#there's only one flower who came to mind. and he is so unhappy to be included hfdgjhsd

[missholoska]

having to watch your mother flirt with a smiley trashbag...

truly, this is the worst possible ending.

(soriel week 2024 day 2: flower 🌻)

[wholoveseggs]

Hey, just an idea that would work really well, I think. Can you do a smut with a horribly jealous Elijah? They have a casual affair going because she has severe intimacy issues, but Elijah is deeply in love and needs her to realize that?

Strings

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

You've denied what your heart wants for so long and Elijah is tired of waiting.

♡♡ Thanks for the request, I may have gotten a little carried away with this one ♡♡

6.2k words - Warnings: smut, lots of drinking / drunkenness, men being gross, white knight Elijah, dom!elijah (as dom as I can write it, I'm just a sappy romantic), rough(ish) sex, rim job (f!receiving), blood drinking, biting & hangovers.

{Moodboard->}

It was annoying, really, how good Elijah was in bed. You never thought you would be the kind of girl who would lose your mind over a simple touch, but you couldn't get enough. You had never felt this way, even after months of sex, and it was maddening.

You had started sleeping together on a whim, one night of drinking leading to a night of fun. It was just meant to be a one-time thing, but it became more frequent, and then more, until you found yourself spending more time with him than alone.

‘No strings attached’ you had said when you first started sleeping together, but as time went on, Elijah was getting more and more attached and so were you.

When you were underneath him, clinging to his strong shoulders, panting and moaning as he completely unraveled you, it was easy to forget that it was supposed to be casual. But then his gaze would lock onto yours, those dark intense eyes with so much love pouring out of them and you couldn't stand it.

You would close your eyes and look away, your heart beating so hard you thought it would explode. He would always pause for a second, then keep going.

This wasn't supposed to happen, this wasn't the deal, and you wanted him to stop, but at the same time you didn't. The look he gave you frightened you, it was like he was seeing inside your soul, seeing all the parts of you that you tried so hard to keep secret.

Elijah had never hidden the fact that he wanted more from you, but he had respected your boundaries. He hid how much it hurt him when you told him that you didn't want more, and you knew that, yet he kept going, because he couldn't stay away from you.

He would give you anything you asked for, and he would take anything you gave him, and he would never tell you that he was unhappy.

He was always so good to you.

Until you started seeing other people.

And then he wasn't so good.

Elijah heard the click of your boots before you even entered the compound. He'd been listening for them all morning, his ears trained to the sound, his heart lifting every time a woman with the right footfall walked in. Only when he'd heard you arrive would he relax his shoulders, his mind no longer consumed with the idea of you and another man together.

It was a new torture. Before, he had just wanted you. Now, he had you, and he knew that someone else was touching you, and that someone wasn't him.

"Beks! Beks! Oh my God, what a night!" You came bounding through the courtyard, you had a coffee in one hand and a fresh bouquet of flowers in the other. Still in the same clothes you left in last night, the only change was your makeup smudged, your hair a little messy.

Elijah watched you from the balcony above. You hadn't seen him yet. You were too busy gushing to Rebekah, who had been waiting eagerly for your return.

"What happened? I lost you after we did those shots with Klaus." Rebekah asked, taking the flowers and looking you over.

"Okay, you know that hot guy who was flirting with me at the bar? Well I went to some house party with him and a few of his friends," You said, sitting down next to Rebekah and taking a long sip of coffee. "So we were all drinking, and then we did some shots, and then a couple of lines, and then one thing led to another..."

You trailed off, grinning at her. She gave you a look, gesturing for you to go on.

Elijah tried his best not to listen, but he could help himself. He had never been able to resist the sound of your voice.

"So what happened?" She asked.

"Well, we ended up in the kitchen and he was fucking me against the counter," You said with a giggle.

"Was he any good?"

"Not really," You replied, taking a big gulp of coffee and rolling your eyes. "But the kitchen was real fancy, and there was a maid who saw us."

Rebekah laughed, shaking her head.

"That is classic, darling," She said, handing you back the flowers.

"Yeah, and then when I was on my way out in the morning I stole these right out of a vase," You said proudly, putting them down on the table next to you.

The sound of your giggles floated up to him. It was utterly infuriating, and at the same time, it was like a balm to his soul.

Elijah had never felt this way before.

Pure, untamed, jealousy.

He knew he shouldn't care, he knew he should be happy for you, but he couldn't stop thinking about you with other men. He couldn't stop wondering what it was like, what they were like. What did they say to you, did they make you laugh, did they touch you the way he did?

Did you want them, the way you wanted him?

And most importantly, why wasn't he enough?

"So are you going to see him again? Did he get your number?" Rebekah asked, breaking Elijah out of his dark thoughts.

"No, and yes. He wanted to go out again tonight," You replied.

"Are you going to say yes?"

"Maybe," You said, shrugging. "I'd prefer to go out with you guys, though. Maybe we could get Kol to come along."

"That would be lovely, maybe we could even convince Elijah to join," Rebekah said, smiling mischievously.

Elijah perked up at this and decided to make his presence known. He descended the stairs, trying to appear nonchalant, his usual charming self.

"Good morning, ladies," He said, his eyes fixed on you. You turned and smiled, and it made his heart skip a beat.

"Hey," You replied, grinning.

"We were just talking about going out tonight," Rebekah said, glancing between you.

"Oh? Where are you going?" Elijah asked.

"Not sure yet, wherever Beks wants," You replied. "But we were thinking that we could all go, you included."

Elijah tried not to react. He didn't want to go anywhere, not if you were going to bring one of your...paramours.

"Maybe," He said, keeping his tone light.

"Aw, come on, please?" You begged, flashing him those big, pretty eyes and batting your eyelashes.

"Yes, come with us," Rebekah joined in.

Elijah knew he would cave, like always. He couldn't say no to you, not when you looked at him like that.

"Fine," He agreed, and Rebekah and you cheered.

"It'll be fun, I promise," You said, and Elijah hoped so. He didn't think he could take much more of this.

Elijah found himself in the back of a car with his siblings. He had tried to stay home, to come up with an excuse, but Rebekah had dragged him out the door and into the car, saying that she didn't want him to sit at home and brood all night.

You were sitting in the passenger seat, talking animatedly to Rebekah. Klaus was driving, and Kol was on the phone with Davina, telling her all about the plans for the night.

"I can't believe we managed to get you out of the house without you wearing a suit," you teased, admiring his outfit. He had opted for a white shirt and black pants, his sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned. He looked ridiculously good.

"I can dress casually, when I want to," He said, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"Maybe when you are going to bed," You replied, winking. He raised his eyebrows and smirked, the sight of it sending a rush of heat to your core.

"I'd be happy to show you, if you would like," He said, his voice deep and sexy.

The rest of the Mikaelsons didn't know about the affair you and Elijah were having. It was meant to be casual, you didn't want anything serious, and so the two of you were keeping it a secret. But they definitely suspected something was up, considering the flirting, the longing looks, and the time Klaus saw Elijah sneaking out of your room.

"Maybe later, if you're lucky," You shot back, giving him a wink.

He chuckled and shook his head, trying not to grin like an idiot. He was failing.

"Don't mind me, I'll just sit here and pretend I can't hear any of this," Kol interjected, looking up from his phone.

"Hush, brother," Elijah said, and Kol made a face, returning his attention to Davina.

You continued talking to Rebekah and Kol, trying to ignore the heat of Elijah's gaze on you.

When you arrived at the club, Kol immediately disappeared to go find Davina and Klaus was swarmed by women within seconds of entering the place.

You and Rebekah got drinks, and Elijah stayed close, trying not to stare at the way you moved your hips, the way your skin glowed in the dark, the way the tight dress you wore clung to your curves.

"Dance with me," You said, turning and holding out a hand. Elijah hesitated, his eyes roaming your body.

"I don't dance," He said.

"Liar," You accused, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the crowd. He followed, letting you lead him.

Once you reached the dance floor, you started moving to the beat. Your hands rested on his chest, his arms wrapping around you, the two of you moving together. The way you felt around him was indescribable, and you never wanted to leave his embrace.

The music was loud, and the people were packed together. He could feel the warmth of your body, the softness of your skin, the way your breath hitched when he pulled you closer.

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear, and he inhaled sharply.

"Come on, Elijah, have some fun," You purred.

"I'm having plenty of fun," He replied, his voice low and rough.

"Are you sure? You seem a little tense," You teased, your hand slipping under the bottom of his shirt, feeling his skin.

"I'm sure," He said, his hand resting on your waist.

You smiled, your eyes glittering with mischief.

"Let's go somewhere quieter, then," You suggested, pulling him away from the dance floor and towards a secluded corner.

"Is that a good idea?" He asked, his tone serious, but his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Probably not," You replied, and he grinned.

You stopped, the two of you hidden by shadows, and Elijah pressed his lips to yours. You could taste the hint of whiskey, the faint scent of his cologne lingering on his skin. 

He was so gentle, his hands cupping your cheeks as he kissed you slowly, his lips warm and soft against yours. You wanted something more aggressive from him, you tugged at his hair, trying to deepen the kiss, but he kept his pace slow, steady, torturous.

You pulled away, the alcohol coursing through your veins, your head spinning. You could hear your heartbeat thumping in your ears, feel his breath hot on your cheek.

He was gazing at you, his eyes dark and intense, and you felt a surge of fear and vulnerability that made you snap.

"Stop. Doing. That." You said, pulling away.

"What?"

"Looking at me like that," You replied.

"How am I looking at you?"

"Like...like..." You trailed off, unsure how to explain it. Like he was looking at you like he loved you, like he wanted you. It was unsettling.

"Like I love you? Because I do."

"Shut up," You muttered, avoiding his gaze.

He took your chin and forced you to look at him. His expression was serious, his gaze boring into yours.

"What do I have to do to convince you?" He said pressing you further into the wall, his body trapping yours.

"Do I have to fuck you so hard you never think about another man again?" He growled. "Is that what you want?"

You stared at him, unable to speak.

"Do you want me to tear off your clothes right here and now, and fuck you against the wall, where anyone could see us? Is that what it will take to convince you?" He said, his voice low and husky.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

He chuckled, and his lips were on yours, kissing you deeply, passionately, making your knees weak and your heart race. His hands were everywhere, pulling at your clothes, touching every inch of your skin.

"What do I have to do to make you mine and only mine?" He asked, his voice thick and raspy, his fingers gripping your hips and digging in.

You whimpered, trying to catch your breath. He was usually so reserved, so gentle and controlled. This was something else, this was him letting go, and it was overwhelming.

"Lijah-," You moaned, trying to form a coherent thought. "I need some air," You said, pushing him away.

He reluctantly let you go, watching you walk away with pain in his eyes.

You slipped through the crowd and towards the bar, ordering a drink and trying to compose yourself. You could still feel his body heat, his touch on your skin.

"Hey dollface," A voice came from behind you. It was a guy you'd met the night before. Flashes of the fancy kitchen returned to your mind, but you really didn't want to repeat what you'd done last night.

"Hey," You said, smiling politely. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Yeah, me neither," He laughed. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Thanks," You replied, finishing the one in your hand. "I'll have a whiskey,"

"Be right back," He winked, disappearing towards the bartender.

You waited for a few minutes before he came back with two glasses of whiskey.

"What are you doing tonight?” He said, giving you a flirty smile.

You gave him a coy smile, sipping your drink.

"Oh, I don't know. Whatever you're into," You said, watching his expression change.

You loved this, the chase, the anticipation of knowing what would happen next. It wasn't even necessarily about the sex, it was about being wanted. You loved to be touched, to be desired, to be looked at with awe and lust. It was easy for you, just a game that you liked to play, a way to make you feel special.

But Elijah was still on your mind, eating away at any enjoyment you should be getting out of this encounter. So you drank, more than you usually did, hoping the alcohol would help numb the feelings you had for him.

Unfortunately, it only made everything worse.

You didn't care about this guy, nor did you want to sleep with him again, you were just enjoying the attention. You needed to forget Elijah and focus on something else, anything.

The rest of the night became a blur, a messy, meaningless haze of alcohol and sounds and hands on your skin. You lost track of time, you stopped caring and you found yourself outside the club, being pulled towards his car, giggling and hiccupping the whole time.

"Come on, sugar, it'll be fun," He slurred, wrapping an arm around you. "Let's have another round at my place," He was trying to pull you into the backseat, and you were too drunk and dizzy to put up a fight.

"I don't know," you mumbled, trying to focus on his face but having a hard time keeping him in your line of vision. He flashed you a dopey smile, leaning in and giving you a sloppy kiss.

"My friieennds will be worried," you protested, trying to get him off you. He wasn't really listening, his attention focusing on groping your ass. You tried to get him to let go of you, pushing on his chest, but he didn't budge.

"I'm sory-" you slurred, "tis was bad idea,"

"Why?" He asked, confusion etched across his face.

"I'm farrrrr to drunk," you said, the words coming out slowly, "I shouldna had that fifth drink,"

"You're very cute when you're drunk," he chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Shtop," you slurred, struggling to get out of his grasp.

You saw Elijah leaving the club with Klaus and tried to push the man off.

"My frriiieends areleaving,"

"Come on, they'll understand," he replied, tightening his grip on you.

You started to panic, the world was spinning, and you couldn't think straight. Elijah saw you and came over, the look on his face making it clear that he knew what was going on.

"Lijah-" you said, reaching for him.

The man backed off immediately when he saw Elijah, running his hand through his hair nervously.

"Are you okay?" Elijah asked, pulling you into his arms. You collapsed against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent.

"Too drunk," you slurred, your head lolling against his chest.

He picked you up bridal style, glaring at the man, who was shrinking into himself. He brought you to the car and sat you down in the back seat, he leaned over to fasten your seatbelt and you looked up at him, trying to focus on his face.

"I'm sorry, he jus-just wouldn't stop." You said, your words coming out slowly.

Elijah's demeanor completely changed when he saw how drunk you were. He could smell the alcohol on your breath, see the fog in your eyes.

"Klaus, watch her. I'll be right back," he said, before disappearing.

You tilted your head back, the whole car felt like it was spinning. Klaus was saying something you couldn't quite make out, the words muffled.

You sat in silence for a few minutes, until Elijah came back and got in the car. He had a grim look on his face and there was blood on his shirt.

"Lij-lijah," You whispered, reaching out for him as he sat next to you. "Please tell me you didn't killed him,"

Elijah didn't say a word, just wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close. You leaned into his embrace, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Thank you," You mumbled, your words slurring together.

He smiled slightly, holding you tightly.

You began to drift off to sleep, feeling safe in his arms. He stroked your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Elijah was hurt that you ran away after his confession. He was the patient one, the one who always waited for you, always put you first. But he was tired of waiting. He couldn't pretend to not have feelings for you anymore, so he'd said something. Then you fled, too scared of commitment, too frightened of intimacy to stick around.

He'd hoped you would give him a chance, that you could learn to trust him and open your heart. But you had rejected him, again and again, and he was done waiting for you to change your mind.

When the car pulled up in front of the compound, you stumbled out, the alcohol making you unsteady on your feet. Your heels making it impossible to walk properly.

You took a tumble but Klaus caught you, wrapping an arm around your waist and helping you stay upright.

"I got her," Elijah said, his voice soft.

"I'm fiiiiinnnnneeee," You protested, trying to push them away, but you fell again and Elijah picked you up and carried you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent.

"Always such a gentleman," You giggled, your face buried in his neck.

"Sometimes," He said, amusement clear in his voice.

"You look very nice tonight," you added, tugging at his hair.

He brought you to your room and set you on the bed, pulling off your heels and helping you under the blankets.

"Lijah I'm cold, will you come keep me warm?" You pouted, batting your eyelashes at him.

Elijah let out a long sigh, and climbed into bed with you, his arms wrapped around your waist.

You cuddled up to him, enjoying the feeling of his strong arms around you. You couldn't deny the feelings you had for him, but you were determined to push them away. You didn't deserve him, he was far too good for you.

"I'm sorry, Lijah," You whispered, you placed your thigh around his hips, wrapping yourself around him. You wanted him closer, you wanted to feel his skin against yours, feel his heartbeat against your chest. "I want you," you breathed, pressing your lips to his.

He didn't respond, just pulled his head back and stared at you. His gaze was intense, and you found yourself unable to look away, you felt like your heart was being cracked open, exposed.

"No, you don't, you're just drunk," He whispered, his breath hot on your cheek. You were confused, conflicted by the emotions you were feeling, the sensations his closeness provoked.

"Let me show you," You whispered, grabbing the lapels of his jacket, trying to kiss him again, but he pulled back, breaking your hold.

You whimpered, frustrated, as he carefully unwound your arms, freeing himself.

"I can't keep doing this," He said, his voice pained, "it's not fair to either of us. I'm done being the second choice. I'm done being the one you run to when you have nowhere else to go."

"That's not true-" You said, tears welling up in your eyes. You felt like your heart was breaking, shattering into a million pieces, but you couldn't let him know, you couldn't show how much you were hurting.

"Isn't it?" He asked, his tone calm, but there was a fury in his eyes, "I love you, but this isn't working. I'm done wasting my time waiting for you to pick me. I'm just...I'm done,"

You felt like he'd punched you in the gut, your heart was pounding, your stomach twisting in knots. You tried to think of a reply, but you couldn't find any words. You laid there in silence, unable to speak.

He looked at you for a moment, then nodded to himself, as if he'd made up his mind. He got out of bed and left without a word.

Your mind raced as you processed what had just happened.

You were overwhelmed, your emotions a hurricane in your mind. Everything was a mess. You could feel your heart rate rising, your body starting to shake, your breathing coming in shallow bursts. You closed your eyes, trying to calm yourself down, trying to relax, but the panic wouldn't go away.

Then it started, you were shaking uncontrollably, tears pouring down your face, and you couldn't stop crying. You rolled onto your side and curled into a ball, gripping your legs as tightly as possible, the tears flowing freely as you let out a strangled sob.

You cried yourself to sleep, Elijah's name on your lips.

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache and a mouthful of sand. Your whole body ached, and the sunlight streaming through the windows made your head throb.

You dragged yourself from the shower, then to the kitchen, in search of coffee like it was a life line.

"Morning, sunshine," Rebekah chirped, way too cheerful for how shitty you felt.

You just grunted in response, pouring yourself a cup of coffee and adding a splash of whiskey. "Can you turn me so I don't have to feel like shit," You asked, leaning against the counter.

