#tumult tag

[oceansatedogs]

Imagining voice headcanons for my OCs and Wólfram is so very much Hozier yaddayadda- BUT ☝🏽 I raise you: Teddy with some flavor of either slavic or nordic accent and his English (erm, Common) is a bit Off and broken at times because his first language is Shapeshifter-Draconic (of the northern dialect, which sounds like Icelandic)

[ne0ncowb0y]

This is exactly why I don't like Vivienne but I love her as a character. She's a soft core of contradiction to the armour she's woven around herself to survive. She can't help but to end up caring for the people around her with all of their flaws and cracks in the shiny surfaces of their many facets of existence mirroring her own inscrutable heart and past right back at her. Even the people playing the great game at Skyhold have too much of themselves involved in everything they do, she can't help but to see that sincerity and admire it in the quiet way she does. She tries to teach the companions to protect and guard those hearts the way she had to, with her hard edge and icy demeanour.

Madame De Fer. The Iron Lady, indeed.

god. Vivienne really is just. that character. She is taken to the circle so young she does not remember what her parents even looked like and someone had to tell her. She wouldn’t even know if they were telling the truth. She is ruthless, the terror and nightmare of the Orlesian court. She almost weeps when you find the Tranquil skulls in Redcliffe. She hates drop waists. She is harrowed younger than any other mage in living memory. She teaches Bull the steps to the dance of the six candles. He likens her to a Qunari dreadnought that has half the enemies on the ground before he’s even reached the front line. Her accent’s not Orlesian. No Free Marcher can tell where she is from either. Is her original voice another part of herself she cut off? She enchanted a duke within one meeting and they scandalised even Orlesian society. She was good friends with his wife. They possibly fucked too. No can control her. She’s been owned since the moment she was first brought to the Circle. She belongs to no people. There are a dozen leashes around her neck claiming otherwise. She makes fun of an elven god for setting his coattails on fire.  She is on the verge of banishing Cole back to the Fade all the time. She can’t help but grow to care for him at the end despite her best efforts to pretend otherwise. She hates herself for it. She thinks caring makes you weak. During the first conversation you have with her unmasked as a Trevelyan, she begs to know if you also cared about her childhood friend, Lydia. She tries to import illegal fur into Skyhold. Did she kill everything soft within her soul herself or did the Chantry sisters do it for her? She is impossible to prank. Some might say she’s even better than Sera at pranking. She was pulled into the game by the time she was nineteen. She’d faced worse things since she could first remember her dreams. Life has never been fair. One merely needs to be hard enough to survive. The blade at her neck when she lay on the floor of the harrowing chamber was no different from the hunger in her belly as child, a necessary pain that only drove her forward. Maker, was there ever any chance that she did not see cruelty as simply another word for life? Is there any version of her that does not end up surrounded by moral filth? 

[rw-complexion]

Rain World: Complexion

The Myrmidon

A strange hungry slugcat and blind follower, the Myrmidon is tasked with yet another gruelling challenge.

The Tumult

An amnestic slugcat, traversing through the world, having a distorted view of reality and trying to find it's purpose.

Blossoming Strelitzia Fields

A reckless iterator obsessed with expanding the fauna within his region, causing more problems than necessary, damaging the relationships with his peers.

Toyhouse Links

Myrmidon ✦ Tumult ✦ Strelitzia

[yunwangja]

touch - tobio kageyama oneshot

kageyama feels jealous as he notices that the other karasuno members can be physically affectionate with you while he struggles to do the same, thanks to your hesitation whenever he tries to get close.

genre: slight drama? romantic angst? its kageyama being frustrated so ig yeah, also eventual fluff

tags: kageyama x fem!reader, high school friends to lovers

warnings/notes: swearing, honestly that's it lol. also THIS IS MY FIRST TIME SORRY IF ITS LACKING /,,,,: i tried my best for them to be in character too so if not mb >< also approx. 1.2k words

kageyama’s thoughts had been swirling lately, a tumult of confusion and frustration. and it was all because of you.

he found himself watching you more often than he cared to admit, noticing every smile exchanged, every casual touch with other members of the volleyball team that seemed effortless. midterms and practices passed in a blur, overshadowed by his own internal questioning.

why did he feel like you were avoiding him so subtly? why did simple interactions feel like navigating a minefield? happenings from days ago has been haunting him, your subtle movements away from him echoing in his mind.

he wanted to be closer to you, and understand why you seemed so distant whenever he tries to. only thing was: he’s bad at this. he’s bad at expressing his feelings and making a mess of himself, especially in front of you. how could he do this so naturally when you keep on backing away?

"y/n-chan! you’re here!" hinata exclaimed joyfully, bounding over to greet you. oh right, i’m in practice. kageyama thought and snapped back to reality, mainly because of hinata’s loud announcement of your arrival, and well, because, it’s you.

his head snapped towards the gym entrance, catching your smile as you exchanged greetings with hinata.

"how was midterms?" sugawara approached you and asked kindly, prompting a hesitant response from you, "uh, they were fine, i think. hehe." the third year patted your head comfortingly, "i'm sure you did great."

kageyama's chest tightened slightly at the gesture, his irritation simmering beneath his composed exterior as he focused on his serves.

"wow, tobio, you're as consistent as ever," daichi commented seeing his performance, with asahi nodding in agreement. you managed to wave to kageyama from beside yachi, and he nodded in acknowledgment before returning to his practice.

practice officially began with a three-on-three match: tanaka, sugawara, and asahi against hinata, kageyama, and tsukishima. you stood near tanaka's team and cheered enthusiastically as he spiked, "nice kill, tanaka-senpai!"

tanaka grinned proudly and threw an arm around your shoulders, basking in your praise. “it’s nothing, y/n!”

kageyama's frustration flared again. why can't i do that too? kageyama wondered silently.

he decides to lash it out on tsukishima, pushing him to block their spikes better - to which the tall teammate responded with an exasperated roll of his eyes.

it all started a few days ago - you were having lunch on the rooftop with hinata and kageyama. hinata was engrossed in his own thoughts, while kageyama had this plan to subtly get closer to you, unsure and hesitant about being too forward. he wasn't particularly skilled at these things.

as kageyama inched closer, you immediately noticed and instinctively pulled back a bit, nervously remarking, "oh, is the sun shining on your side?" even though the weather was perfect and there was no sunlight. kageyama glanced down and replied, "uh, no... yeah, thanks. you didn't have to move unless it's cramped for you."

"no, as long as you have enough space," you awkwardly chuckled, trying to ease the panic you felt and continued eating.

kageyama sighed inwardly, contemplating another approach. he just wanted to be more gentle and affectionate towards you, just like the others do. hell, maybe, more than they do.

while you were sipping your beverage, you happened to try blueberry-flavored milk for the first time. "this is an interesting flavor," you remarked.

"really? what brand is it?" kageyama asked, attempting to hold your hand with the milk carton while leaning closer to you, making his face close to yours.

once again, you panic and quickly hand him the carton instead, "i-i don't know. you can check it yourself." you stood up to gather your things, suggesting, "let's go now," with hinata obediently following. he urged kageyama to hurry up as he remained on the floor with the now-empty blueberry milk carton.

from that moment, thoughts began to swirl in kageyama's mind—why did you keep avoiding him? was he making you uncomfortable? did you not like being close to him? was he being too much?

walking back to your classrooms, kageyama was stopped in his thoughts when he noticed hinata subtly linking his arm with yours. "y/n-chan! look!" hinata excitedly pointed out a stall being set up outside the window for the upcoming school festival.

you squealed with excitement and both of you jumped up and down, holding hands. kageyama couldn't help but notice the contrast—why was it okay for hinata to touch you like this, but not him? was he doing something wrong? did you dislike him?

"aren't you excited, kageyama?" hinata's question pulled him back from his thoughts. he quickly masked his inner turmoil and casually walked past both of you, muttering, "i don't care", making hinata complain about his lack of school spirit, while you just giggled in response.

back in the present, you continued cheering for tanaka's team after your interaction with him, prompting hinata to playfully pout, "y/n-chan, cheer for us too!"

you laughed and nodded, encouraging everyone with a big smile. “do your best too, hinata! tsukishima, kageyama!” kageyama would normally be melting inside, but today his mind was all over the place, frustrated. this drove him to be set on winning.

i don’t need to be close to you. i don’t even need your cheers. he resolved silently (and pettily), i'll prove it. and he did.

as practice ended with his team's victory, everyone dispersed, leaving you and kageyama, since you were walking in the same direction. "thanks for your hard work," you greeted him cheerfully, but he merely nodded, avoiding eye contact.

trying to engage him in conversation, you remarked on his performance, but kageyama's responses remained curt. "you were really cool as always, but you seemed even more fired up today after seeing tanaka-senpai’s spike," you commented lightly, trying to lighten the mood.

"you're so petty," you teased with a giggle, but kageyama stayed silent, lost in his thoughts.

as you walked and chatted animatedly about a recent volleyball match, a bicycle approached unnoticed.

just in time, kageyama noticed and instinctively pulled you closer, holding your hand to prevent you from getting hurt. flustered by his sudden action—and the fact that he was holding your hand—you looked at him in surprise.

"watch where you're going," kageyama said gruffly, his hands holding yours intensely. you awkwardly laughed off the situation, "i'm sorry. thanks though!"

glancing at your hands still together, you attempted to pull away. “you can let go now,” you try to smile.

there you go again, he thinks. he’s been experiencing this from you for days and it’s been pissing him off. he’s had enough.

kageyama held on to his grip on yours. "no," he said firmly and looked ahead. confused, "what? it’s fine, really, you don’t have to hold my hand,” you try to assure him and continued to let go of his hand.

his expression softened slightly as he slowly looked at you, revealing a hint of vulnerability beneath his usual tough exterior. "why, can't i hold your hand?" he questioned, his voice quieter but determined.

you were taken aback by his question. where is this coming from? you never really noticed anything unusual about his behavior—at least, not that you were aware of.

you try to stay calm for now. "what do you mean? of course you can, but there's no need to anymo—"

"that's a lie. you don't even let me touch you." he maintains eye contact with you. you can't quite grasp what he means yet, but despite the firmness in his voice, his eyes seem to be pleading, as if he's waiting for something.

"do i make you uncomfortable, y/n?" he asks while you're still processing the situation. you shake your head. "no, not at all."

"then why can't i hold your hand?" he continues. "you let the other members do it all the time, especially hinata. why do you treat me so differently?"

shit.

technically, you know why you were acting this way. you just never thought that this was something kageyama would even think or care about, so you just behaved this way naturally.

"i…" nothing else comes out. at this point, you and kageyama are having a staring contest. you want to go home—you’re nervous as hell—but he��s looking at you like he won’t leave until you answer him. "where is this coming from, kageyama?"

"hinata links arms with you, holds hands with you. sugawara-senpai pats your head all the time. tanaka-senpai has a habit of putting his arm around you whenever you compliment him—all of them get to touch you like that, and you don’t even care. but i just come and sit closer to you, and you back away already?"

honestly, you are amazed at how he remembers your interactions with the other members. to you, what they did was nothing to think about, but kageyama noticed every detail.

you knew kageyama—well, at least this trait of his; the fact that he is actually opening up about this means it has bothered him for quite some time. it dumbfounds you that these "small" things to you actually mattered to him—a lot, maybe even more than you realize.

you look down at the ground, breaking eye contact. "y/n—"

"you are right, kageyama, it is different."

"because i don't care if the others do it to me," you say, lifting your gaze back to him, a sense of vulnerability in your eyes this time. "but i care when you do."

you see the surprise on his face. "too much that it could kill me, honestly." he looks bewildered. "w-what? i don't understand."

"unlike the others, i…" your cheeks flush, and your eyes linger somewhere else again as you brace yourself for what you're about to say. "i want you to touch me."

this shocks kageyama, but leaves him wanting more answers.

"i want you to be close to me like that so badly, but it’s too much—it feels selfish. i mean, it’s not like you’re going to benefit much from that. it's all just for myself. i bet you don't want to do that, so i purposely avoided physical contact with you."

there was a few seconds of silence before he could even respond to that. "idiot," he whispers while keeping his head down, but loud enough for you to hear. you look at him, quite embarrassed that you just lowkey confessed to him, and now he's calling you an idiot. he takes a breath and closes his eyes. "why? i just answered you—"

"i want to!" he shouts, his voice rising sharply.

now, you both keep surprising each other.

"i'm not complaining here just because i think you treat me differently from them! hell, i couldn't care any less if it was anyone else. but it's you, y/n."

"i'm frustrated because i want to touch you like that too!"

he looks away, feeling shy. "i want to hold your hand and pat your head when i want to. i want to stand and sit close to you so i can feel you beside me. i want to be able to hug you when i score a point during a match," he pauses, "although i don't think you're allowed on the bench during a match—but that's not the point!"

he looks so cute, but this is also all new to you. you don't know how to feel about his confession. you don't know if this literally means he likes you (which you do too), but one thing is for sure.

you weren't being selfish after all.

"so, please, y/n…"

"let me. and don't avoid me," he says. "it hurts when you do, you know."

your eyes fill with concern. you take a few seconds before speaking again, "kageyama."

he looks at you shyly. "what?"

you respond by grabbing his hand, intertwining it with yours. "okay."

he looks down to see your hands together, and his face turns bright red. "you can hold my hand." he looks up to see your smiling face.

"i'm sorry for avoiding you like that. i thought you really didn't mind. and cared. thank you for telling me what you felt," you apologize.

he shakes his head. "no, you did nothing wrong. and i'm not actually mad, you know…"

"i was just frustrated. i'm sorry i kind of shouted just now."

you shake your head and start to walk again, letting your linked hands guide him as well. "no, no. i know. i'm even glad you let it all out. that's a big step, in my opinion, after knowing you these past months," you say.

he looks at you, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. it's as if he didn't expect you to notice. you didn't show any trace of anger or hurt after how he acted just now—you even cared about what he felt. his expression softens, a mix of amazement and shy delight flickering across his face and looks away again. "well, that's what i'm trying to learn these days."

"that's good," you give him what he thinks is the sweetest smile.

you both continue walking hand-in-hand towards the street corner where you usually part ways—kageyama takes the bus while you head in the other direction to the train station. after your intense and revealing conversation, the rest of the walk is quiet.

"y/n," he breaks the silence, and you look at him, urging him to say what he wants.

"uh, you know," he looks shy again, scratching the back of his head.

"what is it?" you ask.

"i'm just saying this to put it out there, but…" he squirms, "you can call me by my first name if you want to."

you are taken aback first by what he says. after absorbing his words, you laugh, and he continues to blush.

"all right, tobio."

[leftoverpages]

Starlit Sands

Pairing 𓅪 Knight!Benjicot "Davos" Blackwood x Targaryen!reader

Tags 𓅪 forbidden love, angst, fluff-ish, no war AU, reader uses she/her but no physical description, she’s Rhaenyra’s daughter (no mention of the father)

Notes: spent all day writing for this man so you’re going to be fed for the next few days <3

Wordcount 𓅪 1.1k

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen's chambers in the Red Keep were a sanctuary of silk and velvet, where whispered secrets echoed in the tapestries and the scent of jasmine lingered in the air. From her window, Y/N watched the city of King's Landing bustle and buzz with life below, the setting sun casting a fiery glow over the rooftops. It was here, amidst the opulence of her mother's court, that she felt most trapped.

Tonight, however, a restlessness stirred within her heart, a yearning for something beyond the gilded confines of the castle. With nimble fingers, she unlatched the window and slipped out into the twilight, her silken gown billowing softly in the evening breeze. Moonlight bathed her in its gentle embrace as she made her way through deserted corridors and shadowed alcoves, guided by the distant murmur of the sea.

Unbeknownst to her, Ser Benjicot Blackwood stood vigilant outside her door, his silver armor gleaming in the flickering torchlight. His duty as a knight of the Kingsguard demanded unwavering vigilance, yet tonight, his thoughts strayed to the young princess whose safety was his charge. As the hours wore on, a sense of unease gnawed at him, prompting him to check on her.

When Lady Rhaenyra arrived at her daughter's chambers, her brow furrowed with concern. "Where is Y/N?" she demanded of the guards stationed outside, her voice edged with urgency.

"She was here, Your Grace," one of the guards stammered, his eyes darting nervously. "But we haven't seen her leave."

Rhaenyra's jaw tightened with worry. "Find her," she ordered sharply, her tone brooking no argument. "Now."

