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onsomenewsht · 2 days

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Helpless to the bass and faded light

About when she bribes you and you dance with her like a filled stadium isn't looking

》 Leah Williamson x Reader

》 words count: +1k

》 she took my arm / I don't know how it happened / we took the floor and she said

You don’t like football.

It’s quite a boring game if you stop to think about it for a moment. Two dozen and counting people running around a ball trying to kick it into a huge net.

Not something you look forward to sit through for almost two hours.

Despite your father’s best efforts, you being his only kid and his only hope to pass down his passion, the sport never managed to interest you long enough to care.

You even found yourself in the stands of your dad’s favourite club’s home more times than you’re able to remember, going beyond yourself and cheering when the other people around you did.

The things you do to make your parents proud.

How you managed to have the English captain wrapped around your finger, regardless of your well-known dislike for her biggest passion and purpose in life, is still a mystery for your families and friends.

“Pretty please, just this one”

“Oh, shut up!”, you hit her arm and push her off you, both still naked.

You can’t believe your girlfriend is actually trying to bribe you with sex, not even waiting for you to fully recover before asking to go to the game.

“No, you ruined the mood”, you state as the blonde tries to kiss you again.

The huge grin of her beautiful face is quite dangerous, she can win you over so easily and you both know it.

Leah rises off the bed to retrieve a warm cloth from the bathroom and a clean shirt from the closet. You accept her attention, she’s always caring when it comes to you, but you’re pretty sure the extra effort has a not-so-subtle second purpose.

“You can’t buy me so easily, Williamson”

She can.

“It’s a really important game, my love”

“For who?”

“For me?”, she tries as she slots herself under your open arm, a grin hidden between your neck and the pillow.

“I barely bear you playing”

“You love watching me play”

“I love you, period”

Leah knows how much you think the sport is boring, going way out of your comfort zone just to cheer her. She feels immensely supported when she finds your big smile in the stands, wrapped in one of her jerseys.

It’s not that difficult for you to sit and admire your girlfriend in her element, focusing more on her movements and attitude than paying attention to the actual game.

What you find quite annoying is enduring Arsenal’s men’s team.

The defender’s fingers on your side are slowly soothing you in a compromising position, too relaxed and smitten to keep denying her anything. You know she doesn’t need much more to lure you into her trap and, unfortunately for you, she’s perfectly aware too.

When the blonde’s lips find the particularly sensitive spot on the base of your neck, you’re doomed.

You’re glad your father is already dead or you’d have killed him as you take your seat in the Emirates Stadium, surrounded by the Gunners’ colours. Your girlfriend’s name on your back could be the final nail.

The things you do to make your lover happy.

“You know I love you, right?”

“You better never forget this”, you quip back.

The English captain has been looking forward to this game for weeks now, you couldn’t have been able to turn her down in spite of it all.

She doesn’t need to know though, that you didn’t accept to spend one of your date nights watching the North West London derby for free.

“Maybe you will enjoy it at the end”

Nice try, you will not.

“You know, my dad was a West Ham supporter”

“Could have been worse”, she smiles at you, reaching for your hand.

Talking about your father is getting easier as time finally moves forward and your grief keeps changing its shape. Compared to the abyssal black hole it felt like the first year and a half, of its progress.

Leah didn’t meet him, crushing in your life a couple of months after his passing, but she managed to find a space in your heart that keeps growing despite all your fears.

They could have hit so well, bonding over their shared passion for the sport and their never-ending determination to make you happy.

You told her some stories about him, mostly memories to make your girlfriend understand how stubborn and passionate he was about the thing he cared about.

The one thing you all have in common.

“Yeah, he used to gift me a West Ham jersey every year on Bobby Moore’s birthday”

Leah’s laugh managed to overcome the buzzing atmosphere of the stadium, making you feel like she was the reason all the people around you were cheering. You sure think so.

“He sounds like an incredible father”

“Football obsession aside, he was good”

When you turn to look at her, the blonde’s eyes are already on you and the smile on her face is enough to warm your heart.

The first goal coming within five minutes has you quite engaged in what’s happening on the pitch, you even drag your girlfriend in a kiss as you both rise from your seats to celebrate.

Your commitment declined quite easily after that, more entertained by Leah’s reactions than the actual game. You nod in amusement every time she tries to talk you through one of her analyses, placing a hand on her thigh to stop her from standing up every time the ball is somehow close to the box.

The second half is more eventual, at least that’s what you can understand by the excitement the defender and the people in the stands around you seem to radiate.

You’re not clueless, you’re perfectly aware a five-nil win against Chelsea is quite the result. You care enough to think you can’t wait to go home - Leah is always in the mood for a private celebration when her team triumphs, especially over another London club.

“Can we go now?”, you ask as soon as the referee whistles three times, declaring the end of your and the Blues’ torture.

Leah’s happiness is contagious, so you’re not mad when she drags you in her arms to join her cheers and enthusiastic dance. It takes you less than a second to indulge her, letting the blonde spin you around and matching her excitement.

