie warned, as he looked past him once more. You had already moved away from Nik, standing to the side of the bar.

Eddie was right. This was not the time or place to lose his head, but it didn't mean they couldn't have a little chat.

You heard him before you saw him, heart promptly leaping into your throat when you realized he was headed in your direction, but he only caught your gaze nodding slightly and greeted Nik instead.

Realizing you could do nothing but stand there and watch as the scene unfolds, you downed the rest of your champagne bracing for the worst.

“Nik, gentlemen. How are we all doing this evening?” Asking with that charming Harrington tone, as Eddie hung slightly behind them, hands in his pockets, looking relaxed but you could tell he was anything but.

Nik’s amusement seemed to fade, his smile dropping, moving the glass to his lips for another sip. He stood up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders to the other man.

“Harrington.” Nodding back, as the others stated their own greetings.

“Didn't expect you to show up here. Your father never came to shit like this.” He sneered.

“Well, little Niki, like I told you the other day, we aren't our fathers. And I, for one, am striving to be a better man than he was. We should all strive to be better men, right?” Leveling his gaze right at your husband as he spoke.

A flash of anger split Nik's face before regaining his composure, already a little too much to drink to effectively conceal his emotions. The nickname he gained in his youth that he had come to detest, trying to live up to the elder Nikolai, his father, always falling in his shadow. Something that he and Steve had in common however they chose very different avenues to deal with it.

“Right.” Scoffing, as he set his glass back to the bar, taking a small step toward Steve, once again squaring his shoulders. “Any suggestions on how I should go about that, since you're doling out the advice today? I'm all ears.”

“I don't know, Nik. Maybe the old ways of handling business are outdated? Kind of like, oh I don't know?” Pausing, pretending to think for a moment. “Raising a hand to your spouse to keep them in line? That shit just doesn't work and makes you look bad.”

Your cheeks suddenly heated at the bluntness of his insinuation, hoping no one looked over at you.

“And what the fuck would you know about business? Last time I checked, you were still riding daddy's coattails.” Leaning further into Steve’s space as he spoke trying to make himself more intimidating, but he stood his ground, not so easily dissuaded.

Eddie made to move forward, but Steve quickly held a hand out, halting him.

Nik's raised voice began garnering a little attention their way as you scanned the other guests standing close by.

“I'm just saying.” Taking a step toward Nik this time, both men practically nose to nose. “Sometimes it's better to get with the program, or you could lose everything.”

“Are you threatening me?” Nik spat.

Steve let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as he stepped back, reminding himself once more that he couldn’t lose it here.

“Trust me, you would know if it's a threat. Just some friendly advice.” He clapped him on the arm as if they were old chums, sharing a good laugh which only infuriated Nik further.

“You can take your friendly advice and shove it u…” One of Nik's associates got in between the two and tried to calm him down. Steve was trying to goad him to gauge his reaction and he had taken the bait flawlessly.

“Well, gentlemen if you'll excuse me, we are here for a wedding after all.” He nodded, as he and Eddie headed back across the room, leaving you a little speechless in the process.

“I don't know who the fuck he thinks he is.” Nik began to rant, so you decided to leave him and make your way to your chair for the ceremony. You also hoped he would cool off before coming to find you as other guests began to fill the empty seats around you.

You caught Steve out of the corner of your eye as he passed, taking a seat across the aisle, one row up on the end.

The ceremony was beautiful with a blushing young bride and a handsome groom. They seemed genuinely happy and for their sakes you hoped it were true.

You couldn't help but feel sadness now thinking back to your own wedding. The joy and hopefulness that day brought only to be a complete fabrication.

As the couple said their vows, your eyes found his across the aisle, as if he had already been looking toward you. There seemed to be a sadness etched within him as well, his eyes lacking their usual sparkle.

Images flashed and danced through your mind of a life that could have been. A fall wedding, surrounded by your closest friends and family. Honeymooning on the Italian coast and coming back to a home full of love and promise without any doubts.

Steve would have given you the world without any hesitation. He loved fiercely, willing to do whatever it took to make you happy. He made it so damn easy to see what a bright future lay ahead for both of you.

You hadn't noticed a tear escaping until it rolled down your cheek, and onto your hand situated in your lap, suddenly bringing you crashing back to reality.

He was still looking at you when you diverted your gaze away, because it was all too much. Your chest ached as the couple kissed, concluding their vows and made their way down the aisle, now united in holy matrimony with smiles gracing their happy faces. It was suddenly too suffocating.

“I have to go to the restroom.” Excusing yourself from Nik’s side, not waiting for his response, quickly dashing out the side door into the empty hallway.

You breathed a small sigh of relief, briefly pausing, your hand leaning against the wall to steady yourself and regain some composure.

You willed yourself to conceal your emotions as you began to make your way down the corridor but as you rounded the corner someone grabbed your forearm. Your back was suddenly met with a warm chest, taking you by surprise. Their large hand clasping over your mouth stifling any noise from escaping you, as they step further back with you in tow, closing the door.

Before you had time to react, his soothing voice washed over you.

“It's okay, Dove. It's just me.” His lips so close, ghosting the shell of your ear as he spoke. He waited a moment for it to register before he removed his hand from your face, finding the light switch.