Meanwhile, Y/N reached the deserted beach at the edge of the Blackwater Rush, her bare feet sinking into the cool, damp sand. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery path upon the water's surface as waves whispered secrets to the shore. The rhythmic ebb and flow of the tide beckoned to her, offering solace amidst the tumult of her thoughts.

She paused at the water's edge, her gaze drawn to the horizon where the last remnants of daylight clung stubbornly to the sky. Stars began to twinkle overhead, painting the heavens with their ancient light. In that moment, Y/N felt a profound sense of peace, as if the weight of her responsibilities had been momentarily lifted.

Ser Benjicot, racing against time and worry, finally caught sight of Y/N's figure silhouetted against the waves. Relief flooded through him as he quickened his pace, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. "Y/N!" he called out, his voice echoing across the deserted beach.

Startled, Y/N turned to face him, her eyes wide with surprise and a hint of guilt. "Ser Benjicot," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the waves. "I... I needed..."

Her words faltered, caught between explanation and apology, as Ser Benjicot approached her with measured steps. "My lady," he began, his tone a mixture of reproach and concern. "You cannot simply wander off like this. Your safety..."

Y/N met his gaze, her expression a mix of defiance and vulnerability. "I needed to escape," she confessed softly, her voice tinged with melancholy. "To breathe, to feel... alive."

Ser Benjicot's stern countenance softened as he regarded her with a depth of understanding that belied his knightly demeanor. "Your safety is paramount," he insisted, his voice tinged with anguish. "I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to you."

Y/N reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing against his armored sleeve. "I know," she replied softly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "But sometimes, I need to remind myself that there's beauty beyond these walls."

Their gazes locked in a silent exchange fraught with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. Ser Benjicot's heart raced with conflicting emotions, torn between duty and the undeniable pull of his feelings for the young princess under his protection.

"Y/N," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "I am bound by oath, by duty..."

Before he could finish, Y/N closed the distance between them, her lips capturing his in a tender kiss that spoke volumes of longing and forbidden passion. In that fleeting moment, time stood still as they shared a stolen embrace, their hearts beating in unison beneath the starlit sky.

When they finally pulled away, their breaths mingling in the salt-tinged air, Ser Benjicot's resolve wavered under the weight of their unspoken truth. "I cannot," he whispered hoarsely, his voice betraying the turmoil within. "I should not..."

Y/N silenced him with a gentle touch to his lips, her eyes shimmering with determination. "Sometimes, Ser Benjicot," she murmured, her voice filled with quiet resolve, "love cannot be bound by duty alone."

With a heavy heart and a lingering touch, Y/N turned towards the Red Keep, leaving Ser Benjicot alone with the echo of their forbidden kiss and the weight of their unspoken yearning.

But instead of leaving, Y/N hesitated, feeling the pull of the serene beach and the quiet company of the knight who watched over her. She turned back to Ser Benjicot, whose expression mirrored her inner turmoil.

"Let’s stay," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle rush of the waves. "Just for a moment."

Ser Benjicot hesitated, torn between his duty and the undeniable bond that had formed between them. But in the end, his heart won over his sense of duty, and he sank down beside her on the soft sand, his armor creaking softly with the movement.

They sat in silence, watching as the last vestiges of daylight faded from the sky, giving way to a tapestry of stars that glittered like diamonds overhead. Y/N leaned against Ser Benjicot, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.

"This is beautiful," she whispered, her voice filled with wonder as she traced the outline of a constellation with her finger.

Ser Benjicot glanced down at her, his gaze softening as he looked upon the young princess who had captured his heart. "Yes," he agreed quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "But not as beautiful as you."

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I know we cannot be together," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "But in this moment, let us forget about duty and honor."

Ser Benjicot's hand found hers, intertwining their fingers together in a silent promise. "Just for tonight," he vowed, his voice thick with emotion. "Let us be together."

They sat together in the tranquil embrace of the night, their hearts entwined amidst the stars and the whispering waves. For in that fleeting moment, duty and love coexisted harmoniously, bound by the silent oath of their hearts.

And as the moon sailed high overhead, casting its silvery light upon the world below, Y/N and Ser Benjicot watched the sunset fade into memory, cherishing the fragile yet enduring bond they had forged amidst the serenity of the beach, knowing their love was a secret whispered between the stars.

[nackrosor]

~Your Wish~

(Pt. 2)

PART 1 - PART 3

Brahms Heelshire x nanny!Reader

warnings/tags: nsfw, smut, dub-con/non-con, non consensual touching, somnophilia, Brahms is basically in heat

word count: 1,9k.

author's notes: I had to cut this part because it was getting too long and I wanted to stay in the 1k words limit... So... Part 3 👀??? Lmk

Brahms had no idea how much time had passed. All he knew was that it had felt like ages—long,  torturous ages—until he considered it safe to leave his hiding place. His breathing was still ragged as he carefully stepped into your room, his erection pulsing insistently in his pants, aching with every step he took towards your bed.

There you were, sleeping peacefully, unaware of his presence, oblivious to the tumult of emotions you had stirred up within him. He had never seen you pleasuring yourself before. Did you touch yourself thinking of him? Envisioning a “real boy” keeping you company? His erection twitched at the thought. Oh, he could have helped you. He could have given you what you needed, if only...

You stirred in your sleep and he froze, holding his breath for a few moments.

Since your arrival, he had spent many a night standing in the darkness of your room, watching over you, hypnotised by your beauty and the soft cadence of your breathing. 

This time however was different. He could clearly feel it. The agonising aching in his pants was proof of that. 

Brahms had never allowed himself to get so close to you when he needed to tend to his own needs. He didn't trust himself. He didn’t trust what his twisted and perverted mind could come up with as obfuscated by an insatiable desire as it was; an intense yearning that he found himself able to suppress less and less each day, the more he watched you, listened to you, longed for you...

He didn't even know why he had entered your room. He'd simply opened the secret passage in the walls and moved towards you, drawn like a moth to a light source. 

He'd tried to crawl back inside the walls, to touch himself and cry your name as loudly as he was capable of, certain that you wouldn't be able to hear him, just like every other time he'd jerked off at the notion of you. He had attempted to ignore what he had just witnessed by leaving you alone... but he couldn't. His body refused to obey. It seemed as if you had enchanted him, as if your body was calling out to him, luring him in... 

Your words kept on echoing within his mind, your wish lulling him like a chant, instilling hope in his whole being, pulling the strings of his flesh like a master puppeteer.

You wanted Brahms to be real. He could grant your wish. He sought to grant your wish and make you happy.

You shifted position once more, this time lying on your back. The sheets slid slightly away from your body, exposing a portion of your torso and highlighting the curves of your breasts.

Brahms inhaled sharply through his nose. His gaze swept over your body, taking in every inch of your exposed form and what he could glimpse of the rest. As he swallowed drily, his Adam's apple bobbed hard in his throat. He could feel his resolve waver, his will crack. 

He could do anything to you. Anything his messed-up mind would push him to do. He could take anything that he wanted from you. Everything he'd ever craved. You were so beautiful... so vulnerable... lying there at his complete disposal…

The darkness would be the only witness. 

His feet moved by themselves, his hand trembling as it reached out to you. When the tips of his fingers brushed over the bare skin of your shoulder, he shuddered. It was as delicate to the touch as velvet, even softer than he had anticipated.

He leaned in closer, his mask nearly touching the top of your head, as he took a short sniff of your scent and moaned in delight. His erection throbbed at the familiarity. How many times had he reached his release point, sniffing the garments he'd stolen from you? However, breathing it in directly from your skin was hundreds of times better.

His fingers caressed your hair, then trailed the outline of your arm, slowly working his way down till he met the hem of the covers.

His gaze diverted to your face. You were sleeping so soundly. It seemed unlikely you would be waking up anytime soon.

His fingers didn't shake any more as they carefully pulled the blankets down, revealing your upper body. 

Brahms felt his heart leap and pound wildly, as if it was ready to burst his chest open. Yet the pain in his pants was far worse. It urged him to take action .

He clasped his hand around your wrist and pulled it toward his pants. His mask barely concealed the whine he let out once your palm made contact with his bulge. His entire body trembled with overwhelming desire. 

It felt like a sin. Something he would be chastised for. He should have been put off by the mere thought of it, yet this only made him more eager. More excited to let his perversions finally take the reigns. He couldn’t hold back any longer. 

The bed creaked slightly when he climbed onto it and onto you, encasing your legs between his. He leaned down and inhaled your enticing scent as he ran his nose along your neck and down your collarbone. His hands moved to your chest attracted to your body like magnets, palms closing around your breasts, groping the soft flesh from above the thin fabric of the nightgown you were wearing.

The cool touch of his porcelain mask travelling down your skin made you stir slightly in your sleep, your neck craning to the side allowing him more room, as if you were inviting him to keep probing your skin. He ripped the mask off his face with a grunt and dug in, lapping at your neck with hardly contained hunger. He heard you hum quietly in response and took it as a sign of approval. As his lips trailed on the surface of your skin, he travelled downward, slipping his fingers underneath the neckline of your robe and peeling it down. The sight of your exposed bosom heightened his burning desire, causing his erection to twitch unrelentingly. 

He couldn't help but kiss your breast, his lips lingering on your delicate flesh, wrapping around the sensitive tip. He moaned in pleasure, his hips jerking forward again, pressing against your body.

His careless movements caused you to hum louder and move again in your sleep, sluggishly kicking your legs. As a result, the covers fell further away from you, revealing your thighs. Your robe had rolled up in the process, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

Brahms stared down in awe at your figure, barely managing to hold back the guttural cries that threatened to spill from his mouth and startle you awake. He felt lured in by the sight of your thighs and in an instant his hands were on you again, fingers digging in your tender flesh. 

"Oh, my Y/N." His voice cracked with unbearable yearning as he moaned your name.

"Mmmh-?" 

He could hear you but chose to ignore it. He didn't want to wake you up, or maybe he didn't care anymore. He was too caught up in his heat-filled mind to bother worrying about anything else. 

He dipped, pressing his lips on your knee, and climbed up in a frenzy, leaving a wet trail of kisses and nibbles on your skin.

He frantically pulled your nightgown up past your belly, without ever taking his lips off of you. The moment your panties came into view, a sharp shiver coursed through his whole body, his eyes widened in hunger and he started salivating. Without delay he bent down again, pressing his nose against your heat to catch a whiff of your scent; your heady sweetness only made him more desperate, a whimper falling from his parted lips. Did you taste just as sweet? Oh, he was dying to find out.

You mumbled something incomprehensible while you wriggled under his persistent touch upon your body. And so you shifted again, turning to lay down on your stomach, unconsciously preventing him from reaching his desired destination. 

When you turned, Brahms felt a slight pushback, a grumble of discontent escaping his mouth, but it only took him a second to draw back in, urged by a primal need.

His gaze flickered to your bottom now in plain sight, his breath caught in his throat as he noted a wet spot right in the center of the cloth covering your heat. His hand moved as if it had its own mind, his fingers trailing over the damp spot before in a swift and impatient motion he pulled your panties to the side. He gasped as he looked down at your exposed folds, gulping at the way they glistened with your fluids.

He could not endure it any longer... He needed you... He yearned to feel his cock buried deep inside you... He'd fantasised about it so many times...  And now he was so close to actually making it happen... 

His body was a bundle of tensed nerves. He couldn't understand what was happening but everything ached and he knew you were the cause. Just like he knew you were the only one who could relieve him from this torture.

He'd never experienced such fierce emotions before. He had absolutely no control over them.

Brahms let out a sigh of relief as he unbuttoned his trousers, leaving more room for his swollen erection. His eyes fluttered closed in response, but only for a fraction of a second, unwilling to look away from the arousing sight of his fingers stroking your pussy, coaxing in your moisture and spreading your folds apart. 

His breathing was so ragged, it echoed through the old walls of your room. The only other audible sound was that squelch he caused by rubbing your labia, which only became more prominent the moment he buried his fingers inside you and started to move them in and out in a leisurely motion.

He had never touched a woman before. In the past, he had caught some of his previous nannies touching themselves; he saw what they were doing, how and where they lingered the most with their fingers but… he had never had the occasion to do it himself. Those women had turned out to be awful. They had disrespected the doll and by extension him. They were undeserving… But you… Oh, you deserved this and more… Yes. Yes. You deserved him.

A moan escaped your lips, and he felt you stirring more than you had before.

With a jolt of fear mixed with excitement he sensed you were about to turn and immediately reached over for his mask, securing it back on his face. With his other hand he pressed down on your spine to pin you on the mattress and prevent you from moving. 

"Mmmmh? W-what…" your voice was barely audible, your words slurred by your sleepy state.

He should have left you there, still half-asleep. He should have stopped right then and there. Made you believe that whatever you had felt that night had merely been part of a dream. He should have holed up in his walls and kept himself hidden for a little while longer before showing himself to you… before giving you what you deserved… and taking from you what he deserved… 

He should have been a good boy… 

But he couldn’t. 

Oh, no he couldn’t. He had gone too far, it was impossible for him to stop.

MORE STORIES 🥀

[I'm almost certain I will indeed write a third and final part for this but please let me know if you would actually like to read it! 🌹]

[Also, consider leaving a tip here on Tumblr or buying me a ☕ if you particularly like what you read. Thank you! 🥀]

Tags: @shondlenoodle @lonely-girl2423 @mellsfern @inlovewithquestionablecharacters @dij-ology @things-you-cant-say-tomorrow-day

[kinascum]

TAG! pt2 - C. STURNIOLO

SUMMARY. A little taste of the other side can't be bad for your system, right?

CONTENT. smut, degrading, oral m, f recieving, getting caught, mocking, over all mean!chris. this is kinda bad...

WC. 1.8k

pt1 (matt)

You lay in bed, the sheets tangled around your legs, the aftermath of the thrilling night air still clinging to your skin. The moon's glow has long since been swallowed by the early dawn, leaving the cabin bathed in a soft, blue light. The smell of pine and lake water lingers in your nostrils, a reminder of the game that had led to something so much more intense. Your thoughts drift back to Matt's strong arms, his hot breath on your neck, the way he'd claimed you so fiercely in the woods.

As the first light of day peeks through the cabin's windows, you hear the clatter of pans in the kitchen. You sit up, the events of the night replaying in your mind, your cheeks flushing with a mix of excitement and dread. You know the others are up, but you can't bring yourself to face them yet. You wonder if they heard anything, if they suspect what happened between you and Matt. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the day ahead.

Slowly, you slip out of bed and tiptoe to the bathroom, the floor cold against your bare feet. You splash water on your face, trying to wash away the evidence of your desire. The taste of him is still on your lips, a secret you're desperate to keep hidden. You glance in the mirror and see the marks on your neck, a map of passion left by his fingers. A shiver runs down your spine.

You slip into a t-shirt and shorts, trying to ignore the way your body reacts to the memory of his touch. You take another deep breath and head towards the kitchen, ready to face the day. As you enter, you're met with the sight of Nate, Nick, and Chris, all busy cooking up breakfast. They look over, greeting you with sleepy smiles and nods. You force a casual grin, hoping it hides the tumult of emotions roiling inside you.

Chris's eyes linger on you a moment longer than the others, a knowing glint in his gaze. Your heart skips a beat. Did he hear something? Did he see something? The silence stretches out, filled only with the sizzle of bacon and the crackle of the fireplace. You grab a plate, trying to act normal, but the weight of his stare is unbearable.

"Morning," you murmur, reaching for a slice of toast.

"You're up early," he says, his voice deceptively casual. "Couldn't sleep?"

You swallow hard, feeling his eyes on you like a brand. "Just had a bit of a restless night," you reply, hoping the blush on your cheeks isn't too noticeable.

He chuckles, a sound that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Must have been something in the air."

The tension in the room is palpable, thick as the smell of coffee. You sit down at the table, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach. The banter and jokes of the morning feel forced, the usual camaraderie tainted by the secret you share with Matt. You can't help but wonder if the dynamic of this trip has shifted permanently.

When Nate, Matt and Nick announce plans to go fishing, you're both relieved and nervous. It's just you and chris in the cabin. You watch them leave, their laughter fading into the distance, leaving you with Chris and his unspoken accusation. The kitchen feels smaller, the air heavier. You pour yourself a cup of coffee, feeling his eyes on you.

He turns from the stove, the spatula in his hand, and crosses the room to stand in front of you. "So," he says, his voice low and dangerous, "you couldn't keep your hands to yourself, huh?"