When she dips you and seals the move with a kiss the laugh that rises out of you is genuine and loud.

At first, neither of you notice the stadium’s camera pointed in your direction, recording your little moment of pure bliss in each other’s arms.

Looking back at it, as all your friends sent you the viral video, you know Leah saw you two on the big screen and went along with her little cocky display of affection and excitement for the victory.

You’re sure your father could be laughing at it too, despite the colors you’re wearing.

fine.

#woso x reader #leah williamson x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso community #lw6 #woso #here we are #short and sweet #i hope you enjoy it

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mediumgayitalian · 3 days

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fic rec friday 12

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

Physician, Love Thyself by Ryuuto

Will tries not to let on just how high his standards are for himself or how they're slowly crushing him under their weight. It's hard for him to open up about it when he's afraid that at any moment, it'll all come crashing down on him. Yet, perhaps it's time for this son of Apollo to bleed a small portion of that pain off.

will's whole thing of never believing himself ENOUGH.....like he works and works and never stops pushing the target farther away huh. i don't think he ever lets himself rest in the satisfaction of grasping something. it aches. and the ambiguousness of this ending....weeping fr

2. Sick Day by Ryuuto

Will is not a fan of the winter. Sadly, this year, the winter isn't a fan of Will Solace, either, and is especially spiteful by making Christmas Eve the worst day of this season. Stupid winter, ruining his plans for a romantic Christmas Eve stroll through New York City with Nico di Angelo.

crying and the quiet intimacy. the satisfying ordeal of being known....of being LOVED......of them loving each other with all the magnetic poles of each other. god. i will never not be insane for established relationship fics and will having seasonal depression is so desperately important to me like

3. once more unto the breach by orphan_account

He is Atlas, and he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he is also Will Solace, a fourteen-year-old boy with blood on his hands and ghosts in his hollowed-out heart.

weeping and crying because i am never not thinking of this. the weight of the healer. no rest for the wicked. and this line in particular actually knocked me fckn flat:

At fifteen years old, Will Solace falls apart with as much grace as he does everything else, and he very nearly gets away with doing it alone.

Until Nico, that is.

UNTIL NICO THAT IS!!!!! EXCUSE ME!!!!

4. Of Rotten Liars and the Taste of Truth by @theroyalsavage

Three times Will Solace lies to Nico di Angelo the summer after the war with Gaea, plus one time he tells the truth.

me and 5 (3, whatever) plus ones. you know the drill. "will is a dork and nico's an idiot" correct. will “if i lie i throw up” solace so real. and awkward but determined nico my beloved

5. Between the Shadow and the Soul by @theroyalsavage

Of snow, fumbling kisses, Valentine's mornings, and the imperfect science of falling in love.

SO soft they are SO SO SO soft i am going to LOSE MY MIND....the teasing the comfort the LOVE!!! THE LOVE!!!!

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

#this is the last fucking straw omg i cannot believe it is saturday AGAIN #im doing them all in advance. thats it #anyways.#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #solangelo #fic rec #fic rec friday #FRF #longpost #will solace angst

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lipglossanon · 1 day

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Gloom

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Serial Killer!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader <one shot>

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, troubled reader, violent/dark thoughts, flirting, Leon abusing his bartender privileges 😆, for once no smut!

not proofread; this has been languishing in my drafts and I’m tired of looking at it—don’t know if I’ll add to it or not

title from Gloom by Djo

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Clawing anger stirs in your chest, pricking you like the briar bushes outside your granny’s house. It feels like you’ve tumbled face first into the thorny tendrils, pointed tips digging into your skin, blood dripping like sweat across your skin. Shaking off the phantom sensations, you peer back out across the dance floor.

You smile, pretending to be happy, mask firmly in place. Good people grin and bear it, don’tcha know? Eyes landing on the table full of people you’d rather never see again, almost without conscious thought, makes your skin itch. The feeling of unfairness fizzes in your blood like carbon bubbles. You hate them. Hate these feelings all stirred up like a kicked hornets nest.

You hope they get hit by a truck, shanked in an alley, acid thrown in their eyes. It’s hateful and spiteful but you can’t stop the thoughts once they start. Maybe they’ll fall down the stairs and break their leg, bleed out a slow death all alone. Or pushed off the roof of a building, not so tall they have a heart attack before splattering across the cement. Maybe they’ll trip holding a pair of scissors, the pointed end puncturing their eye—

“You need another drink?”

The voice pulls you away from staring across the room to the bartender standing behind the counter.

“No,” you shake your head, eyes dropping to your glass, water still near the rim.

“You seem a bit perturbed,” he offers, propping his hip against the drink station, arms crossing and showcasing his thick biceps.

“It’s nothing,” your airy response only makes his eyebrows raise in amusement.

“I’m sure that group over at the table would love to hear how they’re nothing,” he grins when you glare at him.

“What do you care..” your eyes glance at his name tag, “Leon?”