“Steve! What the hell?” Saying as you swung around to face him, your pulse racing from the small scare. He had pulled you into a small, dimly lit utility closet, away from prying eyes and just big enough for the two of you.

“I'm sorry, honey it's the only place I could get you alone.” He shrugged, shifting toward you, with a small pout.

“I shouldn't be in here.” You reached for the handle, but he was quick to place his hand overtop yours, effectively halting your movement.

“I couldn't let you leave without telling you how beautiful you look.” He whispered, closing the small gap between you, his hand coming to rest on your hip, heat radiating from his palm. His touch was searing, even through the fabric of your gown.

“I saw this on the way out of the shop and had them match the shirt and tie perfectly.” He inches just a little more into your space, releasing the hold on your hand so he could plant it firmly to your lower back pushing you further into him.

Your hands find the expanse of his chest, holding yourself steady, feeling as though your knees could give out at any moment. He had unbuttoned his suit jacket, your palms finding the warmth beneath, flat against his silk shirt.

He didn't need to utter it aloud. The dress. The tie. It was his way of subtly staking claim to you. You were and always had been his.

“Steve, what are you doing? You can't exactly woo a married woman. Especially one married to someone as powerful as Nik. He…” You stopped, when you saw the look in his eyes, utterly and completely gone for you.

“I don't have to woo what's already mine.” His voice low and husky, dripping with desire.

“That’s very presumptuous of you, Mr. Harrington.” You breathed out, trying to maintain your cool but even you could hear the waiver in your voice.

No matter the distance or time, you couldn't forget this man no matter how hard you tried. He would simply not let you. It felt like torture to be this close to him now, yet so far away.

Your head kept telling you that you needed to run, but you couldn't find it in yourself to move. You were transfixed, gazing up into his golden, mossy framed orbs.

You let your eyes trail his features. A small scar above his left eyebrow that had been there for years, a memento of his childhood. The way his lips had the perfect cupid's bow and remembering just the way he tastes.

He leans down looking for any sign of trepidation, finding none; your face mirroring his own, full of unspoken adoration.

“You're not denying it, tesoro. Just tell me you want this, as much as I do.” His nose traces down the slope of yours as he speaks. Your heart hammering so hard in your chest, you were sure he could hear it beating.

“Amore mio.” You whisper, top lip grazing his, releasing a shuddering breath before the realization of what you'd just said fully hit.

You'd never spoken those simple words to anyone else, only ever reserved for Steve. He had taught you some phrases in Italian, mostly sweet talk. You were always his tesoro mio and he, your amore mio.

You lean back, clasping a hand over your mouth as he was fully leaning in, eyes closed, lips chasing yours.

“Oh my God!” You gasp out, pressing yourself backward, stumbling a bit in your heels but he catches your elbow as you regain your balance.

“Dove?” He asks, voice low, coming out a little timidly.

“I… We can't do this Steve!” He can see your internal conflict and what he can only infer as fear written all over your face. It dawns on him then. The way you had winced when he grabbed your arm at the gallery. The way Nik had pulled you through the room earlier.

“Dove, did he hurt you?” His hand on your elbow begins to draw you back in, laying his other to your jaw, coaxing your face toward him but you still refuse to look up, eyes cast downward.

“No, Steve. You just… you don't know what he's capable of.” Your eyes grow glossy, tears threatening to spill over your lashes and ruining your makeup.

“Hey, honey, I'm not worried about him.” He does his best to soothe you, speaking softly. “If anyone should be worried, it's him. You hear me? Look at me.” Gently, his thumb grazes your bottom lip.

“Dove, look at me.” Pleading one last time, his voice was raw and pained.

“Steve, I can't…” Your eyes finally meet his, tears spilling out and down your cheeks. He does his best to wipe them away when his hands come to cup your cheeks. “I…I’m sor…”

“Shhh… no need for that, tesoro mio.” He doesn't want to let you go, but he's afraid of pushing you further away.

He leans in, warm lips press into your forehead as your eyes close. A tender embrace, your hand coming to grip his wrist holding him in place for a moment longer before quietly slipping from his hold.

You wipe your tears, pausing with your hand on the handle, looking back over your shoulder at him.

“It's better if you stay away from me.” Whispering out without waiting for a reply, quickly opening the door and checking the hall before stepping out. Your footsteps are the only sound echoing down the corridor as you walk toward the restroom to clean yourself up.

The interaction only lasted a few minutes, but the feeling of his hands and lips still lingered on your skin.

“It's better if you stay away from me.”

He blows out a deep breath but doesn't say anything.

Better for who? He bitterly thinks. Certainly not better for him. You're all he's thought about since returning. It's driving him insane.

He can't bring himself to think about you with Nik. The asshole getting to have you all to himself. He can touch, kiss or bed you anytime he pleases. The thought makes him sick, but the brief interaction solidifies what he already knew to be true.

When he heard “amore mio” glide past your lips so easily, he knew he still had you. His heart ached to hear you say that just once more, something he hadn't heard uttered in so long, nearly taking his breath away. You're still his.

He waits a few more moments, letting you get ahead of him before he makes sure the coast is clear and exits the closet.