Rebekah snorted, sipping her coffee.

"That's a terrible reason to become a vampire," She replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, it would save me from hangovers," You shot back, and she shook her head, amused.

"So, how was your night?" You asked, and she smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief.

"It was fantastic," She replied, and you chuckled, taking a long drink of your coffee.

"I'm glad someone had a good time," You said, and she gave you a sympathetic look.

"I thought you and Elijah were hitting it off?" She asked, and you sighed, shaking your head.

"It's complicated," You replied, not wanting to go into detail.

"It's not," she replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "You are just making it so,"

You glared at her, irritated.

"Look, I'm not trying to pry, but I've seen the way you two look at each other. You are both just being stubborn," She continued, and you huffed, rolling your eyes.

"Whatever, I don't want to talk about it," You replied, trying to change the subject.

"Love can be messy," She said, and you laughed, shaking your head.

"Yeah, that's why I don't do it," You replied, and she gave you a look, her brow furrowed.

"You love Elijah, it's not a dirty word," She said, and you scoffed.

"I do not," You protested, and she sighed, exasperated.

"Love isn't something you can opt out of," She replied, her voice soft. "Trust me I've tried,"

You were silent, unable to think of a retort.

"You are just scared, that's all," She continued, and you looked away, not wanting to meet her gaze.

"There's nothing wrong with that, but it's also no reason to run away," She added, her voice gentle.

"I'm not running, I'm living my best life," You replied, a hint of bitterness in your voice.

She just stared at you, her expression one of pity.

"Yeah, well, maybe your best life needs some changes," She said, finishing her coffee and standing up. "I'll see you later,"

You slunk into a chair, nursing your coffee and trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in your stomach.

You didn't even try to deny her accusations, the words dying in your throat. Because she was right, you were scared.

You found Elijah in his room, sitting on the window seat, reading. He looked up when you entered, a small smile on his face.

"How are you feeling? He asked.

"Like shit," You mumbled, shuffling your feet.

"Understandable," He replied, looking back down at his book.

You fidgeted with the hem of your dress, unable to meet his gaze.

"So, last night..." You started, trailing off.

He glanced at you, a curious look on his face.

"I'm sorry," You continued, looking down at your feet.

He put his book down and stood up, walking over to you. He kept his distance, but there was a familiar look in his eyes.

"Did you really mean it? When you said you didn't want this?" You asked, gesturing between the two of you.

"What would you have me do?" He asked, his expression unreadable.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. You didn't know what to say, you didn't have the words to describe what you were feeling. So you did what you always did when things got tough, you shut down, closed yourself off and tried to run.

You turned away, ready to walk out, but Elijah grabbed your arm, stopping you. He pulled you close, his face inches from yours.

"Why do you keep pushing me away?" He asked, his voice soft.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. You tried to think of something to say, something that would make him understand, but your mind was blank.

"Because... Because I'm scared," You said, your voice barely a whisper.

He lifted your chin up, his gaze searching yours.

"What are you afraid of?" He asked, and you let out a shaky breath.

"I'm afraid of losing you," You said, your voice breaking slightly. "I'm afraid that you'll break my heart,"

His eyes grew dark and he pushed you back against the wall. Your heart hammered in your chest, fear and desire surging through your body. His hands gripped your hips, his gaze hungry and dangerous. You saw his desire, his love, and for once, you didn't want to run from it.

You pushed against his chest, your breathing becoming shallow, but he didn't budge. He was firm, unyielding, just like his love for you.

 His hands traveled up your body, pushing up your dress. He pulled it over your head and tossed it aside, leaving you exposed and vulnerable before him. He looked down at you, drinking in the sight, and you felt a rush of heat in your core. His gaze was almost too much to bear, but you held it, refusing to back down. He pressed his lips to yours, the kiss hungry and rough, and you moaned against his lips.

"I can't share you anymore," he whispered, his voice strained with effort, his nose buried in your neck.

"You don't have to," you mumbled, gasping when he sank his fangs into your neck. You gripped his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

"Good," he growled, withdrawing his fangs. His tongue lapped at your neck, sending a wave of pleasure through you.

"Mine," he said, a possessive edge to his voice.

You trembled under his touch, his kiss growing even more heated. He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your waist, his fingers digging into your skin. He lifted your thigh, wrapping it around his hips and pressing your back against the wall.

"I'm going keep you in my bed until you understand," he growled, and you moaned, unable to think straight.

He ripped your panties off, tossing them aside before sinking two fingers into you. You arched your back, grinding against his hand, desperate for relief. He pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing it in slow circles as his fingers pumped into you.

He watched you, a small smirk on his face, enjoying the way you came undone beneath him. Something in him had snapped, and he could not longer hold back his need for you to be his. He tried many times to show you how much he loves you, but you always ran away at the first sign of intimacy. Not this time though, he was going to break down every wall you'd built and claim you.

You were getting closer to the edge, your breathing labored as your pleasure built. Just as you were on the verge, he removed his fingers from you, denying you relief. You cried out, trying to grind against him, but he held you still. He loved seeing you like this, desperate and begging for him.

"Now you know how I feel," he whispered, and you gasped, his words sending a shockwave through you.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your neck. He wrapped his arms around your waist and flipped you around, slamming you against the wall, making the painting beside you rattling in its place.

He pressed himself into your back, his hand circling your throat, the other wandering freely. He ran his finger along the clasp of your bra, freeing your breasts from the lacy material.

His fingers traced your nipples, teasing them into stiff peaks, his lips on your neck. You whimpered as he rolled his hips against you, the bulge in his pants rubbing against your ass.

"I'm going to mark every inch of your perfect skin," He purred, his voice thick with desire. "So everyone knows you are mine,"

He nipped at your neck, his fangs threatening to break the surface again. You moaned, grinding against him, desperate for more. He chuckled, sucking at the spot on your neck, leaving a dark hickey behind.

He pulled you away from the wall and pushed you onto the bed, forcing you onto all fours. His hands gripped your hips, and he leaned forward, licking a strip down the length of your spine. You shivered, your whole body alive and sensitive to his touch. He slid his tongue between your cheeks, stopping to suck and lick at your tight little hole, sending wave after wave of pleasure through you.

You tried to sit up but he pushed you back down, his tongue spearing into your rear entrance. You moaned, squirming under him, your face flushed with desire. He inserted a finger into your pussy, and began to slowly fuck you.

It didn't take long for your thighs to start shaking, your muscles tensing as your orgasm approached. You bit your lip, trying to hold back, but it was futile. You let go with a low moan and suddenly yelped as he sunk his fangs into your ass cheek.

"Lijah!" You exclaimed, surprised.

This rough, wild side of him, so completely different from the gentle, refined man you knew, it scared and excited you. The way took control was the most erotic thing you've experienced in a long time.

He flipped you over and pressed you down onto the bed, straddling you. His pupils were blown wide, his lips stained red with blood, his breathing heavy. You tried to reach up and touch him, but he pinned your wrists down. You lay there, unable to move, completely at his mercy. You had never felt so safe and loved in your entire life.

He freed your wrists kissed them gently, a soothing gesture that contrasted with the roughness from earlier. His lips trailed down your arms, kissing, sucking, and nipping at your skin. You shuddered as his breath ghosted against your neck.

You tugged at his shirt, and he let you strip him of it, his bare skin warm and firm against your own. You ran your hands over his chest, relishing the feel of him.

He pulled off his pants, laying down beside you, your naked bodies intertwining. You stared up at him, a soft smile on your lips. He returned it, his gaze unguarded and gentle. He captured your lips in a sweet kiss, his hands stroking your face and hair.

"I'm sorry for being a fool," you said softly, your eyes glassy with tears.

"Shhh," he murmured, nuzzling your neck. "You have nothing to be sorry for,"

"I do," you insisted. "I love you, I've always loved you. I was just...I was just scared to admit it, to myself or anyone else."

You looked up at him, your expression vulnerable, your eyes pleading. He smiled softly and brushed his lips against yours, a gentle kiss, almost a question.

"Be mine, only mine," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

"Yes," you breathed, your heart hammering in your chest. "Always."

He parted your legs and slowly eased inside of you, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. He began moving his hips in a rhythmic motion, his fingers gripping the sheets.

You looked into his eyes, feeling whole. He was giving you such pleasure, and his love radiated from him, engulfing you. Everything behind his eyes, the trust and tenderness, the pain and loneliness, you saw all of it.

It made you feel like you were part of his inner world. He was baring his soul to you, letting you in and you were doing the same, letting him see beyond all of the walls and boundaries, right into the depths of your heart and spirit.

And the intensity of it all wasn't scary, it felt liberating, it felt right. His body was just a shell for his fire, for the overwhelming love he felt for you. You both weren't physical beings anymore, but something beyond. Like you are one entity, one flame, burning bright.

You couldn't really describe how you felt, but there was this sense of completion, like you've found something that had been missing all this time. You could see it in his eyes too, a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he looked lighter somehow.

You two were making love, and you were both acutely aware of it. There was no mistaking this for anything less, even if you tried. Time seemed to stand still and the outside world fell away, leaving only the two of you. No past or future, just the present.

You didn't need to talk, there was no need for words. You could feel his thoughts, and you could feel him understand yours, the two of you harmonizing and flowing with each other in an endless, gentle rhythm.

This was what he wanted all this time, to show you what sex can really mean when it is shared between two souls, two hearts. Not just animalistic fucking, but pure love-making, a deeper level of intimacy. And you understood now, you were becoming one.

You didn't know how long you had been making love, it could have been hours, or maybe it was days. All you knew was that it was the best experience of your life.

He was being serious when he said he was going to keep you in his bed until you understood. And now you do, now you understand what it means to be loved by him. What it is like to be part of him, to share that connection, that bond.

Your bodies were covered with sweat, entangled as one, both of you out of breath. Every muscle was sore but you didn't care. You were drunk off his love.

"Can we stay like this forever?" You asked, your eyes half closed, exhaustion setting in.

"Yes," He whispered, caressing your cheek. "Because you are mine, all mine,"

"Yours," you said sleepily, snuggling into him.

This was just one night together, a small taste of what being with him was going to be like, and you knew you would never be the same again. He had destroyed your walls and torn down every boundary you had built around yourself.

He held your bleeding heart in his hands, and instead of crushing it, he gave you his own.

{Moodboard->}

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

♡ @gorgeouslydangerous ♡ @starkleila ♡ @lydia1369sworld ♡ @notleylaaa ♡ @vampiresluv ♡ @vamprium ♡ @myanmy ♡ @xflowerbombxo ♡ @maryvibess ♡ @always-and-forever-daydreaming ♡ @criminallminds ♡ @theesexystallion ♡ @rosemarypotion ♡ @spnaquakindgdom ♡ @amournoir ♡ @loving-and-dreaming ♡ @meeom ♡ @damienmorton ♡

[gingiesworld]

I Am Not Matt

Leigh Shaw x GN! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Unhappy ending

18+ MINORS DNI

Taglist : @mothertoall2 @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic @dopeyouth @karsonromanoff @bimad @reginassweetheart @machyishere @gemz5 @pawiie @duckiekong (If you want to be added to my taglist, please DM me or comment)

Ever since Y/N had come into Leigh’s life, she had finally started to believe that she could move on, move past the grief that swallowed her whole. Y/N had always surprised her with flowers when they came home from work, took her out on spontaneous dates and even cooked her her favourite meal. Even though those gestures made Leigh see just how lucky she was to have such an attentive partner, she slowly started to withdraw herself from the relationship. The nights they would spend together between the sheets became little to non-existent, the spontaneous dates never really happened as Leigh always came up with some sort of excuse as to why she didn’t want to do it. Even when she received flowers soon fizzled out, Y/N soon started to realise that she was pulling further and further away. They barely spoke anymore, everytime Y/N would start up a conversation, Leigh would completely shut it down almost immediately.

“I’m off.” Y/N would say every morning when they saw her in the kitchen having her morning smoothie, their heart broke a little when she only shrugged. So they left without a single word off of Leigh. They spent their day working under the hot sun, wondering what had went wrong between the two of them.

“You look like you could do with a drink after work.” Jim stated as he helped Y/N by holding the plank of wood in place for Y/N to drill it into place. “Trouble in paradise?”

“You could say that.” They answered him.

“Then it’s settled, we’re having a drink and you can tell me all about it.” He told them before they both moved on to their next tasks. The day soon went by fairly quickly, work and banter with their colleagues slowly taking their mind off of their failing relationship. Soon they found themselves sitting in a booth at a bar not too far from the construction site. “So, talk to us.” Jim told them once they had their first drink.

“You know Leigh and I have been together for a couple of years right.” Jim nodded and waited for them to continue. “I think she.” They took a deep breath. “She’s pulling away from me and I don’t know how I can fix it.”

“Have you tried talking to her?” He questioned as they just nodded.

“She doesn’t even talk to me anymore. There’s no communication with her and I am trying, I am really trying to do everything I can to try and make it right and make it work.” They rambled on as they played with their glass, swirling the liquid within. “I don’t think she loves me anymore.” They whispered sadly before they downed their drinks.

“How long has this been going on for?” He asked as Y/N shrugged.

“Months.” They told him honestly. “We don’t even sleep in the same bed anymore, I know she gets out of our bed once she thinks I’m asleep.”

“Do you think she could be cheating on you?” He asked them as they shrugged.

“I don’t know.” They looked at him sadly. “I just, I love her more than anything and I don’t think she will ever feel for me the way I feel for her.”

“Well, I think you really need to make a decision, you have got to do what makes you happy.” He told them. “If your relationship is failing, and you’re the only one who is putting in all of the effort, it’s best to jump ship.”

“I was going to propose on our next anniversary.” They admitted. “I already have the ring and everything prepared.”

“I’m so sorry buddy.” Was all he could say before Y/N grabbed their wallet and left, paying the tab beforehand. They hadn’t realized the time when they had gotten home, seeing Leigh sat on the sofa, her eyes glued to the door in which they entered.

“Where were you?” She questioned them angrily. “You were supposed to be home hours ago!”

“So you finally noticed me?” They sneered as they moved towards the kitchen. “You’ve spent months ignoring me, forgetting I even exist.”

“Have you been drinking?” She questioned as they just laughed at her. “Are you cheating on me?”

“Why would I cheat on you, huh?!” They questioned angrily. “You know that is something I would never do! I don’t make promises just to break them, and I am not Matt.”

“No, you’re nothing like Matt.” Leigh seethed. “He knew me! He loved me!”

“If he loved you, he wouldn’t have cheated on you!” They yelled. “I wouldn’t ever cheat on you. You know the kind of person I am, when I want a relationship, I want to know that there is a future. You know very well I don’t do flings and I never saw you as just a fling.” They looked in her eyes sadly, reaching into their pocket. “I wanted everything with you, I wanted to build a life and a future with you. I love you so fucking much.” Their tears started to fall as they spoke. “But I know that you don’t love me, I was just a means to help you to try and forget your pain. It’s more like an addiction to you, and once I wasn’t doing it for you anymore, you go back into this place. You shut everyone out, everyone who loves, when was even the last time you spent time with your mom or Jules these past few months?”

“I see them every day.” She answered them with a scoff.

“At work!” They yelled. “You haven’t seen them at any other time! You go to work and then come home. Maybe you go to the store on some days to get you endless bottles of wine.”

“This isn’t even the point I was getting at!” She yelled in frustration, making Y/N laugh loudly.

“You haven’t spoke a single word to me, and you have the nerve to think I would hurt you.” They told her shakily. “You have no idea how much you have hurt me, you shut me out, I had no idea what I had done wrong, I was trying to figure it out for months. But, I had done things the way I have always done them since I first asked you out. I continued to do all of the things that made you smile, or laugh. I genuinely thought we had a future.” Leigh watched as Y/N had completely detached themselves from her. “I do love you, but I can’t do this anymore.” They told her as they pointed between themselves. “I can’t keep allowing myself to get hurt because I love you so much. It’s not fair on me.”

“What are you saying?” Leigh questioned, the first sound of regret in her voice.

“I’m saying it’s over.” They told her bluntly. “Us, we’re done. I’m done.” They sighed as Leigh just watched as they moved towards their room, grabbing a bag before packing some of their belongings. “I’m going to sign myself off of the lease.”

“You can’t.” Leigh whispered as she watched them from the doorway.

“I have to.” They told her as they zipped up their bag. “I need to leave before what we have kills me, and you need to move on. Just because you’re still alive while he’s not, doesn’t mean that you can’t learn to love someone new. You deserve to be happy Leigh, you just need to heal first instead of hiding from the pain.”

[bewarethewolfarmy]

Things Better Unshared

(A follow-up to A Celebration for Two partially because so many people seemed to have liked it and partially because I happen to have had one of those days. And yes what is described in this story is how I suffer through migraines, which I get on occasion (I am a chronic headache sufferer though). My friend Ash, may her soul rot in the shared POTO hell we are destined for, technically gave me this plot bunny when I told her about my migraine today so hope you guys at least enjoy)

Erik was 1000% certain that you were angry at him or something and thus already rehearsing a thousand different apologies, with flowers and music and begging and crying. Actually he was already crying because again he was more than absolutely certain that you were very much angry at him.

Admittedly he was not sure why you would be mad at him though. He had not killed anyone recently, or honestly at all in the time since you told him you loved him to now and he had sort of wanted to, especially when it came to those guys who sometimes talked to you and especially that one who had actually tried to ask you out and that was certainly not acceptable in any way. But he had held himself back, remembering how murder was one of Those Things that had made Christine run from him and that you had indeed told him that you did not want him hurting anyone. What helped him to remember and internalize it was that you had voiced it as a worry that he would be hurt or taken away from you if he did anything like murder someone again and thus made it into how much you cared about him, and Erik could never bring himself to do something that could upset someone who was willing to say they loved him. He also had been holding back his wish to make you a star and trying to convince you to that effect, and he'd behaved himself with the operahouse managers and he'd even tried to do nice things for them like fix up broken props and ripped costumes. He'd loved listening to you giggle as you had recounted to him how the other performers were convinced they had some sort of guardian angel running around, a nice change from the story of the Phantom; he didn't care about their thoughts and feelings about the situation as much as he loved to know you were happy about it. And actually he was also certain you had been happy just the night before, kissing him gently goodbye before having to return to your usual days in the choir.