“I don’t,” he shrugs easily, “but you do and I hate to see a pretty lady in distress.”

You snort, eyes rolling, “I’ll bet you say that to anyone with tits.”

His grin widens, “True, but I always mean what I say.”

Someone on the other end flags his attention and Leon leaves you to your intrusive thoughts and untouched water. Your lip curls in a sneer as someone gets up from the table he mentioned and walks over to the bar. They flirt with Leon who you notice gives you a quick side eye before making a round of drinks.

Once he’s finished up, he walks back over to you with a smarmy little swagger.

“Miss me?”

You shake your head, gaze still zeroed in on the bitch taking the handful of drinks he just made back to the table. More people come up to the bar and Leon slips away, busy for several long minutes. While he’s mixing whatever cocktail an older lady and her friend ordered, your eyes widen in surprise to see a few people at that specific table suddenly make their departure towards the restroom.

“It didn’t kick in as fast as I thought,” Leon muses next to you— a little put upon sigh slipping out for good measure, “they’ll definitely be calling it a night once they’re not puking their guts out.”

Delightful vindictiveness makes you smile broadly at him; it must surprise him because he only looks at you stupidly as you thank him.

“Didn’t I tell you I hate seeing a pretty lady in distress,” he recovers quickly enough, a pleased smile making him seem boyish and sweet, “besides they seem like stuck up cunts. And not the fun kind.”

You watch with a sort of childlike awe as he goes about the rest of his shift, chatting up customers and making drinks. The table of cunts, as he so politely put, cleared out once the others returned looking sick.

“I’m off work in ten minutes,” he appears next to you, making you jump.

“And?”

He drums his fingers on the side of your glass, “Might wanna get your last call in before I walk you home for the night.”

He slips away before you can argue and ten minutes later, he’s helping you with your coat and holding open the door. Once you’re a comfortable distance away from the bar, you turn to him.

“What did you use?”

“Ah,” he taps the side of his nose with a grin, “that would be telling.”

Your eyes narrow and he laughs.

“Just a little something I like to keep on me,” he ducks to the side to whisper in your ear, “it’s not the worst thing I’ve used on someone.”

He pulls away, looking pleased as punch, and it makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Thanks,” you offer, looking back to the sidewalk in front of you, “it was nice.”

“Oh my absolute pleasure,” he sighs happily, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, “do they come in every week?”

“Yes,” you bite your lip in thought, “usually at the same time.”

“Shall I give them something a bit stronger then?” He murmurs quietly, eyes glittering when you pause to look back at him.

“There’s something wrong with me.”

You didn’t mean to blurt that out, but it is what it is; he shrugs, total nonchalance, that makes you frown.

“I want them to hurt. I want them to feel awful. I wouldn’t mind if they died.”

His smile’s a sharp brittle knife, “I can help with that last one.”

Your heart flutters again, and you twist to face him fully.

“You mean that?” Your eyes stare into his calm blue gaze, “you don’t even know me.”

“Does it matter?” He grins playfully, “besides you seem like the kind of girl who would appreciate it.”

Those intrusive thoughts come back, flashing the various ways you’ve pictured those same people being hurt. Your hands reach up to curl your fingers in the collar of his jacket.

“Do you want help?”

He laughs delightedly, his own hands gripping your hips before sliding up to pet your ribs. He slides your noses together, before hovering his lips over your mouth.

“How do you want to help me, sweetheart?”

#leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy #resident evil fanfiction #serial killer!leon kennedy #fem!reader

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val-cansalute · 1 day

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summary: - a prologue of sorts - you and ellie will never be the same. the words you exchange are so deep seated and visceral, an accumulation of all the hurt. hers are telling; the love she gives is nothing like yours, nowhere near as intense, nowhere near as desperate. she’s closed off to you, and she may never be open again. she’s leaving town before it is even given a proper ending, to go on tour now that her music career is taking off. this is the end. at least for a few years.

warnings: not rlly proofread bc i ball too hard, angst with no comfort yet, dw it’ll come, ellie is dealing with trauma, references to sex.

an: every now and then i remember that alcohol exists but then i drink it and remember why i didnt drink it for ages. i hate alcohol. this shit is reaaaaally short cuz it’s just some context for the main story. it’s not really necessary to read but i wrote it anyway just because. unfortunately for me, bc whenever i start a story i get rlly anxious until its over, the next one prolly won’t be coming for a while since im gonna be travelling for a bit and i got quite a lot of stuff going on: love you guys, stay safe, never stop talking about palestine. do your clicks. :-)

masterlist

When you first saw Ellie, there were embers in her eyes - front of the pub, she didn’t even need a stage as she sang her heart out. Her captivating nature was enough to elevate her. Everyone else in the room faded to grey in the background, nothing more than a lively buzz punctuating the atmosphere. You were enraptured.

And she was too.

Hesitant glances from across the room at the same time each week, the music and the feeling was electric. The flush of her cheeks melted into the splotches of red from the sweltering heat each time she met your eyes. You sat on that same barstool; she stood in that same spotlight.

