#sp: grace

[trashydemigodmess]

i'll find a new place to be from

She trekked along, desert dust kicking up into her socks. Spindly trees and spiky bushes in muted shades of green casted jagged shadows along the steep, hilly path. Her breath was heavy, walking at maybe too fast of a pace, but determined to keep up with the beat of the music blaring in her ears. Maybe she shouldn’t have decided to hike Runyon Canyon alone on a Wednesday morning, but her house felt too big and cold and lonely, racing thoughts so loud they almost echoed off the walls. Deep breaths of fresh air and sunshine beating down on her shoulders had the thoughts melting out of her until all that was left was clarity.

The path finally opened up, trees giving way to grassy, desert hills spilling out on either side, rolling down into an endless city skyline. The morning haze mixed with the sunrise, painting the sky pastel shades of orange and pink, smudging along the tallest buildings and distant mountains, shrouding them in color.

She liked Los Angeles. Sometimes she even loved it. But, standing among the expansive landscape, stretching far and wide, engulfing her in sunrise, she felt outside of it. She paused the music in her headphones, a deep, long sigh exhaling from her body and echoing across the hills like a lingering question. She stood there a moment in silence, teetering on the edge of her thoughts. An answer called back gently across the breeze, the answer that’d sat in the back of her head for weeks. She sighed, taking a sobering sip of water before turning around. It might not be done immediately, but, trekking back down the path and away from the city, she knew exactly what she had to do.

THREE MONTHS LATER - SEPTEMBER 2024

She held her phone up in front of her mouth, squinting behind her sunglasses as she took in the sprawling sidewalk and tree-lined street in front of her. The air felt crisper here somehow, the smell of fresh cut grass hitting her nostrils for the first time in who knows how long. She heard birds chirping, the sun hitting her shoulders and warming the sparkling feeling that had begun to stir in her stomach. The phone in her hand was ringing, ringing. No one answered. She sighed, pausing on the sidewalk and trying again. 

After the fourth ring there was finally a muffled rustling, like the person was trying to get ahold of the phone from somewhere else.

“Hey babe—” Dex’s huffed breath finally emerged on the other end, desperately trying to sound casual, “What’s up?”

“You good?” Grace chuckled.

“Yeah, I—” He sighed, catching his breath, “I was making bread so my hands were all sticky and I couldn’t find my phone because Hayley was sitting on it. So I was runnin’ around like a chicken with its head cut off.” He sucked in another deep breath, “What’s up?”

Grace smiled to herself. “What number is your house again? I’m sending you something and I want to make sure I don’t send it to the wrong place.”

“Oh—” Dex sounded confused, but amused all the same, “Uh, 23. Were you just that desperate to hear my voice that you needed to call instead of text?”

“I’m driving.” She lied, eyeing the doors she now passed on her walk. “And I missed your cute voice, is that a crime? Are you doing anything fun today?”

“If by fun you mean finally doing absolutely nothing, then yes. I got this recipe for cinnamon bread that’s gonna fucking slap when its done, and there’s a new book I was gonna start, but that’s about it.”

“Literally love that for you. What’s Ben up to?”

“He’s out with Koda doing…something? I can’t remember. But the bread is gonna be a little surprise.”

“Okay, look at you, domestic goddess.” 

“I know, right?" She could hear him beaming from the other side of the phone, "What are you up to today?”

“Oh, y’know, boring meetings, getting my nails done, nothing too fancy.”

The townhouse looked like all the others around it. New and modern but cookie cutter on the outside. The only discernible difference was the car parked in the driveway, a black Range Rover with tinted windows. Grace hopped up the front steps and double checked the number next to the door before knocking.

“Hold on a sec, someone’s at the door—”

Dex’s usually scruffy—albeit always perfectly maintained—face had grown out a bit, veering into beard territory after a busy Summer spent releasing and promoting an album. A little white tank top and denim overalls that’d seen better days left his freckled shoulders to span most of the doorway. And the blue eyes behind the black, round frames of his glasses were startled and surprised as they took in Grace suddenly standing in front of him.

“Holy shit!” Dex gasped, “Oh my God, Hi!” He blinked, like his body was catching up to his brain, before immediately throwing himself at her, “You fuckin’ liar!” Hugging Dex always felt like sunshine, or a warm blanket—something she’d been deeply lacking.

“Wh—what are you doing here?” He sputtered, bringing her inside and shutting the door. “I knew something was weird. Were you literally just walking down the street this whole time?”

“Yeah,” She laughed, “I genuinely did need to know what number your house was, though.”

Before she could say more, Grace felt a small bump against her calf. She looked down to see an adorable orange cat sniffing at her sneakers, tentatively reaching out to bat at the laces. “Ohhh my God, is this the angel herself?”

“What are you doing?” Dex sighed at the ball of fluff, reaching down to pick her up. Despite the exasperation in his voice, he happily kissed the top of her head and moved in closer so Grace could reach, “Yes, this is Hayley.”

She reached out and let the cat sniff her fingers before bumping her nose against them, letting Grace scratch under her chin. “Awwww, what a cutie.”

“Don’t let her fool you, she’s a menace. I swear sometimes she tries to fight me for Ben’s attention. She loves to knock shit over while we’re—” As if she was listening, Hayley made a little chirp of a purr and looked up at him. “Yes, I’m talking about you.” He cooed, moving to put her on the couch and returning to the event at hand. “Anyways—Girl, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well…” This feeling of endless promise and unknown had been floating around her aura for the past few days as she snuck into town, as she organized getting all her important belongings delivered across the country, as she avoided Dex noticing at all costs. It was an elated kind of joy that Grace hadn’t felt in a very long time. And after years of him asking, she’d finally caved. She sucked in a breath, grinning, the excitement crackling inside of her chest like a spark, “I spent all morning unpacking and figured I needed to get some lunch. Wanna come?”

“Un…pack…?” The realization washed over him, slowly, then all at once. And the absolute last thing Grace expected happened: his eyes welled with tears. “Grace, you better not be fucking with me.”

It was so incredibly wholesome, it took all of her resolve to not do the same. “Never! I would never.” Shaking her head, Grace grabbed his shoulders; Serious, comforting, “I got an apartment.”

“Really?” His voice was soft as he smiled, putting his hands on her shoulders as well.

Grace nodded, and he pulled her into another hug, picking her up and squeezing.

“God, fuck,” Dex wiped at his eyes as he put her down, “This is like, the best thing ever. Yes, yeah, let's go get lunch. Tell me everything. Gods, do you need help with anything else? Like do you still need to unpack? Do you need any food or, or I don't know, stuff?" He was rambling, but Grace could see by the light in his eyes that it was with excitement, like there were too many thoughts and he was stumbling over them as they tumbled from his brain to his mouth, "I can't wait to show you everything. You'll make so many friends, everyone’s so cool and chill and I—Ugh,” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it as he fished his keys from the bowl by the door. “I’m so happy.”

It was her turn to feel the tears well up in her eyes as they walked outside. He'd scooped her back up into his life like nothing had changed, like she'd been here the whole time; Like she belonged. Grace sucked in a deep breath, she couldn't remember the last time she felt like she was in a place where she belonged.

[things-stankyle-probably-said]

kyle broflovski, trying to tell his boyfriend he applied to yale and not university of colorado boulder: stan...you want me to be happy, right? stan marsh: not if it affects me negatively in any way. kyle broflovski: stan marsh: :)

[sisterpaxton]

spotis

@otisbdriftwood

[appallinnballin]

call the police this burger was Not It

[mxbitters]

i mean i never stopped listening to queercore ever since it started but i think i gotta find more bands to listen to before making the i’m a whore for queercore patch

[becquerel]

the real backstory for why my trollstuck au is the way it is is bc i wanted to mix it up and people have explored. a Lot of different trollstuck concepts before. and i wanted to try to tread new ground at least a little

[kennethsmccormicks]

like that this episode plants the seed of sugar baby kenny and sugar daddy butters

[thequeervampiric]

“hey”

me, zoning out, going the tiniest littlest bit insane over Grace Chasity: “yeah what’s up”

[song-tam]

WHAT THE FUCKKKKK

SP REVEAL MY FUCKING BELOVED

[martinmynster]

tumblr not letting me upload the greatest album of 2022 to share with the class lol :) lmao even

[love-fireflysong]

Okay, so I’ve been replaying Tales of Graces for the last month or so (last time I played it was back in 2013) and I’ve been having a blast as it’s one of my fav tales games. Reached the end game of the original story, and I’ve just been spending the last couple of weekends finishing up the last of the optional sidequest stuff before I fight the final boss. Which is all pretty normal sounding, but the problem arises in that I had to keep replaying a certain enemy area cause I kept dying to a certain enemy type that really liked to one-shot me.

Like a lot.

A frustrating amount of a lot actually.

And while I knew going in that I was a little underleveled for this part of the game (party was roughly lv66 when everything else was lv72) I didn’t understand why on earth that stupid scorpion kept one-shotting me with it’s tail attacks.  And then when I was checking how many I had killed to get an idea how close or far away I was to it’s soul gem, I realized that it wasn’t lv72 like the others it was lv96.

I wasn’t a measly six levels below, I was THIRTY.