Your stomach plummets. He knows. You look up at him, trying to read his expression, but his face is a mask of anger and something else—desire. "What are you talking about?" you ask, your voice shaking slightly.

He takes a step closer, the heat of his body almost tangible. "You know what I'm talking about," he says, his eyes dark. "You and my brother in the woods."

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die in your throat. He's seen it all. The way Matt had used you, the way you'd let him, the way you'd loved it. Chris's gaze is like a predator's, hungry and unforgiving. You know you're in trouble, but the way your body responds tells you that you might not mind as much as you should.

"I-I didn't mean for it to happen," you stutter, your voice barely a whisper.

He laughs, a cold, harsh sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "You're funny," he says, his voice dripping with contempt. "Or maybe just a little whore who can't keep your legs closed."

You flinch at the words, the sting of his accusation piercing your soul. But deep down, you know there's a part of you that craves this, that wants to be degraded and used by these men. You feel your pussy throb, betraying your thoughts.

Chris reaches out, his hand wrapping around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. "You liked it, didn't you?" he asks, his voice a menacing whisper. "You liked being Matt's little plaything."

You nod, unable to find the words to deny it. The fear and excitement mingle inside you, creating a cocktail of emotions that make your head spin. His grip tightens, and you find yourself leaning into it, your breath coming in shallow pants.

"Good," he says, his voice dark. "Because now, it's my turn."

He pushes himself down to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. You can see the challenge in them, the dare. He's going to show you just how much of a slut you really are. You know you should be scared, should be fighting him, but instead, you're eager to see what he'll do next.

He pulls your shorts down, exposing your damp panties, you whine. "So eager," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "Look at you, begging for it."

He shoves your leg over his shoulder and pushes your panties aside as dives in, his tongue lapping at your clit. You moan, the sensation overwhelming, his words echoing in your mind. You do want this.

He eats you out with a ferocity that matches his words, his tongue and teeth playing with your sensitive flesh. You squirm under his touch, the pleasure building rapidly. He's not gentle, his teeth grazing your clit, his fingers digging into your thighs. But you don't want gentle. You want him to consume you, to make you feel like the dirty little whore he's painted you to be.

You whimper, your eyes rolling back in your head as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. And just as you're about to fall over, he stops. You look up at him, panting, desperate for release.

"Not yet," he says, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "We're just getting started."

You watch as he stands, the lust in his eyes unmistakable. He's in control now, and you can't help but feel a thrill at his dominance. He grabs your hand and pulls you to your feet, leading you to the couch. He sits down and pulls you onto his lap, your ass nestled against his crotch. You can feel his hardness through his shorts, pressing against you, a constant reminder of what he wants.

He shoves your face into his neck, his hand squeezing your breast through your shirt and pushing your hips onto him. "You're going to cum for me," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "And when you do, you're going to scream my name."

You nod, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You're so close, so close to the edge, and he's the one holding you there. His hand slides down to your pussy, his fingers finding your clit, playing with it mercilessly. He knows just how to touch you, just how to keep you on that knife's edge.

And then he's gone, his hand leaving you aching and needy. "Take off your shirt," he commands, his voice low and firm.

You do as you're told, the fabric sliding off your shoulders to reveal your naked chest. His eyes rake over you, and you feel a flush of heat. You're exposed, vulnerable, and it only makes you wetter. He leans in, his mouth closing over your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. You arch your back, your hips grinding against his cock.

He chuckles, a dark sound that sends a thrill through you. "Eager little slut," he says, his voice muffled against your skin. He pulls away, leaving your nipple wet and sensitive. "Now, let's see how much of a whore you really are."

He pushes you down onto the couch, your legs spread wide. He dives back in, his tongue flicking against your clit, his teeth scraping your inner thighs. You can't help but moan, the pleasure so intense it's almost painful. He's relentless, his mouth working you over until you're nothing but a writhing mess beneath him.

And then, just as you're about to climax, he stops again. You whine, your body begging for more. "What's the magic word?" he asks, his voice taunting.

"Please, chris" you gasp, your voice desperate.

He grins, a wicked look that sends a shiver down your spine. "Good girl," he says, and then he's back, his mouth on you, his tongue and teeth and lips working in tandem to drive you wild. You can't hold back anymore, your body bucking as you scream his name, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave.

Chris doesn't let up, even as you beg for mercy. He eats you out like you're his favorite meal, like he's starving and you're the only thing that can fill him up. Your pussy is soaking wet, his mouth working relentlessly, his tongue flicking and teasing, his teeth grazing. You're so sensitive now, every touch feels like it could send you over the edge again.

"You're mine, yeah?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "Mine to use, mine to fuck, whenever I want." The words are a dark promise, one that sends a thrill through you even as you squirm under his touch. You know he's not playing around, that he means every word.

And yet, as he stands, his pants tented with his erection, you find yourself looking up at him with a mix of fear and excitement. You know what's coming next, and you can't help but want it. He strips off his shorts, his cock springing free, thick and hard. "Open your mouth," he commands, and you do, eager to taste him, to be used by him the way you were by Matt.

He takes your face in his hands, his grip firm as he guides his cock into your mouth. He's not gentle, pushing in deep, filling you up until you gag. You can feel his muscles tense, the power of his body as he uses you, as he takes what he wants. It's intoxicating, the way he's claiming you, making you his.

His hand is in your hair, pulling you closer, controlling every movement. You're just a toy to him, a means to an end, and you love it. You love the way he's using you, the way he's degrading you. You suck harder, your eyes watering, your throat aching, but you don't stop. You want to please him, to make him cum, to show him just how much of a slut you really are.

You feel the tension in his body build, his breath coming in harsh pants. "That's it," he groans, his hips thrusting. "Take it all, baby." And then he's coming, his hot seed filling your mouth, down your throat. You swallow, eager to taste him, to show him you're his.

But just as he pulls out, you hear the door creak open. You freeze, your eyes snapping to the entrance. There, in the doorway, stands Matt, his eyes wide with shock. The room goes still, the only sound the crackling of the fireplace.

You're caught, a whore on her knees with Her best friend's brother's cum on her face. The look in Matt's eyes is unreadable, a mix of anger, lust, and something else—possessiveness? You don't have time to think, to react, because Chris is already packing up, tucking himself back into his pants with a smug smile.

"Well, look who's back, baby" he says, his voice cold. Matt doesn't answer, his gaze locked on you. You scramble to your feet, your heart racing.

You start to pull your shorts up, trying to cover yourself, but Matt grabs your wrist, his grip like steel. "What do you think you're doing?" he asks, his voice a dark whisper. "You're not done yet."

taglist! @sturnstvr @gxldenlush @immattsslut @slut4chriss @stasiesturn @jetaimevous @solarsturniolo @watercolorskyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @meowira @secretagentspy @shadowthesim @mattybsgroupie @baileysturns

love, paz

[novaursa]

https://youtu.be/qillYsPzEs0?si=zWRzrkWUSQ-jRaTA

Can you do this just with the Targaryens and Lannister? Sister!reader Targaryen vs Cersie Lannister 🫣🙏🏼

Fire and Gold

- Summary: Rhaegar chooses you over her. And Ceresi never forgives you for it.

- Paring: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Note: In this AU Robert's Rebellion never happened. Rhaegar marries the reader, Ceresi still marries Robert after Lyanna dies in childbirth along with their child.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: I hope this was what you had in mind, dear anon. The story is fresh from the oven.

You and Rhaegar have always known how to draw a crowd. The smallfolk line the roads, banners flapping in the breeze as cheers follow your every step. Rhaegar’s hand rests at the small of your back, his touch familiar and comforting. The two of you move through the throng with practiced grace, your smiles reflecting the adoration in the eyes of those gathered. The royal tour has been a triumphant journey so far, a celebration of unity and strength. Yet, beneath the surface, tensions simmer, particularly when it comes to the Lannisters.

It’s no surprise that Cersei Lannister would try to disrupt your journey. Tywin’s golden daughter has never hidden her disdain for you. You, the sister who Rhaegar chose over her, who embodies all that she desired but could never possess. Her presence is almost expected as you approach the encampment set up for the royal party. When you step inside the tent, the air is thick with unspoken tension. Rhaegar’s jaw tightens beside you, and you can feel the shift in the atmosphere like a gathering storm.

Inside, Robert Baratheon looms, his massive form imposing even in stillness. Cersei stands at his side, her face twisted in fury, her eyes burning with a hatred you’ve known since you were both young girls at court. The very air seems to crackle between you. But your attention is drawn to your children and theirs, lined up in a tense, volatile standoff. Your eldest son, Aelor, stands tall, his eyes a mirror of Rhaegar’s determination. Blood stains the edge of his blade, and a long, angry gash mars Joffrey’s cheek. The boy’s face is contorted with pain and rage, his hand pressed against the wound.

“What in the name of the gods happened here?” Rhaegar’s voice is a sharp, commanding presence in the room. The knights and guards around you tense, sensing the gravity of the situation.

Robert spits, his voice dripping with contempt. “Your damn spawn attacked my son. Maimed him, Targaryen. That’s what happened.”

Aelor’s voice rings out, clear and unwavering. “He insulted us first. He insulted me, my brothers and sisters. He insulted you, Father, and you, Mother. When he drew his blade, I defended us.”

Joffrey, clutching his wounded cheek, shrieks in a high, grating voice. “Lies! He called me a Lannister bastard, and then he—”

You narrow your eyes, your gaze locking onto Cersei. It is an open secret in the court that her children bear none of the Baratheon traits, their golden hair and green eyes a reflection of the Lannister line. You’ve never spoken of it openly, but now, the accusation lingers in the air, unspoken but heavy. Cersei’s lips press into a thin line, her fury palpable.

“How dare you,” she hisses, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Your vile little whelps—”

“Enough.” Rhaegar’s voice cuts through the tumult like a blade. “They are children, Cersei. This matter is settled.”

“Settled?” Cersei’s face flushes crimson. She turns to Robert, desperation sharpening her tone. “You will let this stand, my lord? He has harmed our son!”

Robert’s eyes flicker between Rhaegar, your children, and his wife. His face is flushed, whether from drink or anger, you cannot tell. For a moment, the entire tent holds its breath, waiting for the King’s decree.

But Rhaegar steps forward, his presence filling the space. “This is over. Children quarrel. It will not be escalated further.”

Cersei’s expression is a mask of fury, her body taut with indignation. Her eyes meet yours across the tent, and for a heartbeat, it’s as if the world narrows to just the two of you. There, in her gaze, you see the depth of her resentment, the wound to her pride that will never heal. You hold her stare, your silence as cutting as any word you could utter.

Cersei’s movements that soon follow are a blur, her hand snatching the dagger from Robert’s belt with a ferocity that sends a jolt of shock through the tent. She lunges at you, the blade aimed with a deadly precision that could only be born from hate. Instinct takes over, and you reach out, catching the weapon with your bare hand before it can pierce your heart.

The sharp steel bites deep into your palm, the pain immediate and excruciating. Blood wells up, spilling over your fingers and dripping onto the ground. Gasps echo through the tent, but no one dares to intervene. Robert’s roar reverberates around you, filled with anger and disbelief. “Cersei, what are you doing?!”

Your children’s cries pierce the air, frantic and terrified. Their small voices, shrill with fear, tear at your heart. The sight of their mother locked in a deadly struggle, blood pouring from your hand, is too much for them to bear. But you can’t look away from Cersei, can’t afford a single moment of distraction.

Her face is contorted with fury, a rage so intense it seems to consume her. “You ruined everything!” she screams, her voice raw. “You were supposed to be nothing more than a bargaining chip, another mad Targaryen girl! But instead, you took him—took the life that should have been mine! And now I’m shackled to this brute, trapped in a prison of my own making because of you!”

“You chose this,” you retort, your voice low, steady, despite the pain searing through your arm. “You and your father wanted too much. You thought you could seize the crown, twist the realm to your liking. But it was never yours to take.”

Her eyes flash, and with a snarl, she presses down, driving the blade further into your grip. The pain is blinding, but you refuse to let go, even as the dagger slices across your forearm in a brutal arc. You cry out, the sound sharp and involuntary, as the blade carves a deep, angry line from wrist to elbow. Warm blood streams down your arm, pooling at your feet.

The lords and ladies around you recoil, horrified, but none move to intervene. Fear holds them frozen in place, their eyes wide, their faces pale. The tent, filled with the sound of your children’s desperate sobs, seems to close in around you.

“Look at you,” Cersei hisses, her voice dripping with venom. “Bleeding for a throne you think you’re owed, just like your father. You’re no different from him. Mad, arrogant, and dangerous.”

“And you,” you bite back, your voice shaking with pain and fury, “are nothing but a bitter, power-hungry fool. You think you can cut me down? You think you can break me? I am not my father, and I will not be cowed by you.”

With a furious cry, she shoves the blade again, but you twist, forcing the weapon away. The dagger slips from her grasp, falling to the ground with a dull thud. You stumble back, clutching your bleeding arm, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Pain throbs through every nerve, but you stand your ground, refusing to show weakness.

Rhaegar is at your side in an instant, his face ashen with worry. “Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice tight with concern, his hands gentle as he examines your injured arm. “Gods, what has she done to you?”

Robert steps forward, his face a mask of barely restrained fury. “Have you lost your senses, woman?” he growls, rounding on Cersei. “You draw a blade on the Princess of the Realm, on your king’s daughter? Are you so eager to invite Aerys’ wrath upon us all?”

Cersei glares back at him, her chest heaving, her hands shaking. “I don’t care!” she cries, her voice breaking. “All my life, I’ve been promised things that were taken away. I was promised Rhaegar, promised a crown, and now I’m nothing! Stuck here, with you, and this—this farce of a marriage. I’m trapped, and it’s all her fault!”

“Enough.” Robert’s voice is like a hammer striking stone, his eyes blazing with anger. “You’ve gone too far. This is beyond foolish, beyond dangerous. You think Aerys will turn a blind eye when he hears of this? His daughter bleeding at your hands?”

The name of your father seems to cut through her fury, a flicker of fear passing over her face. The threat is real—everyone knows the Mad King’s unpredictable wrath, his unquenchable thirst for vengeance. And you, his beloved daughter, lying wounded at her feet? The consequences could be catastrophic.

Rhaegar’s arms wrap around you, his touch gentle as he guides you away from the scene. “We need to get you to the maester,” he says softly, his voice tight with worry.

You nod, the pain throbbing with each heartbeat, but you keep your gaze on Cersei, refusing to look away. “Remember this, Cersei,” you say, your voice steady despite the agony. “You brought this on yourself. You chose your path, just as I chose mine. And you���ll find that you’ve made an enemy you can’t afford to have.”

With that, Rhaegar leads you out of the tent, your children trailing behind, their faces pale and tear-streaked. The lords and ladies part before you, their whispers already spreading like wildfire through the camp.

This skirmish is over, but the repercussions are only beginning.

[animeyanderelover]

Anon: Can I have headcanons about a reader who is much older? I mean, she is older, smarter, wiser, stronger although she looks young for her age. During her long life, she has experienced a lot of terrible things and therefore cannot tolerate injustice. She is not a hero who wants to change the world, but she will not offend the weak. She has such a specific aura of a mother that you involuntarily go to her for advice (and she gives it) When the character talks about his age, she just smiles and thinks, “he’s still just a child.” Featuring Chrollo, Shalnark, Dazai, Deidara, Kurapika, Pouf, Gojo

This is to be read in a platonic context.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional mindset, clinginess, isolation

Tags: @swagenemyartisan @cachamata @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @hyakki-yosai @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59 @shumidehiro @izanami78

You're still just a child

Deidara

💥​Deidara truly is a walking talking contradiction. On the one hand he often complains to you that he doesn't want to be treated like a child yet as soon as he is even slightly upset or offended by something or someone he comes running to you with a big pout on his face. Despite everything at heart he remains an attention-seeker after all who would hate to witness you paying attention to someone else. He is truly a breathing manchild though as his temper really reminds you of the bratty attitude of a child. It is so easy to make him jealous to the point where he has actually threatened to bomb the people who elicited such ugly emotions out of him only to be scolded and afterwards receiving the cold shoulder from you, something that causes him to actually tear up. As much as he complains about not wanting to be treated like a child, Deidara still insists for you to brush his hair and tie it in the morning whenever he stays the night. He's always without a fail complaining to you about Sasori and their constant arguments about what the true definition of art is, wanting you to take his side of the argument. On every special celebration possible he prepares a firework for you.