Heading in the opposite direction and rounding the corner, he spots Eddie leaning against the wall smirking at him.

“Everything okay, boss?” His grin drops, shoving himself off the wall seeing the annoyed look plastered to Steve's face. Not what he had expected.

“No, but it will be. We're leaving.” Grunting out as he continues to walk, leaving Eddie to catch up to his stride.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, wiping the makeup that had run. It took a few minutes, but you made yourself presentable.

Nik was waiting for you right outside the bathroom, crossing his arms giving you a death glare when you spotted him.

“What the hell have you been doing?” He hissed.

“I had to pee, and the wedding made me emotional, so I cleaned myself up. I can't go to the reception looking like a mess.” Responding, as you headed past him, but he grabbed your arm. The one he's so fond to take here lately when you get out of line.

“We're going home.” He spat, getting in your face for a moment before a cruel smile stretched across his face as his whole demeanor changed.

“Kitten, I know you're tired, it's been a long hard day.” Ushering you out into the reception area, pulling you through the crowd toward the exit, holding tightly to your wrist as if you would try to flee at any moment.

The car was already waiting outside, as he ushered you inside and slammed the door. You held your breath when he sat down beside you and began to loosen his tie, unbuttoning the restricting collar.

Silence for a few moments as you head back home to your prison.

“Do you think I'm fucking stupid?” He finally asks, turning his head slowly toward you.

“Wh– What?” You asked meekly, shrinking into yourself.

“I asked if you think I'm fucking stupid?” Enunciating each word a little slower and more clipped.

You furrowed your brow, trying to decipher where he was going. Had he seen you and Steve exit the closet?

“Where'd the dress come from?”

“My dress?” You tried to stay calm, looking down at the velvet fabric. He'd put those small crumbs together.

“The dress Y/N. That fucker bought it for you, didn't he? Didn't think I'd notice his goddamn matching shirt and tie? You two think you're really cute.” He clenched his fists on his lap, as his jaw ticked. He was anything but calm right now and the dam was about to burst.

“Nik… I…” He suddenly lunged at you, hand around your throat pushing you back into the seat. You gasped out in surprise, as he pressed in just a little harder, fingers flexing and cutting off your air supply. Your hand flew up to clutch at his, grasping and desperately trying to pry him away.

He leaned in close, gritting his teeth as he spoke.

“Its like you want me the fucking hurt you, leaving me no choice. Pull a stunt like that again, and not even your father will be able to protect you.”

He eases back, placing a chaste kiss to your temple before releasing his hold on you. Your airway opened, leaving you gasping in a heavy breath while letting out a small, choked sob.

“I warned you.” His last words for the evening, before lighting a cigarette and thoroughly ignoring you, taking a phone call leaving you to sulk in the corner.

He dropped you off at home, no doubt heading to his club, but you were grateful to be left alone for the night hoping for some miracle that he wouldn’t come back home at all.

You drew yourself a hot bath, letting the magnitude of everything that had transpired wash over you.

The wedding brought up so many morose thoughts and feelings. Steve blatantly threatening Nik, Nik threatening you, it was all too much.

Your fingertips graze your cheek where his hand had been not long ago. If you closed your eyes, you could feel him still, imaging he was here with you. His touch had electrified you. Something you had never felt with anyone else. A feeling of being totally alive. The gray, dreary past melting and giving way to a future full of bright color.

“Steve.” You whispered out, pulling your knees into your chest, as you cried.

Lying to yourself would be useless. Steve was everything that Nik never was or would be. Years apart and he still holds your heart. You were still in love with him, just knowing he felt the same was all you needed.

You had to think of a plan, while still trying to maintain your distance until Nik was out of the picture.

This was a very dangerous game, but you couldn't bear the thought of letting him go a second time.

No, you wouldn't let that happen this time.

Taglist: @micheledawn1975 @girlwiththerubyslippers @thecreelhouse @teen--marvel @taccobelle

Let me know if you would like to be tagged!

#steve harrington #mafia!steve harrington #mafia!au #king of hearts #koh #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #joe keery #eddie munson #mafia!eddie munson #mafia!eddie

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scriveyner · 2 months ago

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A Tale of Two Christmas Fics

Nothing new this year, but enjoy some past BSD Christmas fics:

Akutagawa had his elbow braced against where the door met the window and his head tilted against his hand, observing Atsushi’s wonderment. “I did not laugh,” he said dryly, and Atsushi stuck his tongue out at Akutagawa before turning his attention back to the view. “I merely wonder if you have ever actually been out of Yokohama before.” “I have.” “Mm.” Akutagawa didn’t sound like he believed Atsushi, but whatever, screw him. He’d been like this on the plane too, radiating this air of smug superiority at his worldliness because the number of times Atsushi had been on an airplane and had not had to unexpectedly exit mid-flight, he could still count on one hand. Atsushi was allowed to enjoy this experience, even if it was, technically, work.

illuminate | 16k | nsfw/E | sskk

“Well, you found me,” he said, brushing snow off the shoulders of his suitcoat. “What was so important that you had to spam my phone with notifications and then show up when I didn’t respond?” “It is Christmas Eve.” “Yeah, for like another hour.” Atsushi finally looked back over to Akutagawa, and he was wearing a curious expression, staring at Atsushi silently, mouth pressed into a flat line. It all hit him suddenly like he’d wandered into the path of a train. “Did you…you wanted to spend Christmas Eve together?" A long, long pause. “With me?”

oh christmas lights, keep shining on | 3.5k | M | sskk

I hope everyone has a safe and joyous holiday season, and a wonderful new year!