And in that instant, I went from being annoyed that I kept dying to it, to being proud of myself for even managing to hold my own in the fight in the first place kasdhjkajshkasdjh

[figureskatingpenguin]

Alysa Liu (USA): Promise | 2024 Budapest Trophy, SP

After retiring at the age of 16 with a World bronze medal in 2022, Alysa Liu returns to competition a brand new woman, skating with a newfound grace and maturity that many fans will be eager to see! Welcome back, Alysa!

[firebunnylover]

My Thoughts on Orion trying to stop D-16 from the murdery stuff.

I think there’s been enough time to think over the writing choice of Orion trying to stop D-16 from killing Sentinel. Time to whack the hornet nest of internet opinions.

Now I think it’s fair to say that plenty of people have pointed out that the autobots do murder several other bots in the film and so Orion’s attempt to stop Dee from killing SP seems hypocritical. And I can certainly see why people are coming to that specific conclusion.

And plenty of us agree the death scene was cathartic.

HOWEVER.

Let’s look at Orion’s current perspective regarding Dee’s state of mind.

He has been watching his friend go down the path of unapologetic violence fast since they found out the truth. Like, alarmingly fast. And that path is quickly becoming more of a sheer drop off a cliff.

While OP, Elita and Bee were ecstatic about being able to transform, what do we see Dee laugh over?

Being able to inflict damage onto another bot.

And we can’t forget the oh-so-woobie-of-continuities Starscream, who Orion had to tell Dee not to kill when the murder canon was activated.

That isn’t the Dee Orion knew. Orion is watching Dee turn into something he doesn’t know anymore. He’s afraid of losing D-16 to whatever he’s becoming.

To Orion, keeping Dee from publicly executing Sentinel was an attempt to keep him from spiraling further.

Unfortunately, just having good intentions don’t always cut it. And he really could have said it in a better way.

But to be fair, it had been a long miserable trip for the both of them, so Orion probably wasn't able to think that out 100%.

Another point I want to make is the comparison to B-127/Bee, who had been cutting bots with his knifehands. Granted, I’m pretty sure they were just intended to be Drones/Enforcers, as they resemble Vehicons. Which, in beast wars, were intended as bots who were mass produced and mindless. Which I think Sentinel would have preferred to have as his followers. Literal mindless/sparkless soldiers to follow his every word would probably be easier to handle.

This is Steve Slander I’m so sorry.

Continuing on.

There are a few points I want to make on B-127’s treatment of the violence. First, to me, Orion didn’t seem too comfortable with how hyped Bee was getting with his new weapons, and did intervene to keep him from cutting down more Drones.

And more importantly, he stopped trashing the broadcast room when told that the bots there weren’t the enemy.

Bee managed to do some self-control. Which I think is important to keep in mind when comparing him to Dee/Megatron

One more thing to note.

Something that I have said before in an earlier post after my initial viewing of the movie.

It wasn’t the violence itself that was the ultimate act of betrayal in the end though.

It was picking violence over saving someone.

oh it hurts

Orion jumped in the cannon’s way. Probably thinking that seeing him would give Dee enough reason to stop. But there wasn’t any pause until after the trigger was pulled. @everestentertainments pointed this out in their own post

D-16 does catch the injured Orion. He could have tried to save him, even if it was futile.

But he decided to let him fall instead.

Thus finally transforming into Megatron.

Killing Sentinel wasn’t the final step to the transformation and his fall from grace. It was the first act as purely Megatron.

And don’t forget that after taking the cog, Meg’s next act is to burn everything down, taking no regard for anyone who might get caught in the crossfire. Which is a yikes.

They probably could have made those points more obvious or could have been handled better somehow, but those are my thoughts.

[willows-escape]

Carpe Diem - Musical!Erik x Reader

Pairing: Musical!Erik x Fem!Reader

Summary: You'd received possibly the worst news a high status woman could receive in their entire life time, and you had only one thought and one goal in mind. Erik had a different one.

Warnings: angst, forced marriage, a lot of crying, jealousy, uninformed consent (?), almost getting caught, oral (f and m receiving), finger sucking, vaginal fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, crying during sex, forced mask reveal, mentions of murder, gaslighting, manipulation, kidnapping

Words: 9570

Notes: sorry this took so long, coursework's a pain in the ass and i've written and deleted what i've wanted to write so many times. i've written seven different stories at this point and rewritten them each at least three times. i decided to pull back all the complexity of what i was originally going for and ending up with this thing.

i tried to make the phantom more submissive because i know people wanted to read that but musical!erik just doesn't feel submissive to me, at least not in this kind of scenario. he's just too much of a control freak i feel and i think he would become more of a switch later into a relationship when he grows comfortable.

hopefully i don't take so long to write my next thing in future, and i pray i continue to improve in my writing skills lol.

You were in flight, your heart pounding a thunderous rhythm in your chest, matching the frenzied drumming of your feet against the opera house's ancient wooden floors. Every sinew in your body screamed in protest, yet you willed yourself to run faster, harder. The adrenaline coursing through your veins drowned out all thought, all reason, save for one - you have to get to the rooftop.

Your relentless fate was stealthily stalking you, icy tendrils of fear unfurling down your spine, as you envisioned the pitiless roots of destiny relentlessly chasing you, eager to entangle you within their remorseless clutches. The letter you gripped in your trembling hand was the harbinger of your impending doom, a chilling memento of the ominous vow you had once made.

As you turned the corner, your heart pounded in your chest as you darted up the flight of stairs towards the clandestine meeting point. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, matching the dusky sky's ethereal haze. As nightfall descended, it signalled the time when both of you could shed your public facades and bask in the tranquillity of each other's presence, shrouded in shadows and secrecy.

Every muscle in your thighs and calves screamed in protest, pleading for mercy as you drove yourself onward. You forced yourself through each step. As you pushed through the final barrier, the rooftop door swung open, revealing your destination. A gust of crisp, cold air met your face, a shocking contrast against the sweltering heat of your exertion. The sudden chill cut through the stifling humidity clinging to your skin, offering a brief, but sweet, respite.

"Erik? Erik, where are you?" you called out aimlessly, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

The tension of anticipation didn't linger long. Soon, the haunting familiarity of the black suit and porcelain mask punctuated your line of sight. A smile, so ignorant and blissful, graced his hidden face, while your own mirrored nothing but distress. As your eyes met, his smile faltered and a sense of panic ignited within his gaze.

"Has somebody hurt you?" The first conclusion came tumbling out of his lips as he rushed to stand in front of you, hands reaching out to caress your arms.

An onslaught of feelings of safety and security besieged you. The caress of his gentle touch, his sugar-coated words, and the purity of his love stood stark against the frigid future looming ahead - ice-cold eyes, indifferent touch, and a home that was nothing more than an glorified prison. Your vision blurred, as if submerged underwater, with briny tears carving trails down your icy cheeks. Your body convulsed with splutters and coughs, surrendering to the raw unravelling of your emotions.

"My dear, please, who did this to you?" His voice wavered, desperation tinging his plea. "I can't bare to see you like this," he confessed, his heart aching to draw you into his arms, to cocoon you in a protective embrace. Yet, his hands twitched with uncertainty, unaccustomed to offering unbidden comfort and tormented by the fear of making the wrong choice.

Struggling, you gasped for the words that seemed to evade your grasp. Finally, in a pitiful whimper, you managed to choke out the truth, "My father. It's my father."

"He has hurt you?" His words, taut with restrained fury, barely managed to mask the cataclysmic rage broiling within his core. His eyes flamed with the intensity of a thousand suns, pledging an unspoken oath that he would move heavens and earth to guard you from any harm. He would not let this happen again, his earlier leniency was a mistake he wouldn't repeat.

"No... well, yes, sort of," you stammered, every word a struggle as tears choked your speech. Your sentences, muddled and hardly coherent, tumbled out in a rush. He stood there, a silent pillar of patience amidst your storm. "The curtain had just fallen on tonight's performance, when Madame Giry found me, said someone had come to the Opera Populaire with a letter for me. I ventured backstage, and – and –”

"Take your time," he reassured you, trying to keep his tone soft and soothing when he was feeling anything but that.

"My father," you began, your voice trembling slightly, "He sent this to me," you raised your arm, presenting him with the damning parchment that bore the news, "It declares that I have a single week to make my return... and to dutifully submit to his wishes, to bind myself in marriage to a man he's handpicked for me.”

As the words tore from your lips, a deluge of sobs overpowered you, shattering your composure into fragments. You crumpled onto the frigid concrete, your body convulsing with the ferocity of your wails, echoing the raw torment festering within.

"He has already decided my fate, to wed me to Alexander Beaumont, heir to one of the wealthiest fortunes in Paris. But, Erik, I cannot bear the thought! I'd choose the most excruciating demise before even contemplating marrying him!" Your tears began to mingle with your snot, humiliation gnawing your insides, knowing he was bearing witness to your disarray. Yet, you were powerless to stop it, and no amount of snivelling could quell the impending sense of doom building within you.

Erik was consumed by a fury so intense, it was a blinding white light in his mind. Thousands of brutal scenarios played out in rapid succession, each a unique way he could annihilate the man who dared to pull you away from him. The man who had reduced you to nothing more than a pawn, a puppet to be used in his ruthless climb up the social ladder.

"I've met him before, his gaze piercing through me, speaking of me as though I were a mere fly on the wall... If I were to wed him, I'd be reduced to nothing more than a trophy wife, imprisoned within the confines of a household, expected to bear children annually until nature robs me of the ability," you choked out between sobs, bitterly recalling his elaborate discourse to your father about his archaic aspirations for a wife, a die-hard traditionalist to his core.