Kurapika Kurta

⛓️​Kurapika is going to go into this a lot more skeptical. It's alright to have friends who are not part of his clan but going as far as to see someone as a mother is testing his loyalty to his clan as Kurapika is painfully aware that you aren't his biological parent. He often shies away from your attention and rejects your help as the feeling of betraying his own clan gnaws at his soul. Still he finds himself subconsciously seeking you out whenever he experiences an emotional tumult, already knowing deep down that you can soothe his overflowing rage. He starts getting quite selfish the more he gets attached to you as he attempts to isolate you more from others. After all it is not uncommon for people to admire you for your strength and your youthful looks despite your age and such people always put him on edge. You are by all means far from naive yet his distrust often outweights his rationality. You never fail to notice his brooding emotions and always put a calming hand on his shoulder, emotionally and literally holding him back. You have never attempted to take the morally high ground when you found out about his desire for revenge, never belittled him and it allows him to express his pain freely to you.

Chrollo Lucilfer

📖​Intrigue is always the emotion that will serve as the bait to gain Chrollo's attention and it truly is no different in this scenario. You see, Chrollo has always been rather sophisticated with a unique philosophy and he loves having long discussions with you about humanity and all their rights and wrongs. You're neither driven by revenge nor are you someone who sees herself as a hero who has to stop him. Instead you listen to him with that gentle look on your face and it only serves as fuel to Chrollo's curiosity as he rarely witnesses such composure. However, he is not quite sure how he should feel about the way you view him as still a child. Sure, you may be older than him but throughout his life Chrollo has learnt that even adults reverted back to crying babies when he confronted them and promised them death. The concept of a mother is something neither he nor any of the other members of the Phantom Troupe have experienced, the strange warmth within his heart a sensation so unfamiliar that it feels alien. Still, he supposes that it's quite nice. I feel like in this specific dynamic he would actually refrain from stealing your Nen-ability simply because he genuinely respects you.

Shalnark

📱​Usually his sweet smiles are very deceiving but they are always genuine whenever he visits you. Whilst Shalnark harbored some distrust against you during the beginning as years of being a thief and criminal have given him direct exposure to the ugliness of humans he has learnt to realise that you aren't like common people. You have had your own share of struggles and injustice and it is a topic he learns to bond over with you as well as learning to respect you for your physical and mental strength as a consequence of your past. Indeed, the two of you may appear like a mother and her sweet son spending time together yet there is always a sinister motive that lies hidden. Shalnark always pays you a visit after a successful mission the Phantom Troupe committed as it is a nice change of pacing. Initially he brings you souvenirs as a gift, most of them stolen objects from the robbery. It becomes quickly clear though that you do not appreciate such presents, especially if the blood of innocents sticks to them like invisible karma. If you should have difficulties regarding technology and electronical devices Shalnark is always there to help you and fix stuff for you.

Shaiapouf

🎻​Shaiapouf gives you intense hatred after you pick him up from the palace where he almost died, blames your kind for the death of his beloved king and heavily blames himself for not having done more. You should have saved the king and not this unworthy and incapable servant. He only complies begrudgingly because you are stronger than he is and his animal genes accept the natural order of the food chain where you stand above him. Born to serve and born to help his majesty to receive greatness, perhaps it is this desperate wish that slowly leads him to push his ideals on you. He notices the spark of potential, starts clinging to the attention and care you give him as he receives a taste of what it must feel like to have a nurturing mother. Shaiapouf hatched already as an adult who knew of his purpose and already possessed great levels of intelligence yet the more love he receives the more he starts reminding you of a child. Still dedicated to serve and protect yet also constantly seeking approval and damning everyone who may even attempt to date you. It is somewhat endearing though, especially if he splits himself and you have multiple mini hims clinging to you.

Dazai Osamu

🤎​You indeed ended up picking up a stray dog with several issues after stopping him from trying one of his many attempts to die. Dazai keeps up his initial antics as he asks you if you would like to join him, quickly shoot him down by revealing your age which elicits one of his theatrical reactions out of him. The truth is that Dazai never had loving parents and much less a mother who nurtured him and cared for him and even if he would have had one he doubts she would have been able to love him for the monster he used to be and partially still is. It is this inexperience that startles him when he receives tastes of it from you. It is a sensation akin to being submerged in scathing hot water, his mind torn apart between pain and a strange comfort that urges him to drown even deeper. What frightens him even more is your willingness to listen to him in order to understand him better, something he has never received before as most people have just learned to live with his antics and brush them off when he lets them out. Pain makes someone wiser and that applies perfectly to you and Dazai can't help himself but seek you out for advice, searches for the answer of what he was made for by seeking out you.

Gojo Satoru

🩵​You've known Gojo since he entered Jujutsu High, actually decided to tutor him despite having retired after the world failed you. Partially you see yourself in this young boy and it is this urge to teach him to not repeat mistakes of the past that leads you to take him in, officially becoming his first teacher as he was only ever taught the basics by his own family. You seek out the boy underneath those blue eyes on a personal level no one has ever bothered to get to know him on. What makes Gojo Satoru Gojo Satoru? So used to being treated like a valuable weapon than someone's son it is almost sickening for a while for Satoru and even though he attempts to hide it beneath that careless grin you sense his distress and help him to work through it. After Suguru chose a path of hatred to walk on you are the only person Satoru still has left and on that day he breaks down in tears for the first time and clings to you like a weeping child in need of his mother's love and comfort. He completely turns his back on his biological parents, even coldly states to them one time that he only has one mother which is you. The only approval that matters is yours, the only attention he needs is yours.

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Six-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, SMUT, PIV, Multiple Orgasm, Dirty Talk, Jealousy, Toxic Behaviours, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Slight Voyeurism , Possessive Behaviours, Masochism, Sadism, Semi-Public Sex, Begging, Handjob, Fingering, Kissing, Gun!Play, Angst.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Forty minutes.

Forty whole fucking minutes. Could you survive that? Could you withstand the intensity of locking eyes with Theodore while out on the dance floor--fully aware that in a mere forty minutes, you'd be ditching him for his best friend, who would undoubtedly have his tongue halfway down your fucking throat within seconds? Amongst other parts of him?

Surely, you thought, initially. Surely, you could navigate this without a damn hitch.

And yet, as the seconds ticked away, the problems seemingly multiplied, each one more intricate than the last. Did your strategic dance around the room, weaving between curtains and moving with the rhythm of the crowd, make you a coward? Or were you simply just a troubled girl, trying to avoid an explosive drama?

Cursing Emily and her carefree advice, you acknowledged that her fearless disposition most likely wouldn't have flinched at such a predicament. However, you, caught in a tumult of conflicting emotions and uncertainties, found the prospect far more overwhelming than you thought you would.

And as thirty-five minutes finally fucking ticked away, urgency propelled you across the room, each step hastening toward the bathroom as if evading a blazing fire.

The door swung open, revealing a sanctuary of stark white tiles and dimmed lighting. Your breaths resonated in the confined space, a palpable blend of anticipation and trepidation saturating the air. In the mirror, you appraised yourself, eyes reflecting the tempest swirling within. The bathroom, a cocoon of silence, seemed to pulse with your internal turmoil.

Every moment lingered like a suspended breath, the minutes stretching thin as you awaited Mattheo's arrival. Each heartbeat echoed in the quiet space, the air electrified with the promise of an electric encounter, a typical mix of ecstasy and chaos that Mattheo was known to cause.

And then, before you could even process it, the bathroom door creaked open, prompting you to look up. Despite having only been in there for about 30 seconds, Mattheo smoothly glided into the room. You caught his dark eyes in the mirror, wasting no time before his intense gaze locked onto you, and with a practiced motion, he secured the door shut and locked it behind him.

"Matt-"

He shook his head, his voice cutting through the air, low and deep. "Quiet, Raven."

Mattheo closed the distance with deliberate steps, his predatory focus narrowing onto you. Hunger radiated from his eyes, an intensity that filled the room. As his gaze swept over you from head to toe, the air thickened, and the sound of your heart pounding echoed in the confined space, a rhythmic accompaniment to the charged atmosphere.

"Turn around," Mattheo commanded, his voice authoritative and husky, laced with a potent blend of desire. "Face me."

The air seemed to hum with anticipation as you slowly spun around, obedient to his directive. His eyes, now intensified with lust, burned into the exposed curves of your form, claiming every inch with an intensity that left no doubt about the restrained fervor filling the room. Mattheo circled around you, his predatory nature manifesting in every calculated step. The fabric of his black suit jacket strained against the contours of his strong shoulders, emphasizing the raw power that simmered beneath the surface.

His eyes, dark pools of desire, moved with precision, taking in the sight of your body adorned in the tight red dress. The sharp lines of his jaw tightened as he absorbed the visual feast before him, a hunger burning in his gaze that echoed the primal instincts of a predator closing in on its prey.

And then, he stopped behind you, his hand coming up to graze your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lips, softly tugging down your bottom one before releasing it.

And with his mouth grazing your ear, he whispered, "I'm going to fuck you senseless."

Your lungs stalled, and you turned your head slightly, trying to glimpse him from over your shoulder. "I'd like to see you try."

Without another word, Mattheo snatched your hips, spinning you over and shoving you onto the counter as his lips smothered yours. The flame that had ignited in the ballroom instantly roared to life, drenched in the fuel of your connection, setting your skin ablaze with need. Your fingers instantly dove into his hair, wringing around his luscious curls, and he groaned, slipping his tongue into your mouth, a large hand coming to cup your head, to trap you there, the other coasting up and down your side.

Your legs spread for him, welcoming him, cunt already throbbing in anticipation. For a brief second, you pushed away, running your hands over his sophisticated chest, taking a moment to admire him, to soak in how absolutely fucking beautiful he looked. Mattheo did the same, seeming new, somehow, a reverent awe in his gaze--not just feral, but tormented, needing to have you in his arms.

"Fuck, Raven..." he breathed, his voice a low, husky cadence. "I don't even know where to fucking touch you first because I want all of you...I need all of you at once..."

"Gods...you look so fucking good, Mattheo..." you murmured, a smirk playing on your lips as you let your gaze travel up his body, meeting his intoxicating brown eyes. "You clean up deliciously well for a man with such a reckless reputation."

"Hm," Mattheo huffed, fingers moving with a delicate precision over the fabric of your dress, gliding sensuously along the curves of your hips. "You're cute when you're nice to me, Raven..."

Playfully, you inquired, your fingers tracing a teasing path across his chest, "And what am I when I'm mean to you?"

His devilish smirk grew. "Hot as fuck."

"You're a bloody masochist..." you whispered through a smirk of your own, your voice merely a breath as your hands found his shoulders. "Kiss me, you piece of shit."

His lip twitched, and without any hesitation he kissed you again, jerking you closer, sucking in air through his nose while his tongue swirled over yours. Whimpering, you caressed his shoulders, up his neck, finding his hair once more, fingers teasing the warm shell of his ears. At this, his back crested, and he moaned, pitching forward, nearly shoving you into the sink as he trembled.

A shiver shook you from the base of your spine, and you curled your legs around him, core clenching hard. Your hips rolled forward, seeking his touch, and he grazed your pussy over your underwear, thumb ghosting your clit through the fabric. You squeaked, and he silenced you with his mouth, tugging at the fabric until he'd fit his thick fingers under the hem.

Mattheo peeled away, gasping, watching you as he slid a finger through your hot slit, his breath hitching. "So fucking wet for me," he murmured. "And all mine..." He dragged a slickened digit over your clit, the sensation new and delicious--you quivered, biting your lip. "Only for me..."

You nodded, inching forward, the only articulate words escaping as please, please, please.

"Isn't that right, princess?" He said, free hand gripping your jaw as he stared directly into your soul, his chest heaving and pupils blown wide with lust. "This tight little pussy belongs to me, doesn't it?"

"Yes," you mewled, lids fluttering. "All yours...it's all yours, Matty..."

"Fuck...I'm going to make you cum now, then I'm going to make you cum on my fucking cock..." he leaned close, his middle and fourth finger teasing your entrance, lips hovering over your ear. "And by the end of the night, the only thing this pretty mouth will be able to say is my name."

"Oh--" you began, but then he plunged into you. "God!"

He snickered. "Wrong name."

Riddle crooked his fingers in your cunt, focused on your flushing face, the tempo of your intermittent gasps, his breath shallow as you clenched and pulsed around him. His thumb traced rapid little lines around your swollen clit, his pace merciless, and you snuffed a whimper in your chest, staring at him. He wet his lips, pressing his mouth to yours in a brief kiss as he snapped his wrist, curling and scissoring inside of you. His hips rocked with his rhythm, and you noticed the outline of his impressive erection straining at his pants. Your hand burned to stroke it, to feel it.

"I missed you so fucking much, Matty," you whimpered, your voice a desire filled plea. "I think I missed that pretty cock more, though...I can't lie..."

"Mm," Mattheo hummed, the depth of it reverberating almost as a growl, increasing the heat in your lungs. "It missed you too, Raven...my fucking hand could never compare to this tight little cunt..."

"Fuck, Mattheo..." you moaned, your eyes squeezed shut as you clung to his strong, muscular frame. "Did you think of me?"

"Never stopped," he murmured, catching your lips in a brief kiss, increasing the pressure of his thumb on your clit--forcing you to cry out in delight. "Fuck. How does a cunt this little take me so well, hm?" Another kiss, lingering. "Just thinking about how tight you are makes my cock hard."

You whinged, lava boiling in your blood--you weren't sure what was going to make you cum first, his words or his fingers. "Oh...Mattheo..."

"That's right," he said. "I make myself cum every morning thinking about fucking you. And it's never enough." He was panting, kissing a path down toward your neck. "I could fuck this pretty pussy every night for the rest of my fucking life and it still wouldn't be enough..."

Your brain swarmed with that distant feeling again, dizzying you, robbing you of language, weakening your joints. You clung to him, a raft in the sea of your lust, choking back your moans as his palm rocked against you, thumb circling your clit, fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt--you let your lids close, let pleasure encompass you, let yourself submerge to his will, trusting him to give you exactly what you needed.

"Shit..." you whimpered, digging your nails into him as he nipped at your pulse, teeth grazing over it softly. "I fucking need you, Matty..."

"Have me, Raven...It's yours." He said, his voice cracking with lust, throat shredded with emotion. "I'm yours."

Heat flooded your face, and while chewing your cheek, you reached for him, grasping at his trousers. Mattheo's hand left your jaw, reaching behind him and pulling the familiar black gun from under his waist band, tossing it down onto the counter before allowing you to unzip his fly. You hardly even flinched at the sound, too lost within your own primal fervour, fingers moving swiftly as you tugged everything down his thighs, his thick length springing free, smacking his clothed stomach. He barely seemed to notice, seemingly lost in the heat of your cunt in his hand.

You scooted closer and wrapped your fingers around his warm, heavy cock--and he choked, jabbing you deep, forcing a quaky breath from your lungs. Swallowing, you tightened your fist and stroked him, watching him from half-lidded eyes as his jaw tensed, and his lips parted in pleasure.

He throbbed, twitched under your grip, blood biting his cheeks when you coated his head with the bead of his pre-cum, and his breath was uneven, tattered from the weight of lust--but so was yours. Mattheo circled your stiff nub, pumping his fingers into your pussy, and pleasure wracked you, pouring into your pulse like perfect poison--a feeling you should never have wanted, but would now die without.

"Yeah...stroke my fucking cock, little slut..." he purred, tilting his head as he glimpsed your lips, something devilish and dark and amused in his gaze. "...make your owner feel good."

Before you had the chance to respond, he kissed you again, shoving his tongue past your teeth, canting his hips in pace with your hand. He was smooth and silky and so big--in the back of your head, you couldn't believe you'd managed to take all of him--the memories had you clench and groan into him, and his cock throbbed in your palm. The air was humid, thick with sex, dizzying you, shooting static through your skin.

"Fuck," he muttered against your mouth, "you're so tight..."

You hummed in delight, walls clenching around his fingers. "And you're so hard..."

"That's right...that's what you fucking do to me, Raven..." he purred, and with each thrust of his fingers, pleasure built inside of you, intense and all-consuming as it threatened to overrun your senses. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the brink, your body pulsing with electrical sparks of delight. "Fuck...I feel you squeezing me, princess...cum for me..."