And when you started seeing each other, there were so many moments where you felt like your love for her was uncontainable. It spewed out of your pores and overwhelmed your senses every time she was near, even in spite of her soft and reserved demeanour.

It had a hold on you. Each time your lips met, it always became visceral for you, slow and sensual movements transforming into borderline aggression, tongue desperately searching her insides and tearing all the petals off the rose that was in her mouth. You wanted to consume her, suck her up and hold her in the comfort of your rib cage. She was everything to you.

And she was bound to fame. You knew it would come. She was made of stardust, and an aura so golden it would burst if confined in small town pubs any longer.

Sometimes, you gently trace the ridged edges of the polaroid pinned to your wall and feel a pool of warmth gather inside you at the feeling of familiarity her younger face brings. Her face, back then when her eyes seemed greener, her cheeks seemed fuller, her voice seemed clearer. It’s a sick feeling: nostalgia, remembering the way your intensity felt and what it has become.

If you stare too long, you’ll watch the grainy photograph melt and churn, the hues of her skin becoming duller and sunken inwards.

The house is quiet. It’s a silence so dense, you’re almost fooled into thinking Ellie isn’t home. But she is. She’s there, like a ghost lingering in the cracks of your walls.

It feels cold, with a lingering scent of whiskey and a heavy silence that creaks in the hollows of your ears, even for the weeks at a time that Ellie is home.

Maybe it’s a sick thought to have about the woman you would give up your life for, who you would do anything for, who you love more than anything in the world millions of times over, but you prefer it when there’s a distance between the two of you these days. Playing into that constant facade of everything being okay drains you of all your worth and for no return. Ellie gave up on it a while back. It’s just you prancing away solo on that stage now, like some jester.

You’ve become a slave to it, lost yourself out at sea trying desperately to make things okay, whatever that means. She'll never talk to you about it. There’s only scraps left to hide but she clings to them like they’re her lifeblood, tearing them away from you as if you’re just some stranger. Some stranger who watches her crumble to pieces and put herself back together, like she’s a damn mix and match, each time the memories come back to surface in her mind. You beg for more, for crumbs of her resolve but she’s gone. Not coming back.

Nothing has been okay. Nothing has ever been the same since Joel died. Ellie has never been the same. That day, he left and took a piece of her with him. A piece you know you’ll never get back.

There’s no room for argument, what is between the two of you is like glue that barely sticks, so you keep yourself deathly still and hold your breath with a pounding heart and complete desperation, not wanting to ruin anything further. But there’s so much you have to say, and no time to say it.

Instead, you watch her pull further away, see her eyes become duller, notice her absence get longer, feel the sex get colder, watch everything warp and twist and writhe until you’re beyond the point of no return. Until you’re not sure you trust her, or yourself, or the concept of anyone truly loving you the animalistic and self destructive way you loved them at any point in time.

It’s lonely on that island, watching her drift away, the person you thought completed you, she felt incomplete regardless of your presence.

You know the glue has faded when she turns to face you from the foot of the bed, looking so far away as she speaks.

"What? You're moving to LA?" She looks down at the fingers she’s twiddling, and takes a deep breath before continuing.

"Yeah, Max said it wa-"

"Well, how long?" You cut her off, already rising from the bed and moving closer. She meets your eyes but the look she gives doesn’t satiate your anxiety in any way, despite how you beg it to.

"... About that, we were thinking it might be… indefinite for now..."

Your heart stills in your chest and the blood rushes from your head. She can’t even look at you.

"Ellie. What the fuck… How are you just gonna dump this on me now? W-what about us? What are we gonna do? I already barely see you anymore,"

"I... I'm sorry but, I gotta do this. You know I do, if I'm gonna make a caree-"

Desperation takes over, your palms quivering erratically beneath you,

"Ellie… I know you care about your career, but, God, we've been together for so long. I love you so much, please don't do this to me,"

She raises her gaze to the ceiling and forces the lump down the dry, tight hollow of her throat,

"It's not forever, babe, I’ll come home.”

But you’re already shaking your head in dismissal of her blatantly dishonest words,

"You and I both know that that is not true. You’ve been desperate to go since it happened and I know I’m just an obstacle now.“

"That’s… That’s not true. I really can’t do this right now."

"You never can. And it’s because I fucking know you're not coming back, Ellie! And I'm not gonna sit around, waiting for you to call, only ever hearing about you through other people when we’ve been together for so many fucking years! I want you to be happy more than anything-“

"We can call.”

"But you fucking won't! And you're always drunk! You need to talk to me, Ellie, we're never gonna be okay if you don't!”

“I can’t be okay when I’m trapped here! All I can think about is him! I don’t eat, I don’t sleep!”

"But this isn’t gonna make anything better! We have something here! We said we would start a family together, Ellie… LA; you would never have wanted this… Okay? Joel would never have wanted this!"

She gets up and turns without a second thought at the sound of his name and your blood pressure spikes in complete desperation.