"The Opera Populaire, an impossibility now. My friends, forever out of reach. And you... you, I shall never feast my eyes upon again." The tears assaulted you, battering you with the unrelenting force of a tempest as the brutal reality bore down, each tick of the clock amplifying the sting of truth.

"Then don't go," he uttered, his words masquerading as a suggestion, yet ringing with the commanding tone of a demand, "Don't return home, do not bend to your father's will. There's always another escape, always."

"Oh, Erik," your voice broke, anguish seeping into each syllable, "I can't." A hard lump constricted your throat, the bitter reality of your predicament sinking in. "My father...he wields power, he has influence. If I dare not return, all of Paris would be hunting me down, a bounty on my head. I'm cornered, Erik. I'm left with no other choice."

Before he could utter another syllable, you swiftly eradicated the residue that had amassed on your skin and surged to your feet. Your eyes were ablaze with a bloodshot hue, stray teardrops stubbornly tracing a path down your face. Yet, an unyielding determination was etched across your features. You yearned for one final moment, one last poignant memory before the unavoidable reality of leaving him forever would consume you.

"Take me," you urged in a hushed plea, your gaze ensnaring him with such profound intensity that he was left with no room to misconstrue your meaning. Your purpose was undeniable, and it struck him into stillness. "Please, I beg you, do not deny me this final experience, this closing moment of exhilaration. For I am to be condemned.”

Your fragility was palpable, an image of vulnerability and innocence that made the idea of your bodies entwining, your souls merging into one, nearly impossible to suppress. Erik was gripped by a relentless thought; this encounter wouldn't be your last. A scheme was rapidly taking shape in his mind, a bold plan that he was awaiting the opportunity to enact. Yet, beneath it all, he was merely a mortal, how could he resist such a sweet opportunity laid before him?

As though your initial plea wasn't potent enough, you read his silence as a stark rejection. With a desperate urgency, you persisted, "I must experience what it means to unite with someone who harbours a profound love for me, and whom I equally adore, before time steals this chance forever. This is my final request of you, please, grant me this.”

Every trace of Erik's reservations - his mask, his insecurities, his lack of experience - evaporated in an instant. His entire being was consumed by the sight of your pleading eyes and enticing lips, desperately imploring him to make love to you. The intensity of your need, your last request born out of the fear of never seeing him again, ignited a scorching fire in his abdomen. His slacks tightened unbearably as his body responded to the raw desire coursing through him.

He didn't respond with words. Instead, his body lunged forward, crashing against yours, his lips desperately colliding with yours in an intoxicating, chaotic ballet. It was flawlessly imperfect, devoid of rhythm or pattern, yet it echoed the sheer intensity of your shared lust and fervour. A surge of electricity coursed through your veins, your skin prickling, your stomach churning with a heady mix of anxiety and exhilaration as you passionately kissed him.

Small, desperate gasps and whimpers escaped your trembling lips as they urgently sought his, the icy chill of Paris causing a cascade of goosebumps to erupt across your skin. You clung to him with a ferocity born of pure, raw fear, as if you were precariously perched on the brink of an abyss and he was the only tether keeping you from plummeting into the void. He was your sole anchor in a sea of chaos, the only force keeping you alive.

The searing heat of your skin beneath his fingertips sent his mind spiralling, the sensation of you - so soft, so yielding under his hands, a staggering, unfamiliar experience. He could feel the rhythmic surge and ebb of your chest, your breath, a hot whisper against his face as your lips clashed and fused, time and time again - he was certain he could feel the pulsating rhythm of your veins as your blood roared through your body. So vivid, so fiercely alive.

Inescapably, the mask had turned into an intolerable burden. Each movement caused it to ruthlessly scrape against your skin, the epidermis painfully inflamed and raw. With a heavy sense of reluctance, you retreated, your eyes slowly fluttering open to behold the breath taking spectacle of your angel, gasping for air, his eyes wide and darkened with intensity.

"My love," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers nervously fiddling with the lapels of his coat. "I know this is a significant request..." The tension hung heavy in the air between you two. "But, would you consider... removing your mask?" Your heart pounded in your chest as you dared to meet his eyes. "It's been catching on my skin, and it's starting to hurt. If it's too much, I understand! We can find another way. It's just that... I yearn to see all of you, unobstructed."

His expression shifted to one of grave solemnity. Deep within, he had known this moment would arrive, yet he had clung to the hope that it would be delayed, that he could savour more of you and this opportunity before you were cruelly torn from his grasp. Now, his countenance was a spectacle of terror, a sight so horrific that he was certain it would repel you instantly, forever severing any connection you could have had. It was this dread, this fear of losing you, that compelled him to deny your request.

"No," he declared, his voice cold and final, making it clear he had no intention of prolonging this conversation any further.

A lump formed in your throat, a silent reflection of the tension in the air. His features were chiselled, hardened as if sculpted by an unseen force. His eyes, unyielding and intense, bore into you, commanding silence without uttering a single word. You were far from foolish, aware that any protest would shatter the brittle tranquillity of the moment. Respecting his unspoken plea, you held your tongue, allowing the silence to envelop the space between you.

You plunged back into the fervour of your previous kisses, this time contorting awkwardly to keep your face clear of the cold, threatening porcelain weapon. With each passing moment, you fought to maintain the connection, a bizarre dance with a man whose full face you'd never seen. A wave of filth washed over you, a creeping sense you should be drowning in shame, but you found no room for such feelings. Not when his touch set your skin ablaze with desire.

His hands settled on the small of your back, gently rubbing above the fabric of your dress. You naturally moved closer, your soft chest against his solid one. Your hands wandered, touching every part of him within reach.

"Is this what you call a lovers outing, Piangi? It's cold and dirty!" The piercing voice of the renowned prima donna erupted from the rooftop entrance, slicing through the silence. You and Erik froze.

"Ah, forgive me, my love," replied her lover, his familiar Italian accent flooding through his words. His voice sounded awkward and dejected. One could almost imagine his look of shame, realizing his romantic gesture wasn't appreciated. "I wanted to look at the stars with you, but if that's not what you desire-"

"Forget it," Carlotta spat out. The echo of footsteps approaching sent jolts of panic through your veins, your heart hammering against your ribcage. Erik, however, remained calm amongst the chaos. His fingers laced through yours, pulling you urgently towards the shadowed sanctuary of the rooftop's far corner.

"If you get too cold, dear, I have my coat with me. Just say the word and I will give it to you," Piangi spoke, his voice straining with the effort to pierce through Carlotta's gloom.

As their voices clashed in petty discord, a sudden blast of searing air prickled the nape of your neck. Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your hair bristling on end. A whispered command, laced with urgency, pierced the tension, "Stay behind me and follow. Make no noise. Not even a whisper."

With a sense of increasing trepidation, you gave a tense nod. You watched, breath held, as Erik emerged from your concealed sanctuary, prowling the expanse of the rooftop with a predator's stealth. He would intermittently halt, shielding himself within various makeshift hideaways. You hastened to mirror his movements, until at last, you found yourself inside the familiar confines of the opera house. His hand ensnared yours, his grip firm yet comforting, as he urged you onwards into the unknown.

It didn't take long before he ceased his steps, drawn like a magnet to the first mirror you encountered. His grip on your hand slackened for a fleeting moment, his fingers dancing over the wall in a cryptic rhythm. There was a tense hush, then the sharp click echoed in the silence, and the mirror slid back with a menacing grace to unveil a hidden passageway.

"What on earth?" you whispered, a tremor in your voice as you gazed upon the hole in the wall where once a mirror was.

Erik wheeled around abruptly, a sense of urgency flickering in his eyes as he extended his hand to you. You paused, uncertainty clouding your features, "Where does this passageway lead? Where are you taking me?"

"Trust me," he implored, his voice barely a whisper, yet carrying an undertone of desperation.

You swallowed, your throat tight with a mix of fear and anticipation. The situation and context around it weighed heavily on your mind, a potent cocktail of potential consequences swirling before you. The silence was deafening as you deliberated, the seconds stretching into what felt like an eternity. Then, with a deep, steadying breath, you extended a trembling hand towards him, a silent acquiescence. You nodded, a solemn gesture of trust, surrendering your fate into his hands.

He responded with a nod of his own, guiding you towards the opening. The entrance was inconveniently elevated from the ground - not to an extreme where a leap was required - but enough to pose a considerable risk. With a firm grip, he assisted you as you stepped inside, ensuring the voluminous folds of your dress evaded entanglement. He trailed in your wake, the air heavy with anticipation.

With a precise touch, he activated a concealed point on the wall, causing the mirror to slide back into normalcy. The echo of silence descended, the only sound being the synchronization of your breaths reverberating through the confined passageway. A whirlwind of questions swirled in your mind, each one violently dismissed as the realisation of your shared purpose gripped you. Of what you were coming down here to do.

He steered you through a maze of bewildering turns, his whispers of caution echoing in the cold, damp air. His grip on your hand was constant, a lifeline in the suffocating darkness. His familiarity with the convoluted tunnels was unsettling, and a chilling worry gnawed at you, as you wondered what hidden dangers made him tread with such measured care.

Soon you were greeted by a lake, its misty greens and blues shimmering so bright it twinkled like glitter. The view was mesmerising, the many candles scattered around lending the stone walls a glorious golden glow that took your breath away. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, the foliage blending together beautifully as it decorated the walls. You gasped.