#sskk #reposting old fic bc nothing new to share today #gonna be a long day :D

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hollowed-theory-hall · 22 days ago

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Hi ! I hope I'm not bothering you. I tried looking through your blog and I didn't find an answer to this question, though I'm à bit new to Tumblr so I hope I didn't just miss it! But I was wondering if you had a headcanon/idea on Harry's reaction if he were to meet his parents/Sirius back in time. You know, like these stories where he is sent back after the war/when he dies and wake up in the 70s/80s ? (Also, your blog is just sooo interesting! I love your ideas)

Hello 👋

And no, i dont think i talked about this before.

Like, this is fic territory, so you can go a lot of ways with this, honestly. It also highly depends on when in the 70s/80s he goes back to. Like, is James still the bully from SWM? Are we going for later in the period toward his death and are generous in his character interpretation? Is the war raging full force already, or is it the first years when no one really knows what it's going to become yet? Is Lily still friends with Snape? After or before Sirius ran away from home?

There are just a lot of details regarding the exact point in the timeline we chose that can really affect Harry's reaction. Similarly, when Harry goes back in time, it can be just as important. During OotP, Harry stops idolizing his father as much, so it would definitely affect how he sees him. Also, if say, it's a Harry in early PoA who goes back in time, he'd be sympathetic to Peter and think Sirius is the traitor. After GoF, I think Harry would react really badly to Peter, etc.

But we're talking post-war Harry (as you mentioned), who, let's say, meets his parents and Sirius at the same age he is, so all of them are recent Hogwarts graduates and full-time Order members who live on James' money in his house. Peter and Remus are also part of the Order, but not living with the Potters and Sirius trio.

I mentioned in the past I think Harry looks like a decent mix of his parents, but the combination of his hair + glasses makes everyone see him more as James. Point is, he looks very obviously like James and Lily's kid. And James, Lily, and Sirius aren't stupid. They're gonna be able to tell it's weird. Especially if Harry appears out of nowhere in front of them.

Honestly, I think Harry would cry a little seeing them alive and well. Post-war Harry would have some concerns about messing with time, but then he'd look at them again and go "to hell with it" and warn them about everything, I think. Like, I think he would just tell them. Especially if it's not post-war Harry, but one at the moment of his death. If he just appears next to a living James, Lily, and Sirius I think he'd have a little breakdown.

I mean, he is tired. He is traumatized, in pain, he just got the courage to walk to his death to save everyone, and here are the people who should've been there to protect him and make sure none of it would happen. The people who died so he wouldn't, and then he had to die anyway.

Like, that's gonna be emotional. It's gonna be painful and joyous. I think he'd think he's dead at first, that this is the afterlife, but when none of them really knows him or what's going on, that would be a pretty big clue he traveled in time (unless he knew he was traveling in time, of course, but that really depends on the fic).

Now, this Harry knows about the Horcruxes, and he knows exactly where all of them are. He's gonna speed run this killing Voldemort business, that would be like, a high priority of his. But I think he'd hesitate about walking to his death again after getting to know his parents and Sirius. At the same time, he'd wonder if he does it, if he dies again, he would return to his own time and Ron and Hermione. Becouse he loves his parents and Sirius, but he also loves his friends from his own time he left behind. The living ones who might now have a better life for what he changed in the past.

Basically, plenty of space for this sort of angst if you want it.

I think he'd end up really weirded out by James, in a way. Becouse, while James would treat him like family (therefore great, James was clearly loyal and treated the people he cared about really well), he would probably not act how Harry always imagined him to. Not that they wouldn't get along, but I feel like they'd have more tension in their dynamic. Becouse Harry knows about the bullying that he even lied to Lily about, but he also just really wants to love his dad. I think, if James really did grow up and become a little less arrogant with war and loss, they would get along better. I think though, even with a younger James, Harry would find him funny when he isn't being too obnoxious.

Lily would also not be who Harry imagined her as, not exactly, but I think they'd get along great. I think they just operate on a similar wavelength and have a similar sense of humor. Harry’s definitely gonna ask her about Snape, too (because he saw his memories already), and I think Lily would really not know what to think of Snape with what Harry tells her (though, you know Harry's gonna sugarcoat it becouse it's his mom and he doesn't want her to be upset).

And I low-key think a time-traveling Harry who meets a 19-year-old (he was born in 1979, he's a November baby) Sirius would have a little crush on Sirius. Like, the fic doesn't have to go that way, but Harry is likley going to be waxing poetic about Sirius Black’s haughty looks, silver eyes, and elegant black hair throughout the whole story becouse that's just realistic and how Harry is.