"Ellie, Ellie, please. I'm sorry. We can work through this, I promi-"

“I have to go.”

“No, you don’t! You aren’t being fair! You shut me out! You shut everyone out! I’ve been trying so fucking hard!"

"I know, and I’m fucking sorry, but I can't stay here, there's nothing left for me! I love you-"

Your voice is quiet and quivers with emotion that lulls her in, begging her to see that you need her - that she has always come first to you even if you’ve become secondary to her,

"Then prove it. Stay."

But her mind is already made up.

"… I can’t…”

You’re shaking your head,

“I have to do this.”

No, this is seriously the end.

“I'll come home."

You stop shaking your head and look at her.

“No. I can't wait around for you, Ellie, not when we’re like this. If you do this, it's over."

"That's up to you."

The rest of the night seems blurry to you. A deep despair festers to the brim of your skull. You can’t bring yourself to move once she’s gone, can’t bring your mind to calm itself down.

But once you do, the house is plunged into the darkness you encounter. The weight of Ellie still hangs thick in the air and lingers like a whine in the creaks of cold floorboards. As you leave the house you shared with Ellie, you pass through each room, switching the light on and then off, from top till the bottom, until you reach the last.

Click,

and then you leave, once and for all.

Pass round the bend and then by the sea. Watch the waves rise and then crash into each other, right where Ellie used to plant her feet beside you.

more pics of my cat bc she’s just so adorable 😩

#ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie the last of us #tlou2 #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #fanfic #Spotify

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viridianevergarden · 4 hours

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In Spite of it All (Elain x Azriel) Part IV

A/N: It is the eve of Elriel month! Finally, we're back and starting with Elain's POV. Things are happening 👹 Enjoy!

Word Count: 6K

Summary: Bad always follows in the path of Good. After tension builds between Azriel and Elain, an unwelcome presence makes itself known at Rosehall.

Key: Positive and negative tension

Triggers: NSFW themes right off the bat but not much else. Relatively safe.

🏷️: @downingg2001

Link to read!

Teaser from beginning below!👇

The strong scent of cedar graced Elain’s nose, silently beckoning, calling her from her slumber. Even then, she hadn’t bothered to open her eyes. Hadn’t bothered to consider where the fragrance was coming from.

She was so comfortable.

Too comfortable to get up, too comfortable to move.

Perfect, this was perfect.

A heavy weight shifted from behind, pressing itself right up against her back. Another force had snaked around her waist, pulling her in firmly.

The abrupt movements pulled Elain back out of her dozing. Slowly fluttering her eyes open, she took in the view of the daylit room. Everything seemed normal. There was nothing there.

Her gaze cascaded down to her lower half, spotting a massive leathery wing lazily slumped across her midriff and off the side of the bed. All the way down to the floor.

Another shift from behind, skin and warm air met with the crook of her neck. Elain tensed, sucking in a breath as clarity finally came to mind. She recalled it all, what occurred just hours before, who she’d invited into her bed—

It was Azriel.

It was Azriel who was lying against her. Holding her close, skin on skin, back to front with no space in between. Enveloping her in his own warmth and in the safety of his grasp. Color rose onto Elain’s cheeks as she laid there, silently enduring the skittering heat of his rhythmic breathing across her skin. With each warm wave, a shiver crept down her spine.

Hot. It was getting hot.

Elain couldn’t fight it. This male, who her heart still so viciously and unwaveringly ached for, had been so close. His skin on hers, his mouth against her neck, his arms around her waist— It was one of the ultimate expressions of intimacy.

It was getting too hot.

Her own festering arousal had doomed her from the start, the heat of it already beginning to pool down between her legs. And if Azriel scented it, if he woke up and smelled it—

They had never been this intimately close before. Not in this way. Everything last night, everything before, it was all for a reason. But this blatant touching, this unrestrained and subconscious touching was so like solstice night— And yet, this was… This was so much better.

The taloned thumb of Azriel’s wing twitched before the entire appendage moved upward, rendering Elain effectively clung onto and cocooned. She’d been trapped in his arms and by extension, his own wing.

She couldn’t bear it. The embarrassment in the growing heat between her own legs. The race of her heart. The simmering of her skin to the touch, his touch. She had no choice. She had to escape this— Escape before she might do something she’d regret.

Elain squirmed a little, hands reaching down to undo Azriel’s hold on her. His thick arms, while firm in grip, had ultimately loosened just enough to barely let go of her. The male loosed a low groan against her neck, right into her ear.

The delightful sound of it, the mere feeling of the vibrations against her skin—

It was getting worse.

Her body, it all ached for him. Throbbed for him. The want, the need fought like hell against her whole being. The damning desire to wake him and let him do whatever he wanted with her, begging to resume what once could’ve been all those weeks ago—

Too hot. Its all too hot.

She had to go. She couldn’t make another mistake again. Couldn’t bear the thought of further ruining what had already been undone and done again.