He guided you towards a gondola which was tethered to a stout wooden stake driven deep into the ground. With a steadying hand, he aided your entrance into the vessel, ensuring your balance as you nestled into the boat's hollow core. Following your lead, he stepped in with calculated caution, his grip closing around a weathered paddle, poised at the ready to commence the strenuous task of rowing.

"What is this place?" You asked, ogling at the scenery around you.

"My home, my hiding place, the Phantom's lair, the sewers under the opera house..." he drawled off, beginning to row, "whichever one you wish to call it. All apply."

"You live down here?" You questioned, your brow furrowed as the icy air bit harshly at your exposed skin. The beauty of the place was undeniable, yet it held a chilling solitude that whispered of profound isolation, making it a daunting place to inhabit.

"Since I was a young boy," he spoke as if the words that spilled from his lips held no weight.

You couldn't shake the thought that something terrifying lurked beneath the mask. He had warned you, but you'd never considered how truly terrible it could be until now. Your eyebrows shot up, eyes dilating as your mind spun wildly with grotesque possibilities. What could be so monstrous about his visage that he was compelled to conceal it in the depths of a dank cellar?

Clearly, you had no intention of broaching the topic; it would undoubtedly ruin your plans for the evening. Yet, as the journey unfolded, you became lost in a whirlwind of contemplation, feverishly imagining the concealed face beneath the mask. Your affection was unwavering, regardless of how horrific his face was you'd feel the same way, but the mystery added an exhilarating layer of intrigue that consumed you.

Within mere minutes of fervent rowing, the silhouette of land loomed ahead, jolting you from your daze back into reality. You remained in the confines of the boat as Erik disembarked with calculated precision. He secured the boat with a swift, practiced motion, restoring the paddle to its rightful place. Then, he pivoted towards you, his hand outstretched in an offer of assistance, his eyes locked onto yours.

You smiled graciously, accepting his helping hand as you stepped out of the boat. You were enchanted, looking around at his home and how it was decorated. It was beyond your wildest imagination, intriguing and enigmatic, labyrinthine and gothic.

You were struck by the vast arrangement of candles. They casted a dim, dancing light which bathed the walls in an ethereal glow, casting long, eerie shadows on the dank stone. There was a majestic, ornate pipe organ, and a big mirror off to the side. All the way in the farthest corner, you spotted a bed, grand and draped in heavy, dark fabrics. You were in awe.

Erik did not give you long to stand and stare, as he was quick to pull you in the direction of where his bed resided. After a long, unfamiliar journey, you found yourself standing at your ultimate destination.

Anxiety, like a shadowy predator, stalked and then launched itself upon you, its claws sinking deep into your psyche. Your blood surged in a torrent, your heart hammered an urgent rhythm against your ribs, and your palms became slick with cold sweat as the full weight of your hasty agreement descended upon you.

"Now, it's my turn to pose the question," Erik initiated, his every footstep purposefully resonating tension as he incrementally diminished the space between you both. Your eyes, wide and alert, mirrored the mounting suspense. "Will you do this with me? Allow us to feel each other, become one, before you are to leave and never return?"

Tears welled threateningly in your eyes, a bitter reminder to the tortuous ordeal that loomed above. A personal hell was waiting, embodied in the stony indifference of your father and the pitiless gaze of your suitor. Discarding caution and fear, you hurled yourself against him with the force of a dead weight. In the face of despair, your inner flame roared back to life, desperation clawing its way to the surface once more.

His arms coiled around you with an intensity that left your breath hitched, his lips fiercely claiming yours. With a sudden, swift motion, he hoisted you into the air, your legs automatically snaking around his waist in response. He gently, yet assertively, laid you upon the cool sheets of the bed. He loomed over you. He began to crawl atop, compelling your legs to part in silent compliance. A gasp of anticipation escaped your lips, swallowed by his own, as you felt the weight of him gradually descend upon you.

As you kissed, the inadvertent brush of his crotch against your core sent a jolt through you, driving your senses into a wild frenzy. The searing heat from his arousal, even through the barrier of his trousers, was palpable, each pulsating throb a teasing promise of what was to come. Your breath hitched, heart pounding in your chest, as saliva-slick tongues ventured into uncharted territories, escalating the tension that hung in the air.

Driven by instinct, Erik's hands made a beeline for your sleeves, yanking with an insatiable restlessness, a silent plea for their removal. You countered his advances, pushing him back, a giggle escaping you at his stubborn demeanour. Undeterred, his lips sought new territory, latching onto the sensitive expanse of your neck, peppering kisses and grazing his teeth in a seductive dance that sent shivers down your spine.

Erik's movements against your aching core grew in intensity as he realised what he was brushing against, threatening to silence you completely. Yet, if he truly desired your uninhibited vulnerability, he needed to grant you the space to shed every layer.

"Erik," you tried to infuse your voice with authority, but it faltered, punctuated by your ragged sighs and helpless whimpers, "I'm laced into a corset, it needs to come off. Release me."

He moved with urgency, moving away from your form and allowing the space for you to rise, your knees pressing into the solid mattress. With a focused precision, you began to unbutton your dress, the fabric gliding over your head with a practiced ease, your focus fully enveloped in the task at hand. So engrossed were you, you failed to notice the predatory way his gaze drank in the sight of your bared skin, or the noticeable gulp that resonated from his throat as more and more of you unfolded before his eager eyes.

Your fingers trembled, struggling against the stubborn knot that held the ties of your undergarments in a vice-like grip. It was a battle you were unaccustomed to, always having the help of someone else to aid you with your corset. Your difficulty was palpable, a silent cry for assistance. Lifting your gaze to Erik, your eyes were wide, desperate pools of plea.

"Would you... could you, do the honours?" you asked through gritted teeth, your fingers clawing fruitlessly at the defiant knot, the bulge in the string a mocking testament to the maid's overly-zealous efforts.

In a silent affirmation, he nodded his head, his hand reaching out with an unspoken authority to rotate your form, granting him unimpeded access to your corset. You felt your undergarments grow increasingly wet under his firm handling, a damp patch steadily spreading across the fabric in response to your mounting anticipation. Heat suffused your cheeks, each accidental graze of his fingers against your back as he navigated the complexities of the female attire sending a shocks of tension through your body.

After an intense struggle, he conquered the knot, crafted by your maid's expert hands. But victory left him bewildered.

"Now that it's undone, what's the next step?" His gaze bore into the corset's lacings, a new challenge awaiting him.

With a chuckle rippling through the tension, you interjected, "Allow me." Swiftly, you unhooked the busk at the front, stripping the garment from your form. It cascaded to the floor, disappearing from view.

Bare and unshielded, your form was revealed from the hips upward, only your undergarments veiling what remained. There you were, a portrait of vulnerability, kneeling in anticipation yet turned away, placing a blind faith in him, trusting his unspoken intentions.

His hands seized your hips with an assertive grip, drawing you into his sphere, letting you tumble back onto the mattress as you laid facing him. Your breasts bounded with the abrupt motion, your soft contours and supple skin devoured by his relentless gaze. He studied every detail, every curve and secret of your figure, etching them into his memory.

"You might find this... somewhat audacious," you stammered, your gaze darting around the room, evading his intense stare, "But I've come across something in a book. And I have this... this urge to experience it."

Erik seemed to snap out of a daze, his brows furrowing in curiosity. "And what might that be?" he asked.

You dropped your gaze, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you attempted to muster the courage to voice your desires. "Are you familiar with... cunnilingus?"

A silence fell over the room. Erik appeared shell-shocked, his lips parting but no sound escaping as he tried to comprehend the salacious request that had just spilled from your lips. His experiences with carnal pleasures were extensive, more so after meeting you- he'd spent countless nights engrossed in books filled with varying degrees of erotica. He'd envisioned you and him as the characters, and his fantasies of caressing, embracing, and making passionate love to you had kept him awake many a night.

"Briefly, why?" He asked, his voice steady but his façade barely concealing the turmoil within.

"I want... I want you to do that to me," you managed to utter, swallowing down the embarrassment that threatened to choke you. "My betrothed, he... he wouldn't. I need to know, just once, what it feels like."

A dark shadow passed over his face at your words, the mention of the man you were intended to wed igniting something within him. His lips met your skin with a ferocity that stole your breath away. His body was pressed against yours, a desperate attempt to meld into one, to erase the space that separated you. His kisses trailed a scorching path from your neck downwards, each mark he left with his teeth due to the simmering anger that consumed him.

His hot breath teased against your core, creating a whirl of anticipation that caused your legs to twitch restlessly, your back to curl off the bed. An tingling sensation flowed from your core to the tips of your legs, prompting your thighs to instinctively tighten. He exerted his dominance, forcibly parting your legs to the sides, his chest pulsating with a primal pride as he observed the clear signs of arousal staining your underwear. The thin fabric did nothing to veil your desire for him.

His lips embarked on a deliberate exploration around your intimate area, strategically withholding the direct contact you craved, fueling a desperate need within you. He relished in your quiet pleas, in your desperation for him, for his touch. He wanted to hear it again - your voice, filled with longing, confessing your need for him, your love for him.

A few teasing kisses and feather-light licks over the fabric of your underwear were enough to reduce you to a state of complete disarray. Your head thrown back, lips parted in a silent plea, you begged, "Please, God, please."