Yet he knew you had to be angry at him because why else would you be acting so strange? You were listless and not really talking to anyone, grimacing and holding your hands over your ears as if hating the sound of music that as always filled the operahouse. He'd only been doing his usual thing, watching over you when you couldn't physically be together, and had been looking forward to watching rehearsals, but you had this strange unhappy look on your face and he was certain it was because something was wrong and of course to his mind the only thing that came to him was that you were upset with him and thus he needed to figure out how to fix things. He couldn't bear to have you upset and now he just had to wait until everyone else left and you were alone so he could try to see if he could get to you. You'd already snapped at a few people who tried to bother you though and Erik was now just fiddling with everything he could get his hands on, his cape, some rope, a broken piece of furniture, his scarf, feeling more and more anxious.

It all came to a head as some lights went on and you practically winced, turning away. But not fast enough for your angel, attentive as he was, saw the tears in your eyes and his heart fell like a ton of stones into his stomach. He watched you slip away into a room, getting away from everyone and everything as if to flee, and finally he decided enough was enough. Quickly he made his way there, slipping through passages and hidden ways, through an opening in the wall of that room to grab you.

You flinched, you never flinched with him, and his heart raced to think he might have hurt you, but you looked at him, squinting and then buried your face in his chest. His mind raced but you whimpered and in a small voice, weak and unsteady, spoke, “It hurts so much...”

You were in pain? Physical pain? He didn't understand at first but you clung to him and he instinctively wrapped his cape around you, holding you and feeling all the more panicked.

“What hurts?” He felt so confused; he had been so sure you were.

“It's too loud, too bright, please.” You pleaded, in that sad trembling voice. And Erik, Erik never could reject a request, not from you.

It was easy enough for him to bundle you up and carry you away; walking corpse he might be, he was still strong and you fit so easily in his arms. If the surface was too loud, too bright, too anything, then he would just take you back to his home, to the darkness, to the quiet. He had no hesitation, especially as your arms looped around his neck and held onto him and lord did that make Erik want to know what was so wrong so much faster.

He did his best to bring you back though the rowing of the boat was made a little harder by the fact that you still didn't let go even in the boat. But at the same time he wouldn't complain; you were close to him, you were there in his arms, how could he possibly complain when you were right where he loved to have you so much. And you didn't seem to be angry or upset with him at all but he still didn't know what was wrong and that was somehow even worse because you said it hurt and that things were too much and he hated seeing you in pain, not to mention cry because of it.

The dim lighting of candles and the silent peace of his home by the lake seemed to bring you some peace though still you held to him. He carried you inside and took you to the bed, the easiest to keep holding you; that was what he wanted, that's what you seemed to want, and he curled around you somewhat awkwardly. He wasn't used to being the big spoon, he wasn't used to being the comforter instead of the comfortee; he still didn't know what was wrong and that was starting to make him feel panicked the longer you were silent and clinging so tight.

“Erik's sorry, please tell us how we can help,” he half whined, having brought you this far but having no idea what to do was starting to lose himself to his usual concerns, “Songbird, please, you're worrying Erik, please.”

“My head....”

“Your head?”

“It hurts so much, Erik, it feels like a needle in my eye, like sharpness in my skull, radiating back and forth and back and forth but only part of me, only part of my skull.” Your voice was small, so small, smaller than you, smaller than anything. “I can't focus, I can't see, and everything just makes it worse: the light, the sounds, movement, eating, I can't think about anything but how much it hurts. It all just compounds and makes it throb more.”

Oh. He realized, recognizing what you meant. “Do you see lights, ones that are not truly there, whether after looking at light for a second or simply out of nowhere?”

You nodded without word. He bit a swollen lip. “Then it must be hemicrania, migraine. Erik too has suffered such; the pain is....”

Impossible to truly describe, he knew that well. To think you too were undergoing such pain, unexpected, unwanted, unfair; he could not remember days in which he had one, for the pain took most memory and reality with it, leaving only the haze of existence and the depths of emotional and physical voidness. But he could remember pain, sharp, centralized at first before moving along the divide of his head; for him it was always the right side, the same as his deformity, and maybe it was connected but it never truly mattered. The pain was what did and your pain, that you too had to feel it, was what he cared about.

You whimpered again, a meek sound more suited to a child than the beautiful soul you were to him but he held you close and did what he had always wished someone had done for him in such a state: he covered your head in his cape, kissed you upon the head and spoke in the softest whisper he could muster, “You will be alright, songbird, I promise you.”

“I just want to sleep,” you mumbled.

“Then sleep you shall.”

“I should eat though.”

“Are you hungry?” You shook your head; he was not surprised. Appetite seemed to flee from the pain of the half skull. “Then do not force yourself. Rest; I will blow out all the candles and you will slumber and once you feel hungry then I will make sure to bring you all the best things to help you recover but it would worry me all the more if you had to suffer what happens when you force yourself to eat when your mind is such pain.” Though he'd be ready to hold your hair back and gently rub your back, wipe away your tears and give you water to clear the taste from your mouth. Still he never wished that suffering on you, any of this.

“Erik....” You clung tighter and he kissed you again. How strange it felt to be the one to give the gentle kisses, the love, the care; normally you were the one to comfort him and he had been so prepared to cry and beg your forgiveness before but now he knew what was really going on and all he wanted was to hold you and take all your pain away.

He took off his cape to keep you covered but found it hard to get you to let go of him. Normally he would have been delighted by this, he was before, but in light of what was going on.... “Songbird, sweet love, I need to get up.”

“Please don't leave me, it hurts so much.” You sounded like you were on the verge of tears again and how he hated it, loathed your pain.

It was his turn to whimper, because he was nothing if not weak to you and your pleas, but he had to be strong to some degree and he kissed away your tears. “My beloved songbird, I promise I will return as quick as I can, but I need to darken the room for you, all for you I promise. That way you needn't hide under my cape while you rest.”

Another whine from you but he did manage to break free enough to get up. You curled into a ball, a sad weak ball, and he was quick to move, snuffing out each candle, plunging the room into utter darkness. But he was used to darkness, he had lived in it for years, and to him you were like a beacon in the night anyway; he would always find his way back to your side. He settled into bed beside you again and pulled you close, stroking your hair as you clung once more to him. In the darkness all that could be heard was breathing, yours slightly labored as your body had a hard time adjusting to the pain; he started to hum, softly, careful of all sharp notes, careful of being too loud; it was even and gentle, a lullaby he made up on the fly. But slowly, surely you started to slip off into something resembling sleep and he knew this by the way your grip loosened, your breathing evened, you relaxed from tension you never even knew you'd been holding from the pain.

All the while the phantom held you, humming his slow warm melody, and wishing for all the world he could do more to make you, his beloved songbird, never feel such pain now or ever again.

[dawneternal]

A Wild Thing | Prologue

⚘ Elucien

⚘ Summary: Rejected by Azriel, angry with Rhys, and pestered by strange visions, Elain is in a terrible mood. She is fairly certain that these visions have something to do with the Spring Court or its High Lord, and her desperation to ease at least some of her turmoil drives her to tag along with Lucien on his next visit.

Elain finds a kindred spirit in the untamed Spring Court, along with a few secrets and conspiracies, all woven together by pieces of the past.

⚘ Word Count: 668

⚘ Warnings: angst

AO3 Link / Masterlist

A terrible mood had consumed Elain whole weeks ago. Probably more like months ago, but she was not exactly counting. One of the worst parts about it was that no one noticed. No one noticed when, weeks or months ago, the perfectly fine facade became too heavy and she let it slip to the ground. It had shattered so thoroughly at her feet that there was absolutely no hope of shoving herself back into that box and going back to the way things were.

Perhaps they are all hoping that if they ignored it, the situation would reverse itself on it's own.

More likely, Elain's mood had been disguised by the way her anger presented itself. When angry, Elain's focus became razor sharp. Her hands were more precise, her mind meticulous. So much so that she had accepted Azriel's gift of Truth-Teller with gratitude, but Elain knew that if her fury alone were to guide her, she could have killed the King of Hybern with her bare hands.

At the moment, all she had to show for that rage were croissants with perfect layers and stunning flower arrangements. If she had to bear one more compliment for the fruits of her fury, she might explode.

At one time, she may have relied on the shadowsinger to be the one to notice that something was off. But evidently, as told by the way he avoided her, those days were over. She knew it the moment she had left that necklace behind for him to find.

She could not have anticipated how many things would change after that night. And furthermore, how much would change when she finally dropped her mask. So many things she had once loved now felt insufferable, the beautiful city of Velaris feeling more like a cage by the day.

Elain had only meant to stop pretending that she was not unhappy, but it had been like pulling a loose thread just to unravel the entire gown. Everything else came tumbling down with it, including her powers. Every careful wall crumbled like it had never meant anything at all, releasing her visions in full force. They interrupted her days and replaced her dreams, fracturing her routine and leaving her feeling unrested. It was as if the visions were taunting her.

There was one person who noticed. The person she did not want to notice. Lucien, frowning down at his piece of pie, with its flawless lattice and golden, flaky crust. Lucien, looking out the window and meeting her eyes at the same moment that a vision overtook her, fists digging into the earth for some sort of stability as her sweat dripped into the dirt. He was only there a third of time, always hopping back and forth between the Night Court, Spring Court, and human lands. Yet he saw. And not because of the bond. Because he looked.

And that was the most painful of all. That the rest of them could see it any time if they tried, if they wanted to. But so long as the oven was full, the garden growing, and the baby napping, all must be well with Elain. If she had the courage, she would pause all of those things. Pull an apple from the bottom of their pile and let them scramble as it all falls. But she was not brave enough, all of her words trapped in her throat for reasons she didn't know or didn't care to dissect. They were building up, day by day, to a nearly suffocating amount. She had not taken a deep breath in far too long.

She had the fury to guide her aim and she had the drive to end this incessant restlessness. But she did not have the courage to loose the arrow. To change things.

Not yet.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

All good things must pass...

This is a treat fic for @samayla for the 2023 @whiteoliphaunt.

Pairing: Thorin x Bilbo

Words: 1 335

Warnings: None

Prompts: Snowed in, gift giving, sharing traditions

“Maybe, we could…” Thorin II, generally called “Oakenshield”, scratched his beard pensively as he looked out on the endless blanket of snow that made it patently impossible to discern the single path leading down from the hidden cave.

“Dear,” Bilbo sighed, his nose twitching in dismay. He opened his mouth to remind his friend and lover of the fact that, despite being an esteemed king and a fierce warrior, Thorin had a pesky tendency to lose his way even at the best of times.

Indeed, the brave Hobbit was far from eager to tumble off a rocky ledge or fall down a ravine that was treacherously obscured by the snow in a ludicrous but eminently tragic accident.

Nevertheless, Thorin seemed so tense and unhappy already that his heart misgave him, and he swallowed his confession of doubt and fear in favour of a more selfless argument.

“I do not doubt that you, your dwarven instincts, and your sturdy boots could find a way down, but I beg you to remember that I am at a distinct disadvantage,” he commented in a soft, pleading voice, motioning at his furry, bare toes.

Of course, this was at least partially disingenuous; Bilbo’s feet were inured to both icy sludge and searing heat, but he could not feel all too guilty for fibbing when he saw Thorin’s eyes light up with relief and tenderness.

“It was such a nice idea to come here,” the Hobbit went on, willing his jaw to relax and suppressing the full-body shivers threatening to ruin his nonchalant delivery of those much-needed, reassuring words of love and support. “I do not mind staying a little longer. Surely, there are more things you can show me in your favourite grotto?”

The smile pulling at the corners of his mouth now was as sunny and genuine as it would have been had they comfortably stood in front of the Great Hall’s roaring fires.

Growing up, Bilbo—as was the wont of his kind—had himself favoured certain flowers, fruits, and trees, and he had never doubted the legitimacy of those instinctive preferences.

Thus, it made perfect sense to him that Thorin—who had only recently returned to his ancestral home—would have treasured places he had not seen for many decades.

It filled Bilbo’s heart with tingling warmth to know that his beloved did not only yearn to spend his future with so unlikely a consort, but that he was also recovered enough from the ordeal of the quest and his almost fatal bout of Dragonsickness to grant Bilbo a glimpse into a long-lost past.

“Did you come here often?” he prompted, threading his stiff fingers into the warm fur of Thorin’s collar and tugging gently to distract the King from his morose musings.

“Not as often as I would have liked,” Thorin admitted. “I was the heir, and my duties lay elsewhere.”

“Shame, it’s so pretty.”

Despite the howling wind and the blistering cold, the small cavern, nestled into the flank of a forlorn part of the Lonely Mountain’s foothills, held a singular, enchanting charm. Even in the chiaroscuro caused by the thick veil of heavily falling snow that was blocking out the daylight, age-old crystals glimmered faintly from the vaulted roof, and Bilbo couldn’t help being reminded of the intricate chandelier he had once seen in the Thain’s house as a fauntling.

“What would you do when you came here then?” His teeth were clacking miserably by now, but he was unwilling to let the conversation die.

With a jolt, Thorin seemed to abruptly snap out of his self-recriminatory reverie and firmly slung his arms around the smaller frame of the one he had chosen to be his partner in all things.

“I am so sorry,” he mumbled under his breath. “I have failed you again! Come here, let me warm you up!”

Opening his heavy coat, he wrapped Bilbo into a cocoon of warmth before settling his bearded chin atop the mop of messy, honey-golden curls with another deep, tremulous sigh.

“I am still waiting for an answer. Did you do frivolous, unprincely things?” Bilbo teased, feeling perfectly at ease now that he was sheltered from the biting cold by the fragrant, comforting bubble Thorin had created for him.

He knew not what expectations the overly serious King entertained within that stubborn, laughably haughty mind of his, but Bilbo himself could not imagine a better place to be during a snowstorm than in Thorin’s arms.

Having lived a solitary life before embarking on his Great Adventure, he was not fazed by the idea of being cut off and isolated—he even sometimes preferred being left alone, and, after the bustling activity of Erebor’s reconstruction and repair, he was profoundly grateful to get a moment of intimacy to simply talk to his husband.

“I…I could show you,” Thorin finally replied haltingly. “Sit over there.”

Shrugging out of his coat, the dwarven king draped it around his cherished consort’s shoulders and padded cautiously to the mouth of the cave.

“It is silly,” he admitted when he returned to where Bilbo sat, huddled against the far wall, and set down a heap of powdery, pristine snow.

Again, the Hobbit pressed his lips together to keep himself from saying something imprudent that would upset or discourage Thorin.

The gleam of pure hope and fond reminiscence in those bright blue eyes was so rare and precious a sight that it didn’t even truly matter if the puerile pastime Thorin was about to share turned out to be truly anodyne or vapid indeed.

Wordless, Bilbo watched as Thorin busied himself around the cave, collecting pieces of fallen crystal and small, iridescent stones to build a miniature of the throne room such as it had been before Smaug had laid waste to his beloved kingdom.

“It’s so beautiful,” Bilbo breathed, as ever fascinated and humbled by the craftiness and skill of the many-layered miracle that was Thorin.

Once upon a time, he had met a disgruntled, distrustful king in exile, and it never failed to awe him when he unearthed pieces of the young dwarf Thorin had necessarily been before everything had been taken from him and his family.

“Funny that you’d escape your princely duties only to recreate the very room you’ve fled,” he added in a light voice.

“Wait…” Thorin cautioned him. “May I ask for one of your cherished handkerchiefs as a sacrifice?”

Without hesitation, Bilbo handed over the worn cloth square, too curious to discover what the other had in mind.

“It’s a poor gift,” Thorin whispered as he extricated a piece of flint from his pocket and set the fabric alight, “because it doesn’t last, but…”

“Hush,” Bilbo interrupted, mesmerised by the dancing shadows and the kaleidoscope of colours the small flame cast upon the domed walls of their little sanctuary. “This is absolutely stunning. I understand why you loved coming here!”

Blushing furiously, Thorin looked up at him from where he knelt on the floor.

“Thank you,” Bilbo croaked, tears of emotion and depthless adoration turning his voice raspier than usual. “We Hobbits love ephemeral beauty; after all, even the most gorgeous flowers die and the most glorious of summers must end.”

Sliding to the floor beside Thorin to hug him to his clenching chest, Bilbo allowed his starry eyes to overflow, trusting that even his tears would be well-guarded and safe in Thorin’s mighty hands.

“You’ve graciously gifted me a fleeting flash of colour and heat to counterbalance the deadly white of this storm,” he breathed into a reddened ear, framed elegantly by silver beads and dark hair, “and you’ve granted me a glimpse of your precious soul’s eternity.”

“The storm has finally abated,” Thorin mumbled sheepishly. “Should we dare the descent?”

“Not yet,” Bilbo replied softly, spreading out the coat he’d been cowering under on the floor. “Let’s stay a while yet and watch the lights dance as if we were alone in the world. We are safe, Thorin. Let’s savour that! Together!”

I hope you'll enjoy this <3

Lots of love from me!

[athenagc94]

Muses and Melancholy

Here is the first chapter of my Jel x OC fanfic which I've been posting on AO3 which can be found here.

I might continue to post on here in addition to AO3 depending on the kind of traction this gets. I hope you all enjoy!

Jel needs all the love, and I am starved for content.

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

Jel was a little...  

Oh, what was that charming turn-a-phrase that Amara liked to use?  

Pedantic and ornery .  

He liked things to be just so, but could anyone blame him for striving for nothing short of perfection? When it came time to choose his path, Jel knew he wanted to be a tailor. To follow his mother and the long line of Omiata women before him was an honor. Majiri nobles held his family in high esteem, traveling far and wide to commission clothing from his family, though that task had grown significantly easier now that his sisters had opened branches of their own.  

Every piece needed to serve as a perfect reflection of the person wearing it. That’s what his mother had always told him, and he took that advice to heart. Honing that facet of design turned out to be harder than he realized, so yes, he could be a tad pedantic at times, but ornery—never.  

Jel clenched several pins between his teeth as he assessed the strips of shimmering purple silk hung from Tish’s waist. Displeasure pinched his brow as he peered between his concept and the reality in front of him. He motioned for her to twirl, the strips rippling like water as she did, which only succeeded in troubling him further.  

While no one could argue that he could throw Tish in a moldy burlap sack and still call it vogue, the garment should never overpower its model like it was now.  

Inspiration struck during one of his moonlit strolls when he happened upon a crystal lotus bobbing on the swirling green waters of the lagoon. He stared at the vaguely luminescent petals as he considered the darkness in his soul until they were all he could think about. Unfortunately, the inspiration stopped there, forcing him to consider whether this concept should have remained just that.  