Elain slipped out from under that large black wing, careful not to step on the remainder of the length of it that laid arced on the floor. Azriel shifted again on the bed, seemingly from the sudden loss of warmth. Of her warmth.

She fled into the bathroom. Quickly. Quietly. The door behind her clicked shut, followed by a series of soft panting from her. Biting her lip and pressing her shaking thighs together, she tried her best to calm her ravished body, so at odds with her addled mind.

This hunger she felt, this insatiable hunger— She couldn’t do this to herself. Not to Azriel. Not again. Not when her own feelings were responsible for solstice night. Not when it was her fault that she misunderstood their relationship. Not when it was a mistake before. She wouldn’t— couldn’t dare make it again.

The guilt had practically swallowed Elain whole. Guilt for feeling this way. For allowing herself to feel for a male who didn’t even want her in the way she wanted him, to love a male of whom she shouldn’t.

For even allowing her own traitorous body to react to him this way, when all he had done was breathe down her neck. When all he was doing was sleeping. He couldn’t even have true peace in his own rest. Not from her. Not when she was around.

Elain pushed herself off the door as she strained to ignore the sizzling sensations that still remained, the ones that fought with her in every step she made.

Bending over the rim of the tub, she turned on the bath to get it running warm. She had to rinse off to clear her mind, to rid herself of the scent of her own arousal. And perhaps to hide from Azriel out of her own crippling anxiety. She could only hope that he hadn’t woken up yet. Let alone smelled it.

#acotar #elriel #pro elriel #elain x azriel #a court of thorns and roses #elriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #elriel fic

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neet-elite · 2 days

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↳ EVENT 05. Sebastian (Yandere)

Pairing: Sebastian / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 2,241 Warnings: yandere, blood play, knife play, pet name (bunny), implied self harm (not depicted!!!), blood drinking, dacryphilia Prompt(s): 18 — yandere Wanna take part in the event?: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: the bread and butter sebastian... tbh i think the yandere trope fits him so well. loner in the mountains? always fun to write sebastian being a bastard tysm for sending this prompt in !! mwah!!

All you had to do was follow some simple instructions. They're not even that hard to follow, made intentionally dumb for his pretty baby to understand. And only thee of them too! Isn't he kind? He doesn't expect much from you, because you're already perfect in his heart eyes. Three rules, that's all. Just keep quiet. Stay put. Don't try and open the door. And deep down, Sebastian knows that you're good. Such a good girl, aren't you? The idea that you'd be intentionally trying to disobey and attempting to leave him isn't even worth entertaining— because there's a much more understandable reason behind your mistrust, isn't there?

Plainly put, he imagines that you're trying to provoke him only to see if he's being serious about his love for you. Metaphorically poking the bear just to feel the sharp sting of its teeth on your neck, a sure reminder of his affections for you. And in that respect, he can understand why the locked basement door handle was jiggling around in spite of his clear cut rules, frantic in how even the wood shook against itself. In your quest for seeking his attention, you've in turn reminded him to buy more locks. See, you really are such a good girl, aren't you?

Walking down each step one at a time, he listens to the way the door slowly starts to stop squeaking. Every step down the sound of the handle grows quieter, softer, as if his presence alone was enough to whip you back into shape. Which is preferable, in all honesty. And so he finds himself smiling from ear to ear in pride as he gets to the door, pressing the side of his face to it to listen to you scurry around, waiting until you've eventually settled on some place to sit before digging the room key out of his back pocket to unlock the door.

"Bunny?" He affectionately calls out to you once he enters, quickly scanning the room before easily finding your fearful gaze. And oh how you wear fear well, how those big wide eyes look like pleading to him, especially as he takes a few steps forward only to close the door behind him, turning his back to you briefly to lock it again. Something he hates doing, y'know? Taking his eyes off of you for even a second— if he had it his way, you'd be glued to his hip. But he understands how impractical that would be, and so settles for captivity. "Did you need something?" He questions, tone sickeningly sweet in how fake he's being right now.

One step forward, and he watches as you cower from him on the bed. Another few steps forward, and he's privy to the sight of you huddling under his bed sheets, panic stricken expression going straight to his perverted cock from how cute you look when trying to hide from him. And then; how he hears you audibly gasp when he next speaks. Are you a little scared, bunny? It's okay, he won't be as savage as the bear. Because despite needing to punish you for misbehaving, he's doing so under the impression that you're asking for it. Going against his rather easy to follow rules in hopes of having him enact penalisation.

"Because, I seem to remember telling you not to leave this room, right?" He smiles when he reaches the edge of the bed, taking the opportunity to sit beside you as you remain stuck in place. Frozen in fear, which his cock likes very much so. Burning with greed right in the pit of his stomach, how it rises to tighten around his lungs when all you do is stare back at him. Cute, he thinks. So fucking cute when you're so scared, his fingers straining with want to pet your pretty little head.