Mattheo held you tightly against him, his words sending shock waves of their own straight to your fucking core, his fingers working in their relentless rhythm that had you seeing stars. And then, with a sudden burst of ecstasy, you came hard, your entire body convulsing as pleasure ripped through you like a tidal wave. You moaned loudly, your muscles clenching and spasming as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

Mattheo watched you with a satisfied smirk, his fingers still working inside of you until he was certain you were past your high. And then, he eased back, meeting your eyes, both of you slowing to stop as something slammed you in succession, a chasm of greed opening between your bodies. A snap, an ignition--and in one smooth movement, you'd released him while his fingers left your core and yanked your underwear to the side, cock thrusting into you with a sweet sting.

"Fucking hell..." Mattheo hissed in bliss, sheathing himself in your heat. He grappled your hips, grip tight enough to bruise, slowly fucking into you, watching his dick disappear into your pussy. "Tell me how that feels, Raven..."

"Fuck-so good..." you mewled, mouth dropped in ecstasy, head fighting not to fall back onto your shoulders. "So fucking good..."

"Mhm...yeah..." shuddering at his own words, he groaned, shifting closer, murmuring into your ear as he increased his pace, hips snapping, cock fucking deep into your cunt. "Tell me how fucking bad you missed me...how fucking bad you missed this cock..."

"Oh, Gods..." desire had consumed you both, his pace embodying complete desperation, a frenzied, urgent need to bring you both to orgasm. "I missed you so fucking much...I missed your cock-oh! Fuck-"

Mattheo's strokes were rough, painful, incredible, your breath catching up with your brain, the euphoric fullness of his cock ready to fling you to another plane. And then his thumb grazed over your clit, beating it in time with his thrusts--you cracked, crying out, your words cut short.

"That's right," Mattheo growled, "that's right--you're mine, you're mine..." he pressed his lips to yours, short and sharp. "This pussy is mine, that perfect little body is mine...your heart and your fucking soul is mine..." he was slamming you deep, panting with every snap of his hips, your pussy hot and slick and pulsing with your oncoming climax. "No one could ever fuck you like I do...understand me?"

"Yes. Yes!" Rapture numbed you, at the edge of your skin, a typhoon ready to wreck you witless.

"Say it." He hissed, kissing you again, mouth millimeters from yours. "Say no one else could ever make you feel like this. Fucking no one."

"Oh-oh...fuck..." you could barely respond, overwhelmed by the feelings coursing through your body. Waves upon waves of pleasure charged through your veins, every inch of your skin tingling with delight as Mattheo took you higher and higher. "No one, Matty...only you-fuck! Only you..."

He growled, a primal shredded sound, his pace of your clit increasing. "Fucking cum for me, whore."

"Yes! Fuck!"

A sudden, explosive burst of bliss slammed into you, making your back arch in ecstasy while moaning a string of indecipherable curses. Your walls clamped around his cock, milking him for all he was worth as you rode out the second wave of pleasure that rocked your body. Mattheo growled hungrily, his lips crashing down to capture yours in a fiercely passionate kiss as he continued to drive into you without consideration. He thrust harder and deeper, his body slamming against yours as you both reached new heights of pleasure together.

Mattheo's eyes were hardly open, his breath leaving his throat in mere growls as he fucked you deep, both hands shifting to your hips now. "Mhm...that's my good girl...so fucking tight..."

Every nerve in your body felt alive, thrumming with the raw power of your shared desire. You were consumed by the heat of the moment, lost in a world completely separate from reality, when a loud, sudden knock at the door abruptly interrupted everything--both of you stopped, fear creeping into your eyes, ears straining to decipher the voice behind the door.

"Hello?" It was deep, male, and recognizable. Mattheo kept his cock inside you, each of your heads turned, staring at the door, brains buffering as you tried to put the voice to a face. "Anyone in there? C'è qualcuno?"

Your jaw dropped, terror clutching your chest, watching as Mattheo simply smirked--something so fucking dark creeping into his eyes it'd put even the stormiest midnight skies to shame. With a quick, aggressive motion, he pulled out of you, ripping you off the counter and spinning the both of you around, making you face the door as he pulled up the back of your dress and aligned himself with your cunt, one hand on your stomach and the other clamped over your mouth.

He released a deep groan in your ear as he plunged his cock deep inside you once more, the muscles in his chest tensing against your back, your heart pounding in your fucking throat. You were sure this man had completely fucking lost it.

"You think I should let him in here, hm? Let him see what I fucking do to you...who you fucking belong to..." each word from his lips was barely spoken, his voice so low and gravelly in your ear that you involuntarily moaned into his palm, hoping to Godric himself that it was muffled well enough. "Maybe I should make you scream for me...make you show him who the fuck you call daddy..."

He slammed into you with abandon, his hips grinding against your ass as he took you from behind, his hands gripping you hard.

“Tell him it’s occupied,” he muttered, his voice so deep and dark it involuntarily made you clench around him. “Tell him you’ll be right out.”

You shook your head, panic gripping you, but Mattheo wasn’t interested in your protests. In a swift motion, he reached behind him, grasping the gun off the counter, pressing the cold metal of the barrel tight to your temple.

“I’m going to release your mouth, and you’re going to do it, understand me?” You felt the overwhelming power of his need radiating through every inch of your body. “Do it, or I’ll unlock that door and let him in.”

You clenched again, body trembling as he continued fucking deep into you, his hand slowly leaving your mouth as you reluctantly nodded. You knew this gun couldn’t hurt you, even if Mattheo wanted it to, but the mere prospect of it being held against your temple did something to you, enough to make you want to submit to him without hesitation.

When his fingers slipped to your jaw, you inhaled, gathering your strength to speak. “O-occupied! I’ll only be a f-few…”

Mattheo huffed, slowly descending the gun from your head before tossing it back onto the counter. He slowed his pace for a few seconds, as though he was waiting for Theo to leave, before his fervour took over and his palm clamped over your mouth again.

"Mm, fuck..." he moaned, seemingly unable to help himself. You could feel his breath hot on your neck, his muscles flexing and tensing with every powerful thrust. "I'm going to cum so deep in this pussy...you're going to be so full of my fucking cum, Raven, fuck..."

Mattheo growled hungrily, driving into you even harder as he chased his own release. You felt his body tense, you knew he was close. "You're going to feel it, baby...for the rest of the night you're going to feel my cum dripping from your tight little cunt...running down your thighs..." he groaned, lips pressed against your ear. "As you walk out of here...as you look my best friend in the fucking eyes...fuck-"

Before he could finish the sentence, his breath sputtered, his fingers digging deeper into your skin as he spilled his release deep inside of your pussy. You could feel the warmth spreading through you as his cock continued to pulse and twitch, each ministration sending new waves of pleasure crashing over your body.

For a moment, the two of you simply stood there, gasping for air, your bodies trembling with the aftershocks of your shared passion. It was as if time stood still, the world outside the bathroom door ceasing to exist as you remained locked in your embrace, lost in the aftermath of your all-encompassing ecstasy. And as the intensity between you and Mattheo finally subsided, leaving both of you exhausted and sated, a comfortable silence enveloped the room. Amidst the quiet, you subtly moved to fix yourselves, the air still charged with the remnants of passion.

Once you were settled, you noticed a moment when Mattheo's attention waned, and curiosity got the better of you. Deciding to seize the moment, you reached for his gun.

"What's the purpose of this?...especially tonight?" you inquired, your fingers tracing over the barrel. The cool, unyielding metal pressed against your skin, raising questions in the hushed aftermath. "Why do you carry it with you?"

Mattheo's gaze lifted, his fingers diligently working to fasten his belt, yet his jaw tensed in response to the proposed questions. You could tell his brain was already formulating ways to deflect, his guarded expression betraying the reluctance to divulge.

"Don't worry about it, Raven," he retorted, the words coldly dismissing you with a mere glance. “It can’t hurt anyone.”

“Still,” your brow furrowed with concern. "You could get expelled, Mattheo, or even worse-"

"Could, but I won't," he interjected, the statement delivered with a stark flatness. Stepping toward you, he extended a hand, a slow and deliberate gesture. "Give it to me."

A firm "no" escaped your lips as you instinctively backed away. "Not until you tell me what it's for."

Mattheo's smirk emerged, a slow and calculated advance accompanying an amused glint in his eyes. "Don't play with me, Raven. You know you won't win."

Your measured retreat brought you ever closer to the approaching wall, the only thing that you knew would put a for-certain end to your defiance. The intensity in your voice reflected your internal struggle, demanding answers.

"Why won't you tell me?" The question hung in the charged air, a challenge he couldn't sidestep. "I can't think of one good reason why-“

"You said you trusted me," he countered, his jaw clenching with a mix of frustration and determination.

"I'm trying," you hissed, your teeth barred with emotion. "You're not making it very easy for me."

Amusement danced in his eyes as your back met the unyielding wall, a soft gasp betraying your resolve. He tilted his head, closing the remaining distance until he stood right before you. Two strong arms encaged you against the wall beneath him, asserting dominance in the charged silence, the unspoken standoff between you escalating with every passing heartbeat.

"Now what, hm?" Mattheo mused, a twinkle of sadistic amusement dancing in his eyes. He wet his lips, his gaze flickering to yours, the gun in your hand tucked securely behind your back. "I've got you trapped, princess..."

"Mattheo, please," your voice held a desperate plea, refusing to entertain his games. "This is me begging..."

"For what?" he demanded, a challenging edge in his tone.

"For even the smallest glimpse into your life..." you whispered, your voice quivering, as if fearing the vulnerability of your admission. "I want you, Mattheo, but I can't keep doing this if you won't open up to me...you know everything about me, and all I know about you is that you hate the colour yellow..."

Mattheo huffed, smirking. "It's a wretched c-"

"Please," you interrupted, lifting your free hand to his face. Your thumb brushed gently over his cheekbone, the gesture laden with a tender plea. "I'm on your side…no matter what."

The intensity in your gaze drilled into him, each word you spoke carrying a profound weight that you hoped he could decipher. The silence that lingered between you was thick, fraught with unspoken tension that hung in the air like a dense fog. Then, he inhaled sharply, his entire demeanor shifting as he lifted his wrist to check the time on his watch.

"Fine," he uttered, his voice devoid of any discernible emotion, a stoic façade masking the complexities beneath. "But we have to leave right now."

Your brows furrowed in confusion, lips parting to voice your inquiry. "What?"

"Right now, Raven," he reiterated, urgency punctuating his words. "You want to know what the gun is for, I'll bloody well show you."

As you blinked in response, still partially stunned, he extended his hand once again, gesturing for you to surrender the weighty weapon. Swallowing your confusion, you carefully placed the firearm in his calloused palm, searching his eyes for any clue about the impending journey.

"Where?" you finally questioned, your gaze unwavering as he tucked the gun back into his pants. "Where are we going?"

Mattheo sighed, a complex mixture of emotions crossing his features as he ran a hand through his hair. Each step he took toward the door seemed laden with the gravity of a decision yet to unfold.

"The Forbidden Forest."

——————————

Here’s chapter 27->

[pretzel-box]

you killed me with the last part of sunkissed 😭😭 i NEED a happy ending for it ill go insane!!!!!!!!

Sequel to Sunkissed Collection. Final Part.

Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship [Marriage], more fluff, comfort, reunion, more fluff again.

Words: 1,2k

Authors Note: It was a close call between not posting another part anymore or satisfying the mass of readers.

“It feels like… we’re not meant to be together,” Sebastian screamed suddenly into the hallway, his voice cracking under the heavy emotions he tried to conceal. All the words that didn't come out previously, were now spilling out of his mouth into the silence of the facility. “Not anymore.”

His breath hitched, his chest tightening at his own twisted words and his guilty mind ran wild with thoughts that screamed at him. His fluorescent eyes, usually so guarded, shimmered with the threat of unshed tears as he stared at you, a torrent of emotions storming behind them. For a moment, he was silent, lost in the tumult of his feelings. He doesn't know anymore at this point. He wished he could just run to you at full speed, tackle you from behind and start where you two left off. And at the same time, he knew it was unrealistic. You deserved your happiness, without his new life…

“And yet,” you continued his sentence, standing at the end of the hallway, the hand hovering above the door handle as if you had waited all along. Your voice was like a gentle balm in the heavy air, a strong contrast to him. While he was on the edge, you tried to be his lifeline, trying to save him from himself. “We aren't meant to part ways either.”

Sebastian's gaze met yours, and he felt his heart stir at the sight of your smile—the perfect, warm smile he cherished so deeply. The one that, in his darkest moments, always brought him hope. It was a sign that everything was okay. And if it wasn’t, then somehow, someday, it would be. Seeing it again after all those years, not in his broken memories, but right in front of his very eyes, made something in him flip. He thought you had already left.

“Oh, Sebastian,” you murmured, your voice carrying a tenderness that seemed to melt away the fear holding him back.

He flinched as you took a few gentle steps forward, your hand reaching out to him with such care, such deliberate grace, that he couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth, his cheeks flushing with a mixture of surprise and longing. “Even if it seems impossible.” Your fingers hovered near his skin, tracing soft circles over his cheekbones, gliding into the dark waves of his raven locks. The touch was so familiar, so filled with unspoken love, that he felt his defenses crumble. “I would do anything.”

You were still here. You hadn’t left.

“Anything to give us one last chance, even when I know it's already over.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Sebastian raised his own trembling hand, placing it softly over yours. He was scared, terrified that this was just another cruel trick of his mind. But the moment his cold fingers touched yours, a spark ignited in his heart, warm and real, spreading through him like wildfire.

He felt a rush of emotion—a mixture of relief, hope, and an overwhelming love he’d buried deep within himself for so long. You were here. Truly here. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other.

“I’ve missed you… so much.”

Sebastian’s breath hitched as the dam of his deep emotions finally broke. Tears began to fall freely, tracing the contours of his cheeks, and his body trembled with the force of his sobs. He could no longer hold back the pain, the guilt, the relief that flooded him all at once, that suffocated him from the very inside. It felt like a tidal wave crashing over him, threatening to pull him under.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice raw with emotion. “I’m so sorry for everything… For what I’ve become, for the things I’ve done to survive… I—” His words were cut off by a sob that tore through his chest, his shoulders shaking as he buried his face in his hands, ashamed to meet your all loving eyes.

You moved closer, wrapping your arms around him with a loving care, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Sebastian,” you whispered softly, your voice filled with a quiet, unwavering love. “Look at me.” When he didn’t, refusing to disgust you further with his apperance, you gently lifted his chin with your hand, guiding his tear-filled gaze to meet yours. “I love you. No matter what you look like, no matter what you’ve done… I love you.”

He blinked, his three eyes wide and shimmering with fresh tears, his breath catching in his throat once more. “But… how can you?” he whispered, his voice breaking with the weight of his guilt and self-loathing. “After everything… how can you still love me?”

You smiled softly, a tender warmth in your mesmerizing eyes as you held his gaze. “Do you remember our wedding vows?” you asked, your thumb brushing away the tears on his cheek. “At the beach, with the waves crashing behind us? You promised me to be my home. And I made the same promise to you, Sebastian Solace.”

He nodded, barely able to speak, the memory flooding back—the salty breeze, the sound of the ocean, the way your eyes sparkled with happiness as you exchanged your vows. He remembered how you both laughed when the wind caught the veil, how you both spoke with such conviction, such hope for the future.

“Those vows… they weren’t just words,” you continued, your voice soft but firm. “They were a promise. A promise that I still keep, no matter what. I don’t care what you look like now or what you’ve done to survive. I care about you, the man I married, the man I still love with all my heart.”

A strangled cry escaped Sebastian’s lips, a mix of relief and heartbreak, and he collapsed against you, his arms wrapping around you tightly as if afraid you might vanish if he let go. “What belongs together will be together, Sebastian. No matter what comes before, between or after.” His face buried in the crook of your neck, his tears soaking your skin. “I… I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice muffled, full of anguish.

You stroked his dark hair gently, pressing a soft kiss to his temple like you did countless times before in the past. “Maybe,” you replied, your tone teasing yet full of love, “but you’re stuck with me anyway.”

He chuckled softly through his tears, a small, broken laugh, and for the first time in so long, he felt a flicker of hope. You were here, holding him, loving him despite everything. You hadn’t turned away, hadn’t abandoned him.

“You’ve always been stubborn,” he whispered, his voice trembling but softer now, filled with a kind of peace he hadn’t felt in years.

“And you love me for it,” you replied, a smile in your voice as you held him close, feeling the tension slowly leaving his body.

“I do,” he murmured, his grip on you tightening. “I love you so much.”