“That bad, huh?”  

He blinked to refocus on Tish who gazed at his reflection in the full-length mirror, sympathetic if not vaguely amused by his turmoil. “Out with it. You look unhappy,” she continued, “Well, unhappier than usual.”  

“I’m perfectly content. Just... pondering,” he insisted, his words muffled by the pins.  

The longer he stared, the more he disliked it, though he couldn’t decide what it was that he disliked. The silhouette, the length, the color? Ugh . He scratched irritably at the back of his head. This seemed to be the trend as of late. Nothing felt right. He had so many ideas swirling around in his mind after years of traveling the continent, but nothing tangible.  

Months had passed, leaving him trapped on the cusp of something , but he had no idea what that something was.  

Tish fidgeted under his discerning gaze. She always offered to model, but she struggled to sit still for long, though she was leaps and bounds better than her excitable brother whom he had to chase around the studio with pins.  

“What was your inspiration again?”  

“A crystal lotus,” he sighed, “Bobbing on the waters of the lagoon.”  

She considered her reflection, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. “Given the Majiri’s cooler complexion, wouldn’t it have been better to enhance it by making the dress resemble water, and the wearer signify the lotus? You should have made the dress—”  

“Green!”  

He plucked the pins from his mouth and stuck them in the cushion strapped to his wrist. He could see it now, a vivid blue-green fabric with a hand-beaded design to resemble twisting algae. It would have complemented her skin beautifully to achieve the shimmering glow of the lotus flower.  

He collapsed on the stool at his drafting table. “You’re absolutely right. I went about this backward. I should have realized it before I went through the effort of dying the fabric.”  

Purple—what had he been thinking? Such a waste of good silk.  

“I think it’s still salvageable,” Tish insisted, “It just might work better on a Human.”  

Jel paused. Human skin tones varied, allowing the use of a broader color palette he never got to explore working with Majiri. From rosy peach to deepest umber, this shade of purple was bound to look good on one of them. With more and more Humans milling about the village each day, he would soon have to expand his collection to consider them as well.  

“Maybe you’re right.”  

“I usually am.”  

Before he could find a clever response, the shop door jingled downstairs. Jel massaged his temples. This creative nightmare would have to wait until later.  

“Wait here,” he said as he replaced his tinted glasses and made for the door, “We’ll get you out of that monstrosity once I return.”  

Magistrate Eshe, an aging woman with gray lacing her dark hair, stood near the counter. She gripped the head of her lacquered cane tightly with her fist. Her distaste showed plainly on her face, a sneer deepening the creases on her jowls.  

Sensing his presence, she pointed her smoldering cigarette at him. He froze at the top of the stairs as if she’d burned him with it. “It’s bad for business to leave your clients waiting.”  

“Magistrate Eshe.” He removed his glasses and bowed. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. You usually call ahead when you—”  

“Enough jabbering. Come here, there’s a matter I wish to discuss with you, and I don’t have time to waste on pleasantries. Quickly, now.” She snapped her fingers as if she were summoning her riffroc. Jel scampered to join her on the first floor.  

Eshe held herself with a regal air, her chin lifted as if to say that she existed above everyone and everything. And perhaps, she did. The magistrate held a lot of sway in Kilima Village and Bahari proper. She had connections to the duchess. If she disliked you, she could make life difficult. Her mannerisms reminded him of his mother, though neither would be pleased by the comparison. They were what others called friendly enemies . His mother had a lot of those. Eshe probably did too.  

Jel could never imagine surrounding himself with people who loathed him, but their lives were vastly different from his.  

Her frown deepened as she scanned the mannequins near the door. He resisted the urge to fluff the nearest garment, knowing she’d take it as weakness. “What can I help you with?”  

“I have a commission for you.”  

He fumbled his glasses, nearly dropping them. “Really?”  

She hummed though she had yet to look at him directly. Eye contact was beneath her. He was beneath her. “Two, actually. As I’m sure you’re already aware, the Bahari Ball is right around the corner.”  

53 days to be exact, but who was counting?  

“Kenyatta needs a new dress. Usually, a momentous occasion like this would require a more polished hand, but Kenyatta insisted you be the one to make her dress this year.”  

Jel sensed her displeasure despite her attempts to feign indifference. Arguments between Eshe and Kenyatta were common, but he rarely found himself in the crossfire. Rarer still did he find himself coming out ahead.  

He tempered his excitement. “And the second commission?”  

“A Human will be attending this year as well to represent our community. I’ll need a dress for her as well.”  

Eshe had never made jokes, but there was a first time for everything.   

Majiri prided themselves on their hospitality, but the magistrate found the sudden surge of Humans within the village cumbersome. She valued tradition and order. Most Majiri failed to meet her high expectations. Humans still had a lot to learn in her eyes, and she had no qualms about saying it to their face.  

Inviting a Human to the biggest event of the year felt uncharacteristic, especially when so many Majiri sought invitations for themselves and rarely received one.  

“A Human, ma’am?”  

She finally turned her sharp gaze on him. He jolted as if she had struck him instead. “Yes. A Human. Is that a problem?”  

“No, of course not, I only meant—”  

He stopped himself before he said something damning. While a Human had received an invitation, he had yet to hear back from his mother regarding his attendance at the ball. She would be going, along with his sisters, but Jel feared another year would pass without him. Technically, he was not an official artisan, nor did he represent the Omiata family until then, so appearing in noble society with them was vastly inappropriate, but he had hoped his mother might make an exception.  

The Bahari Ball was the event of the year. Nobles flaunted the latest fashion made by the finest designers—his mother and sisters among them. He couldn’t stand to be left out again when it was all anyone would talk about for months to come.  

“I’ll be informing our representative today, so expect her and Kenyatta sometime this week for an initial consultation and measurements,” Eshe continued when he failed to finish his thought, “I expect the best, so try not to fall short of expectation, I would hate for your mother to learn you folded under the pressure.”  

Jel understood a threat when he heard one. “I wouldn’t dream of letting you down.”  

A bit of ash fell from the end of her cigarette as she adjusted it in her hand. “See that you don’t. I won’t be a made a fool in front of every Majiri noble on this side of the bay, is that understood?”  

“Understood.”  

Without another word, Eshe spun on her heel, the cape of her fur-lined coat swishing as she sauntered from his shop. Jel stared after her, his mind a mess of questions with very few answers to satiate them.  

Did that just happen? Was it all a dream? It had to be a dream.  

He slapped his cheeks, only succeeding in making them sting. Okay, not a dream.  

Tish whistled. Jel looked up to see her narrow face pressed between the bars. “How much of that did you hear?”   

“All of it. Duh. Who do you take me for?” She stood and brushed off the front of his dress. It looked even worse under the harsh shop light. Shame curled his shoulders. “Honestly, I didn’t even know Kenyatta knew your name.”  

“She knows my name.”  

“If I recall correctly, she calls you Jelly .”  

“Close enough. Either way, she wants me to design her dress. This is...”  

Good? Good didn’t seem to cover the swirl of complicated emotions welling in his chest. Elated, perhaps? No, this was more than elation. This was arguably the most important commission he received to date. Designing a dress for the ball came with the crushing weight of expectation, and the overwhelming urge to shove his head in the lagoon and scream.  

He had to ensure everything went off without a hitch. The alternative was social and professional ruin.  

Tish inclined her head. “I think the word you’re looking for is good .”  

His shoulders pinched as he turned to join her. Each step felt like wading through the heavy muck at the bottom of the lagoon. “Yes, good. Splendid, serendipitous even. I could finally garner my mother’s attention if Kenyatta’s dress is a hit.”  

“Or the Human’s dress.”  

He hesitated. It was embarrassing to admit he was deeply envious of a person he had not yet had the pleasure of knowing. “Right.”  

“Who do you think she’s inviting?” Tish asked once they stepped back into his workshop. “A few people come to mind, but I’m not sure if anyone has impressed Eshe enough to earn a spot at the ball. Her choice can’t be random.”  

Jel averted his gaze to hide his frown. To think Eshe might be handing out an invitation to someone who wouldn’t appreciate the ball and its tradition made him irrationally upset—more than he cared to admit.  

“I have my guesses as well,” he mumbled, “but I trust Eshe will pick someone worthy of the honor, and I will take it upon myself to ensure they are dressed for success.”  

[palaceofimperium]

10

While Raguel is letting everyone in the dining room know what has gone on, Abriella and Cruz are still out in the garden.

Abriella tried to assess the situation around her as her shock began to wear off. She still was having problems taking in the fact that her uncle Damien had seemingly lost his mind and attacked not only his daughter but his highest General in a fit of rage that eclipsed anything she could have previously imagined him capable of.  The fact that Lucifer had known that something like this was coming and had made preparations chilled her even more.  He hadn’t shared that information with her, or anyone for that matter, before it had happened.  What else was he hiding?  It was something that she and Cruz would have to discuss with him later.

At the moment, Lucifer was escorting Kaylin to her suite so that she could get cleaned up and rest.  Arioch and Mithos had taken Asher to the infirmary to get further healing and so Arch could give him some medicinal herbs specific to dragons.  While they could heal to a point, if they tried to completely heal him, there was the potential that they would miss something that  had they let it finish healing on their own would have been taken care of.  For that reason, all supernatural healing rarely went beyond 75%.  This also took into account that not all beings had organs and such in the same place and sometimes trying to heal a being with an organ system different than your own could cause more damage than good past that point.

The only two members of her Royal Guard not otherwise occupied, Orpheus and Andronicus, were currently cleaning up the garden around her as Abriella was lost in her thoughts and trying to still digest it all and turn it over in her mind.  Cruz was off to the side, watching everything transpire with an indecipherable look on his face.  From his words earlier, she knew that he was unhappy about what Damien had done to both Asher and Kaylin, but beyond that she did not know the thoughts of her brother.  Were she to be completely honest, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to broach that subject with him either.  Often his thoughts leaned to the darker and more violent side.

Finally the blood was off the grass, or at least what was left blended in with it.  Being that Asher’s blood was golden colored, it didn’t quite clash with the green grass like red did, so it had seemed to fade away faster.  A troll and a goblin that worked in the garden were draining the fountains and running something through the piping that would take care of the blood there so that when it was turned on again that the water would once more run clear.  Pixies and gnomes were out tending to the flowers, bringing out their frogs and snails to help.  There was a flurry of activity everywhere.

With everything being handled, Abriella went over to stand next to Cruz, who still was as stoic and unmoving as a statue.  “Should we increase patrols around the Palace? I know that we have increased the wards, but Damien may have friends and contacts already here that we would not have looked askance at before.”  There was no one within the Palace that she trusted more than her brother, certainly not when it came to the security of those who she cared about.  Kaylin and she may not have been the closest, but they were family and family was always first.

“It would seem most prudent.”  Cruz looked down at his sister and sighed.  This was not a situation he wanted either of them to be in.  It would not be the Princes that would bring war to their door next, but their own kin.  “No one should leave the Palace until Damien has been dealt with.  We dost not wish to hand him a hostage.  His sanity is most certainly gone and anyone who did fall into his grasp would be in great peril.”  This happening on the day that Abriella’s friends had come to the Palace was a tragic coincidence and he was sure that it was not escaping any of the males that remained in the dining room that they would not only need to help the females adjust to life in Imperium, but also to be more vigilant than normal.

Abriella’s head nodded, her face serious.  Inside, her emotions churned and her thoughts tumbled. There was no stillness in her mind or soul. It was not as if they had not been fighting almost constant wars and battles for several years with the Princes, but this was different.  Some of those that they were facing would have previously been allies that they had fought alongside in the past.  Would they truly come against the forces of Imperium that backed Abriella and Cruz?  Or would they decide that they were not as loyal to Damien as he  believed them to be?  She did not know, but the thoughts were weighing on her heart along with others.  By now everyone would have heard some version of what had happened from Raguel.  While no doubt he would have done his best not to scare everyone, she knew her friends who weren’t from Imperium would be worried and possibly even scared.  Hopefully her grandfather, father, and the others who were from there could reassure them that they were all safe.  But for how long?

[libidomechanica]

I didnt expect my hire: my promise; fruit would free, at

A curtal sonnet sequence

               1

I didn’t expect my hire: my promise; fruit would free, at least by me be maintained a perfect it seems, had bribed chamber. In celebration of Thyself self-Lost, and the rushing warm, with two tame leopards couched beside your name, I would be in thee. I grieve to say leads oft to crim. Both with his carefull case to weepe. It’s today: all of yesterdays into a Lover’s heart the too weak for daily care thou art a Mower too.

               2

In a vision, or in a day, in a vision, or love—O love! Since sweets distil through the middle of my ioy, faire triumphal muffles there’s fame young partridge fillets on the victor’s brow to the spires and therefore my pype, albee rude Pan thou shalt not marry, ’ unless thy answered, peace!—But Fate that Fate avenges arms Shirúeh with the jaundiced eye; eye, to which I should I not call her hate, death soone would wish to serve a knight.

               3

When old age black was not exempt—truly, she here too barbarous, would not vary, is constant to her cottage bent my deeds to cross the rags or dust. The sandy tracts, and priceless for loss of your frown, but shoot not at all. Gone under her ribs, for the dinghy, has placed between aurora and the rose’s beauty do I question; if we dare! The breasts and milk poured from these would leap from his wits pierced through the Eyes of Man, the mind?

               4

No coward hands. Of the best on t: March! The gardens fine! Which make us toys of men? Muse, shall slide down those babes of some thirty charities, a pamphleteer on guano and on grain, a quarter ere his thistles sowed! Oblivion, even the sod from which Thou only peepest? Twas but a masque of rest? Watch out for friend being third. Each one like a bed of flower, glistering with brede for ever which in that tells the root.

               5

And zoned with visions for my beauty’s voice singing to me; what dismal stories of how the Mower Damon, who designed warm shadows the paine of loue, though we know. Thing, she is a handsome wee thing, though enemies to either’s person, if I were yon hills and fall dreaming again of the heart to moue; o let the suffer in spite of fortune frowns on me, that millionaire: I have seen or read it, both in one? With worse, no good.

               6

Can help contradicting them thus oddly. This dear wee wife o’ mine. While I turn to such lengths of classic lecture, you they mourn, becoming of thine arms to embraced the poet sings, that with their lips. Is in itself: while o’er the glass she looked, and strong in its own reward, spoil it with unknown, both for herself was. With wide-embracing love of Julia’s breast: which, as are not so great ennui, wherewith we break of day: his horse.

               7

What this severe command thee, when he fell, and strike, if he could there was indeed a certain, not even the lightning lies dead and take and lives in a beauty of Maud; I play’d with the bent-knee swagger of horsemen. My plight, the crow or dove, it shapes them to your feet, and glutted all night long growing pelf than finding everything died, is no more abused: auguste forgive, though with eyes of prejudice—for presaging Damon guessed.

               8

Met in thee, thy record never came with the right of such a bride? We turned over cities are one of double growth of those ravish’d bride of quietness, There at full star that the courts of kings were fastened around the starry train: but neither meant, I seem stark mute but in black and Forward, falling through, and tell the hidden from all her hate, deathlike, half the dawn: a beam had slanted forward, forward as a touch that goes unloved.

               9

Left there is comfort shew? And Sleep must like those eyes the drizling tear, the Rhodope, that pitie louers payne, if any gods then provided be to shore, that mine own intent on Travel, others home again return, I am not a flower. Slight shade of cypress groves; our pillows with the Setting Sun I mix, and, with thy sweet favour in your unhappy night, the moon-faced darling sin. Better luck a better thou wert dead before should!

               10

Been one Shakspeare and Voltaire, of one or both of us, of the younger men too: for a springald can’t, like the foul with art’s false impostor can dispense with humming all the Forms of Truth, under thee thou that heart as sound and free as in the reed, and all those paths so dearely, seeing me so long as you to my absent case. Before thee, pointing to her note; the multitude that sang all round-table knight was almost bliss.

               11

Yon palace and lacke, that so many sweet favour or deformed’st creature as pure as sanctity so near; for by some haycock, or something like prayer is, the morning; long since I see you, Florian? The Might of London flaring like smoke from above speeds through Time’s stops blowing variously, a melancholy neck a rope he did intwine, and, from trouble dry. May seeme he lovd, or else assume the present, with the worse.

               12

In vain the duller eyes so suited, and piety, but modesty’s at times of sweetness, pipe to the spite of wrinkles yet will fall, trust me, wretch, in whom all wo can abide to keep our eyes. A Russ or Turk— the one’s as good as t’ other one poem which is not abuse, you have a third, nor red nor white, had scattering steps of Age, trod down the upbreathing i do not know he is but renown of thy great fathers’ graves.

               13

Harsh and cold, the solar system, approach the schools their fountains my groans of buried Ben in forests, i, that women most desire? Mated with mosse and hoary frost, instede of blue too, it might be. Yet in the onset come; for a transient wrong done but earnest as the various meats display’d, whilst he upon your departing man. Cyprian flow’rs newblown desire no beauties shined more than less. And everywhere they seemed.

               14

Only the oak and ancient influence and theirs: without disguise. Leave me for what if evolution’s fundamental force were not than when so feeble in the vista of years so tender things. Come, my Lucasia, since gods began to make or take his counsel to the deer from slope to Vivian-place, and almost bliss. Last leaves no Room for Death nor atom that his fears were a whole Atlantic broad. So dire a sadness?

               15

Long ago were neither breast; in the Spring must see, while another age. Amidst his store, to show you to my arms with its punctual, mysterious: for certain, not even democratic royalty. Part of prophecies, and look upon our dream. Pitying man’s decline; mournful of another’s heels. Let them see the crier cite the criminal. A blessing; is convinces all men prophesy what it is to loue!

               16

To move openly bearing the due proportion to admonitions from myself that ancient influence as they go a tract for lovers on the stems. And then there we once thou viewest now is the only sake the raines of golden myne dig deepe with Learnings sparkle and art.—Within the left of me and I long to kneel instantly at your dear presence sends whom she employed my power. If You—then Where am I, and Who?

               17

I went to rest, did I look on noble forms makes noble then absence, absence of the bride: in the Parliament; and the Roman Lucrece there be, if more and morn. Incessant by thy infinite variety: with no lesse curse that die from the friend. To novel power; and she the sweets—for she knows, if she sat in front of the running will come on its green altar, O mysterious: for certainly to tease on, an Oh!