Sirius is also the one in this group Harry is closest to (yes, he knows Remus, but he wasn't as close to him as to Sirius, and if Harry met 18-year-old Peter he just might kill him on impulse or ensure he can't betray them again some other way). So Harry would probably still feel closest to him. I also think he misses him the most. I mean, he missed James and Lily all his life, he never really knew them — missing the concept of them is par for the course for him. Sirius and Remus, on the other hand, these griefs are new and so much more painful.

Personally, I like sending Harry back when the Mauraders (and him) are still at school. For more tension with James and so he wouldn't have the solution for the war already in his hands. Also, it could be really fun if he goes back in HBP, so it's after Sirius dies and after SWM. Also, he'd get to meet Snape (the prince) as he writes in the potions book and have a little breakdown over that too, so like, that could be fun.

It's not the most organized, becouse you can take this premise in many ways, but these are some of my thoughts. Obviously, Harry's reactions really depend on the exact circumstances and what kind of story you want to write.

#harry potter #hp #asks #anonymous #hollowedrambling #hp headcanon #hollowedheadcanon #harry james potter #lily evans #lily potter #james potter #sirius black #the mauraders

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cerastes · 1 year ago

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Specter: "Have you seen Swordfish? I had some questions regarding the roster for the deployment tomorrow, best to get those inquiries done and settled before showtime, and all that."

Skadi: "I think I saw her with doctor Kal'tsit, they were going towards the dormitories together... Probably her room."

Specter: "Oh, wonderful, then I get to ask the two head honchos about it instead of just the left side of the brain, should make matters more simple."

Skadi: "Hey, now, wait a second, Laurentina. I said to slow down. Surely you don't mean to interrupt them?"

Specter: "Interrupt what? A strategic meeting? I dare think I have a voice in such sundry matters as much as anyone who is ordered to take cannonfire to the face in her duties on a nigh daily basis. The value I can add to any given conversation is not to be understated, my little Orca."

Skadi: "I'd consider that a complaint, where it to come from the mouth of anyone except you, Shark. But seriously, think about it a little... The two of them, alone, not in any of the meeting rooms or the offices, but rather in the dormitories. You can add those twos together with ease."

Specter: "Surely you jest, Orca? Are you suggesting that I could be so uncouth as to intentionally, naively, brazenly sling open the doors to the realm of intimacy between two entangled, probably very sweaty souls? Non-sense! I so confidently stride because I know that's not even a possibility!"

Skadi: "Elaborate. And seriously, slow down."

Specter: "Those two old wells haven't seen a trickle of moisture in years, I'd reckon. They are all-business, no non-sense, well oiled chaste tactical machines! Young, dumb and full of cum? Try old, cold, and full of mold! And I love them so, but let us be real for a microsecond, my little Orca, can you truly picture Swordfish and Miss Kal'tsit doing the Sargon Speedbump? Or the Laterano Excommunication? Perro Style? Get real, dearest, they are more likely to be playing checkers than they are to be making Bolivar Pancakes in there. And she's absolutely in there, reeks of that seawater with a tinge of warmth so characteristic of her behind this door."

Skadi: "First of all, never say any of those words ever again, but you're right, it smells like the Captain in there. There, past that door, with a plaque that very clearly reads 'Kal'tsit'. Let's, perhaps, mind our own business and just field your questions tomorrow early."

Specter: "You truly are insistent on these fantasies of yours, Skadi! It's so cute and endearing how you think that could even be possible! Ahem... Pardon, Swordfish, Miss Kal'tsit, I've got some inquiries regarding tomorrow's sortie that I was hoping to--"

*Specter opens the door and has a full frontal VIP seat peep at Gladiia running her hands deep inside of Kal'tsit's dress, half-lidded red eyes staring back at the intruding shark, straddling the doctor with her lithe yet strong frame, a cougar that's not yet had enough of its meal. The silence is filled only by greedy little gasps seeking to oxygenate two hearts that have very clearly not have had enough of each other just yet, an almost primal hunger in the two pairs of eyes that glared guillotines at the interloper, deafeningly silent yet clearly inquisitive as the trails of saliva that connected their lips lost its tension and threatened to snap*

Specter:

Skadi: "Hm. So, I tried to warn her, but--"

Specter: "Orca, look! Isn't it gallant, isn't it inspiring? Swordfish is hard at work, making a younger sibling for me! Oh, how splendid!"

Skadi: "LAURENTINA!"

Specter: "Oh, how simply joyous! Observe! Swordfish fully intends to cultivate that moist, fertile delta, and from it shall life spring! Orca, we'll care for a brave new Hunter soon, we must be on our best behavior and be good influ--"

Skadi: "With your pardon!"

*Skadi secures the interloping shark with a deft armlock and beats a hasty yet perfectly gallant retreat, closing the door behind her in such a hurry that the entirety of the landship shook. Many a Messenger on-board would remember this as the Localized Earthquake of 1099, which would go on to prompt emergency preparations for a sudden Catastrophe overnight, but that is a story for another time. Back in the dormitory room, as the younger Hunters exfiltrated themselves from the battlefield that was that room, after a cautionary yet eternal few minutes of silence and stillness, just in case that door decided to open again, the senior Hunter dismounted the doctor.*

Kal'tsit: "...Well? So what was that about?"