And as you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, it felt as if the world around you faded away. It was just the two of you, together again, bound by the love and promises you made on that beach so many years ago. And for the first time in a long time, Sebastian dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for happiness, since he was home once more.

[oceansatedogs]

succumbing

succumbing to demons (blue eyed Teddy)

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 10

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content eventually (slow burn), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44, @melmel-fandom, @hufflepufferine, @shadows-and-flowers, @xcrybaby555x, @bespectacledhuman

Dreamcasting: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 (contains smut)

A/N: Hello lovely readers! Thank you all once again for all of your support for my story - I truly appreciate all of the likes, comments, and reblogs SO MUCH! A quick note - as I've mentioned before, this is an incredibly busy stretch for me at work, and the next chapter is also quite long, so it will likely be next week before I update again. But it will be THE WEDDING so I hope it's worth the wait :) -WTT

Part 10

Fire rages. He can feel the heat of it on his skin, heat even beyond the ability of the Eldar to endure.

A flock of brown sheep that he stands in the middle of. A light snow begins to fall, and the sheep look at him with calm, limpid eyes. 

A frost creeps over his bracers, cooling him. He holds an icicle in his hands. The ring of a smith's hammer fills his ears.

An armored helm rising up in front of him…

“Meleth nín.”

Linnea's soft voice, pulling him from the vision. And a moment later, her arm, slipping around him from behind.

Gil-galad leaned back against her, sighing. The room was still dim, the sun not yet risen, and he had still been abed when Vilya had whispered to him. But he must have made some sound, to have woken Linnea.

“I can feel the tumult of your thoughts,” she murmured. “What troubles you?”

He smiled. He could feel her gentle warmth against his back, a marked contrast to both the scorching heat and the soothing cold from his vision. Her hand rested on his bare chest, and he caressed it, her scent of roses and lavender wafting around him.

His bed smelled of flowers now.

She came to him at night; she had come to him ever since that first night they had spent together, that night of pure wonder and love. And each of those nights had been filled with exploring one another, loving preludes for their wedding - and afterwards, she slept in his arms. And she rose to greet the dawn with him, standing and watching the sunrise. 

He truly did not know which gift to treasure most. The joy he found in her embrace, in the pleasure she both accepted and gave so willingly? Companionship, her presence that had banished his eternal feeling of being alone, even when he had been in the midst of a crowd? That she was good, and kind, and strong; that she would be a great queen such as Middle Earth had never seen? 

“Nothing,” he murmured. And there was a soft snort of disbelief behind him; he did not blame her, for he knew better than to think he could fool her. The osanwë grew stronger every day. 

“You are not being truthful, aran vuin,” she said softly. “You have carried a share of my burdens. Allow me to do the same for yours.”

He turned, rolling over in the bed to face her. In the faint light of pre-dawn, her curls were still rumpled from sleep and her soft lips begged for a kiss. And he gladly did so, once again savoring her against his body, drawing her tightly into his arms beneath the blankets.

She smiled at him when the kiss ended, raising a brow. “Do you think to distract me?”

“If I did, I would not have stopped,” he murmured. “I had no intent but to enjoy the love of my queen.”

She didn't reply, just looked at him, and he sighed - but he smiled as he did it.

“The ring has been quiet since Eregion,” he finally murmured. “Until this moment.”

She understood him; both brows rose now, her eyes widening. “You saw something? Another glimpse of the future?”

He shook his head. “I know not. The vision after the siege was clear. This was a return to how it had been before - brief flashes alone.”

He paused, trying to sort through what he had seen and felt. Linnea remained in his embrace, simply being there with him, although she slid back a few inches to be able to look fully into his face. 

“Fire,” he said quietly. “At first I could feel the heat of it scorching my very skin. And then it changed. I was standing in a field, amidst a herd of sheep. It began to snow. And it was cold; I could see the frost on the armor I wore. I held an icicle in my hands. And then…”

He paused. 

“The helm,” he murmured. “The armor. Sauron. He was there, I recognized him from visions past. It was he that burned so fiercely. The heat of him, I could feel it even through my armor.”

Linnea’s brow furrowed. “You said snow began to fall. Perhaps it is a warning that he comes in the winter?”

Gil-galad considered it. Somehow it didn’t feel right - but then, who was he to say? If someone had told him that his previous visions were a warning of what lay in store at Eregion, would he have recognized it as the truth?

“Perhaps,” he said, but even he could hear the doubt in his voice. “But then what of the sheep? They were brown, I cannot recall ever seeing such…”

Linnea started, her eyes widening again. “Brown sheep? Brown coats, brown wool?”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Melethel, what is it? What calls to you?”

She considered, thinking, and then offered him a small, shy smile. “I know not if it signifies. But I have a gift for you, meleth nín. To give to you at our wedding, in place of the jewel that is traditional. And the brown sheep minded me of it.”

His mind came alight, wondering what it was. Something of fabric, he was almost certain, both with the words she had spoken and simply knowing her. But what could it be? Was she weaving something new for him? 

He would have to see to something for her. He had assumed they would simply ignore that part of the ceremony, since neither of their parents were living. But if she had planned something, there was no question but that he would have a gift. It was fortunate that this vision had come now; he thanked the Valar for it, that it had prompted her to tell him. He would have struggled to forgive himself, had he had nothing to give in return for whatever she had made.

There was a thought that had occurred to him, back when they had visited the Havens. When Círdan had named her, Linnea Calagûr. Was there time enough for it? He would need to send for a smith at once, that day - and the stones were uncommon, there was no guarantee there were any to be had. But one thing at a time.

He smiled at his beautiful queen, his cherished lady, his wedded wife in only a few more days. 

“Thank you, rîn vuin,” he whispered. “I will receive it gladly, whatever it may be. For it comes from your hands.”

Linnea smiled back at him. She scooted back close to him, the length of her body coming flush with his. “I had hoped to surprise you,” she murmured. “But with what you saw, I thought it best to tell you. Even the smallest thing may be important in the fight against our enemy.”

He nodded soberly, tightening his arm around her. “The truth will reveal itself in time,” he said quietly. “And when it does, we shall be here to face it, you and I.”

And he felt that truth deep within him, as Linnea leaned against him, resting her head on his chest.

The glade was far from the palace, but Linnea hadn't minded the walk. The veiled maiden that led her did not speak, and neither did Landir or Hellathas as they walked behind her; the only sounds were the birds, and the wind rustling through the trees.

The very air felt holy, sacred. Which was appropriate, given where they were going.

She had protested at first when the Yavannildi had come to her. She was not queen yet, this could easily have waited until after the wedding. She had no desire to appear greedy and grasping, clutching at power that was not hers to take. But they had insisted.

The time is now, Your Grace, the leader of them had said. The Lady Galadriel wishes it, for you to take charge of the lembas. 

And so she had agreed, and the day had been appointed.

The maiden in front of them stopped and turned, and she bowed her head.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” she murmured. “Your guards must remain here.”

Landir frowned, shaking his head. “We are charged with Her Grace’s safety.”

“The queen will be safe. This place is under the eye of Yavanna herself. Can you not sense it?”

It was true. The peace that had settled over them as they had walked had grown stronger and stronger. This close to their destination, it was almost tangible; even an army of uruk could not maintain their bloodlust here. The gaze of Yavanna, the Valar charged with all things that grew, was indeed close. 

Landir was still frowning, but Linnea looked at him and nodded. “Do as she says, Landir. I will call if there is need.”

He still looked unhappy about it. But Hellathas nodded, and she swung around to stand next to the path, her position allowing her to see in both directions. After a moment, Landir did the same, standing opposite her on the other side.

The maiden bowed to Linnea, and then continued walking.

It was not much further. The path ended, but the maiden continued leading them without hesitation, winding their way through the forest in seemingly a random pattern. The sound of water grew stronger. And then, slipping between two great trees, they were there.

The clearing was of a good size, hidden deep within the forest. A small creek ran across it, and at the far end, there was a modest stone hut. The trees were packed thick around them, but there was an opening in the canopy here, and the sunlight reached all the way to the grassy floor. And in the center, gleaming like stalks of emerald set with topaz, was the corn.

It did not look real, so pure was its perfection. The brilliant gold of the ears peeked out from the husks, ripe and ready for the harvest. Baskets woven of pure white straw sat next to the field of corn, empty now, but soon to be filled.

And, also next to the field, the Yavannildi waited.

There were a full dozen of them, as was meet for such a great realm. The maidens of Yavanna, the only ones permitted to handle the corn from ear to bread, as it had been gifted to the Eldar by Oromë through Yavanna’s graces. They wore veils; many of them were also members of the order of Estë, and Linnea saw Pendes standing among them. 

All wore veils, save one.

Their paths had not crossed often. Commander Galadriel had been in Imladris for most of the time that Linnea had been at court - but of course, she had come back for the wedding. She and Elrond had arrived together several days ago. And she was standing at the head of the Yavannildi, for it was she who had been the highest-ranked lady of Lindon and so the lembas had been her charge. Until now.

Galadriel was wearing a gold dress, whose every inch seemed to sparkle with beading, and a pale blue velvet surcoat. Linnea herself had chosen a rich green gown that day; it was a color that she hadn't seen much of in Lindon, but it reminded her of Eregion.

It had begun to be easier, just a little, to think of it as Eregion. Not home.

The Yavannildi stood behind Galadriel, waiting on her cue. And she gave it, stepping forward and bowing her head to Linnea.

“Ing tarí,” she murmured. “Elye cáva lissenen.”

High Queen. We receive you with grace.

It was the first time anyone had addressed her so. Gil-galad had oft referred to her as my queen or the queen, and the rest of the court had followed his lead, even though she was not crowned yet. But the formal title of High Queen had never been spoken.

She returned Galadriel’s bow with a deep nod. Not only was Galadriel the commander of the northern armies, but she had been born in the Blessed Lands. She had seen the light of the Trees, and even now, that light was still on her face. She was owed all the respect that Linnea could give.

“Massánië,” she murmured. “Lissenen ni cavina.”

Linnea had followed Galadriel's lead in using the Quenya. Eregion had its own complement of the Yavannildi, but their leader had preferred the Sindarin besain for the bread-giver, the lady whose charge was the making and keeping of the lembas.

Galadriel gave a small smile. “That title I pass to you today, ing’tarí,” she murmured. “Come. The Yavannildi will show you the work. And then I shall give to you the secrets of the making.”

The recipe. Closely guarded, known only to a few. And now she would know.

The Yavannildi moved gracefully, and Linnea watched closely as they did so. One of them remained where she stood and began a song, a soft melody of the harvest that added a slow rhythm to the work. There were no tools; the women carefully removed the ripe ears of corn from the stalks with their bare hands, placing them in the baskets that were at the ready. It was simple work, but each motion was carried out with reverence. Once a stalk was stripped clean, one of the women would uproot it from the ground equally as carefully as it had been harvested, and carry it to the side of the hut to stack it for drying.

“Go,” she heard, and Linnea started. Galadriel had come up beside her, and as she turned, the other Elf was smiling. “This is yours now,” she said again. 

Galadriel might say it a hundred times, and Linnea would still struggle to believe. But she set herself and walked forward, stepping up close to the nearest of the Yavannildi. And after watching once more, she swallowed her nervousness, and reached out, and grasped one of the golden ears. 

It was barely any work at all. The corn seemed to detach itself from the stalk and the husk, practically sliding into her hands. She placed the ear in the basket the Yavannilda next to her held, and then reached for another ear, and then another. It was swiftly done, now that she had gained confidence; more, it was easier to watch and then follow the next step, the uprooting of the stalk to dry it for later.

The song ended just as they finished clearing the field. Each basket was heaped with golden corn; the pile of green stalks, that would dry to the pure white of the baskets, stood tall. 

Galadriel had not joined in the work, but had stood observing them - but there was a faint smile on her face as they finished, and she came to Linnea's side.

“My hands were ever more suited to the sword,” she said quietly. “Even when I was here, which was seldom enough. Yours match this task well, ing’tarí.”

It was a compliment, and Linnea bowed her head in gratitude. 

“I am honored to receive this charge,” she replied. “And honored that you would give it into my keeping.”

Galadriel raised a brow at her, a hint of curiosity in her glance. “It is your right as queen to hold it.”

It was, that was true. And the Noldor - like all Elves - respected formality and tradition. But Linnea was young, so much younger than Galadriel; she felt half a child when standing next to her. Had anyone told her even a year ago that she would take this duty from one such, she would not have known whether to laugh at the idea or to stare in horror at the one who spoke so.

Perhaps that was why Galadriel had insisted on it being today. Passing the charge now, instead of after the coronation, emphasized that it was a willing transfer of power. It was a fit for the kind of queen Linnea wanted to be. 

She nodded in acknowledgment, keeping her voice soft. “Having the right to it does not change the fact that it is an honor,” she said. “And so you have my gratitude.”

Galadriel looked at her for a moment, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts. Linnea wondered if she had said something wrong, it went on for so long, but at last, Galadriel nodded, as if she had both asked a question and answered it.

“The High King is fortunate that you survived Eregion,” she finally said. “As are all the Noldor.”       

It was another honor, and one that Linnea had had no thought to expect. Enough of one where she had to suddenly blink tears from her eyes at the openness of the welcome.    

“Thank you, Commander,” she murmured. “But I feel that I am the more fortunate by far.”

“That…remains to be seen.” 

There was something in her voice that made Linnea look more closely - not just at Galadriel’s face, but her eyes flicked down to the ring on her hand. Vilya’s companion, one of the three Elven rings: Nenya, white and silver, cold and sparkling like fresh snow.

Snow. The vision Gil-galad had had that morning as they lay abed. Did that echo in her voice have the same origin? A hint of the future? 

It made her smile for a fraction of an instant as she thought of it, remembering how he shared it. How they had lain in bed together, arms around each other, him speaking and her listening. Yet another honor, taking a share of his burdens, just as she'd said at the time.

But Galadriel’s eyes were closed. Whatever she had seen, she would not be sharing it.

“Come with me,” Galadriel said softly, and she turned to take a step towards the stone hut. “We will show you how the grain is dried and milled. And then I shall pass to you the way of the making, as it was given to me.”

The feet of the Elves left no trace upon the ground. Their steps were light, carrying them swiftly over sand or snow or solid rock. 

Yet on this journey, Elrond Peredhel’s feet dragged. 

He would not defy his king’s command. Yet had Gil-galad not ordered it, Elrond had no sense of how long it might have been before his eyes beheld the entrance of Khazad-dûm again. Another twenty years? It seemed a paltry span to soothe the ache in his heart, the bruise that had blossomed as his eyes had searched the hill crest to the north of Eregion.

Searching for aid that had been promised. And had not come, until the last possible moment.

Our dead might have been fewer in number, had Durin held to his word.

And now here he was. With a wedding invitation.

He could not fault Gil-galad's reasoning. They would indeed need every ally in the fight; Gil-galad had extended more hands than just this. The relationship between Lindon and the Greenwood had been civil enough in the matter of shared defense, but now he was opening discussion with Oropher for a stronger alliance. 

And Oropher, too, would be at the wedding.

A small voice in the back of Elrond's head reminded him that Durin had forgiven him for those twenty years. With grumbling, true - and it had been legitimate grumbling - but he had forgiven. 

Elrond owed it to him to try and do the same.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and picked up his pace.

The door of Khazad-dûm opened for him immediately; he was admitted with no issue. The guards’ demeanor was respectful as they escorted him inside, as they led him to the great lifts. They had sent word to Durin, and the reply had arrived almost at once.

Bring him in. Bring him to my hall.

Khazad-dûm sprawled around him, below him, above him as they made their way into the heart of the mountain. The sun shafts had been fully restored, and all around them was illuminated by the great mirrors that reflected the light from above. Crops grew green and plentiful in the terrace fields, and the bustle of marketplaces humming with commerce reached his ears. There was no evidence of political turmoil, and yet, Elrond could feel it rumbling beneath the surface.

The guards spoke no word as they escorted him, arriving at the doors he remembered so well. There were more soldiers outside it than the last time he had been here, a sign of both the unrest and also the potential of Durin's ascension to the throne. 

The soldiers struck their axes on the floor, and then pushed the great doors open. 

Elrond stepped in. Behind him, the doors swung shut, but he barely registered it.

Durin stood in the middle of the hall.

To his right, Disa sat at the table, her expression somber. The stone table that Durin had swindled from Gil-galad - and even now, Elrond was unsure of whether the High King had known all along. And further on to his right, the sun poured in, illuminating the young tree that grew there. 