He was relentless, persisting in his torturously slow pace and feather-light touches. He was prepared to play this drawn-out game; after all, he'd been fantasizing about moments like this since the dawn of his adolescence. He could wait an eternity if needed.

By the time he finally conceded, you were a whirlwind of emotion, eyes squeezed shut, body writhing as you grappled with an overwhelming sense of embarrassment, struggling to voice your feelings. You appeared as if you had been plucked straight out of a painting, your body seemingly sculpted by celestial forces, the ethereal glow on your skin from your sweat rendering you nothing short of angelic.

His fingers danced along the delicate straps of your underwear, tracing the curve of your hips as he meticulously slid them down your legs. Your underwear was discarded with an impatient kick. He admired how your lips glistened with your wetness, eyes wide and mouth agape as he inspected your parts. His cock felt like it was suffocating in it's tight confinement, begging to be released. He subconsciously rubbed himself against his quilt, hips driving him harder and harder into the fabric.

He didn't allow himself to spend an excessive amount of time simply staring, his fingers gingerly parting the folds of your intimate area as he gradually moved ever closer to the spot where you craved his touch the most. His tongue hesitantly emerged, like a tentative explorer venturing into uncharted territory, testing the waters as he gradually grew accustomed to your unique taste. It was an intoxicating, addictive flavour that he found himself drawn to, your evident arousal dissolving on his tongue like the sweetest candy. As he became more familiar with your body's reactions, his actions started to grow decidedly bolder, his initial cautiousness melting away.

The smooth, cold porcelain of the mask, right where his nose should have been, made direct contact with a particular spot on your body. It was a spot so sensitive, so responsive to his touch, that it turned you into a trembling, moaning mess. Each touch was like heaven, each movement a wave of pleasure that washed over you. It was a sensation you had never experienced before, and it left you weak, gasping for breath.

He pushed himself further into you, his movements becoming more desperate, more needy. His tongue, warm and insistent, ventured into every hidden corner it could find. It was as though he was trying to memorize you, to imprint the taste of you onto his very soul. He was consuming you, devouring you in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The side of his face that wasn't hidden behind the mask was growing wetter with each passing moment. Each new wave of your arousal either swallowed by him or adding to the wet mess on his face. His eyes, dark and intense, never left your face, watching your every reaction, feeding off your pleasure.

With each passing moment, you found yourself teetering on the edge of exquisite pleasure, its intensity growing with a fervour that rendered you breathless. As cries of delight spilled from your lips, your fingers curled into the fabric of his bedsheets, clutching them with a strength that threatened to rip them to shreds. Now that you had experienced such ecstasy, you were unsure how you’d ever live without it again.

The pressure swelled within the depths of your abdomen, escalating dangerously as your eyes lost focus, surrendering willingly to Erik's touch. The burgeoning tension coiled within you like a heated serpent, until it could no longer be contained, compelling it to uncoil and release the pent-up passion that had been simmering within. Everything let go.

Erik's lips found your most sensitive spot again, sucking on it gently, coaxing a symphony of soft whimpers and quivering gasps from deep within your throat.

The intense sensations that flooded your body soon became far too much and left you with no other option but to gently, albeit reluctantly, push him away from your soaked cunt. His visible cheek and chin bore the shiny evidence of your pleasure, an erotic testament to the intimacy that had just transpired. His lips, swollen and red, were slightly parted as he laboured to catch his breath, the aftermath of your intense encounter leaving him just as breathless as you were.

He planted a single kiss on your thigh before he rose, drinking in the sinful sight of you lying beneath him. Your chest heaved, and the intimate area between your thighs was slick with a mixture of saliva and arousal, a mess he alone was responsible for. He was in disbelief at the sight before him - a woman who had pleaded for his touch, who had permitted him to venture into territory he was not meant to traverse.

You felt utterly winded, struggling to regain your breath as your mind remained in a dense fog. As you sat up, the ringing sensation of blood rushing in your ears was almost deafening. You gave him a once-over and let out a weary pout.

“Why am I naked and you are still dressed head to toe?” you playfully whined, clumsily rising up to fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt.

A wave of panic washed over him. While a less sensitive subject than the removal of his mask, he was still hesitant about the concept of somebody seeing him disrobed. His hand swiftly intercepted yours, worried eyes looking directly into yours.

“We don’t have to do this,” you reminded him, “Removing clothes is quite necessary to engage in intercourse, so if that’s off the table, that is fine and we do not have to go any further.”

The looming threat of your sexual endeavours coming to a halt was so disconcerting that it pushed his fear of being seen nude into a corner of his mind. If you managed to bare all in front of him, then surely, he should be able to do the same. No horrifying disfigurement marred his body, save for a few scars and marks, which offered him a semblance of comfort amid his anxiety. Yet, it felt so extraordinarily odd - prior to you, people avoided him, disdaining him as a bizarre outcast to either laugh at or run away from. But you, you wanted to see him. You saw him.

With his consent, you delicately unfastened the buttons of his shirt, your fingers tracing the contours of his body as you gently slid it off along with his coat. The anticipation heightened as you unbuttoned his trousers, a sense of awe overtaking you as you noticed the visible sign of his desire pressing against the fabric of his underwear. With a slow, tantalizing motion, you slid his slacks down, pooling them around his ankles, leaving him to step out of them. The sight of him in such a state had your mouth watering, the subtle twitching under the thin fabric not going unnoticed. You glanced up, your eyes silently asking for permission before you proceeded to remove his last piece of clothing.

He was perfect - not too intimidating, yet not too modest. A balance that promised pleasure without the prospect of discomfort. A smile graced your lips as your hands were drawn to him, appreciating the prominent veins that adorned his underside and the swollen tip that seemed to crave the soothing touch of your lips. You didn’t have a second thought before you ducked down to take him into your mouth.

The moment that his length was enveloped by the soft, velvety embrace of your mouth, he felt an explosive sensation, as if he might shatter. The intoxicating blend of your warmth and the slippery wetness was an overwhelming sensory overload, causing his eyes to flutter closed as he savoured the sensation in its entirety. His low, primal groans amplified into a resonant hum of pleasure as you explored his length, your tender hand caressing the parts your lips had yet to discover.

You surfaced for air, drawing in a deep breath before giving him a seductive smile. Your hand continued to stroke him, maintaining the rhythm you'd established, "Have you heard of this one too? It's called fellatio. I've heard from men that it feels quite pleasurable, so I wanted to give it a try."

His brows knitted together in confusion and a hint of possessiveness, "Who's been talking to you about things like this?" he hissed, his fingers entangling in the roots of your hair. He didn't tug or pull, but simply let his hand rest there, grounding himself in the sensation of your touch.

“No one, I just overhear a lot,” you winked, a playful glint in your eyes.

Finding yourself drawn back to your prior task, you returned your mouth to its position, delicately licking around the sides and base of his manhood with a renewed vigour. You made a point to explore every contour, every ridge, leaving no part untouched by your careful ministrations. As you took him into your mouth once more, you hollowed your cheeks, creating a tight, welcoming space that made him gasp. You allowed your tongue to wander, tracing the map of protruding veins that decorated his length, making him shiver at your touch. You took your time, adjusting slowly but surely to accommodate his length.

Over time, you found a rhythm that was as steady as it was sensual, each movement drawing forth intoxicating sounds of pleasure from your lover. Your hand was rendered unnecessary, forgotten at your side as your face pressed closer, your nose brushing against the heat of his skin. The taste of him, the intimacy of the act, left you breathless, saliva slipping past your lips. The symphony of his escalating moans and guttural grunts echoed in your ears, signifying the mounting pleasure coursing through him.

Erik was teetering on the edge, every fibre of his being screaming for release. Time had lost all meaning; all he knew was the burning desire to break down your defences and claim you as his own. He tugged urgently at your hair, a silent plea for you to relinquish him from your mouth. His ego soared at the sight of your ravenous gaze and ragged breathing. Sweat was pooling uncomfortably beneath his mask, creating a stifling heat that was nearly unbearable. Yet, he would not — could not — remove it. For your love, he would endure any torment.

With a gentle persuasion, he coaxed you onto the plush solace of the bed, a wordless request to which you surrendered willingly. His fingers, rough yet tender in touch, traced the shape of your lips. You accepted them eagerly, lavishing them with a soft suckle until he withdrew them. Setting off on a slow, teasing journey, his fingers embarked on a path that danced across your lips, before descending the length of your neck. His touch was electrifying, a trail of shivers marking their progress.

His fingers continued their southern movement, drawn to the inviting warmth of your most intimate area. As he approached your yearning core, your breath hitched, a silent supplication mirrored in your eyes as you awaited his touch. He relished the anticipation, playfully circling the edge before carefully penetrating you with one of his fingers. The sensation of being filled by him was intoxicating, your eyes fluttering in sheer overwhelm as he moved in a rhythm that was leisurely and gentle. Every part of your being was tuned to his touch, each motion sending ripples of pleasure cascading through your body.

"Erik," you moaned, unaware of how you just moaning his name made his arms feel like jelly. He pushed through, eager to please and show you how good he could make you feel.

He cautiously inserted another finger, gradually stretching you out around his digits. He was utterly enchanted by the soft, plush feel of your walls, which seemed to welcome him in their embrace. He explored you curiously, his fingers gently probing, reaching deeper and deeper inside of you. It was like he was charting a course through a previously unexplored territory, each new discovery making him yearn for more.