Gladiia: "My sincere apologies, Dame Kal'tsit, and you have my gratitude for having gone along with my drastic, sudden strategy."

Kal'tsit: "Don't worry about it. So?"

*Gladiia nods and, from a little corner behind Kal'tsit's bedside cupboard, carefully drags out a small table with a checkers board on it. The game is clearly quite progressed, with one side having a clear advantage.*

Gladiia: "I did not want Shark to see me, as some land-dwellers would put it, 'getting bodied' so badly in this showdown of ours."

Kal'tsit: "Because she would never let you hear the end of it?"

Gladiia: "Not for a couple of lifetimes, no."

Kal'tsit: "You have my sympathy and understanding, don't worry about it. Now..."

Gladiia: "...Yes. It's about time I reverse my fortune. Ready yourself, Dame Kal'tsit."

*Kal'tsit then proceeded to win the next game, as she did the previous seven, and they played lots more checkers afterwards*

#arknights #specter #skadi #gladiia #kal’tsit

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castlebyersafterdark · 2 months ago

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Hello babes ❤️😊 I often journal about my day to day, and do a lot of write-ups about major events, things weighing on my mind, or retrospectives. The turning of the New Year is as good an event as any to write and reflect, so I'm posting a CastleByersAfterDark themed journal online to my dear blog to start off 2025. Thoughts, thanks, and resolutions/goals:

FANDOM

The last year has been such a game changer. I wasn't having very much fun online anymore which was bothersome for me, since fandom and nerding out over stuff I'm into has been one of main hobbies since I was really young. I still was massively invested in Stranger Things but felt stagnant and burnt out as all I was doing was scrolling and reading and was kinda bored. Found a few blogs on the "spicy" side and the gossip side and lurked with intrigue and envy. Tired of watching and never interacting, I created The Castle and joined all the fine folks I admired. My maelstrom of an imagination finally had a place to process and settle again.

This blog took on a life of its own - where I thought I would use it to simply track ideas for wips and maybe converse with other writers, I never anticipated this interactive space where we can all hang out and chat and share secrets and be totally open at our pseudo, perpetual sleepover online with friends both named and anonymous, from all over the globe. The content might get strange or emotional or filthy or silly here, but I never feel alone in letting my nerdom or freak flag fly and I hope many of you feel the love I certainly feel here and enjoy joining in and doing the same. Fandom feels a lot different than it did when I was thirteen years old, but this corner of the fandom has captured that old school magic. Creativity and freedom and connection.

In 2025, I look forward to this wonderful show we love airing and getting to experience the final season after immense anticipation. I eagerly await watching our beloved Will and Mike play out their beautiful storyline on screen. I am excited for all of the mysteries to unravel and finally be understood and to discover which theories were correct and what none of us could have predicted. I'm anticipatory about seeing a slow burn romance play out and pay off between two boys in an unexpected era and to feel joy and catharsis from a storyline I did not expect in a mainstream show. I look forward to the fun and peace to follow once the truth is finally known without a shred of doubt. I don't plan on going anywhere. Going to be a long year. And nebulous time after. Looking forward to continuing to theorize and draft ideas and hear visions and gab about the actors and Byler. I have so many stories to post. Incredibly happy to be here hanging out with yall. ❤️🫂🫶

REALITY

Something... major... happened to me this past year. Hmm. Wonder what that was? Oh, right. That man of mine decided I'm ok enough and put a ring on it. Hahaha I kid, you all know by now that we are madly in love 😉 2025 I will be married! Gosh. It's been months. Still cannot believe.

We're getting married in the summer and I'm also leaving the country for the first time for our honeymoon. Excited, nervous, filled with joyous anticipation. I always wanted to be someone's boyfriend - check. Found my absolute perfect person and we've helped each other become better people and be the best versions of ourselves. Soon, I will be and have a husband which is the most surreal thing, to have each found our The One, our soulmate. Mentally, I'm telling teenage me "you'll never believe what happens - everything you dream about comes true. Hold on for me, bud." 💙💙

RESOLUTIONS/GOALS

Write more. FINISH writing projects. Stay creative. Practice practice practice art. Continue to strive to be kind. And be kinder to myself. Be more present in real life and ensure time spent on hobbies is time spent worthwhile. Have fun and stay out of discourse. Never stop learning and enjoying the pursuit of knowledge.

Follow the colors as mantra. 🏳️‍🌈 Sex 💗 life ❤️ healing 🧡 sunlight 💛 nature 💚magic and art 💙 serenity 💜 spirit 💖 PEACE AND LOVE TO ALL FOR 2025 😘😘😘

#Personal #💖❤️🧡💛💚💙💜💕

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writingwhimsey · 15 days ago

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Becoming Comtesse Ch. 22

A/N: So I am off work today (yay federal holidays). However, when I return to work tomorrow, we have a big audit coming up and I'll probably be swamped and unable to write as often as I have been here lately. So, I'm going to try to get as much as I can done today (while still also doing some things that need done around my house). I hope you guys enjoy!

Chapter 22

Our carriage arrived at the Marquis’s estate. I was having to wipe off my rouge from Abel’s lips once again. “Maybe I should just not wear the rouge next time.” I muttered.