The echoes of the door closing faded. 

For a long moment, no one spoke. But Durin's face had never been a secret to Elrond; the prince’s eyes were sad as they looked at one another, the guilt he felt over what had happened at Eregion filling them. 

It was up to him to break the ice, and finally, Elrond inclined his head. “Prince Durin. Thank you for revoking the order to banish me.”

He couldn't entirely keep the chill from his tone, and Durin heard it. The prince breathed in, hooking his thumbs on his belt; he was trying to appear at ease, but tension hummed throughout the room, taut and shimmering.

“Seemed sensible,” he said. “Since it was m’father’s order. And I was curious as to what brought ye here.”

“I come on the High King's personal order, bearing an invitation.”

Durin winced, and Elrond had no doubt he was remembering the last time the Elves had sent an invitation. Gil-galad’s reminder rang in his head; the Dwarven rings cost them dearly. 

Disa rose from the table, setting her hands upon the surface. “What kind of an invitation?”

In answer, Elrond uncapped the message tube, slid the scroll out into his hands, and passed it to Durin. The prince unrolled it, his eyes flicking over the parchment as Disa began moving toward him, and she had barely taken three steps before Durin looked back up at Elrond in shock.

“A wedding?”

Disa stopped momentarily, her face lighting up with a brilliant smile. “A wedding! Whose is it, then?” She turned the smile on Elrond, along with a coy glance. “Yours?”

Durin was back to staring at the scroll. “Gil-galad’s wedding. The High King of the Elves has supposedly invited us to his wedding.” He thrust the scroll into Disa’s hands and took a step towards Elrond. “Is this a joke? Are ye here to mock me, is that why you've come?”

Anger, and more guilt, rolling off him like waves. Elrond actually had to set his feet at the force of it, but he stood steadfast, and he kept his tone even.

“It is no mockery. The wedding is in five days’ time. If you choose to accept, you may return with me to Lindon. With your wife, of course.”

Disa was busy reading the parchment, nodding slowly. “Five days,” she murmured. “Ye haven't given us much time to prepare a gift, now have ye?”

“Gift?” Durin looked at her, stunned. “Ye can't think we're going to accept?”

“And why not?” she countered. “It's as plain as daybreak that it's an honor. Support for your claim to the throne. We can't say no.”

“We can, and we will,” he sputtered. “We're not going.”

“We are going.” Disa briskly began rolling up the scroll. “I'll ask my sister to watch the wee’uns, that’ll do for a few days.” She paused, thinking, and turned towards Elrond. “Or will the wedding last longer?”

“We're not going.”

Despite himself, Elrond felt a laugh bubbling up in his chest, watching their easy familiarity. He smiled at Disa, shaking his head. 

“The wedding ceremony is brief,” he assured her. “It is celebrated at a feast, and the High King has kept the guest list small. Khazad-dûm will hardly notice your absence.”

“Easy for you to say,” Durin muttered. “A few days may not be much to an Elf, but my brother's been consolidating his support.” He glared at Elrond. “I could come back to find his scraggly arse on the throne and nothing to be done but kiss his ring.”

Disa winced at the word ring, and Durin saw it. His expression instantly grew contrite. “I'm sorry, Disa. But I canna leave now, you know it.”

She looked at him, not speaking. 

Elrond sensed the moment, that it hung on the edge of a knife. He could nudge it one way or another, and part of him wanted to derail this whole endeavor. He could return to Lindon and report to the High King that the invitation had been declined. He had told himself to forgive Durin, but it was hard.

But, he reminded himself again, Durin had forgiven.   

“Perhaps Princess Disa could attend in your stead?” he suggested. “She will be an honored guest. You need not fear for her safety, or her comfort. I will ensure it myself.”

Durin didn't appear to be fond of that idea either. He glowered, his eyes moving from Disa to Elrond - just as Elrond had expected. Durin loved his wife; he would not trust her to any hands but his own.

And then the prince heaved a sigh.

“The shaft's treacherous ahead no matter what,” he muttered. “We're in the mud if we do and the water if we don't. Might as well go and have a good meal out of it.”

Disa beamed, crossing her arms over her chest in satisfaction. “We'll leave first thing in the morning,” she pronounced. “And Elrond, in the meantime, I want to hear everything about this princess your King is marrying.” She winked at her husband. 

Elrond shook his head. “No princess, my lady. A weaver who survived the siege at Eregion. The High King found her in the ruins and was…”

He, Elrond, had been there. He had been witness as Linnea had opened her eyes, as Gil-galad had seen her that first time. He had watched the High King fall in love in that one instant; he had never seen anything like it in all his years. Two souls meeting and finding each other, recognizing yes, it is you, in one single glance.  

“... enraptured,” he finished quietly. 

“Hm.” Disa slid her eyes sideways to Durin. “That’s a sight worth a trip to Lindon, isn’t it?” 

“Seeing Gil-galad acting like a lovesick fool?” Durin raised a brow at Elrond. “Didn’t think you Elves were so romantic.”

“On the contrary,” Elrond said. “Our people love once, for all our lives. Once we wed, we are wed forevermore. Until Arda itself is remade. I can think of nothing more romantic.”

He couldn’t quite keep the wistful note from his voice. Although he had seen many friends find their own joy, it had never happened for him. Gil-galad himself was proof that it was perhaps not too late, that it could come even after so long - but so many of their people chose each other in childhood. Was there still someone out there for him, as Linnea had been for Gil-galad?

Thoughts for another time. Instead, he looked back at Durin.

“I missed your wedding, old friend,” he said softly. “To my everlasting regret. Do not repeat my mistakes. Come. Celebrate our King’s wedding, and share in our joy as our new Queen is crowned.”

Durin let out another of those heavy sighs, and turned his face up to the ceiling. “Aulë’s beard,” he muttered. “I said we’ll go. Don’t make me repeat m’self, it’s already turning my stomach. Narvi won’t sleep a wink till we’re back.”

Disa clapped her hands, letting out a soft squeal of delight. “I’ll go to the treasure rooms now and hunt down a wedding gift,” she announced. “There’s not time to make something new, it’ll have to be already forged. Is there anything traditional, Elrond? Perhaps a set of bracelets for the queen, or…likely no’ a crown, we might have a pair of torcs…oh, and there’s those jeweled platters…”

She trailed off as she walked away, still muttering to herself, and that laugh bubbled up in Elrond again at the pained expression on Durin’s face.

It was going to be all right. 

“I am sure whatever you choose will be most appropriate,” Elrond said, calling after her. But he couldn't keep himself from glancing at Durin, and raising an eyebrow with a small smile.

“Although…I do believe the High King may be in need of a new dining table.”

Continue to Part 11 (warning, contains light smut)

[ateezscupid]

hii! can u write a gally x reader where they’re already in a relationship & reader gets hella flustered whenever he has that rebellion gas mask on, he knows it and purposefully teases them.. thank you! :)

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐲. ☆

warnings ✩ FLUFF!! Short but sweet, gender neutral reader this is after the gladers make it to the last city, reader and gally are dating (implied they've been dating since the glade) so reader is replacing teresa, reader basically has a mask kink

tags ✩ @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @skzkias

MAZE RUNNER MASTERLIST / REQUEST

In the early morning light, dew clung to the grass like a thousand tiny crystals. The air was crisp and cool, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth. You stepped outside the homestead, savoring the quiet solitude before the day's activities began. The sun had not yet fully risen, but the sky was a canvas of soft pastels that promised a beautiful day ahead. You stretched, feeling the tension from the previous day's...activities with Gally.

Gally emerged from the nearby barracks, the iconic rebellion gas mask hanging around his neck. He noticed you immediately and his eyes crinkled into a knowing smile. You couldn't help but feel your cheeks warm up at the sight of him. It had become a sort of game between you two, ever since you had accidentally admitted that the mask had an oddly alluring effect on you.

"Morning, sunshine," he greeted, his voice teasing. He knew exactly what was going to happen next. He reached up and slowly pulled the mask over his head, the leather strap creaking as he tightened it. The mask was a stark reminder of the battles he had fought, the lives he had saved, and the world that had shaped him into the leader he was today.

You watched, your heart racing, as he took a deep breath, the mask molding to his face. His eyes searched yours, and you knew he was waiting for your reaction. "What? Why do you always act weird when I have my mask on?" he asked, his voice muffled yet still full of mischief. You bit your lower lip, trying to maintain composure, but it was a futile effort. The way the mask framed his face, highlighting his strong jaw and piercing gaze, had always sent your thoughts spiraling into a whirlwind of confusion and attraction.

"It's just…it's different, that's all," you murmured, hoping he wouldn't press the issue further. But Gally wasn't one to let things go easily. He stepped closer, the early morning shadow playing across his features.

"Different how?" His proximity made it even harder to think straight. You stuttered, trying to find the right words, but they eluded you.

"It's like…you look more," you pause, squinting your eyes and looking for the words. "Hot." you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your own as he stepped closer, the mask seemingly amplifying his presence. "Hot, huh?" His eyes danced with amusement, and you could feel the heat from his body. "Is that what gets you blushing like that?"

You nodded, unable to find the words to explain the tumult of emotions that the mask brought out in you. The way it made him seem both more dangerous and more vulnerable at the same time was an intoxicating paradox. He leaned in, the cool metal of the mask brushing against your cheek as he whispered, "You wanna see what other secrets it holds?"

Gripping the edges of the mask, he slowly lifted it off, revealing his smirking face. The moment the mask was removed, it was as if a weight had been lifted from the atmosphere. The tension between you dissipated like morning fog, leaving behind only the warmth of his smile and the closeness of his body.

"Gally, you're such an asshole," you said, trying to lighten the mood with a playful punch to his shoulder. But the impact was lost as your knuckles connected with the hard material of the gear. He just grinned wider, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

"Maybe," he conceded, setting the mask aside. "But you love it."

Your eyes narrowed playfully. "Do not."

"You don't?" He stepped closer, his arms encircling your waist. "I've seen that look before. It was on your face when you first met me."

You felt a blush spreading across your cheeks, but this time, it was from his touch rather than his teasing. "You're just full of yourself."

He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. "Is that a no, then?"

You pushed him away gently, trying to regain your composure. "It's not funny, Gally."

"I know it's not," he said, his voice dropping serious. He reached up to stroke your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "You don't like when I talk about how you blush when we-"

You hit him, understanding what he meant. "We're in public!" You exclaimed, trying to pull away, but his grip was firm and warm, anchoring you to the spot. The early morning light cast a soft glow on his face, making him look less like a warrior and more like the boy you had grown to love amidst the chaos of the Glade.

Gally's eyes searched yours, the playfulness replaced with a gentle concern. "You're right," he said, his voice sincere. He leaned in closer, his forehead touching yours. "But I can't help it. You're just so…cute when you're embarrassed."

You felt your heart race even more at his words, your palms growing sweaty. You didn't know how to respond, so you just leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart. The moment was intimate, a brief respite from the harsh realities of their world

"Don't you have a meeting to get to?" you mumble into his chest.

Gally's grip tightens for a brief moment before he sighs and nods. "Yeah," he says, pulling back slightly. "But I'll make it quick. For you." He winks, the action making you roll your eyes even as you can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth.

He releases you, the loss of warmth leaving you feeling slightly cold. You watch as he walks away, the mask swinging from his hand.

[eu-nicola]

the family [part 1]

sinopsis: In Italy 1850 Lucien a former priest gets involved in a game of seduction with his girlfriend's younger sister; what begins as flirting becomes a destructive obsession

warnings: love triangle, forbidden relationship, tension

word counter: 3720

author's note: english is not my first language, the tags are not correct so don't tell me anything cause I ALREADY KNOW, then I'm going to correct

It was a summer afternoon in Italy, in 1825. The sun was sliding lazily over the green hills and terracotta roofs, illuminating the elegant palazzo that stood on the outskirts of Florence, home of the Ricci family. Lucien arrived accompanied by a black carriage and a pair of suitcases that seemed to contain everything he owned. With the past still fresh in his mind, he got out of the carriage with a calmness that did not reflect the tumult inside him. He had left the life of a priest a couple of years ago, seeking redemption and new experiences. But in Giuliana, his fiancée, Lucien had found something unexpected: a discreet love that seemed to offer him a second chance at peace.

Giuliana greeted him with a radiant smile at the foot of the entrance stairs. Dressed in a soft sky blue that highlighted her eyes, she radiated elegance and simplicity.

—Lucien, my love! “I am so glad you have arrived,” she said, extending a gloved hand and looking at him with the reserved affection of a bride.

“You don’t know how much I have been waiting for this moment,” he replied, leaning down to kiss her fingers softly.

Giuliana smiled, her cheeks flushing slightly, but her gaze soon turned to the door.

“I want to introduce you to my family. They are very excited to meet you.”

Lucien followed Giuliana into the palazzo, as they walked through a hall filled with ancient frescoes and the scent of freshly polished wax and fresh flowers. Upon reaching the large room, his gaze fell on every detail: the portraits of ancestors hanging on the walls, the chandeliers filled with crystals, the mahogany furniture, all witnesses to the wealth and prestige of the Ricci family.

Around a tea table sat Giuliana's parents and her younger sister, Isabella. Seeing Lucien, the father stood up and greeted him with a firm nod, while Giuliana's mother gave him a polite smile.

"Lucien, dear, allow me to introduce you to my parents," Giuliana said with a smile, feeling proud to have him at her side.

"It's an honor to finally meet you," Lucien said, bowing respectfully to them.

After the formal greetings, Lucien turned his attention to the young woman sitting next to Giuliana. Unlike her sister, who possessed the serenity of a well-bred woman, Isabella exuded an almost wild vitality, even if she tried to hide it under the manners that the situation demanded. Her hair fell in dark waves around her shoulders, and her eyes—a shade between amber and honey—watched him with curiosity and a slight smile that she tried to hide. Isabella looked to be about nineteen, and there was something in her bearing that reminded her of a wild animal, trapped in a fine suit and impeccable hairdo.

“Isabella, my younger sister,” Giuliana announced. “Isabella, this is Lucien.”

“Nice to meet you, Lucien,” Isabella said, her voice soft but with a hint of irony, a spark that immediately caught Lucien’s attention.

Lucien noticed how Isabella examined him closely. Unlike the others, her eyes did not reflect the courtesy that good manners required; there was an intensity in them that she did not bother to hide, as if she wanted to see him as he was, without filters or appearances.

“The pleasure is mine, Isabella,” he replied, bowing slightly and keeping his gaze fixed on her for a few seconds longer than necessary.

As the minutes ticked by and tea was served, Lucien tried to concentrate on the conversations about family business and the upcoming festivities Giuliana had planned in honor of his arrival. But something inside him kept him from paying full attention; whenever he could, his gaze returned to Isabella, who seemed to have no intention of hiding the effect she had on him.

During tea, Isabella made some irreverent comments that provoked awkward laughter at the table. His mother gave him a disapproving look, but Lucien couldn't help but find a freshness in those comments that surprised him. Giuliana, always calm, tried to divert attention to more appropriate topics, but Isabella seemed to enjoy her reactions, as if she found pleasure in testing the limits of everyone's patience.

As the afternoon drew to a close, as the Ricci family showed Lucien around the gardens and showed him the orchard they maintained at the back of the palazzo, he lingered beside Isabella. Isabella had been quiet during the walk, observing the flowers and fountains with a thoughtful expression, until she noticed Lucien's gaze following her.

"Are you surprised to find me silent?" she asked, shooting him a glance.

"Perhaps a little," Lucien replied, choosing his words carefully. He didn't want to be too obvious, but he couldn't deny that curiosity consumed him.

"You shouldn't let my words fool you," she replied, locking eyes with him. "Maybe I'm just a mirage in a garden."

Lucien smiled. There was something about Isabella that was magnetic to him, something he'd never felt with Giuliana, though he tried hard to remind himself that he was there as her fiancé. Isabella, however, had a way of looking at him that made him feel naked, as if she saw beyond his facade of a reformed gentleman.

“A mirage that, however, seems very real at the moment,” he said, unable to resist returning her gaze.

Isabella lowered her gaze, but a lopsided smile appeared on her lips. The tension between them was palpable, as if the air between them had become thick and charged with unspoken promises. For Lucien, this was something new, a spark of life and risk that drew him irremediably.