The sounds that escaped your lips - cries of pleasure, of anticipation, of need - were music to his ears. The way your body responded to his touch, the way your breath hitched every time he moved, the way your fingers clung to him - everything about you made him feel weak with desire.

He didn't keep his fingers at work for very long, just enough time to make sure that you were adequately warmed up, ready for what would come next. With a simple gesture, he signalled for you to move further up the bed. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable, so he guided you to position your head against the plush softness of the pillows that lay strewn at the head of the bed.

His gaze was fixed on you, watching intently as you took the next step. Without needing any words, you communicated your agreement to what was about to unfold. You spat into your hand, a simple but intimate act, sitting up before carefully spreading the moisture over his length.

You allowed yourself to lay back down, your body welcoming the coolness of the sheets beneath you. Erik carefully positioned himself at your sopping wet entrance; his eyes, filled with a mix of anticipation and desire, locked onto yours as he began to push against you. You could feel his bulbous tip as it slowly pushed past your entrance, a sensation so new and unfamiliar that you couldn't help but squeal, your body jolting in response to the sudden intrusion. Erik's mouth hung open in a silent gasp, his breath hitching in his throat as he felt the first part of him slide inside you.

With a slow, cautious movement, he pressed forward further, sinking into you bit by bit, deeper and deeper until he was fully nestled within your warmth. Every inch of him was surrounded by you, his breath hitching once more as he adjusted to the velvety sensation.

For you, it was a fervent blaze, a primal burn that seared through every nerve. His manhood was a stark contrast to his previously tender touch, an unmerciful comparison that seemed impossible to reconcile. A soft whimper of pain broke free, a silent begging for him to pause his movements and allow your body to accommodate his invasion.

You lingered in the throes of this discomfort, each second diluting the initial shock and morphing it into a thrilling wave of bliss. It was a leisurely metamorphosis, a sultry dance between pain and pleasure, until all that was left was pure, unadulterated desire that left you gasping for air and craving more.

Once your body had succumbed to this new sensation, you gave him a silent nod of approval, a signal that he could resume. Erik let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, and his initial gentleness gave way to a carnal rhythm, each slow, deliberate thrust sending ripples of ecstasy that cascaded through your very being.

“So this is what it feels like,” you chuckled, less talking to Erik and more so thinking out loud.

Erik was so utterly focused on you and the indescribable sensations your body was offering him that he found himself unable to formulate an appropriate response. He was completely entranced by the way your intimate area, slick with your abundant arousal, enveloped him so thoroughly. He was lost in the feeling of you, engaged in an internal struggle between wanting to see the expressions of pure pleasure that danced across your face, or to look down and observe the erotic sight of his own manhood disappearing again and again into your inviting warmth.

He draped himself over you, his form a sanctuary, shielding you from the world beyond. His face nestled in the junction of your neck and shoulder, an alcove where he could inhale your scent. The cool porcelain of his mask contrasted with your heated skin, tempering the dew of perspiration that glossed your body. Underneath the mask, he endured the humid confinement - a necessary sacrifice for the exquisite torment he was bestowing upon you. Each powerful thrust sent ripples of ecstasy through you, rendering you breathless and dizzy with delight. The potent heat was all-encompassing, filling your consciousness with nothing but unadulterated, exquisite pleasure.

"I love you," you breathed out in a whisper, your voice dripping with desire. Each word was punctuated by a soft moan, the sound of it causing shivers to cascade down his spine, your hot breath against his ear igniting a fire within him.

As if his struggles weren't already overwhelming enough, your words seemed to only add more fuel to the already blazing fire within him. It was as though every syllable you uttered stoked the flames, pushing him further into a realm of passion he had never known before. His arm, strong and certain, forced its way behind your back, pulling you up to hold you close to him. It was a closeness that was almost palpable, almost too much, as he thrusted inside of you.

“I love you too,” he groaned, his words saturated with an intense, raw emotion that welled up in his eyes, the tears threatening to cascade down his face in an uncontrolled torrent of feeling.

You, on the other hand, were no better off, your own tears of sheer joy and devastating heartbreak pooling in your eyes until they were beyond their capacity to hold back any longer. They overflowed, running down your face like precious diamonds, a display of the depth of your misery. Making love to somebody who genuinely loved you back was a concept so beautifully simple, yet tragically forbidden. It was an experience that brimmed with a love so deep, a care so nurturing, and a passion and compassion so profound that it was unparalleled.

You knew you would never encounter such a feeling again in your lifetime. You were merely attempting to stave off the inevitable end, attempting to shield yourself from the stark reality that awaited your return to the surface world. Each moment was a battle against the clock, each second a desperate attempt to extend the blissful ignorance of the impending conclusion.

In that moment, you belonged to him and he to you, your bodies intertwined and connected as the flames consumed you both. You held onto him with a desperation that mirrored your own, your arms wrapping around him, hugging him close. You were a lifeline to each other, two beings lost in a sea of passion and desire, holding on to the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control.

With every pulsating sensation, you tried desperately to prevent the impending climax that was steadily building within you. You wrestled against it, mustering all of the strength and willpower you possessed. You didn’t want this magical night, this passion and desire, to end. The thought of the experience drawing to a close was unbearable, and yet there was nothing you could to do stop the familiar building pressure in your abdomen.

And you knew, in the deepest recesses of your mind, that you shouldn't have given in to the temptation- that you should have exercised restraint and kept your wandering hands to yourself. Despite this, you were a prisoner to your own overwhelming curiosity, a force so powerful it threatened to consume you whole.

The haze of pleasure Erik was weaving around you kept intensifying, it ebbed and flowed into every crevice of your consciousness, distorting the boundary between the tangible world and the intoxicating euphoria you found yourself spiralling into. Your hands, as though guided by an insatiable yearning that was wholly their own, found their way to the mask that resided on his head.

Your fingers, trembling with anticipation and anxiety, began to play with the thin string keeping the mask firmly in place, protecting his true form. The tension in your body was mounting, your anxiety and the impending orgasm that threatened to shatter your very being reaching the same intense peak.

The familiar ball of pleasure that had been steadily growing within you finally burst, sending shockwaves of pure ecstasy coursing through your veins. You could feel Erik's hot semen spurt inside you, marking you as his. As the intense waves of your climax washed over you, you summoned the last of your strength and ripped the mask off his face, revealing the man beneath.

You had comprehended the profound severity of Erik's disfigurement when he confessed that he had been residing here since his tender youth. Why else would somebody feel so compelled to withdraw from society? You had determined then, with unyielding resolve, to love him irrespective of his appearance. Your conviction remained unwavering as his visage came sharply into view. His eyes, dilated with raw fear, his mouth trembling on the verge of speech, and his hands, once securely encircling you, now trembled and twitched uncontrollably.

A sigh escaped you, a bright smile lighting up your face as you gazed at him dreamily. You leaned in, your hand tenderly cradling the side of his face which had remained disfigured and concealed until this moment. Tears which had been threatening to spill from his eyes now fell freely, and your own followed suit as the realization of parting hit you.

With a gentleness that belied the depth of your feelings, your fingers traced the lines of his marked skin. Your lips had found his in a passionate kiss, the tears that slid silently down your cheeks mingled with his, a silent symbol of the connection of your souls, a joining so profound that words failed to capture its essence.

With reluctance, you pulled away from the warmth of his body, rising slowly from where you were entwined with him. You wiped your tears away. A wince crossed your face as you felt Erik's softening length slip out of you, the sensation of his release dripping out of you, serving as a lingering reminder of the intimacy you had shared.

"Do you not take issue with that you see?" His voice was laced with an unnerving intensity, his eyes never leaving your form as you searched for your scattered garments. You assumed his weird behaviour was due to his feelings about your impending departure.

"Not when it's you," you confessed, a poignant smile pulling tragically at the corner of your lips, laden with unspoken emotions.

It didn't take long for you to find your garments. You fastened the corset around your waist, making sure it properly supported your bosom. Despite pulling the laces tightly, you found that you needed additional help. Each time you tried to tie the laces, the corset loosened.

"Could you lace this up for me, Erik? I'm struggling," you chuckled, turning back round to find that he had already put his underwear back on. "Corsets are tricky things. I often need someone else's help to put it on and take it off."

"You don't need it," he declared, his face a stoic mask, eyes unblinking and filled with unwavering resolve.

You hesitated, uncertain of how to respond or process his words. You thought he might not understand the full purpose of your undergarment. "I can't be amongst with people without wearing my corset. It's indecent. Without it, people could see my breasts," you said.

"And that's precisely why you don't require it," he shot back, his hardened face rigid with confrontation, eyes locked onto you as you blinked, wrestling with the weight of his words. "You aren't going anywhere."

"What? Erik, I have to leave," you leaped towards him, a wave of dread washing over you as he remained unaffected, "My father wields a lot of power and influence, a fact you're well aware of. Search parties will be dispatched and they'll hunt us down."

Erik's laughter echoed ominously around you, his jarring mirth only amplifying your unease, "He will not pose a threat, my dear. Act as though he doesn’t exist."

"How can you be so sure?" You shot back, eyes narrowing into slits as you regarded him with deep-rooted suspicion.

"Because he won't live to witness the week's end, fortunate if he survives the night," he sneered.

You were petrified, frozen in terror. The uncertain veracity of his words hung heavy in the air, but the fury etched in his gaze was unmistakable. It was a chilling declaration that bulldozed your defences, sending frigid lashes of fear snaking through your bloodstream.