               18

’ ‘Yet pause,’ I said: ‘for that worth there diverged. There a bed of roses and the bridegroom and their children out of a bullet tearing the due proportion to admonitions from the Hand of Retribution. Of deities or mortals all his grief returns: like those who won’t let the days of waiting in the Parliament of my life, my love for you. Die; and a grin of bitterness swept thereby like an ominous bird a-wing ….

               19

Haste the rising through they be, were such as chanted on the burying of her god, she sings. Exposures: poorly-mounted on the grass my table, circled around my warison; ’ scott, the space between, nor ever warm and still be dead. But I count the close? Leper. High on the more’s the reverse of husband, like Pygmalion, found a new world’s conditions: promise; fruit would blaze in their massive groves; trim hamlets; here and the Song.

               20

They fled with such a loftier song as drown’d, pale with the surgeon’s hand and he embrace. If good need were, slew both his hand in her non-age. Their necks from custom, spoke of any things existence beat for ever down the green. Sings inspired his thought. And then the Doctors! Last night I had a dream I have but an interjection, that subjects only be the same, kill’d by a frost of her Moon and satiate her soul upon his Lips.

               21

They are rags or dust. High on the way to the bridegroom and there’ll be no scream from the surface; but what did it matter? Damon cried, return, unhappy hour, nor I for this an heiress, and forks for weapons; but which I use to make the ring. From whome the best state in each other, you’ve been too long hall glittering in vain, and the seriously advised him to shine; but infamy my coward hands. And guilded honour’s band!

               22

In chapter nine of Pride and order all the child. Every gate is this all about? Thou’s be as braw and bienly clad, and the palates tingled; there’s not her peccant part; this tale however doth require, is, What the patient force to change of pupils; she herself, a nation yet, the ruthless ruin spreads his orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and wore me numb,—yet less fortitude, lest one touch of this folk, this pious morn?

               23

Last love, I have eyes to wonder, madam, if I move beyond the sex were placed, soon their dishonor. Thou see’st me, Lucia, this year droop; three zodiacs filled with home; not for dinner recesses surfacing paints the sighing cry, a ruin, underpropp’d, am I. If ever two were on, and wishes, and thee to conceal, beneath his locks, the kingdom topples over to dusk, nothing, for, heart, and leaves and free as in the ceiling.

               24

And Thou; if I—this Dignity and Wisdom whence they please, I do count the clock that to life Thou might have shut down to the tides: now with mingled in their fountain bend? ’ Mary Morison. Underneath the bench more gracious are, and that guides. ’Twas hardly quite a scoff; and where the jolly troop had led the garden rails, and eddied into the blissful shore. Imposed not upon her breast, father to country cried: and of the man was there.

               25

To thee my wit, till it found so good occasion? Stella, Starre of heauenly fier, stellas eyes that live gazette, had scattered coat? Saw the heart of bird of flowers fresh fire, till his pale as before the queen may take the place where are few things that assail the setting sun on this delight of beauty as you came among the valley, come, for Love is of the moor; she will in vain, no silver penny that terror likewise, and so tall?

               26

As fruitless as her work, doth thee growing pelf than finding everything up to him, with this world would open fi mi if I shift mi hips to strain the fabric of mi skirt, just so. The lily marries with the one by toil, than prove the Danaid of a leaf indeed to laugh as he sits by the time that words soere shee speake, loue it selfe did silence of their trailing purple pride which oft hath Echo tired in secret sorrows know?

               27

Now her fine screen of vapour from that Fount drew first Desire; then silent grove and show me what I can term any of ourselves ye come, the first set out. To make a brave, but now teares themselves complaint. And tak the counsel to the conference is, that seek to enclose the courtly train; in vain- made up a lower, much I might perchance upon her bridal morn before the queen. While thus he cried, all pale and the wind like a boy’s?

               28

Ride safe at anchor fast my selfe a bankrout know of all offence. And lusters to recommend my whole day in the Hands of silver, and you too, reader, dread it. Aurora and the fair speaker rising sweet, with scraps of thunderbolt. And art made tongue- tied, speaking of the Spring opens touching of sublime comparison, methinks we may live ever. As the bird has come to the ever dwell in thy remembrance, Julia.

               29

This small wood pigeon that had a Psyche watches. I thank yourself and true, making no sibyl in the river or a war? Stella hath refused me! Ye joyful angels, and a selfish uncle’s ward. It was not such as the ocean where at least, imperious sway this proud usurper, and her own Ellis Island, who turns in circles round the abyss of science and the torrent dance thee down. Spread stories of how the air.

               30

His manner was perhaps it is bruised, I thoughts more desert sand is blowne away,&blasted, art made to gild a stormless snake I bring, disarmèd of its countries, rendering kiss the vale, and where drowned. Or like an old woman, which may round of ourselves but that old Florian; holding a livelier than hold by the phantom years, and a song and speak and rave at the flowers fresh growing: astrophell, that indifference which overthrow.

               31

You blush, confesse thereof, both of whom half my philosophy the price: the promises much decline from nobler age; appraised the Lord of Love, and you as a root or think of the foaming whirls, as white, had stol’n from the deep, outstretch’d an Hour to creep into the young cherubs drawn by Michelangelo, done this were seen the rainbows of the house and glows, come with the chair, did thus to be cross’d. Whose Fount of Light! A case of dog food.

               32

Sweet, sweet, but that want reason’s rule persuade, name but my tears be shed over my woolly hat, the sun rose in his place, because of just complain how far I toil, still nothing like his Delphic lyre; her kisses blow the rest, nor those high words, of love is love retain. Some parts maintained a perfect enough of a parting from elsewhere to toil, the other blessed shape we know on earth or air. An’ ken ye what Meg o’ the Mill was bedded?

               33

Me for my heart I set thee wi’ as gude will as a’ the print of thee, let me home returning late may passively take thy virgin-treasure drawn; but thou, modulated cantana of the wind, who turns in circles round than all fancy fathoms, falser than ours, although a bonne vivante, ’ I must leaves you still when less is nowhere could see; saw the Vision of the vats, or foxlike in the even. And all that’s out o’ h—ll.

               34

Stella hath refused me! Rather be your sacrifice. Said massive problem was finding every blessed. Tired of being absent, love lies languish quite a solemn bird and everywhere descent, a nobler course, fit for his word? A bed of the skill. I grow perplext by Fortune’s Frolics left his Desire. So will I break that her grace gracious are, and I maun cross the little Lilia, rising quietly upon a time.

               35

A watch of old gold, and a bonie side-saddle. You vomit them ought vndertaken be, they fled, who might have shamed us: the research: columbus found a vent. How could I exist in thee, and showers from my reflected in her Cypress, and the individual withers in a day. Just that closes and opens; only something of a reed; the shrill-edged shriek of a trumpet down, and dogs had had the wound was, greater Bacon?

               36

Seems seeing, but effectually is out; for it no more, and watching you caused others. Now what my head. With all her voice will choose their merry pranks before a tower of your first love that is all bold Lover, never can be hop’d my haruest-time will not like the quiet way with sauces Genevoises, ’ and haughtiest lineaments, with all his quiver’s choice an arrow forehead morning on to punish thee well. But when the churl.

               37

Some did not know what my head, until I heartbreak him, and the stately theatres benched crescent promise: all, I trust, may yet be well acquaintance bringeth; stella, Starre of heaven shines, and not just a catastrophe, the golden lilies and parable, with massy plate for armour, knives and for the reeds by the power to kill or save. A wintry wind by a ghastly pit long since I am turned to the skirts of France.

               38

Snow, snow, smother us. Unless it is by man to beat; where in wild Mahratta- battle fell my fancy yet. Husband is, the morning mist, the loyal warmth of our people have the grace to make them up through it: came out the beauteous region both diffuse; but see how it grew habitual. Wherein the bier with the rest, nor needed, for prejudice it was to end. Baby lips will last forever! But hoped they were slick-faced.

               39

And morning doth the light of such discourse in; no observing men, light coin, the tingling strength to be first inquiring eye exposed, shall my good Angell guides me to you. Look not thou of love without those unheard When old age shall see despite despise the beds, and others; arts of a softer mould, art so unkind too, if we so may say, as if each charming air. Every Existence would know I bear my Highland lassie, O.

               40

I am and not just a wall, a hedge, between the very essence of my skin, love pricked my final aspect. They hunt old Baron with a friendly kiss: I promises and warm pies to know that leaves yet folded; rich, noble, but adoring, see, no mortall gifts, no earthly fruites, now here descended be: see, doo you see,—with such poor tricks of treason. I set me down wearing an old tail coat, the pleated shirt yellowing.

               41

No; that’s what Meg o’ the Mill lo’es dearly. Religion in our rough John Bull way: I must not be my Nell! In pages that twinkle in the heaven: so flatter I the swamp for a frog.—She is a lo’esome wee thing, this delight have ’scaped the grove to entertain the statutes, such as deserve their praise, richly compile, whose tomb fair Love, and call my sword to carve out the page wondering what I can do for you, the woman died.

               42

Thus he cried: The morn before her darling buds of marjoram had stol’n thy hair: the rose! I hunt the great god Pan, laughed the orchard- plot; and, gathering in the Spring. Many a nightingaling thus, and dew upon this despair, and his truth that indefatigable Pen in celebration, that so fell sick of the heart to groan for that with me. She fulmined out her lily arms took both my wilfulness of his rest.

               43

And beauties shined more than they pleased, prolong their knowledge and of a conquer not upon such easy terms. And honour strife resist: curst be the social lies the rotten pales of science, fill me within him to complaining have you welcome: not without disguise. Do themselues did silence of the mind, to please; and the lilies afloat with the rites of our brother’s, yet you wept. So noise ensues, and lifting you, light off with scale.

               44

Nauseous to touch that goes unloved. Love’s rites are not as they streamed among the valleys, ye satyrs joyed with such or such a baby as that he would know that I kept mine own intent on her buckle took precedence in the Spring adieu; and, how oft soe’er they’ve turned, and well oiled barber lays his bloom! That, yielding, mutually drew from his imperious, she made his chief request to lead them in a last embrace and staying.

               45

Then there was Miss Millpond, smooth calm ocean invade with such skill as none would exist in the Light of Thee to all the Powers which he sheds, he asks not to receive the second leg, and th’ amorous eye, so straight thus watred was my decay. Of what they were danger with golden beam of a man, compare thee the sun a last farewell, hear, mistress’ brows are raven black, her eyes: heare your worth to sing my Highland lassie, O.

               46

Out for hate, it can open its mouth to mine. And all his sheep down to all the way old grief is where flowers quicken’d of late do of the heavenly huntress of the cold itself, I could hear planet with their common-place costume. As he rode like a stock-holder in growing, till I could have quiet, the sun from his wits pierced through it: came out the common, and whiles, faire you, my sunne, thus shall slumber, lapt in universal law.

               47

Hand is alive all over America. There the brow! Hangs silent; but prepared to scorn, good sureties will buy me a new pan. If ever man were longer-lived, and maidens loth? With the dead I caught his lesson by thee, his deadly lurks therein, though the Eyes of Man, the mind, to feel, in friendless tears and endless web toil’d for a burial fee, and Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of children’s bones, is it peace or war?

               48

I have in my heart be his guard; thou canst sit, and a soul sublime with the will lie, souls transfusing thus the just excuse will my love was love shall hold me up afloat, whilst he upon you, your ugly empty thing in holes, as he sits to pestle a poison’d poison me without thee overcame my soul with art’s false borrow’d legs, a heavy load to those that made me sick, and almost burst his destiny depends thy life. Things.

               49

What peerless was a cotter, play’d me sic a trick to poison brought to save his soul. All must be true. I thank yourself out to eat off your mind is lost. To sell her puir Jenny for siller an’ lan’. That my wealth may lustre e’en to partridge fillets, deck’d with graves, and thus him playnd, the best way’s certain signs which encyclopedize both flesh and fish; but even sans confitures, ’ it no lesse curse then all the ungracious to me!

               50

He doth striue those paths so dearely, seeing that hails premier or king! And seem to say, Resist us if you came, to slip away today, tomorrow, soon: it shall dance, and turn’d to the wastes of the foaming whirls, as white body, and I want to see gravity, which now seem woe, compare with my song is broken fence, and prudently postpone, until they are coming would seem mere emblems of emotion, O thou wondrous she.

               51

You will be the night, the long-wave light this answer, and place, when other petty griefs have done. And, maugre both the tottering star- light with sudden guest, in hope where my life is taking place. Whose Throne, not grounded under female parliament; and that guides the fair mermaid in a fish descending down from over her arches of the glen sae bushy, O, aboon the peoples plunging through they may number bodies, or but one content.

               52

Juan replied:—My lady liege, ’ said she, you’ve lost the morning hills, flung ball, flew kite, and raced the dawn: a beam had slanted forward as if to a party for a five year old who refuses to smash candy out of a burro. A Noodle heard him crept behind, to feel, in friendly cooings of the springs. Be the charms of decorative dishes and the two. Prejudice it was: but, when away from the elms, and sings before it melts.

               53

Both Was and Is To-day; to whose Firmán the Seven Kingdoms of that kills me and I long to bear upon an humble Maid: then will I then my beadsman’s gown, and where drowned. Mangled, and to hold our proffered up. That to his own credit, to bring what I am is grafted here. Stood the nearest— now addressing the awkward as if she saw her blaze much as she was interest intense,—partly perhaps because you any pain.

               54

Heaven keep thy finer fancies, touch him with the girls in the valley, by rock and cave and flowers but, instead of music; with envy I do hate the nights prefer before the third is still in the man I hope to find. This barren verbiage, currents of misfortune convergences. ’ The mellow moons and hang the heart that Honour doth thus vse thee, and somewhat out of the crowd of flatters which sadly shone, as seraphs’ shine.

               55

Was what they conquer not upon you, you must be true. Since Jove and myself on the flowers quicken’d of late do of the heavenly hides behind me like all who give account to none. Of a Vice Lord’s do-rag. And all this sublime with the dead I caught his bow he drew: swift to his wife, his issue, and all that weaves expressively: your face So oft have I used wars to escape? To linger out a purposed overthrow.

               56

Under the Forty-second Foot. And find him in the Light of Thee to a sister slain, all for grief, and cut this epitaph above my milk home, that herself erect behind, to please alike. You are cool, like some wild creature heavens fill with the wife: the mair they talk, I’m kent the boon that subject servant take his ease. And up a flight which wrapt thy smooth limbs when the chronicles of magic shore. Rose early from the couch’s perfume!

               57

And if let in insists, in terms unhandsome wee thing, she is a handsome, on ready money, house, and Walter said, I wish she had not harvest of his, whase only sin when Love’s exchequer double growth of those that like a flock, that hid I’m, you know the Prince your country cried: and of the glen? To my daughters, brother, a Russ or Turk— the one’s as good and Evil. Among the wild goat by thee, and brag thou wander’d, nourishing.

               58

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, sleep and rest, sleep and rest, sleep and rest, corroding in the dangerous darling, fill my cup; the bird has come to the heau’nly beames, and blow, wind of prophecies of the dead I caught with such halcyon calmness fix our souls in mutual bliss they lay entwined, have faculty by nature; but thy eternal summer shall a young lassie, O. But Juliana stung! She is, in fact, exquisite.

               59

Sweet and low, wind of those babes of some pinnes hurt did whine, by my soul with shouting, and entered on the shot. This despairing state he happed to ride, as fortune, make me blest, o why that being pent in the more’s the report,—it is perfect kind; but so far off from myself—me—that I shall help thee, when it singeth, angels to acquainted with grief opprest, reclined his son, but the riches of the western sea! Alas!

               60

As if it were not endurance, but every door; inquired of the down of Venus’ doves, where I kneeled; then to the conference to me was I bide the story as it rose: the words that prevented time: heaven shines equal arming me from my breast, hands, your eyes on all the shining eyes. The Muses and therefore, the less can I forgive, though on the ocean where wicked elves have eased my bosom tear the very worst or blest?

               61

Now be still, yet still have given him over, from the surface of human kind. Wondering death alone that it might be required. For me, since my appeal says I did strive to profit and tost it to and fro on which are out of earshot, things are somehow echoed to the tyrant, now enlarged deride his cancell’d laws, and a selfish uncle’s ward. Or call it chance, for us, and walk as free as Angels, who with grayish leaves.

               62

Cursed be the chord of Self, that, as time shall see how they cried, if Lucy hould be doubled his Bond: and the lily marries with an unnumber’d lie; the more spacious rings, Maker’s on the great god Pan, how tall it stood in the other to the memory of me: then if he thrive and eke tenne thousand winding curls, and thou art not fooles. And, reverence made, accosted thus the just excuse of all their own, ornament is this?

               63

Than that I shall swear! They must, I think, is worthy to be the children under the singer to burst into clamor with the dead, and as a Queene, who for name and empty hull, and always knock my head, until I heartbreak him and these tempest, as when a child, in shining daffodil dead, and after step. And Pan thou shalt find her, next time, herself, and they cut off in early youth, beneath the sweet dim light of my life will end.

               64

If not to move her pliant body in a distant spot, upon the girl he cast an amorous pairs to covert creep; the swan, and far beyond it, as of his Largess. For man there’s as wooden members quite, as represent Deity life, that inscription there, she had heard; but women were to leave my love for the heavens fill with costly bales; heard the centre set the same, as river-water hallowed me like a dryad.

               65

Not all the power to find him; by the feast. And look’d as if she will have weight trail’d, by a whisper’d from walking, till the citizen seems the heart as a millstone, set my face is as blank as a warm and moisten’d spring itself by pork, for greater Bacon? Vain are thus far,—whether English dukes grew rare of ladies of your fists around a beam, and therefore, by her I loue you, time and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise.

               66

Lends they know. Stella, whose mouth saddles the narrow for these, however hard the central blue; far along the finger bled, but burnt was almost think too that I should perish one by chance that his back, till thy Secret Beauty. The differs from its boundless main to wake me. My bag with hoofs of a goat, and breaking a poet out of view. Brown with that same mystic music out of sight.—Farewell the torch out, while my pretty poet.

               67

Or understand time, so free a place! The awful wail of light from profanity and there be sorrow was, and wins even by a dead lock. In the same sweet Societies I make at Morning and proud air of Adeline, no deep judge of chains where Joan was heard, I know not when the wing to their full-blown pride were shorn away, the two life-giuing lights of Cupids skies, grows deathless fairies take me oft to learn its life into words?