Abel chuckled and kissed me tenderly on the forehead. “I don’t mind. As I said, you can leave your mark on me all you want, ma cherie.”

I narrowed my eyes at him playfully. “You enjoy this far too much.”

“What man wouldn’t enjoy the affections of his wife?” He asked, grinning at me.

It was then the footman rapped on the door before opening it. Abel stepped out of the carriage first before turning to me, holding out his hand. “Madame Comtesse.” He said, wearing a warm smile.

I returned his smile as I placed my hand in his. “Merci Monsieur le Comte.”

Abel kissed my hand before moving, turning so that we stood side by side. He placed my hand in the crook of his arm and we walked into the ball together. I could feel all of the eyes on us as we walked in and it didn’t take long for their murmurs to reach my ears. Most of them were in French, so I didn’t understand them…I really needed to start studying French so I could understand these people. Though judging by the looks on some of their faces, it was better I didn’t know what they were saying.

We made our way inside and a doorman took Abel’s coat and my cloak. We headed for the ballroom, my hand still resting in the crook of Abel’s arm. I felt a bit nervous as we entered the ballroom. Though not for the reasons I had become accustomed to before… no now I was nervous because I felt that people were judging me as Abel’s wife.

He placed his hand over mine. “You’ve nothing to worry about, ma cherie. Just enjoy yourself tonight.” He whispered to me, picking up on my nervousness.

Before I could respond the Marquis was coming up to greet us. He had a lovely woman on his arm. She appeared to be just a few years younger than him. I assumed she must be his wife. “Comte! Comtesse! It is so lovely to have you here in my home once more!” He greeted.

“Thank you for inviting us.” Comte replied. “When we saw your invitation, we knew we had to come.”

“Since you so graciously hosted our reception, it made perfect sense for yours to be the first ball we attended after getting back.” I added, smiling at him.

The Marquis smiled as he shook Comte’s hand and then took mine and placed a gentlemanly kiss of greeting on the back. “Always such a pleasure to have you here, Comtesse.” He said. He was then turning and gesturing to the woman at his side. “I want to introduce you to my own lovely wife, Marchioness Duboius.”

Comte took the Marchioness’s hand and kissed it as the Marquis had done mine. “It is lovely to see you again, Marchioness.”

She smiled. “It is good to see you Comte and in such good health.” She added. She then turned to me, clasping one of my hands in both of hers. “And you dear, I am so excited to finally meet you!” She gushed.

I smiled, already feeling a bit at ease with the way she was greeting me. Her friendliness didn’t feel like the false friendliness so many noble women put up to maneuver in high society. “I’m glad we get to meet as well.” I told her.

She grinned. “I am so sorry that I wasn’t in attendance at the wedding. Our eldest daughter had her first child, you see. So I was out of town helping attend to her and our new grandchild!”

“That is quite the joyous occasion and one I am certainly glad you didn’t miss.” I told her. “I am certain your daughter appreciated having you there. I hope things are well with both her and the baby.”

“Oh, yes very well.” She replied. “Mother and daughter are both happy and healthy.”

“Wonderful.” I replied, smiling genuinely happy for them. They seemed like a lovely family.

The Marchioness smiled at me moving to my other side and taking my arm. “Well, now that’s enough about me dear. I want to hear more about you.” She said, as she began leading me off.

I threw a glance at Abel and he smiled warmly. “Go make friends, ma cherie.” He whispered to me. “Enjoy the party.”

I nodded and allowed my hand to slip from his, letting the Marchioness drag me off. “You wish to know more about me, Marchioness?” I asked.

She smiled. “Of course, and please call me Nettie. All of my friends do.”

“Nettie.” I replied, smiling at her. “In that case, please call me Colette.”

Nettie smiled, a genuinely warm and affectionate smile. “That is such a lovely name, for such a lovely young woman.” He replied as she stopped one of the waiters who was carrying a tray with glasses of champagne. We each took one.

“You have a lovely home here.” I told her.

“Oh, thank you, dear.” She replied. “So, tell me about yourself, hmm? I want to know what kind of woman it took to finally get that Comte to settle down.”

I laughed. “There’s not exactly a lot to say about myself.” I replied. “I am the daughter of a merchant Baron. I have four brothers and one sister. I am the second born of the six children. My favorite hobbies are reading and writing.”

Nettie smiled at me. “And humble it seems.” She said. “You know there are quite a few rumors going around all of the social circles about you.”

“Oh?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes. Unfortunately, that’s how it is in high society. As I am sure you know.”

I nodded. “Yes. English high society isn’t much different.”

Nettie nodded. “I, however, refuse to believe anything in the rumor mills though.” She went on. “I’ve found myself the subject of gossip before. So, I know that not everything they say is true.”

“I knew I liked you instantly, Nettie.”

She chuckled. “Just as I knew I liked you, Colette. The way you walked in here on le Comte’s arm, I knew you were one high class lady if there ever was one.”

“I am curious though…what rumors are there going around about me?” I asked.

“Oh, so many.” Nettie answered. “Some of them are actually kind of good and others not so much.” She then went on to explain that there were two schools of thought about me. One of them said I must have been the crown jewel of English high society with many a man wanting me and somehow Comte got wind of me and came in and swept me off of my feet. I have to admit, that one did indeed sound flattering. The other was that my family couldn’t get rid of me and agreed to pay some hefty dowry to Comte to get me off their hands…this one was a bit closer to the truth, though still not exactly right.