“No, no,” you whispered, face twisted in dread.

"You said it yourself!" he yelled, seemingly unaffected by your flinch. You lifted your hands, ready to protect yourself if needed, but you knew that if he truly wanted to hurt you, you had no chance. "He was the one who tried to separate us, to spoil our love! How can I let him manipulate destiny? It's a sin!"

"Sin or not, he is my father!" you retorted, tearing off your corset and swiftly pulling your dress over your head. You let it fall over your figure. "I have to go."

“You forget yourself,” Erik's voice echoed ominously from the shadows, untouched by your retreat. “Was it not you pleading for me to awaken your senses to the touch of a genuine lover? Were you not weeping to me over the wreckage your father's deeds would cause in your life? Does Monsieur Beaumont need to be added to the list? Is that what you desire? I am merely aiding you!”

Trying to block out his taunting, you jammed your underwear down your bodice and clung to your corset like a lifeline. Panic was on the verge of consuming you, your thoughts spiralling out of control, too swift and chaotic to grasp. The realization of your own foolishness hit you like a punch, a bitter and unforgiving truth.

In your hour of fragility, you had sought solace in the one individual you deemed a sanctuary, a cure to your torments. But he, like a concealed predator, exploited your vulnerability, shrouding his true motives to feast upon your innocence and cast you into never ending isolation. The dread lay not in his visage, but in his very being, a monstrous revelation.

“Even if you escape, your father cannot. He has to pay for what he's done,” he hissed, his voice becoming a menacing whisper, fading into the background as you distanced yourself.

You were approaching the familiar boat, stepping carefully over the wooden structure. You untied the rope and with the paddle in hand, you prepared to set off on your journey.

CLINK, SLAM.

You froze.

“Besides the fact that you have no idea where you’d be going around the sewers and passageways and would probably end up fatally mutilated in one of my many traps,” he spoke once more, trailing off as he watched the light leave your eyes, “You don’t know how to open the gate. Unfortunate.”

What had you done?

any feedback is appreciated! sorry it ended there, i started writing this at 12pm and it's now 5:21am the day later. i have not had a break. it had to end.

[scorpioriesling]

2 with rhys 🫣

A Springtime Storm

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Rhysand x reader

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, MDNI

Summary: Fated mates from differing courts? We love to see it. This is almost smut with no plot, but it took a min to write. <3 Enjoy.

SR’s Note: I am excited to attempt some Rhysand smut… finally… it’s usually not quite my cup of tea but hey, I give the people what they ask for. (; I appreciate your patience! Using prompt #2 from my prompt request masterlist.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Trickle.

Trickle.

Splat.

Splat.

The heavy downpour outside the marvelous windows was quite the contrast to what you were used to, or so what you’d grown accustomed to over the past two weeks of your stay.

Trickle.

Trickle.

The Night Court would never, ever have been your first choice — though you’d fit in quite nicely. The aesthetics, the tranquility, all of it was much at odds with the usual pastels and peonies you’d never grown fond of in the Spring Court.

Splat.

Though, your brother would have your head if he’d believed otherwise.

Splat.

Then again, the rain was quite familiar, a usual experience from back home, but not quite one you’d had while being held here-

CRACK.

A sharp jolt of your shoulders sends your hand flying to your chest as a bolt of lightning strikes across the indigo night sky, the living room around you alight for only a moment’s time. The walls of the Town House rumble as thunder follows seconds later.

Your nimble fingers can feel your heart rate slowing with each passing second, as you mentally count every star coming back into view beyond the panes of glass before you. For every star, another rain drop lands on the window, gravity pulling one, then two together, rivers flowing down toward the balcony below…

Trickle.

Trickle.

One thing missing from the sky tonight was the ever present winged males that usually flew about. It baffled you that even this late in the evening, the High Lord and his brothers would be so careless to play around above their city in such a way — nothing of the sort would be allowed in your court. You’d never dreamed of it, let alone believed your brother would excuse such a thing if you did.

Splat.

Then again, the High Lord that was holding you here for the time being was nothing like your brother. The physical differences were clear enough; not that your brother was unattractive, but my Gods it seemed every female in Prythian would swoon over the High Lord of Night.

Splat.

They also ran their courts very differently; for starters, there was no sense of responsibility here. In the Spring Court, of course, you had the tithe, which taught individuality and fairness among dwellers. Here, well… it seemed everyone just, kept to their own, no tithe, no sort of, payment, per se. Odd, but not necessarily unusual.

Trickle.

You turned from the windows, your attention gracing the photos hanging along the darkened hallway in those elaborate, golden frames you’d envied the moment you’d set foot in this mansion. On a dark, quiet night alone like this, you allowed yourself to look closer at them — after all, it seemed no one was home to observe your every move anyway.

Trickle.

The intricate detail work on the frames was impressive, you would admit. It quite reminded you of the details you’d seen in your favorite roots you’d gathered in the Spring forest, a place you’d spent most of your time. The rich browns of the leaves, the dark black colors of burned wood — at least you felt more at ease there.

Splat.

In those frames, you’d recognized the faces; the ever-cheerful Morrigan, always offering a golden smile to those who’d look. Cassian, his fierce exterior so intimidating, but really he’s more bark than his bite; his brother Azriel is truly the moodier one standing next to him. Amren, that short spitfire of a thing, and lastly, Rhysand, of course. Oh where to even begin with him. He would be in the middle, wearing that specific tunic that hugs those toned arms just tight enough so you know he’s packing-

“Y/N,”

Splat.

Your head turns slightly, concern ever so slightly furrowing your brow. You could’ve sworn you’d heard your name, just faintly, or perhaps from down the hallway?

“Mmm… Y/N…”

Your eyes widen, the hallway illuminating as a silent bolt of lightning streaks across the midnight sky once more. You slowly step past the photos, one by one, toward the sound source. It seems to be coming from the end of the hall, a place you’d never been, a place you’d thought had been vacated for the evening.

Inching ever so closer, you heard it again. And again. Inch by tantalizing inch closer, you continue to pick up on breathy whimpers and mutterings of your name as you creep down the hallway toward Rhysand’s bedchambers. When you finally stand before it, you all but press your ear up to the parted crack between the door and its frame.

“So… so good….”

What is he talking about in there?

CRACK.

Suddenly, the loud crack of thunder fills the halls, the walls shaking just as they’d done before but this time you don’t get the light-flash as a pre-warning. A small squeak leaves your lips, and your hand flies to your mouth to stifle your startled cry in fear of Rhysand hearing. But, as the noise dissipates, you hear… nothing. The house is silent. No whispers, no whimpering. Only trickles and splatters along the windows down the hall as your yanked into a veil of darkness.

✧･ﾟ: *

Violet. You can make out the two deep, violet eyes staring half-lidded at you from the desk across the room. Other than that, the lit candles nor the moonlight do not illuminate much else in its path along the lengthy, wooden panes of the floor leading from the window to your feet.

“Hmmmm.” His deep, timbre of a hum sends a chill up your spine. You swallow, glancing from the illuminated areas to the rather darkened ones. The High Lord sits, wide spread behind his desk at the window facing you, but you can only see from the mid-chest up. His gaze is focused solely on you.

“Am I…” you begin quietly. He raises an eyebrow slightly, and you suck in a breath when he doesn’t finish the sentence for you. “Am I in some sort of… trouble?” You ask. He smirks, sitting back in his chair and shaking his head slowly.

“Trouble?” He asks lowly. You chew on your bottom lip. “Well, my dear… if you’d consider spying a cause for trouble, then… well yes, I suppose.” He finishes with a satisfied grin.

Your mouth drops open slightly. “Excuse me? But whenever was I spying-“

“Ah ah,” he interrupts. “I would say peeping into someone’s room and listening in on their private business is rather, troublesome, wouldn’t you?” he replies coolly. You narrow your brows at him.

“If I remember correctly,” your voice comes out shakier than you’d like. You clear your throat. “If I… remember correctly,” you repeat. “What I was hearing beyond these doors concerned myself,” you gestured to the large oak doors behind you, then met his stare once more. “Did it not?” You ask.

He only smirks at you once more, his fingers lazily sliding through his short strands of onyx hair. You curl your fingers into fists, the short, black painted nails pressing into your palms.

After a beat of silence and another flash of lightning outside, he slightly shrugs. “It might have.”

Your cheeks flush with anger, your peaceful evening ruined. Your time wasted standing before a High Lord who was not your own, simply speaking in riddles to you while he held you in his court when you hadn’t wished to be here to begin with.

“You’re not a prisoner here, Y/N,” he drawls. You shudder, the familiar feeling of a cool talon snaking along your mental barrier. You knew he was in there, listening to what you were thinking. You shouldn’t care, you didn’t care.

“Get out of my head.” You glare at him. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, sucking in a breath and folding his arms across his chest.

“Always so defensive, hmm,” he muses. “You’ve always been quite… different,” he settles on the word, and you roll your eyes.

“That’s the nice way of saying I don’t belong. Don’t worry, I never have.” You bite back, folding your own hands across your chest. His eyes swiftly track the movement, the new position only pressing your cleavage further over the top of your corset.

“You could fit in, if you wanted to.” He meets your eyes again, bracing his hands on his desk. You only stare plainly at him, preparing a quip back at him. “But I don’t think you want to quite fit in, do you, Y/N.” He says it more like a statement.