Isabella had always been a vivid contrast to her sister Giuliana, like shadow and light, or fire and water. While Giuliana was calm and serene, dedicated to pleasing her parents and honoring her family, Isabella was a burning flame, always ready to be fanned by any small breath of adventure. Although they shared the same education in the arts, language, and sciences proper to young ladies of her status, Isabella had grown up with a restlessness that her parents never managed to appease, as if something inside her always yearned for more.

Since she was little, she had stood out for her inclination towards daring ideas, and although she knew how to present herself as a perfect lady in front of everyone, those who knew her well knew that she was unpredictable, capable of disappearing without warning and getting lost in the nearby forest or in the streets of the town. Isabella did not obey rules in the same way that Giuliana did; she knew the rules, yes, but she preferred to break them rather than follow them.

As a child, she had been found more than once hiding in the stables, trying to ride the horses on her own without the help of a groom. Unlike Giuliana, who would never have questioned her mother's instructions on what was appropriate for a lady, Isabella had always been direct and shameless, defying every expectation. Even now, as a woman, she had not lost her tendency to behave in a brazen manner, always on the edge of what was allowed.

During family dinners, Isabella would often provoke her parents, sometimes with little jokes, other times with questions that she knew would make her mother uncomfortable. Although Giuliana would often try to intervene with a disapproving look, Isabella would always return an amused smile, as if the conflict was just a game she had invented to entertain herself.

The next day, Lucien watched her again as they ate breakfast together. Isabella had arrived a little late, apologizing with a smile that didn't seem apologetic at all. Her parents didn't say anything, though her mother gave her a disapproving look. Lucien noticed that Isabella seemed to enjoy every chance she got to make her parents uncomfortable. She took a seat next to Giuliana and gave Lucien a fleeting glance before focusing her attention on her tea. However, when she thought no one was looking at her, he noticed how her expression changed, becoming more open, less restrained.

"Did you have a good rest, Lucien?" Isabella asked in a casual tone, but with a hint of irony that didn't go unnoticed by him.

"That's right, thank you," he replied, smiling slightly. "The house is really cozy."

"And even more so if you have the freedom to explore its corners," she added, giving him a sidelong glance. Or to disappear whenever you want.

Giuliana frowned slightly, as if she sensed the underlying tone in his words, but said nothing. Lucien, however, understood the provocation. With Isabella, it seemed that every word was double-edged, every smile. Over the next few days, Lucien watched her more closely, fascinated by that duality of hers. There was something about the way Isabella moved, how she constantly sought to escape the gaze of her parents, the expectations imposed by her surname.

One such evening, while Giuliana was helping her mother with the preparations for dinner, Lucien decided to take a walk around the palazzo. It was a beautiful evening, with the sky covered in golden and pink hues, and the wind carried with it the scent of jasmine and wet grass. He was walking aimlessly through the gardens, admiring the fountains and classical statues, when he heard a light laugh coming from the hedges. At first, he thought it was some maid of the house; However, when he peeked out a little, he saw the figure of Isabella, who, without noticing his presence, was busy picking small wild flowers that had sprouted between the stones of a path.

Lucien watched her in silence, captivated by her naturalness, by the way she let herself be carried away by the moment. She looked carefree and full of life, as if this garden were her own secret refuge. Lucien felt the urge to come closer, to share this moment, even if only as an invisible observer.

Isabella, however, noticed him before he could do anything.

“Oh, Lucien,” she said with a playful smile, her eyes shining at the sight of him. “Do you like spying?”

Lucien blushed slightly, although he tried to hide it.

“Not at all, but it seems that fate insists on putting you in my path,” he replied, maintaining his composure and sketching a slight smile.

“Fate?” she replied, arching an eyebrow. I'd never heard him apologize so blatantly, though I suppose there's something to be said for interrupting someone else's moment.

Isabella gave him a mocking look, but deep down Lucien felt she was testing him, as if she wanted to see how he would react. Undaunted, he moved a little closer, until only a couple of steps separated them. Isabella didn't back away; on the contrary, she looked him straight in the eye, not losing a drop of her confidence.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, adopting a softer tone. “I thought you would be inside, helping your sister.”

“Giuliana is the one with the virtue of patience,” she replied with a touch of irony. “I prefer to be here, rather than sit and listen to my mother talk about what a lady should and shouldn’t do.”

There was a brief silence, and Lucien felt the air around him grow thicker. Isabella’s proximity, her scent of wildflowers and her gaze awakened in him a longing he couldn’t deny. He knew it was inappropriate, that his role was that of a faithful and devoted fiancé, but in Isabella’s presence, all that determination felt like a thin thread about to snap.

“You don’t like that life?” he dared to ask, unable to contain his curiosity.

Isabella looked at him for a moment, as if considering whether to answer him honestly.

“Not entirely.” It’s a nice life, of course, but it’s not the one I want for myself,” he finally answered. “Giuliana can have all that; she’s perfect for that world. I…” he looked down at the flowers in his hand. “I want something different.”

“And what is it that you want?” Lucien asked, not taking his eyes off her.

Isabella looked up, and for a second, her expression was serious, without a trace of the mockery or disdain she often used. There was a deep sadness in her eyes, a kind of melancholy that Lucien had not seen in her until that moment.

“Freedom, perhaps,” she murmured. “The freedom to live without so many rules, without having to answer to anyone but myself. Sometimes I feel like I’m like one of these birds,” she added, pointing to a bird flying above them, “trapped in a golden cage.”

Lucien felt a pang in his chest as he listened to her. He had expected some light response, some witty comment, but instead Isabella had let her guard down, if only for an instant, showing him a vulnerability that touched him. For a moment, he was tempted to tell her that he understood her, that he shared that desire to escape, even if it wasn’t exactly the same.

Isabella turned to him suddenly, an intensity in her gaze that almost made him recoil.

“Tell me, Lucien,” she said in a whisper, “do you ever feel like this? Like you’re trapped in a place that’s not yours?”

The question surprised him, and although his instincts told him to keep his distance, something in her eyes pushed him to be honest.

“Yes, sometimes,” he admitted, without taking his eyes off her. “Though, unlike you, I don’t think I have anyone to blame but myself.”

Isabella watched him intently, as if she were weighing his every word, trying to decipher what he wasn't saying.

Suddenly, Isabella smiled, a smile that was a mix of complicity and defiance.

"Maybe you can escape, Lucien. Maybe there's something, someone, who can make you remember what it feels like to be free."

The implication in her words was so obvious that Lucien felt a heat rise to his face. But instead of backing away, he leaned a little closer to her, keeping his gaze fixed on Isabella's eyes. He could feel her breathing, and every fiber of his being asked him to break all the rules, to give in to that impulse that whispered to him to take her by the hand, to cross that invisible line that he himself had drawn.

"And you, Isabella?" he murmured, in a tone that sounded more intimate than he intended. "Do you think there's someone who can give you that freedom you so desire?"

Isabella looked at him intently, and for a moment, it seemed she was going to respond. But instead, she simply smiled and stepped away from him, taking a few steps back.

“Perhaps,” she said, her tone both light and deep. “But if there is someone capable of that, they will have to be very bold.”

Without saying anything else, she turned and began walking back toward the palazzo, leaving Lucien alone in the garden, lost in his thoughts and in the echo of her words. She knew there was something dangerous about that attraction, that every time they met, they came closer to a point of no return. And yet, Lucien couldn’t ignore the growing desire that drove him to want more, to find out how far he could go in this game that Isabella seemed to have started.

This little game continued on Giuliana’s birthday which was cause for celebration, the night of the ball, the palazzo was filled with light and music, with the chandeliers shining over the crowd dancing in the main hall. The guests, in their evening gowns and sparkling jewelry, moved gracefully to the tune of a delicate melody that filled the air. Lucien stood next to Giuliana, fulfilling the role of the perfect fiancé as he surveyed the guests, exchanging polite greetings and responding with a discreet smile.

Every time his gaze swept the room, his eyes unwittingly sought out Isabella.

She, on the other hand, seemed perfectly oblivious to him, laughing and chatting with a few family friends and maintaining an expression of innocent amusement. Isabella wore an emerald silk dress, which fell in delicate layers and moved with each step she took. Lucien noticed that the color highlighted her eyes and made her seem an even more ethereal figure. Despite his effort to stay focused on Giuliana, Lucien couldn't help but look towards her, trying to find some sign, some gesture that would welcome him to seek her out.

Finally, Isabella surprised him. Barely sparing him a glance, she slipped away from the crowd, leaving her companions with an improvised excuse and disappearing through one of the side doors that led to the gardens. Lucien felt his pulse quicken, and even though he knew he shouldn’t follow her, his body moved before he could stop himself. He waited a few seconds, bidding farewell to Giuliana under the excuse of needing some fresh air, and, making sure no one was watching, he headed towards the garden following Isabella’s footsteps.

He found her in a secluded corner of the garden, surrounded by rose bushes that filled the air with a sweet scent. She was standing under the moonlight, watching the stars as if he wasn’t there, as if his presence didn’t matter. Lucien looked at her for a moment, captivated by the image: Isabella, in her silk dress, illuminated by the silver light and the night air gently playing with her hair. Finally, he dared to approach.

“Escaping the party?” —he murmured in a low tone, trying to maintain his composure, although his words sounded more intimate than he intended.

She turned her head slowly and gave him a smile that seemed to know much more than he wanted to admit.

“Escaping is something that gives me a certain pleasure,” she replied in a carefree tone, her eyes reflecting the light of the stars. “Though, if I'm being honest, I didn't expect anyone to follow me.”

“Maybe I was looking for a moment of peace,” he replied, moving a little closer. “But seeing you here, I thought that maybe peace wasn’t what I really needed tonight.”

Isabella stared at him, and for a moment that seemed like an eternity, she said nothing. Then, she smiled mischievously and extended her hand towards him, as if she were making a tacit invitation to cross the line that they had both been skirting since they met.

“So, what do you need tonight, Lucien?” she asked, her voice low, almost a whisper.

Lucien looked at her hand, and although he knew that accepting meant entering into a game of no return, he took her hand firmly. Feeling her skin, warm and soft, he felt an electric shock run through his body, a spark that ignited all his senses. Isabella intertwined her fingers with his, and without saying anything, she began to guide him through the garden, away from the music, the lights, and any prying eyes.

After walking a bit, they reached an even more hidden corner, near a marble fountain that stood imposingly in the middle of the garden. There, far from any interruptions, Isabella stopped and turned to look at him, her eyes shining with an intensity that seemed to challenge him.

“I suppose my sister would never understand why I prefer to be here instead of in the ballroom,” she said softly, without letting go of his hand.

“Giuliana has a very different spirit than you,” Lucien replied, with a sincerity that came out almost without thinking. “You are…” he paused, searching for the right words, although they all seemed insufficient. “different.”

Isabella smiled with a glint of mischief in her eyes, aware of the effect her words had on him.

“Is that a compliment?” she asked, leaning slightly towards him, shortening the distance between them.

Lucien noticed how his breath mixed with hers, and, without thinking, he slid his hand to her waist, pulling her gently. In any other situation, it would have been inappropriate, but in this corner, under the cover of night, there were no restrictions or formalities. Isabella did not resist; on the contrary, she moved a little closer, allowing their bodies to brush against each other, the space between them to become almost nonexistent.

“What do you think?” he murmured, his lips almost brushing hers.

Isabella kept her gaze fixed on him, her dark eyes reflecting a mix of desire and defiance.

“I think you've been playing at being someone you're not for too long,” she whispered, and, without giving him time to respond, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his in a soft kiss, barely a touch, but intense enough for both of them to feel the heat between them.

Lucien felt every fiber of his being ignite at that kiss, and, casting aside all doubt, he pulled her to him, deepening the kiss. Isabella responded immediately, with the same restrained passion, the same silent desire they had both suppressed for so long. Their lips moved urgently, as if that kiss was a need they couldn’t ignore, as if it was the answer to a question that had been left unresolved since the first moment they met.

They finally broke apart, breathing heavily, and Lucien looked at her, trying to process what had just happened. He knew it was crazy, that this moment could change everything, but he couldn’t ignore the fire burning inside him, the desire Isabella had awakened in him.

Isabella smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes, as if she had gotten exactly what she wanted.

“I’m afraid if you keep crossing the line, Lucien, there will be no turning back,” she said in a soft tone, but filled with an unspoken promise.

“What if I don’t want to turn back?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Isabella looked at him for a moment, and then, instead of answering, she took his hand and brought it to her chest, right over her heart. Lucien felt her heartbeat accelerate, and in that moment, he understood that what they shared was something neither of them could ignore. Lucien knew there was no escape now.

[hummingbee-lievable]

Song of the Day #24:

'Mile Magnificent' by Molly OfGeography (released 2019).

An apartment when it's empty echoes lovely, bright and clean

Sing odes to green-blue water that we stole so it comes free

All things end, it's part of living; forest fires feed the trees

Lift your glasses full of sunshine, sing a toast to gasoline

Track #4 on 'Myths'.

Fun fact: Molly refers to this song as 'The Song My Producer Said I Was Not Allowed To Name “CHICAGO IS BETTER THAN NEW YORK”'.* Honestly, her descriptions for so of the songs on this album are hilarious:

'1) The Song That Made My Producer Go, “Wait, What Was That Bit About Worms?”

2) The Song My Producer Said I Had To Append A Parenthetical To So That People Would Be Able To Find It Because The Lyrics Never Mention The Title Once But I Was Raised On Fanfiction So Joke’s On You, Pal! I Love A Long Title With A Parenthetical In It!!!

3) The Song That Is Sad'

Pretty dang accurate, honestly. Also, I think she has a Tumblr!!! *Gasp.* What if I...tag her???

@ofgeography Hiiii and thank you, your music is amazing.

I did it bees and knees (yes, this is my hip modern way of including every kind of person, fight me or provide more hilarious options; I'm content with either option).

I have had a fun time perusing this flavourful dose of humanity's wild website and I think my fun fact today should be her story where she becomes a donut god:

You're welcome, singular entity that reads this blog (that entity being my sister and/or the rogue bots, doesn't matter, we're all friends here).

Personal blurb: Alright, full disclosure time: I discovered this artist because of the 'Good Omens' fandom. Someone said we were missing out on feelings and shared this song, and when I tell you I felt those feelings, I certainly don't mean that I danced to this on repeat for several months (and her 'Hanahaki (Bloom)'), often at 3 in the morning in the bathroom. Of course not.

Pro tip: dancing with your toothbrush in your mouth is a choking hazard, but in the spirit of Alanis Morissette, I recommend doing it anyway:

One of my favourite books in the world is 'The Overstory' by Richard Powers. In it, one of the themes that arises often is the concept of pyrophitic serotinous plants (it's okay, I won't remember it either). They are plants that need fire to open. (There are actually different types of pyrophitic plants, from passive to fire-activated but I probably shouldn't start talking about that because you'll need to pull out the duct tape.)

(Technically, 'serotinous' plants are a category in which plants release seeds over a longer period of time, and it doesn't matter how they are released, but the seeds that open by fire fit into this category.) The eucalyptus tree, the lodgehole pine, and other trees encase their seeds in resin that can only be melted by fire (thereby releasing the seeds).

The thing that I love about this concept is this: we need to burn to grow. I recently read this book called 'Life in Oil' about the Cofàn tribe in Ecuador who were drastically impacted by oil companies. And the thing was: Yes. They were impacted horribly (physically, psychologically, environmentally, the works). They also survived. They figured out, through tumult and trial and falling apart, how to keep going.

This song screams to me of that same instinct. I mean, look at us. This is what we do, isn't it? We fight, we fall, we continue. We're just like every other aspect of nature in that we are born, and in our fight to continue, we impact everything around us. We're just a part of the cycle and eventually we will decay back to where we belong and serve as soil for our children. And all we'll be? A story. And after a while, not even that. Just a whisper of what was.

In a way? I find that freeing. We might as well live the life we want to live; how little it will matter. (This isn't absolution, please don't go murdering people.) I just mean that I don't have to put so much weight into every little thing. Not everything has to be joyful or depressing (and if we really think about it, everything is always a balance of both). It can just be what it is.

We are as we are. And we don't have to love ourselves for it, but we don't have to hate ourselves either.

I love the lyrics to this song. For a long time, I misheard 'We're animals of love/ the city never makes us beg' as 'the city never makes us pay' and I don't know why? But I kind of like that image.

We are animals of love. And that's okay.

We are the cogs in a continuous cycle and we always will be.

I think often of this monologue (content warning for the video, it's gory, but you don't need to watch it, you can just listen) from 'Midnight Mass' so often, in regards to this:

We just are. Everything just is.