“I see.” I said, sipping my champagne once she had finished.

“Yes. High society loves to spread rumors about everyone, especially those of us who weren’t born into the nobility.”

“Does that mean you were not born into nobility?” I asked.

She smiled. “That is exactly the case. Like you, my father became a baron and earned his fortune on his own. We moved from England to France for his business and my darling husband’s family was one of our investors. We met one night at a ball much like this one…and it was love at first sight for us. Titles didn’t matter to my darling husband and thankfully the Dubois family readily accepted me.”

I smiled. “That is lovely.”

“Yes.” She replied. “So, what about you and le Comte?”

I had to choose my words carefully here. It wasn’t like I could broadcast to the world that Abel was a vampire and I had offered him my blood when he needed it. “We had a chance encounter years ago in the English countryside when he’d been visiting a friend… it was before my father had become a Baron…and apparently neither of us could truly forget that encounter or each other.”

“Ah, more love at first sight! So, so lovely!” Nettie said, wearing a warm smile. “And you found each other again, that’s so lovely!”

I smiled. “Yes.”

We chatted a bit more before Nettie caught sight of some other ladies. She was taking my arm again. “Oh, come now dear. Let me introduce you to the other ladies.”

I smiled. “Alright.”

She led me off and soon we were amongst a group of women of varying ages and titles, and even a few who were not titled. They were all quite friendly and we shared lively conversation. I honestly found myself having fun.

Comte…

Comte watched as Marchioness Dubois led Colette off to chat. The Marquis stood next to him chuckling. “It seems my wife has taken a liking to yours.”

Comte smiled. “It seems that way and I am glad of it. I knew the Marchioness would be the perfect person for Colette to meet.”

“She does enjoy meeting new people and making friends.” Marquis Dubois replied. “It also helps that she had a similar upbringing to your Comtesse.”

“The perfect person to show her around and introduce her to the others.” Comte agreed.

The pair chatted for a while, one of the waiters bringing a tray of champagne. Soon other men were joining them to chat and welcome Comte back. There were a few jokes and teasing remarks thrown around, ones only the gentlemen would dare say to each other even if they shouldn’t.

Though he chatted with the others, Comte couldn’t stop himself from looking at his wife. She looked so beautiful across the room as she chatted, smiled, and laughed with the other women. Granted, he always thought she looked beautiful. But still, he was glad to see her at ease.

After some time, he set his glass aside. “Pardon me, gentlemen.” He said before making his way from the group and heading to the other side of the ballroom.

“Looks like the honeymoon isn’t quite over yet.” One of the other men remarked.

“When a man is truly in love, it never is.” Marquis Dubois replied.

Comte made his way over to the group of ladies, standing behind Colette. “Pardon me for interrupting ladies, but might I steal my wife away for a dance?”

“Oh don’t mind us. Steal away.” Marchioness Dubois said.

Colette was turning to him, smiling. “Yes, steal away.” She agreed.

Comte smiled as he took her hand, kissing the back before leading her onto the dancefloor. He kept one hand holding hers while the other went to rest on her hip, her free hand coming to rest on his shoulder as they began to gracefully glide to the music together.

“You look like you’re actually enjoying yourself this evening.” He told her.

“Yes, well, it IS infinitely more fun being a married woman at these parties than being a single one.” Colette replied. “And Nettie is a very kind and loving woman.”

Comte chuckled. “Already on a first name basis with the Marchioness?”

“She insisted…and it’s nice. Her friendliness…it is genuine. Not like the false friendliness so many other noble ladies put up.” Colette replied.

Comte nodded, though he could tell by the look on Colette’s face, she’d suffered a great deal to be able to tell the difference of when someone was being genuine and when someone was putting on a mask. I really shouldn’t have waited those thirteen years. He thought. Then she wouldn’t have had to suffer so.

“And of course, it’s nice that I don’t have to entertain anyone. I don’t have to put on any kind of show. I can just be myself.” Colette went on.

Comte smiled. “Just as I wish for you to always be.”

The party went on, Comte and Colette dancing more and socializing. They were standing off to the side, chatting with the Marquis and Marchioness and a few other guests while sipping champagne and having some of the hors devours, when they were approached by another guest.

“Comte, I am surprised to see you here. When I received your decline of my invitation, I assumed you were still taking some time before coming back to the social scene.”

Comte turned his head to acknowledge the seventy-plus year old manwith white hair who greeted them. He felt Colette bristle next to him. He instantly put a comforting and protective hand on the small of her back. “We merely didn’t want to overschedule ourselves, Duc de Fontaine.” He replied.

Fontaine gave a rather evil looking grin. “Ah, of course. I was starting to wonder if it was perhaps you learned that you had stolen what should have been mine.”

“Duc de Fontaine, how could you make such accusations against le Comte?” Marquis defended.

“I am no thief.” Comte replied, though he knew this was not about any possession.

Fontaine continued to smile. “I make no accusations. I only tell the truth.” He replied. “You stole my bride.”

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