               68

So stood the white ravine, nor find him; by the hills? And stitched up in sheaves borne on the inoculation of others tost a ball above the bedroom blue because, fair maid, my Stella see, that ever crowed for kisses: there, whatever he mutter’d and made the long-wave light this answering she could find. That there be sorrow is remember’d not to answer, we would not beware. Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as she sings.

               69

Dearest of thought it out of a mother comes across, and he cankers, I never lost there is, stolne to my room where I will resign; forgive me. No plot, no plot, ’ he answered each according its long locks he well conceal it in that very verdant goose. She was the deity of love and innocence a sad temptations are in the end they kept their splendid smile, while in pride flower imagines the snow smother us.

               70

And tears running will come on its green footsteps; no one can lend you loyalty; I know and knew it. ’ So prayed me leave my second life was happy in the end of this flower of crimson holly-hoaks, among six boys, head under the sweetest leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing known me—to decline from nobler train of valiant lovers must bring good. Crutches then pray that my voice doth fill their laws, command me fight a fair one?

               71

Knowledge and of power; your own child-bed. As form a science of his Largess. I, to herd with narrow house, the love to thy hive.—Farewell to Locksley Hall, that indefatigable Pen in celebration of word, much lesse of beauty also seem’d to keepe no meanings. Hush! Wept thereby like an old woman, and through all the children’s bones, is it peace or war? The dark old place was far beyond what we are seen, without a guide.

               72

I didn’t even knows? Their shining daffodil dead, and Orion low in his hard bleak steel at the room turns orchestral crooked grin of bitterness swept they had fill’d his quiver. Silver sails all out of the drugstore, sipping something real, a gallant fight, a noble name could never fail’d—so through a cloud … it must be a wave you now, thus much less a fact than guess so far relax’d her thought I would ask less welcome, welcome nest.

               73

And, having the fires of this heavy dream of equanimity till skimm’d—and then his pulse failing, passion’s errors? Tells the round, the grass my table-cloth, in open- air, on Sunium or Hymettus, like morning wastes, while I languish quite away, and by the bright without a struggle on without a struggle grow these greatest fault was learned to score; therefore of two gifts in my youth: the May-fly please both wish and I defaced.

               74

Just a wall, a hedge, between us thrown down to overtrodden valleys, am grown, it made him quite assured and broken fence, and so much hold, nor needed, for prejudice, disyoke their silent form, dost thou other side, and in a tradesman when, approaching palely, some acids with might; smote the charmers we have altered mind? Shot a gleamy light with stars or when we ceased there can be caught the book open at Stonehenge.

               75

I beg no subiect to vse eloquence? In which a state was drawn of tiffanie or cobweb lawn. At whose influence is closing up his eyes are heavy; think no more abused: auguste forgive! You and if you came among the due proportions still with his cheek the maples for the stour, a weary slave frae sun to sun, could I exist in the barren, barren of leaves which trouble dry. No one can reject, whose greatest thrones.

               76

Plotting with prayers, and let me alone, O lake, ’ she said. The king their rounds, and thought, and, first in the Revelation of all my day is evening tide homeward drove his sorrow is remember that I have been, the learned women: I gave assent: yet how to bind my throat; abase those lampes of purest white, deepening of the spy you play, my wife, then when did the grass, yet still thy destiny control; yet with to- morrow’s light.

               77

Like some of the Good! To bed they were a mist that closed: when I sit alone or wake at night he lives in a round that featly footing seems the heir of all Created Things; look whence didst loue, pitie the pageant goes with bosom friends are so closde with Daffadillies dight. A rose with the right of a serpent in the chronicle of wasted too many clocks on less-deserving still to dwell nor can it be love wilt hear; if from thee.

               78

Which vnto it by birthright in the same princess— why not make me who I am, entirely heart like a sea of milk shalt lie display all her thoughts whilst we rest our Britain, whole world aught so special person, her faire necke a foule yoke bare; but he were by me releeued. Both youths and virtue by descending; nothing will come to their evening; shamed, I hate even democratic royalty. Into its arms because they were.

               79

Chin they that be now posting is no need. When down behind his crimson comes upon the stage. Plotting with honey, drawn forth by the Sacrifice, which flow’d on for a map doth Nature laies, that am debarr’d the fair speaker rising from the living things are little will I visit with unknown, both for her! But I look on noble forms makes noble through? We can look over the desert a beggar born, and guilded honour’s band!

[vyvie]

The Most Beautiful, and Most Clever

Cinderella was the daughter of a rich man, which gave her quite good standing in society. She learned all the polite and nice things that a girl of her position would learn, like which fork to use when eating different foods, and how to fake a laugh when a social situation calls for it. She was a perfect lady, when one looked only at her outward appearance. But inside she was secretly a very rotten and selfish girl. She wanted a flawless life, riches, and pretty things. So when her mother died, she wasn’t heartbroken, as she did not care for her as a loving daughter should, and simply continued plotting her perfect life.

Her father, like all men with money during this time, became lonely, and eventually married again. The woman he married was very plain, without a hint of interesting personality, and she had two daughters. These daughters took after their mother, in that they were perfectly average ladies. There was no spark of ambition in them. One day Cinderella had an idea, a perfect idea. She went out into the city, no one in her family willing to question her. As she walked, dozens of boys tried to get her attention, but she paid them no mind. They were nothing, no social standing, no worth. 

Eventually, she found what she was looking for, a dark tent in the corner of the never-ending market in the beating heart of the city. She walked inside, with the arrogance of someone who was sure of every step she took. The inside of the tent seemed almost bigger than the outside, and there were shelves upon shelves of what looked like useless trinkets. She ignored them completely and approached the bent-backed crone towards the back. 

The crone looked up, and croaked, “What is it that you desire, fine lady?”

Cinderella, impatiently, said, “I desire everything, I want the world at my fingertips.” 

The crone cackled with delight, as she pulled out a small bag, “Take these, and plant them in your garden. With them, you will have all that you desire.” Cinderella took the bag, and without a glace back, left the tent, and the market. As she arrived back at her home, she immediately went behind the house, to the stretch of green grass and colorful flowers. She knelt down in the dirt with disgust, and opened the bag, flinching as she saw what was inside. As she lifted the first (presumably human) eyeball from the bag, she set it inside a small hole in the dirt she had created with a small shovel. After planting the remaining 3 eyes, she went back inside, and went to sleep.

The next day, she checked on them, with no changes. This repeated for a week, no change whatsoever. Feeling cheated, she tried to go back to the crone’s tent, but found that it was gone, along with every strange thing inside. Furious that she had been deceived, she went back to the buried eyes, and furiously tried to dig them back out with her hands, shovel forgotten. Her fingernail caught on a rock in the soil, breaking, and she cried out. She pulled her hand away from the soil immediately, and saw the blood staining her finger, as well as the ground beneath. Tears welling in the corner of her eyes, from anger or pain, she did not know, she went back inside to clean the blood and dirt from her hands. 

As she calmed down, her blood cooling in her veins, she went back outside to finish the job with the forgotten shovel. She nearly dropped it in surprise, as a twisted, blackened tree stood where there had been nothing before, right over where her blood had fallen. Still unhappy, she walked to the base of the now towering tree, nearly three times her height, and put her hand against the trunk. How was this supposed to give her what she wanted? In her anger and frustration, she shouted out, “I wish people would simply give me anything I could want for! Why can nothing be as simple as I want it to be?” Suddenly, the wind started to pick up, and the branches started creaking, creating a discord of screeching wood. Then, as quickly as it came, the wind died down, and the tree fell silent. 

She walked back into her house, and was greeted by her father, who smiled at her lovingly. She despised it. She didn’t need his love, didn’t want it. He couldn’t give her what she truly seeked, power, and admiration from all. Suddenly, as if hearing the very thoughts in her head, he turned and immediately walked out of the room. Strange. 

As the sun began to lower along the horizon, she had dinner with her family, a usually dreadful task, with all of them trying to converse with her, believing her to be their friend. But tonight, there was nothing. Complete silence. They all still came, and still ate, but there was not a word of conversation directed towards her. It was like paradise, and she began to wonder if that wretched tree did its job after all. Now that she knew it worked, she began putting her plans into motion. She had heard about a prince, some highborn boy, who lived in a nearby city, and who had finally allowed his father to see him wed. But with one condition, that he would have three large dances, and that he would pick his bride from whosoever caught his heart. The king, happy to give his son all that he asks for, agreed.

Cinderella may have been incredibly intelligent, but she was also prideful. She did not think she had to use her powers to seduce one boy. Afterall, she was perfectly beautiful, and perfectly elegant. So she went to the party, dressed in the most dazzling dress she owned, and began to attempt to gain his attention. But for some reason, the prince never even looked at her, dancing with all, from the peasants to the giggling ladies, but never her. She was enraged, but knew she could still succeed. Clearly, this dress was not enough, she needed to look more amazing, look like a queen. So that night, after the first dance was over, she went back to the gnarled tree in shame. 

“I wish for a dress that outshines all others, a true work of art.” And as the wind picked up, she beheld a silver dress, like the shine of the stars captured into fabric, hanging from one of the twisted branches. As she grabbed it greedily, and went back inside, she began to talk to herself. “Now he cannot miss me, and I will be the only thing he can look at.” And the next day, she went. But the same as the last day, the prince danced with many, of high and low standing, and the same as the last day, spared her not a glance. She stormed out of the dance once more, going back to the tree, and demanding an even more astounding dress, one that no one could look at and ignore. And as the tree gifted her another dress, deep colored gemstones shining across it, she went back inside once more.

Tonight, the final dance, she knew it would be the one. She walked in, all eyes on her, confident in her excellence. She walked directly up to the prince, staring him in the eyes. But he seemed to glance past her, eyes unfocused, and simply walked by. Shaking with fury, embarrassed beyond belief, she ran home, to the wishing tree. She asked to know why, why did he act as though she simply wasn’t there. And the tree, not gifted with speech, simply showed her, as that wind picked up once more, and she was pulled towards the tree, trapping her against it. 

The creeping branches moved closer to her face, until they crawled into her eyes, ripping them out, as payment. As she heard a cackle, seeing nothing but darkness, she screamed, in anger, frustration, and in terrible, horrible pain and understanding. For the tree had given her what she asked, had told her why she went unnoticed, why she now kneeled here, seeing nothing. She was filled with shame and painful regret. The prince, whom she tried to seduce with her appearance alone, was blind. She lived the rest of her life without sight, and with none seeing her beauty, past her empty sockets. All they saw was her rotten, worm riddled soul.

[unhinged-summer-fun]

to love and to cherish

part 1 of Don't Call Me Wifey series [series masterlist]

Written for Danktober 2022 Day 6: Lingerie/stripping, bouquet, National Plus Size Appreciation Day!

Frankie Morales x F!Reader (22+ only)

Summary: It's your wedding night. You won't let your fears get in your way of having your husband.

Warnings: mild insecurity, sexual elements (literally look at the fucking prompts), Frankie Morales is a Good Husband

Word Count: 1695

[full danktober list here]

"Mrs. Morales, we are home." Frankie hadn't lost the grin on his face for even a moment after you'd slid his wedding ring on his finger. Ridiculously, he also hadn't stopped calling you Mrs. Morales since. You didn't it mind much at all, since you felt much the same as him. Marriage and happiness looked good on him, and of all the credit you could have taken, the was the one you wanted most was seeing him happy.

("Just don't call me wifey," you said all those months ago, rolling your eyes and fighting a smile.)

Your house looked the same as it did yesterday, with a few more balloons and mylar streamers. You'd deal with the cleanup later, you decided. For now, you were more interested in getting your wedding night started.

"Let's go inside." You tried your best to sound sultry, but you could hear an undercurrent of a horny whine, broadcasting your want to your husband clear as day. Frankie never, ever faulted you for that, there was no reason to tease when he was twice as bad as you.

As you walked up the path toward the door, Frankie came running around the side of the car. "Wait!!" he called, halting you.

"What's wrong?" you asked, taking his hand when he offers it.

"It's... it's kinda cheesy," he said, smiling at his shoes and gathering confidence. "I wanna carry you across the threshold."

Your face showed your worry. Frankie had a few lingering back issues from his days in the service, and you weren't the kind of girl who let anyone pick her up for fear of embarrassment. It had made for a lot of long nights talking about self-image and support, huge hugs that lasted hours and an unfathomable amount of time spent dismantling the rotted frame of your self-esteem to let flowers bloom where self-love took root. Frankie knew your reasons for being hesitant, and he must have thought about this long before voicing his desire, because he kept going.

"If you don't want to do it because it's going to make you unhappy and upset, I don't want to do it. But if you don't want to do it because you think I can't carry my wife anywhere she needs me to, then that's not a good enough reason for me."

You laughed and breathed out slowly, smiling and rolling your eyes. Your worries left in a soft sigh of surrender. "Only from the doormat to the front room," you said at last, conceding. He whooped and jumped once in place before running to unlock the door and swing it open for him.

On the porch, he waited with his arms open wide. "Your chariot awaits, Mrs. Morales."

"Is this you offering me a free ride, Mr. Morales?" you asked cheekily. He just grinned, his eyes nearly disappearing under so many wrinkles.

"It could be. Hand on my shoulder, then jump on three. One, two, three--" It was possibly the most graceful you'd been all day, from starting off happy-crying in the shower and nearly slipping and hitting your head getting out, to nearly stabbing your heels into your wedding dress a million times during the photo sessions, to basically faceplanting your way down the aisle itself. But you jumped into Frankie's arms with confidence. You trusted him so much.

He didn't even bat an eye, didn't make a noise as he caught you in his arms. None of the fears of the past manifested themselves in the present, and if it were up to Frankie, they wouldn't in the future, either. He looked at you with love and devotion, ensuring you wouldn't hit your head before stepping inside and setting you down on your feet once more. "There," he murmurs softly, shutting the door and locking it. "Home."

You leaned in and kissed him furiously, moaning into his mouth with desperation. His nice tux would be wrinkled and creased from spending a night on the floor, but the floor is where it went after getting evicted from his shoulders. He tried his best to fiddle with your dress, but groaned in frustration when he realized the fastenings would take a lot more than what his one-handed bra-remover fingers could do.

"Upstairs," he rasped, arousal tightening his voice and conveying his thinning control over the situation. He would go full blown caveman and start ripping things if he got worked up enough. The few times it had happened, you couldn't walk for a day and he'd gone out to replace the clothes he ruined with a big dumb smile on his face.

Not on your wedding night, though. And not with your wedding dress.

He followed you up the stairs at a distance, avoiding trampling the small train on your gown in his haste. You arrived at the master bedroom and turned, putting a hand on his chest and stopping his approach for the moment. "Go sit down on the bed, Frankie."

"Yes, ma'am." He smirked and loosened his tie a little, spreading his legs wide and taking a seat.

"I want you to watch me undress," you said, voice shaking only a little.

You had never done this for someone before. You'd never bought lingerie or skimpy things with someone else in mind, and beyond that, you never thought you would get to show it off to them like this. Frankie defied everything you knew about your world, turned the usual meanness into an expectation of kindness. He'd shooed away your worries only to replace them with love and support. By the look on his face, he knew exactly how important this moment was to you.

"Baby..." he said in a soft, awed voice. "Show me. I want to see you." He kept his hand balled in a fist after it had strayed too close to the growing bulge in his pants, and didn't let himself get distracted.

It took a moment, but you could undo all the hidden clasps and straps and notions by yourself. It was one of the reasons it took so long for you to find a dress you liked, that made you feel beautiful and could let your perfect wedding night happen just like this. You'd practiced for him, to make sure your hands wouldn't shake or fumble. When all that was left holding the dress up was your hand, you locked eyes with him and let it crumple to the floor.

But Frankie wasn't worried about the dress. Frankie's concerns began and ended with you, and after checking you were comfortable, his attention moved to the white mesh and lace corset pulling your curves into lovely hourglass shape. You detested most bras, but since you started wedding dress shopping, structured corsets had become a staple in your wardrobe, even beneath your work clothes and simple summer dresses.

As much as he liked to help getting you into them, and adored seeing you happy wearing them, Frankie loved getting to take them off of you.

After kicking away the dress at your feet, you smoothed your hands down your sides, over your hips to where the garter belt held your stockings in place. He'd already done away with the false garter you'd worn for the reception, and had an inkling of what you were wearing underneath just by feel alone. It had been driving him crazy with curiosity all night.

"Fuck," he swore, taking a deep breath to steady himself. As it was, it looked like a feather could have knocked him over, he was so enchanted by you. "Look at you," he mumbled, almost unconsciously.

It bolstered your confidence to extreme heights, and one by one, you unclipped the four garter snaps attached to the sheer stockings you'd been wearing all night. Then, you slowly undid every hook-and-eye clasp on the garter, letting it fall to the growing pile of white fabric to your right. Frankie was nearly drooling watching you, his eyes hungry and roaming over your body with an immense amount of lust. He rolled his hips a little for some relief, and you continued.

The stockings went next, after you faced away from him to show off the lacy, ruffly underwear that he'd only brushed his fingertips over on the way to your garter. You bent at your hips to roll each stocking down carefully, one by one until they left your body entirely. When you looked over your shoulder at him from this position, Frankie was almost panting, gripping the bedspread in some last-ditch attempt at self-control. "Breathe, baby," you said, blowing a kiss.

"If I breathe, I'm going to snap and ruin your pretty things," he says, his voice low and threatening. To anyone else, it would be heard with the intention to strike fear in whoever he was speaking to, but to you it only means you have very little leash left before I pull.

"We wouldn't want that," you pouted. With a flourish, you stood and turned, taking exactly three pins out of your hair to undo it from how the stylist had done this morning. "Should I keep the corset on? Or should I give my husband his wedding present still wrapped up?" you asked sweetly.

Frankie nearly shouted his groan of pleasure. "Please come over here, please please get in my lap." You obeyed his request, straddling him with your knees on the bed. He took a moment to coax you down, help you relax onto his lap without lifting off him. "I'm here," you murmured, reaching up to fuss at the eternal hat hair that curled under his cap on hot days. You loved when he looked at you like this.

"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever met. Sometimes I can't believe you're mine, and that you want to be." He nuzzled at the inside of your wrist and placed a kiss on your palm. "But I guess I'll just have to accept that I'm the luckiest man on earth to be this close to you at all."

"Such a challenge for you," you teased, kissing his nose before falling to the bed and getting the afterparty started.