Your heart begins to race. He was right. He knew he was right. You hated your home and everything about it. You hated the way your brother ran his court and the fact that you’d had no say in any official matters, despite coming from the same parents. You hated how alone you felt, how out of place you’d always been-

“No one’s forcing you to stay, Y/N,” he sighs, looking down at his lap. “I only brought you here for your help these past few weeks. But,” his eyes meet yours again. “You know how to winnow. You know how to ride a horse. Hell, you’ve got enough knowledge in that head of yours I’m sure you could swim your way back to the Spring Court.” He stands, his large frame illuminated by the moonlight surrounding him. He rounds his desk slowly, slinking toward you like a cat in the night.

“But, you stay here.” He whispers, his large frame towering over you. He’s drawn close enough that you can smell the citrus and cedar on him, the small movements of his breaths in the darkened room only quicken your heart rate.

“You know this is where you are supposed to be.” He states, stepping an inch closer. Your eyes drift to the floor, and his thumb and forefinger lightly tilt your chin up to meet his gaze once more. You allow your gaze to roam over the sharp lines of his jaw, the slope of his nose, his dark eyebrows and loose strands of hair that fall to his forehead…

“I…” You whisper. You feel as hot as the fire upon the candles in the room with where his skin touches yours, and his eyes search yours for more. More. More.

“Just say the words, Y/N. You don’t have to be ashamed to be who you really are,” his breath is featherlight as it trails down the slope of your nose, and your hands involuntarily shake with the realization. The need. The desperation you’d been craving so long and had been too self-righteous to act upon.

“I… Rhys… you didn’t …” he draws in a breath, almost as if inhaling your scent and reveling in it.

“There’s a lot of things I didn’t do, darling,” he rasps. “I should’ve already done.” Your chest heaves as you take in breath after breath, trying to calm yourself down.

He hadn’t needed you here for your “help”. You didn’t have special skills or assets or experience outside the Spring Court.

“You didn’t need me here for my, help,” you say. He bites the inside of his cheek, and his fingers lightly trail alongside the curves of your waist. Your eyes widen.

“You needed me here for…” you shake your head, your hand tracing the skin over your heart. He offers you a soft smile, and his hands pull you closer by the waist. You let out a soft squeak as your body is pulled flush against his.

“For us.” He whispers. Your lips part as you finally accept what this foreign feeling was. The forbidden attraction you’d felt for him, hidden beneath scowls and distasteful looks these past few weeks. The relief you’d never admit you felt when you left the Spring Court. The love in your heart.

“Rhysand…” You stare wide-eyed at him. He lets go of you slightly, and you can feel the singe of pain in his heart as worry takes over the surge of love you’d felt before.

“He was never going to let you go,” he explains quickly, taking your hands in his and holding them close to his chest. The unrelenting fear coursing through you from his end was torturous, and you only wished to feel the affection and warmth from before. His eyes are wide with fear, and you do the only rational thing you can think of to fix the situation.

You quickly take his face in your hands, pushing up onto your tip toes and pulling his lips onto yours. He hums in surprise, his fingers finding the small of your back and holding you close. You can feel the agony slipping away by the second, warmth returning and flowing through the bond as freely as the raindrops down the window panes.

His hands run up and down your spine as his lips part to deepen the kiss. You slip your fingers through his irresistible black locks you’d been dying to touch, and he skates his tongue across your lower lip as if asking permission. You allow it, exploring eachother as he pulls soft moans of approval from you.

It seems to have an effect on him as well; the area where his pelvis meets your stomach has grown painfully tight.

Trickle.

He guides you backward until you meet his bed, and gently pushes you down on the mattress. With each slide of your legs against each other ther, you can feel your panties growing wetter and wetter, the need that can only be satiated by him. By the male before you.

“Y/N I don’t want to do more than you can handle-“

You grab him by the shirt collar, yanking him down to your face and pressing another searing kiss to his lips. When you let him go, he only chuckles down at you.

“Mhm… I must’ve forgotten. You can handle anything.” His eyes darken as a feline grin overtakes his features, and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth.

He descends on you, kissing under your jaw and down your neck and over your breasts before pushing up your skirts and kissing up your inner thighs. You let out breathless moans in delight, as he draws closer and closer to the area you need him most.

“Rhysand…” you plead. You sit up on your elbows, your gazes meeting as he licks a fat stripe up the wet patch of your panties. You groan, fingers gripping the sheets. He chuckles again, delicately peeling your underwear off and marveling at your dripping sex before glancing to your stare once more.

“Fucking delicious my dear,” he growls, before leaning in and licking up and down between your folds. You gasp when he finds your clit, sucking gently at first as his hands grip at your ass to hold you still.

“Ohh Gods Rhysand…” you groan. He slips his tongue inside you, softly groaning and pushing his hips against the bed as he does. You feel the bed rocking softly as he continues to suck on your pussy, and when you glance down, you see him rutting himself against the bed frame. The sight alone sends another wave of arousal through you, watching him get himself off as he laps at your aching core…

“My beautiful girl…” he pauses, using two of his fingers to swirl around your tight clit. You cry out in pleasure, gripping the sheets hard as he watches your face contorting on pleasure from below.

“Mhm just like that baby… let it all go sweetheart…” he coaxes. His mouth replaces his fingers, sucking harder on your apex as his fingers slip inside of you, pumping in and out deliciously. The bed rocks harder now, grunts of pleasure reverberating against your core as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you. It’s only a matter of moments before you are pushed over the edge, head falling back as a scream of delight echoes off the unlit walls and ceiling of the massive bedchambers.

Trickle.

Rhysand is on the sheets next to you in minutes, laying flat on his back and looking sidelong at you with a mix of adoration and lust. Your clit is spasming, your orgasm still pulsing through you but you’re not done. You swing your leg over his pelvis, hands bracing against his abdomen as you look down at him with a smirk.

“Allow me to…” Rhys snaps his fingers, all of his clothing and yours dissipating into a fine mist before you. You watch it go in bewilderment as his hands find your hips and lightly rock you back and forth, your post-orgasm slick allowing you to glide smoothly along his hard length.

“Rhys please…” you whisper. He silently sits upright, moving back further on the bed to lean against the headboard and pulling you with him. You hover over him, gazes locked as you guide his member inside, sinking down inch by inch onto him.

“Y/N…. fuck..” he grunts. When you’re seated to the hilt, you rise up again and drop back down, your lips parting as a breathy moan slips free. His fingers squeeze your ass, helping you slide up and down on his thick cock. Your breasts bounce before him with every drop of your hips, his length inside hitting the perfect spot to make you see stars.

Your fingers grip his muscled shoulders, and you look into his eyes once more.

“Is this what you…. oh…” you groan.

“Is this what you were thinking about earlier when you,” you pause, catching your breath between bounces. “When you were touching yourself?” You ask. He looks at you darkly, a husky laugh drawing from his lips.

“You’re all that’s been on my mind lately Y/N…” he begins, his hands bracing your hips in a vice grip. You can feel your second orgasm building, it won’t take much more to pull it out of you, especially with the way he’s looking at you like you’re his last meal.

“But in my head it was a little more like… this.” Your slowing bounces were halted as his hands held you in place, his feet braced on the mattress below as he sharply thrusted up into you.

“Ahhh! Gods Rhysand… ohhh my-“ you cry out in pleasure as he pounds into you at an impeccable speed, the sounds of skin slapping against skin the only thing that can be heard over the raging storm outside. Lightning illuminates the room once more, the loud sound of thunder amplifying throughout the empty house.

CRACK.

“You’re perfect… so fucking perfect Y/N…” he groans, his fingers digging into your ass once more as he continues to fuck his huge cock up into you. The building fire inside of your lower belly is fully ablaze, so so ready to explode-

“Rhysand! Oh fuck-“ Your orgasm barrels through you, and you lean forward onto his chest as your walls pulse and clench around his cock. His hands wrap around your back, holding you close but not stopping his thrusts as he fucks you through your orgasm.

He thrusts a few more times, the last one pulling you all the way down on his length as he gasps underneath you. You can feel his warm seed spilling inside of you, filling you up so much you’re sure some will drip out.

You both gasp for breath, his loving touch against your cheek bringing a lazy smile to your face. He gently strokes your hair, allowing you to lay against his chest as you both come back down from whatever cloud you’d both been so high upon. The storm has reduced to a quiet drizzle now, the thunder and lightning letting up from earlier.

After a few moments he pulls out of you, pressing a small kiss to your nose before sliding from the bed and pulling you towards him. You can’t help but chuckle at his actions as he sweeps you up, his arms holding beneath your knees and back as he makes his way toward the bathing chambers.

“Rhysand-“ you start. Your face flushes as you feel a trickle of his release trailing from your core over the skin of your thigh and under the curve of your ass.

Splat.

“Hopefully I won’t have to only think of you any longer?”

Splat.

ﾟ:* ✧

[rabidline]

I know his last competitive skate was not the most ideal skate... but I will always remember his smile right here, when it's over.

I knew the end is coming since the moment he fell on the ice at Worlds 2023, and all I wished for is for it to happen with grace and dignity. And it did. The result was one of the hardest to accept (slipping from 1st after the SP to off podium) but he was there, at peace, a smile on his face as he congratulated the winner.

And that's what I'm going to remember from his competitive career- his big heart for the sport and its competitors, when he wins or loses.

Thank you, Shoma.