For he's not stupid. He can read between the lines, see through your little victim act. Because he only ever wants what's best for you, remember? Which is why there are rules in the first place— it's all just to help you be as happy and as comfortable as possible, meaning he has to always keep an eye on you. Ah, just you wait till he tells you about the hidden camera surrounding his room, too! Allowing him to watch your every move even when he has to unfortunately leave the house, or even just to the kitchen. You need protection, and given your stunt over trying to knock the locked door down, he's convinced that you're just testing his limits. Wanting him to prove to you that he'll be at your beck and call— from anywhere. Even from within your own new four walls. Home.

A tut soon escapes him, but it's half hearted at best. It's difficult to be upset at your lack of verbal communication when you look so sweet when silent, and he considers himself an expert at understanding you regardless of whether you talk or not. Your silence, in his mind, is proof of such fact, and he takes a moment to consider your wants and needs. Head cocked to the side in thought, not attempting to get any closer to you in favour of simply thinking. Like watching an animal at the zoo, wondering what it must be thinking about.

"Ah, I know." He states apathetically, suddenly standing from his seated position and smiling warmly down at you when you jump back in fright. He's studied you for a while now, y'know. Creeping behind bushes, stalking late at night outside your bedroom window— your sleeping face is so pretty, God, the amount of times he's stroked himself silly to the sight, fogged up your thin windows like a bitch in heat. But now that he's finally got you in his room, tucked away under his bed sheets, locked safe and sound, he thinks you've never been prettier. In part because you suit the look of absolute despair as he walks towards his computer desk, digging through one of the old drawers to bring out a shiny item for you. A gift, if you will. A promise of his obsessive love, and how he'll never stop, even if you keep trying to escape. He'll happily prove himself to you over and over again if that's what it takes!

Lust pools in his tummy at the look you give him upon shining the knife in the dim light of his basement room. Barely held in his hand, spinning the item around a few times to inspect the sharpness. Could it be cleaned? Probably, but his cock twitches at the thought of sharing blood with you, even just a minimal amount. He always washes it after use, and accidentally making you sick by way of an unclean blade only gets him more excited. Instinctive cravings rolling down his spine at the thought of having you rely on him even more than you've already been forced to, shaking in his steps as he once again returns to the bed; only this time he follows your movements as you shuffle away from him and onto the corner of the sheets, prompting him to reach out to tightly grab at your arm so you can escape no further.

Maybe he's holding you a bit too tightly, but the tears that well in your eyes as your gaze flicks between his wide smile and the knife only serve to turn him on some more, tent in his pants just for you, oh you pretty thing, he's so hard because of how cute you are! Isn't this what you wanted? Isn't that what love is? A little pain for a lot of gain. Knife in hand, inching his body closer to your own and adjusting his grip until he's right before you, leaking precum all over himself to the way your eyes drop to his needy cock more than once.

He was right, you are after him, aren't you?

Lifting the knife to right in front of your face, unable to stop his smile from growing at the way you shield your view from it, he tells you a little secret. Letting you know exactly how he plans on showing his love for you, because you deserve some warning for letting him indulge like this. That, and his cock practically begs to scare you some more, to watch those tears roll over and stain your red cheeks in selfish satisfaction. Perverted gratification, would that he could start petting at his fat bulge before you, but you still need to be taught some bedside manners. Such as;

"Stay still." He says calmly, flipping your arm around with ease so as to have access to the inner side, locking his fist around your snappable wrist without much care.

"Wait— Sebastian, I'm sorry, just don't—"

Just looking at you is enough to shut you up, cold stare gawking as if he hadn't a single care about you; a stark contrast to his still yet trembling cock in his pants, repositioning his body and "accidentally" thrusting his cock more in your direction. Fuck, you shouldn't hand him such power over so easily, the sight of your eyes squeezed tightly shut, forcing a few tears to drip drop onto your cheeks, and eventually his bed, has his body positively thrumming with sadistic enjoyment.

Part of him wishes you'd continue begging, let him see just how desperate you can get when faced with your new toy. But more than that, he wants to remind you of his cruel love. It's what he came down here to do, isn't it? What you slammed the door for, right?

"Please be good for me and sit still," He repeats himself, adopting a softer look in the face of your clear fear. As cute as it is, he loves you, his heart pleading to comfort your frightened state. "It'll be over soon, promise. Don't wanna hurt you, kay?"

And before he has a chance to register your response, his knife comes into contact with your pretty wrist and the squeak the metal brings out of you is enough to leave him yearning. Eyes rolled back briefly in hedonistic pleasure, from a single fucking yelp. God, you're so perfect. So pretty and perfect that he can't wait to defile you with his dirty knife, to bare witness to your extreme vulnerability, stand up to the challenge of tending to your self imposed wounds. All in the name of love— it's his life purpose at this point.

It makes sense in his lust fuelled mind, anyway. Overflowing with love for you, brimming over and out into his trembling fist wrapped securely around the knife, all it'd take is a little more pressure. Just a small amount downwards, breach the first layer of your skin and—

Fuck, he's panting. Literally heaving over your quivering frame like some sort of twisted deviant. You know he's doing this out of love, right? That he just adores you way too much to let your actions go unpunished, taking a single shaky inhale before digging the tip of the knife into your soft, supple, skin.