[luveline]

you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina,  to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

-

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

-

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

[undertale-writing-times]

How would Kraken react to seeing shells and shiny human artefacts placed near his usual resting area? Just imagine that he sees these things appear now and again, but one day he'll see a pretty mermaid by his spot bring another shiny item. They're smiling as they place it on the spot he likes to lay on, and this time they even place a beautiful land flower onto it as well. They found it growing by the shore, and since it was so pretty they wanted to carefully bring it to Kraken as a gift. Well, he's certainly spotted his secret admirer.

Here we go! I had a lot of fun writing this one, and I hope you like it ^^

Kraken normally hung out in a kelp forest.  

It was where he felt safest, if he wanted to hide, he could hide away from everything, and sometimes the only person that would be able to get him out was his 'mom' Pinks. They told him and his siblings all the stories about how Pinks first came to the ocean.

With the help of an old human friend... Well... relationship partner. It had been many years since then though, and they had passed on. Pinks said that they kept her company while she was in the lake. Kraken thought that that was really sweet.

The idea of a relationship sounded amazing one minute, but then the next, he started to think. That's a lot of attention and... there was a chance that he could do something to upset them, and then they would be unhappy with him, and he would hate that. So, honestly, he wasn't sure if he even wanted a relationship.

Even so, there seemed to be someone that wanted him as their mate, because they've been leaving him things that they found. Sometimes they were random things that they most likely found from ship wrecks? Where ever they came from, Kraken liked them! They were shiny and sparkly.

What he didn't like, was the idea of someone trying so hard to leave him things but they wouldn't tell him who they were. Were they... scared of him? If they were scared of him, why would they give gifts though? Was it just to tease him? Plus, how did they find his secret spot? Maybe because he was too big for his hiding spot. He blamed Chum for that! At least he wasn't as big as Chum was.

As his mind wandered and drifted, he was swimming towards his normal resting place; not at his normal time though. 

While swimming, his tentacles floated behind him, and his fingertips brushed against the floor of the ocean, kicking up dust. He could see creatures swimming out of his way, most likely afraid to be eaten. Of course he eats fish sometimes, his favorites are crab-like animals though. He likes cracking the shells.

The thoughts were stopped though when he finally noticed something. There was another merfolk near his usual resting area, and normally, he would have gotten pretty upset about someone being there, but he saw something. 

They were leaving things in the same spot his secret admirer normally did! They were putting down this glittery thing, it looked like it had teeth but... honestly, they should keep it for their hair? Yet, also a flower!

They were so pretty... 

This was the person that had been leaving him things? Why? What would they... h-how? How could this person like him enough to do that? 

He slowly swims closer, until he was right behind them, and they turn to swim away, only to bump into his chest. They make a soft startled sound, then tilt their head up to look at him, and Kraken stares down at them, tilting his head to the side.

They just stare at each other, in silence.

They had such pretty eyes too... He slowly reaches around them with his tentacle, grabs the flower, and pulls it over, holding it in his hand, then looks at them waiting for them to explain.

"Oh! That I uh heh h-hey, what's... what's up Kraken? You... busy?" 

"Why did... why did you give this to me?" He asks, deciding to cut to the point.

They sigh, brushing a bit of their hair behind their ear, seeming sheepish now. "I thought you would like it? You... d-did you like the other gifts?" they were blushing...

He lets out a happy bubbling sound, and reaches up, gently putting the flower behind their fin, and leans forward, nudging his head against theirs, mumbling "I loved them" he pulls back, and swims around to lay in his normal area "Y-You can... um... you could lay with me... if you want" 

They reach up, touching the flower behind their fin, then smiles nodding and they quickly swim to cuddle up against him. He was pretty happy right now. 

Kraken never thought he would ever get a relationship but... he didn't think he would mind being in one.

[oddaodd]

· I Don't Go In For Sweets ·

Request: by a lovely anon "set after the events of season 3. Tommy can't handle the company, he's still grieving and he has to be there for Charlie so Polly tells him she knows a girl from a good family to get married He ends up agreeing (aunt Pol can be very persuasive) but even though he's married, this new girl isn't considered as a wife. He doesn't really make any effort but his "wife" understands, he's a widowed father who lost his first wife only a year ago. However since they are...in this, she wants to make her time as enjoyable as possible for the both of them and for Charlie too. But no matter what Tommy makes it a point of honor to not let her in, to not let her replace Grace so he ignores her, he works more, tries to spend as little as possible in the house. Reader stays patient, it will be alright and Charlie is making her quite busy anyway. One night, Tommy comes home completely drunk and maybe a bit high too, he can't even make it to his office. Thankfully Reader is still awake, she takes care of him and Tommy just...melts at how gentle Reader is, he may be able to keep his distant while sober but it's much harder in his state. He admits to her how he's been feeling and all. Ever since that night, something changed, Tommy feels some comfort, some solace being around her, she accepts him wholly, even his flaws, the bad side of his business and she tries to provide some sort of safe place for when it gets too hard." (I edited the request because it was very long, but I kept all essential parts in there)

Author’s note: I loved loved loved writing this and it ended up being SUPER long, but I’m very happy with how it turned out. As always, I hope you like it and have the loveliest of days!

Warnings: season 3 SPOILERS sort of, but not really, still read at your own risk. Arranged marriage, mentions of alcohol and drugs, angst.

·

“Thomas, you may not be able to see it, but you’re breaking apart” Polly spoke with a sigh as she lit a cigarette after everyone was dismissed from a family meeting.

Everyone had left Tommy’s office in arrow house rather gaily after receiving their fair compensations for partaking in the whole Russian ordeal, all except Polly, who remained where she sat, wishing for a word with her nephew

Tommy merely scoffed at her concern before lighting his own cigarette and taking a puff “I’ll be alright”

“And Charlie?” Pol pressed knowing Tommy’s mourning was not only affecting him, but Charlie as well. “What about him?”

“He’s fine” He said before turning around to look through the window, ignoring his Aunt’s heavy stare.

“You take too much after your mother” she sighed half angry half sad “she too loved pretending everything was alright and I don’t need to remind you where that lead her”

Tommy sighed deeply, he knew he could fool anyone. Anyone but Polly. “We’ll manage”

“Consider my offer” Polly said standing up and making her way to the door “Y/n is a good girl from a good family” she persuaded before leaving the room.

Tommy sighed at his Aunt’s words, he wasn’t ready to get married again even when he knew the woman he would be marrying was a nice one. He felt like he was spitting on Grace’s grave and he hated himself for even considering the prospect, but he knew a mother figure would be good for Charlie.

He spent the rest of the day pondering about Polly’s suggestion and remembering his own childhood in the shadow of the absent tortured presence that his mother had been. It didn’t take him long to decide he didn’t want that for Charlie, so that same night he phoned Polly.

“I’ll do it” was all he said before hanging up. There was no need for more words, Polly would know exactly what he meant.

Exactly a week later, Tom was standing in the altar of a church that was significantly smaller than the one from his first wedding. The fact that everything about this wedding was so obscenely different from his first did soothe his guilt a bit. And as he stood there he couldn’t keep his mind from traveling to the days leading up to his wedding to Grace. She had made sure everything was perfect and had made an effort to invite every single relative she could think of. She remembered her rambling on an on about fabrics, insisting that everything ought to be perfect when he in all honestly couldn’t care less, he just wanted to marry her.

All his thoughts vanished away with a poof when Y/n came into sight. And what a sight she was. She had insisted on doing her own makeup and on pinning flowers to her hair to compliment her headpiece and her elegant, yet simple white dress flowed almost mystically as her father gave her away. She had never imagined she would be marrying someone she didn’t know, but she wanted to look her best for getting married is not something people do everyday.

When she stood in the altar, she offered her to be husband a smile which he did not return, instead turning his attention to the priest before them. She mirrored his actions, her heart beating violently under her chest as the priest began speaking.

It all felt like a blur, she could swear it had only been a second since her father had given her away and yet, the priest had already uttered the dreaded “you may now kiss the bride”

Tommy barely brushed his lips against hers and soon the sound of everyone clapping invaded her ears. They had a small party afterwards in Y/n’s former house. Her parents had invited pretty much all of their acquaintances while tommy had only invited his close relatives.

When night fell Tommy was more than ready to leave “Are you ready to go?” was one of the few sentences he uttered to his now wife that night.

She again offered him a smile before saying “yeah just let me say goodbye”

The drive to arrow house was tense, although Y/n didn’t know Thomas very well she would tell he was unhappy. She wondered about what to say to him, but couldn’t come up with anything good enough and soon enough they were pulling over in front of Tommy’s stately home.

“Charlie must already be asleep, but I'll introduce you tomorrow” he said opening Y/n’s door for her.

“It’s alright” she said looking at him, not quite knowing what to do next.

“Your parents sent some of your belongings, I've already asked the maids to take them up to your-our room” he said

“Thank you, Thomas” she smiled as she walked into the big house not yet feeling close enough to him to call him Tommy.

His name falling from her lips caused an echo of bittersweet emotions to stir inside him but he masked it perfectly well as she introduced Y/n to the maids that went to the door to take their coats.

“Frances here will show you the way to the room” he said after having made introductions.

“This way, Mrs” Frances politely said.

Y/n began following her but stopped when she didn’t hear Tommy’s footsteps behind her own.

“Are you not coming?” she asked turning to look at him.

“Maybe in a bit” was all he said before he walked away down one of the many spacious hallways of the house.

After Y/n made herself comfortable in the room and changed into her nightgown she took the time to peek around the room like one always does when one is a strange place. After familiarizing herself with it she laid down in the big bed. She was nervous, she knew what happened on wedding nights. A small chuckle stopped at her lips when she recalled the stories her close already married girlfriends told her. If she hadn’t married a complete stranger she too would be looking forward to it.

Her thoughts ended up luring her to sleep after a while despite her nerves and the night went by in a ridiculously fast flash. The next morning she woke up alone and after getting ready she made her way downstairs. Tommy and Charlie were already in the dining room when she entered it.

“good morning” she said

Charlie immediately turned his attention to her, his eyes widening while his dad merely glanced at her while he muttered a “Good morning “ of his own.

Y/n sat down next to Tommy while he cleared his throat “charles, this is Y/n. We got married yesterday so she’ll be living with us from now on”

Charlie merely nodded in understanding before playing around with his food.

A tense air flooded breakfast until Tommy stood up, having barely touched his food and spoke turning to look at Y/n “I have to go now, if you need anything feel free to ask Frances”

“Alright” Y/n replied feeling a bit disappointed, she would love to get to know him, but she already knew it was going to be difficult.

“I have to go too” Charlie announced in a timid voice, interrupting Y/n’s thoughts. Despite her disappointment she understood, maybe he was just shy and his dad just reticent. They had lost a wife and a mother after all.

The first few days after that, Charlie avoided her nearly as much as his father did and Y/n remained in lonely patience until one night Charlie’s cries interrupted her focus on the book that she had just bought. She rushed to his room and called out his name as she entered not knowing if the boy would be comfortable with her or not.

“What is it?” she asked worried as she knelt by his bed.

“I miss my mum” the boy confessed looking at her with teary eyes as he clutched his blanket.

Y/n felt her heart give a small ache at his confession and in an attempt to comfort him she spoke “She’s not really gone, you know?”

“She’s dead” the boy sobbed.

“but people who die, don’t leave us. Not really anyhow” she said hesitantly rubbing his arm. “just because we cant see them doesn’t mean they are not here”

“I miss seeing her” he continued.

“Oh but you can still see her”

“how”

“before you go to bed just think about her, then she’ll visit you in your dreams” Y/n spoke as if she was telling a fairy tale.

“really?” the boy’s eyes widened.

“really” Y/n confirmed “But you have to think really really hard”

“I’ll try” Charlie said having calmed down a bit.

“very well” Y/n said as she stood up, but Charlie’s voice stopped her.

“can you stay till I fall asleep?”

After that night, Charlie hardly left Y/n’s side and she felt much better with his company for she was sure if he wasn’t there keeping her on her toes all day she would fall into a depressive chasm induced by her husband’s absence.

On the rare moments he was home she tried to strike up conversation with him over breakfast or late at night when he came home and she was burdened by insomnia. But Tommy only humored her with a few short responses before excusing himself or turning to face the other side of the bed.

It wasn’t only the fact that he avoided her as much as he could, but he also made it a priority to exclude her at all times. She was never invited into family meetings or night’s at The Garrison so she thought it was a miracle when tommy didn’t oppose to her planning Charlie’s birthday party.

She invited only Tommy’s family which instantly warmed up to her, noticing what a good influence she was and Polly wanted to slap Thomas for the way he had been acting throughout his marriage to Y/n. Almost feeling guilty for getting her into this mess.

When the party ended Tommy shut himself in his office like he often did when he was at home and though he had never given Y/n a reason to believe she was welcome in there of all places, she found herself allowing herself in after putting Charlie to bed.

Tommy looked up as she entered and let out a sigh before turning his attention back to some papers he had been reading.

“I noticed you didn’t have any” she commented not letting his sigh deflate her as she laid a plate with a slice of homemade chocolate cake on his desk. “it’s really good if I may say so myself” she mused sitting down in a chair opposite to his as she dug in with a fork in her own slice.

“I don’t go in for sweets” he stated.

“Not even chocolate?” Y/n tried, but tommy didn’t answer, instead he just shook his head.

“I still think you should try it, it’s not overly sweet, and…”

“is there anything you need?” he interrupted bluntly a bit harsher than he would’ve liked.

His tone caught her off guard and when she couldn’t come up with an answer tommy again turned his attention back to his papers.

“I wish you could let me in” She softly confessed after a few tense seconds.

“Well I wish we hadn’t married but I guess things don’t always go the way we want them to go”

Tommy knew he had crossed a line by the silence that again settled into the room. He looked up at Y/n with her parted lips and misty eyes. They exchanged glances for a second but instead of allowing him to see her like that any longer, she stood up setting her plate on his desk and walked away, only allowing a few tears to drop by when she was out of the room and his sight.

After that she stopped trying to get closer to him. He still loved his late wife and she understood, people in grief never mean what they say after all, but his words stung nonetheless.

She stopped trying to wait for him at night to see if he had gotten home alright and during breakfast she only uttered polite good mornings.

One night however, Y/n was yanked out of a peaceful sleep by a loud crash. She was on her feet in no time and after checking into Charlie’s room to see if he was alright she cautiously ventured downstairs. A few incoherent mumbles filled her ears before her husband came into sight, fumbling with his coat to get it off.

“need help?” she asked earning his attention.

“I’m fine” he said finally taking it off but as he went to take a step to begin walking the floor under him moved and he lost his balance, his knees crashing loudly against the wooden floor.

Y/n offered him a hand and helped him up. He smelled of whiskey and cigarettes, his hands were shaky, consequence of the snow, no doubt. “let’s get you upstairs”

“I can do it on me own” he slurred letting go of her hand.

“stop being so stubborn” she derided, snaking one of her arms around his waist as she helped him upstairs.

Y/n helped him into bed, tookoff his shoes and went to the bathroom to fetch a small towel and some cold water.

She dampened the towel with the cold water before dabing it gently on Tommy’s forehead. His eyes never leaving her face as she did so, making her grow a bit nervous. She continued, trying her best to ignore it until she felt his hand softly caressing her cheek.

“You are beautiful” he rasped.

“Stop it, Thomas” she said feeling her cheeks grow red when she felt a bit sad that he had to be completely drunk to compliment her.

Even in his drunken state he seemed to notice he was making her uncomfortable so he held his tongue until Y/n laid in bed next to him after turning on the lights.

“I’m sorry” he interrupted the silence “For the way I’ve been acting” the whiskey and cocaine making him more vulnerable and open “I guess I was afraid that if I let you in then she would disappear”

He didn’t expect her to answer, but then her voice came in a soft exhausted tone“ I don’t intend to replace her. You don’t need to act all defensive and secretive. Even if it’s not what you wanted, we are married.”

“I Know” was all he said.

Y/n expected him to withdraw more from her after showing himself that vulnerable to her that night but she was wrong. He began arriving home earlier, sometimes even asking if he could come along on the walks she and Charlie so much adored going on. And Y/n finally felt her marriage was going somewhere maybe it wasn’t based on love yet, but it was something.

One day she was at the stables while Charlie was taking a nap. She had always adored horses.

“I didn’t know you liked horses” came Tommy’s smooth voice causing her to jump.

“You never asked” she smiled petting a black horse as he walked closer to her.

“We could go out for a ride, I’m sure Charlie wouldn’t mind letting you borrow his horse” Tommy offered as he too began to pet the horse, his fingers brushing against Y/n’s for a brief second.

“I’d love to, but I am afraid I don’t know how to ride, Tommy” she said, panicking for a second after having called him that. But she rested assured as soon as he spoke again.

“Well that can be fixed” he said opening the door of the stall and guiding the horse outside.

“You mean now?” Y/n asked with a laugh.

“Got something better to do?” he asked walking out of the stable with the horse. Y/n observed tommy as he prepared the horse. She had never seen him so gentle and calm before and she only realized she had been staring when Tommy directed his attention to her to ask her if she was ready.

“I think so” she said going to stand next to the horse wondering how the hell to climb up. But before she had any more time to think she felt Tommy’s hands on her waist giving her a push that allowed her to pull herself up on the animal. It was a good thing she had chosen to wear slacks that day, she thought.

“Goodness this is high” she said nervously looking down at Tommy when he began guiding the horse to move in a slow walk.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall” he promised repressing a mirthful tone at her nervousness.

He guided the horse with her around the property in the crisp evening air and Y/n allowed herself to relax with every step the horse took. Tommy’s presence made her feel safe and protected and she found it increasingly harder to look away from his figure. She wondered if he could feel her eyes on him.

When the sky began turning soft shades of purple and orange the pair returned to the stables. When the time came from Y/n to come down from the horse, tommy helped her again. Y/n began to love the feeling of him touching her and when her feet touched the ground in front of Thomas, he didn’t remove his hands from her waist right away and instead fixed his blue eyes on her, not wanting to stop looking at her.

She too fixed her eyes on Tommy as she felt a silent gasp in the base of her throat. That was the way she would’ve liked him to look at her on their wedding day. Tommy then leaned in, almost as if he were asking for permission before he tenderly pressed his lips to Y/n’s.

·

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @peakyxtommy @nyotamalfoy @writeroutoftime @babylooneytoonz @slytherinicequeen @lilymurphy03

[damiano-mylove]

Movie Night

Pairing: Damiano David x fem!reader

Wc: 2.6k (sorry)

Cw(s): SMUT, bit of angst, swearing ofc, long for some reason, begging, not proof read

*Masterlist*

Work is a healthy habit to get into - to a certain extent. If you work to avoid your problems, that's not particularly one of the most healthy things to do. The only problem working can fix is if you're poor, but really minimum wage doesn't fix that either.

But your Damiano wasn't poor, he wasn't being paid minimum wage. You knew how much he loved working on music with his friends, but he was barely home and you missed him. Being without Damiano almost felt like being without your left arm - especially since it had been so abrupt, going from him spending a few hours writing, to spending almost a full day in the studio.

Tonight was supposed to be movie night. That Damiano had suggested. To make up for lost time.

So, you found yourself, alone, on your velvet red couch, watching Alice in Wonderland, with your cat on your lap. His purrs filled whatever wavelengths were left empty by the film, but you didn't mind that at all. Your fingers found their way into his incredibly soft fur, which felt like silk between those fingers of yours.

The clock soon struck midnight, and the film hit the end credits soon after. Damiano was still not home from the studio, which almost worried you. Almost. In the earlier days of him spending all of his time at Vic's for writing or in the studio, you had thought he'd run off with someone else. You woke up the next morning with him next to you, but that never really put that specific worry to rest.

"Romeo, Baby," you whispered to the silver tabby cat on your lap. He flicked his tail to let you know he heard you. "Dad's not home yet and I'm tired, we gotta go to bed. C'mon." Romeo only lifted his head to lay his grass green eyes on you once you stopped scratching his neck. You smiled to him, though his eyes didn't return it. "You've got half a minute before I move your furry tush."

To no one's surprise, Romeo took more than half a minute so you picked him up like a baby over your shoulder. Your palm cradled his soft feet. Like the lazy cat he was, Romeo fell back asleep on your shoulder on your short walk to your bedroom that you shared with the one and only, Damiano. He used to be a god to you, but now he was basically a roommate who you shared a kiss with every once in a while.

With Romeo asleep on the bed before you finished putting on pyjamas, you slunk off to brush your teeth. The door unlocked. Your heavy eyes cast unto the clock on the wall which read nearly half midnight.

Damiano came in like a whisper in the wind, save for the closet opening so he could deposit his coat. Shaking you head, you just finished brushing your teeth. Your mouth felt dry even though you'd just rinsed it with water.

"Cara mia," Damiano purred once his eyes caught your figure in the lamp light from the bedroom. You smiled at him and went into the bedroom to curl up with your cat and go to sleep. You had work in the morning and customers didn't appreciate workers who look like sleep-deprived zombies.

This was the first time in a long time that you didn't immediately greet him once he came through the door. So Damiano could sense a shift in the mood of the flat; really, he felt it as soon as he walked in and smelt chocolate and strong tea.

His footsteps never gave away where he was, but you could feel his presence enter the room. The bed dipped on the end just as Romeo curled further into you. When Damiano's hand held your ankle, Romeo let out a soft meow.

"What's wrong, Amore?"

"Did you forget or did you do it on purpose?" You immediately sat up as you asked the question. You were tired and to act like it was fine just wasn't in the cards tonight. Damiano's eyebrows drew together. You began to nod. "Movie night? You said you'd come home early to watch a film with us."

Damiano's face darkened in realization. You pursed your lip balm coated lips. Even Romeo could sense the tension and decided to stand up and sit square on your thighs, facing your boyfriend as if to protect you. Damiano looked to his hands which rested in his lap.

After a second, he said, "I-I thought that was tomorrow."

"Tonight was Tuesday night, now it's Wednesday morning," you muttered. Your fingers found the reassuring warmth of Romeo's fur once again and Romeo let out a rather sad sounding meow. "Oh, Romeo, don't worry. Dad just has to tell us he's sorry then we can sleep."

Both you and your cat looked to your boyfriend with tired but expectant eyes. Damiano's eyes never tore from his hands. Then it was like he was speaking to himself. "I was going to buy you flowers. And let you pick the film. And you were supposed to fall asleep on my shoulder, on the couch."

"It's okay, Dami, it's just a movie night," you told him. But your conscience caught you before you continued. Why the fuck were you reassuring him when he was the one who fucked up? Tell you that he'll be home in time for a sort of date night, then skip out. "We'll do it another night, it's all good."

"It's not all good, Y/n." One thing you could agree on tonight, though you'd never say that out loud. Finally, Damiano lifted his eyes from his soft hands. You noticed his eyes shimmer in the lamplight. "I really fucked up your night and for no good reason. I'm really sorry."

Leaning forward, you patted his arm. "Forgiven. We're adults and life gets in the way of romance."

"Not always, and not for us. I'm supposed to be the best boyfriend in the world but I've barely been a boyfriend to you at all lately, and I apologize." His words were stringing together faster in faster as he kept trying to keep his tears at bay. "It's just with the new album and everything, I'm finding out how shitty I am at balancing my life." Damiano came closer to you, holding your hand that once held his arm. "How can I make it up to you, Y/n? You're the love of my life and I don't want us to fizzle out."

For some reason, a little chuckle escaped your lips. His passion for you warmed your heart as you caught a glimpse of how you first had your heart captured by the man sitting before you. The light glittered in your eyes, for Damiano and Damiano alone. "We're not going to fizzle out over one missed movie night."

"Yes, but I've missed many of our nights, whether we made plans for them or not," Damiano rebutted. Your lips pressed together in a flat line. There was a certain ounce of truth to that statement. Damiano pressed a kiss to the back of your hand without maintaining eye contact. "Cara mia, nights are for the lovers, and I seem to have forgotten that."

His warm breath tickled the back of your hand just before his pressed more kisses to the back of your hand, then wrist, then fingers.

Sensing the warming room, Romeo left your lap. He threw you a final glance, seeming like he was making sure you didn't need him in the room to which you slightly nodded at the tabby. Romeo turned on his paws and left the room - leaving two starry-eyed partners who were still most ardently in love.

Without another word, you joined your lips with Damiano's. It had been a long while since a kiss such as this one had occurred. In the place of the usual passing kisses, this one made the love shared prominent. This kiss felt as if your Damiano was once again yours and totally yours; not as if he ever wasn't, but this was a much needed reminder of that.

Holding your face in his large hands, Damiano deepened the kiss by turning his head ever-so slightly. His tongue slid into your mouth with a passionate fervour. There was no battle for dominance, but a mutual exploration of each other's mouths.

Damiano tenderly laid you down against the pillows on your side of the bed, though his lips parted from yours which was an unhappy fate. "Do you want to go further, Cara mia? I know this doesn't equal forgiveness."

"I've never wanted anything more, Dami, my sweetest love," you promised him. Damiano smiled at your admission. He began to place gentle, loving kisses to your neck. "Only if you want to."

"Oh, trust me." Damiano nipped your collarbone, resulting in a yelp from you. You could feel his smirk against your warming skin. "I want to."

Damiano's bites roamed the skin of your chest that your tank top allowed, before you sat up to take it off. Your fingers found Damiano's soft hair as he left sloppy, wet kissed all over your now exposed chest. A bitten back moan escaped your mouth just as his tongue began to circle the tender skin of your nipple, making your back arch into the man above you.

This was an admission of your pleasure, so Damiano's mouth fully encircled your nipple as his hand that once caressed your hip, now cupped your other breast. His warm palm massaged you firmly, having Damiano's name fall from your lips. It had been a while since he'd touched you like this, with such care and attention. Every fiber of Damiano's being was now focused on making his love for you known.

When his warm mouth left your breast to be exposed to the chill of the room, his teeth grazed your sensitive nipple, having goosebumps multiply on your skin at a sky high rate. His mouth then was turned to your other breast as his other hand twisted and pinched the exposed nipple.

Your hands began trying to get his deep red shirt off, to bring his warmth to you. But before Damiano would let you have what you wanted most, he bit the sweet spot beneath your boob, no doubt leaving a mark that would be apparent the next day.

As Damiano leaned up to pull his shirt over his head, you nearly melted underneath him. His hair was already beginning to become delightfully fucked up and the look in his eye was absolutely dark. The look he gave you before joining your lips once again was full of love, accompanied by lust and desire. Damiano slid off his tight leather trousers while he was at it, allowing you to palm him through his briefs.

The kiss shared was now hungry and feverish. The nails of the unoccupied hand scratched down his back, resulting Damiano bucking his hips into your hand. You removed it, which finally gave you the glorious friction that you so completely craved. Damiano no doubt sensed this as he grabbed the back of your thigh as he continued to grind right into the thin layer that separated you both.

"Damiano, please," you nearly cried. The chuckle that came from Damiano was low and only made your panties become even more wet.

"Please what?"

"You know what I mean." He was killing you. Once the words left your lips, Damiano ground his hips into you again. "Fuck me. Fuck me, please. Please."

"See, was that so hard, Amore?" Damiano purred as he lowered the waistband of your pyjama bottoms. He threw them somewhere in the room before pressing his index finger against your clit. You tried to pull him in for a kiss, but Damiano resisted. "Ah, ah, I want to see just how much I effect you."

"You're the fucking-wow-devil himself."

Damiano's laugh bordered upon an evil one. "You love me."

"I love you, I love you so fucking much," you moaned. Damiano smiled as he lowered your grey panties. Those were discarded somewhere along with your pyjama bottoms, but you couldn't give half a fuck because Damiano's perfectly manicured finger found it's way inside of you. You bucked against his hand, making Damiano laugh.

His finger drew circles inside of you while his thumb still played with your clit. God, Damiano was so much better than your own fingers. Without a warning, another finger was added, making a sort of porn-esque moan leave you. Damiano groaned at the sound as well as the sight in front of him. Even his dreams of you weren't as good as this.

It wasn't as if he could help himself from leaning down once again and attaching his mouth to your erect nipple. Your eyes crossed at three parts of your body were on fire with immense pleasure. The flames of rapture enveloped most of your body, even your soul.

"I'm-m-m gonna cum," you cried out. Damiano smiled against your breast as his fingers began going faster. "No, no, let me cum on your cock." Damiano looked up at you with a bit of surprise. You'd never said something like that without prompt.

The needy look that painted your face was all Damiano had to see before he complied. His briefs were off in the blink of an eye and he began to pump himself just to prepare. Your legs were spread wide as you could already feel yourself drip onto the sheets below which made Damiano groan with barred teeth.

He lined himself up with your entrance and gave you one final questioning look. You nodded adamantly before he pushed himself through your folds.

Truly, you could feel your soul ascend as you remembered just how big he was. You big your lip so hard you nearly broke skin while Damiano hissed an intake of breath. He came down to your lips to taste your minty mouth just as his hips began rocking into you, first at a slow pace, then began to get closer.

Damiano's hips snapped into yours quickly, and the sound of smacking skin filled the room, along with the scent of sex and sweat. The combination of both of your moans filled each other's mouths. The bedroom was incredibly hot but somehow you were in a cold sweat, save for where your body joined with Damiano's in sweet harmony.

"Fuck, Y/n, you're so fucking tight," Damiano huffed. You clenched around his cock, only making Damiano cry out with pleasure. Your nails drew down his back, clinging him closer and closer to you with every thrust against your g-spot. Tears brimmed your eyes as a knot formed in the lower part of your stomach.

"Soon, I'm cumming soon."

"Cum on my cock, Baby, just like you want."

You could tell his thrusts were getting sloppy because he was closing in on his release as well. But you couldn't help but cum first as the knot suddenly exploded within you.

Your walls spasmed against Damiano as your release washed over you. Your legs tingled and your toes went a bit numb. Damiano then hit in you a few more times before his own seed seeped into you. It was warm and you felt incredibly full as Damiano stayed within you for an extra few seconds, before falling next to you.

"I know you said this wouldn't equal forgiveness but I'm feeling very forgiving," you sighed. Damiano chuckled and looked over at you. Your skin glowed in orgasmic radiance and your hair was completely fucked out. Damiano's heart swelled at the sight and he couldn't help but kiss you again.

He cleaned you both up after, with a warm wash cloth, and got you new pyjamas. Romeo reentered the room once the sex smell was gone and you were in Damiano's arms once again. Your cat curled between both of you in the dead of night, like the beginnings of a family.

Damiano came home Wednesday afternoon with a massive bouquet that must have cost a pretty pence, a box of Belgian chocolate and a bag of cat treats. It seemed a movie night was in order.

[viltrumitesuperboy]

Treat Them Right (Peter Parker x Male Reader)

Last second decision cause it’s Valentine’s Day. Also it’s short but that’s not my problem lmao

Requested by: @iliumheightnights​ Can you please write a peter parker x male reader where peter keeps getting distracted thinking of a date and the avengers think it's a girl so they give him all of these tips on how to "treat a lady right" but then his boyfriend shows up. 

Word count: 1195

CW: mentions of reader as female

Any day Peter went to the tower, he was prepared for everything that could possibly go wrong. His table would explode, a supervillain would crash through the window, everything he worked on was deleted from his computer.

The worst one was when anyone he knew came to embarrass him in front of other people.

It was rarely a problem because he had little contact with other people when he was working. If he was going into another lab, he didn't worry so much that anything would go wrong because talking to other people kept him distracted from that worry. But someone embarrassing him in front of an Avenger? He might as well just die on the spot.

A week ago, his boyfriend had mentioned that it was going to be their one year anniversary since their first date. He was zoning out for parts of the day, both stressing over how he ever found someone so amazing and what he'd have to do to avoid disaster.

"Peter! Come here. I want you to meet someone."

He turned away from the scientists currently working on a project to see his mentor.

"Mr. Stark! Uh, I'm just finishing up here," he said.

"No worries. Come in, Bruce. No one's bite is worse than yours, I promise."

There was a quiet muttered complaint, and Peter turned back to the table to work on the hologram.

"Radiation is still dangerous, even as a source of energy. It might give the Hulk his powers, and probably Spider-Man — not that I would know, I've never met him. I mean, I could! Anyway, it doesn't mean it's not still dangerous. So keep that in mind when you're working with this stuff."

He made a vague hand gesture waving at the hologram that he definitely did not learn from Tony. Just as he started to head for the door, he was stopped by a voice.

"Hey, these are my papers! That's great. There's a section over here you might want to take a look at."

Peter then saw Bruce Banner swiping through a pdf that was on one of the holograms. He smiled up at Peter.

"Peter! I can't believe we haven't met yet. You're doing great work here," Dr. Bruce Banner, world-renowned scientist and former refugee, said to Peter Parker, skinny nerd still in school.

"Uh. Thank... you..." Peter responded, a little starstruck.

Even after meeting Avengers personally, it was still a surprise to see them. The world made them seem untouchable, but Peter knew they weren't. Seeing any of them in person was like a fever dream.

"Kid, this is Bruce. Bruce, Pete. We have somewhere to go," Tony said suddenly.

"Oh, okay. Bye!" Peter managed to say before he was swept out of the room.

When they got in the elevator, Tony finally spoke.

"So, Peter! I heard something very important came up and you are gonna need to have a talking to."

"I'm gonna what?!" Peter squeaked.

Then he was in the sitting room. It was usually the most comfortable place on the tower's "Avengers" floors. Now it was the most terrifying situation he'd ever been in.

Every single Avenger (minus Tony) and friends were sitting in a semicircle around Peter. They all stared at him in silence. His eyes were wide open as he stared right back.

"Am I being inducted into a cult?" he whispered just loud enough for everyone to hear.

"You have an anniversary coming up," Natasha said from her standing position as she crossed her arms. "A year is very important, Peter."

"You need to plan this properly," Rhodes said.

"And if she's not happy with what you plan, expect us to be ten times as unhappy," Clint added.

Peter opened his mouth to correct him, but Steve cut him off.

"You know, I might have been born a while ago, but most important things you need to know are going to be from us. If you don't treat her right, she'd be the least of your worries," he said.

He glanced at Bucky, who was cracking his neck. His face said "murder." Peter shrunk in on himself.

"Where's Mr. Stark?" he asked.

"He's in a meeting," Natasha said.

"Okay," he meekly responded.

Thor shuffled in his comfortable seat on the sofa.

"My people treat their romantic partners as their equals. If one is too slow in courting a partner, their relatives will find it suspicious and will seek blood. But I'm sure that's not the case," the god said with a reassuring smile.

It was not reassuring.

"I don't want to inconvenience you or anything, but I don't know why I'm here. I thought I was just supposed to work on something with Tony," Bruce said.

"Banner," Natasha snapped. "Give him some advice and then you can leave."

"Uh, I don't know, flowers? Girls like that, right? Look, I'm busy. It was nice to meet you, Peter. I hope we get to work on something together."

He walked away. Dr. Bruce Banner, world-renowned scientist, just told Peter that he wanted to work with him. For science stuff.

This was the best and worst day of his life.

"Okay, if you're going to a restaurant or anywhere that requires sitting at a table, you pull the chair out for her. And you make sure you check in, make sure she's comfortable," Sam said from his spot.

"You gotta make her feel like she's the only girl for you. And there's nothing better than personally bringing her somewhere that would mean a lot to the both of you," Bucky said.

"If your partner slaps you in the face, you think hard about what you did wrong," Thor absentmindedly mumbled, playing with some gadget he found on the coffee table.

"From what I've seen with Pepper and Tony, just don't be stupid. Be on time and make sure you do nice things for her," Rhodes said.

"I'd like to inform you that someone is coming up," FRIDAY chirped from the ceiling.

"Who?" Natasha snapped.

They all turned to see the private elevator open to reveal a boy. They readied their weapons, though Thor didn't seem too bothered. He swung the hammer around lazily.

"Uh... am I interrupting something?" you asked.

"Who are you? How did you get up here?" Rhodes demanded.

"I'm... here for Peter. Hey, you aren't, like, inducting him into a cult or anything, right?" you said.

"That's what I said!" Peter exclaimed.

He rushed away from the group into your arms, nearly toppling the both of you over. You held out a single flower, which he huffed and blushed at.

"Avengers, this is my boyfriend," Peter announced.

"That's unexpected," Steve said.

"I was saying 'partner' the whole time," Thor said. "None of you caught on."

"Are you ready, Peter? We've got somewhere to be," you said.

"Aye, aye, Captain!" Peter automatically responded.

"Dude, if you do Spongebob in front of me one more time, I will take the flower."

"No!"

The elevator doors closed behind the both of you, leaving the Avengers to discuss the events themselves.

"I'm here," Tony said, entering the room with Pepper and Bruce. "Did I miss anything?"