Not too deep! No, this is more of a warning rather than anything more substantial, but it's enough. Enough to leave him drooling over your arm at the mere sight of bright red trickling down it, staining the metal dark for him to lick at later. A measly surface level scratch in his eyes, staring at the mark intensely as he drags the knife across the width of your arm, cock jumping in his pants with every grunt and sigh that escapes your pretty kissable lips with his violent movements.

Lovers meet eyes once he's done, the knife clumsily falling from his hand and onto the bed below, the way you flinch away from the offending item is what finally convinces him to give him cock a little more attention now that you've been properly punished. Pawing away at his jeans with heaving lungs, unable to decide whether to watch the blood trickle from your new cut, or to stare at the horrified expression you now wear as he effectively jerks off right in front of you.

He steals the illusion of choice away from you in one swift move anyway, grabbing at your arm and tugging it with a bruising grip to his lips. Immediately flattening his dirty tongue over the fresh wound, openly moaning against your skin at the taste of your sweet blood. Violence does not always take physical form, and he knows it to be true when he drips saliva along the cut, hoping to dribble parts of himself into you just as much as he's attempting to clean you all better. Or, perhaps more honestly, selfishly using your taste to get off to.

But there is so much love to be had in violence too, isn't there? The tender way his grip softens, now that he's drunk off your blood. How he's rushing to undress himself with one hand because he simply can't stand the thought of not showing you exactly what you do to him just by existing, by crying so prettily like that as he debases you in the secluded privacy of his basement room. With teeth and tongue, lapping with the intent of sucking you dry, huffing in your scent, mumbling over your taste— there is love, here.

Perhaps a little too much so.

#500 event!#sdv smut #sdv sebastian smut #sebastian smut #stardew valley smut #stardew valley sebastian smut

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itsabouttimex2 · 1 day

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Feeling evil rn :)

So I'm roleplaying with LSO MK, and currently the Y/N is very injured in their first fight against someone, since they decided to be a sneaky monkie kid and try to train themself somewhere again from MK.

Problem is that Y/N hasn't really be trained at all and doesn't know how to fight or even USE the staff.

And the Monkie Knight is not reacting very well at ALL.

Let’s Start Over:

Battle Scars

You lay weakly across the ground, breathing hard and heavy. Arms roughly scraped against smooth concrete, shins kicked to swollen bruises. Blood from your nose and mouth. Head pounding. Everything hurts.

But you aren’t in any real danger. Not since your mentor’s prompt and almost brutal arrival on the scene.

“…Monkie Knight? How… how did you know I was…?”

Jin- and Yin, even though there was only supposed to be one of them because that was the rumor circulating and you wouldn’t have come out here on your own if you had known it would be both instead of just one-

Jin and Yin both lay limply across the ground, broken limbs strewn sloppily about their prone bodies.

They aren’t dead.

MK wouldn’t kill in front of you. Really, he doesn’t like to kill at all. But especially not in front of his cherished student.

“I told you,” your mentor whispers, clutching your head tight to his chest. “How many times did I tell you, kiddo? How many times did I lecture you about this? We spent hours going over this.”

Your wounds are many, each one a different shape, size, severity. Red and purple paint your skin, bruises and gashes along the length of your limbs and chest.

Nothing fatal, and that was clear at even a casual glance- but it didn’t make your mentor any less worried.

“Idiot,” he murmurs to your ear. That mild insult is the literal harshest word you’ve heard escape his mouth. Maybe you’ve earned it, with a stunt like this. “My little idiot. I can’t trust you at all, can I? You are never going outside without me again.”

MK presses a kiss to your forehead, stroking sweat-stained strands of hair from your eyes. “I shouldn’t have taken my eyes of off you, not even for a moment. I should’ve gotten here sooner. I should’ve protected you,” says a small and guilty voice, as though you had been killed instead of beaten down by two gibbering idiots. “I won’t let you get hurt again, Y/N.”

It’s rare that he calls you by your real name- you’ve been affectionally dubbed Clover, a reference to your position as the fourth bearer of the Ruyi Jingu Bang.

If MK is dropping that moniker, it’s simply more proof of how serious things have gotten.

His arms snake around your body, one hand resting under your thighs, the other supporting your upper back. Another kiss to your bleeding forehead, then he speaks:

“Let’s go home.”

You can’t bring yourself to answer beyond a nod, some level of shame and embarrassment sealing your lips. All you manage is a short nod before settling into his arms for the trek.

Every step forward is near agony, jostled about in spite of how careful MK is trying to be with you. The ground nearest to him is left uneven from the prior fight, broken and crumbled by powerful impacts. You bounce about, feeling all the bruises along you scrape against the torn clothing on you. At your first whimper, the Monkie Knight looks down at you, caught between worry born of anger and a deep pity.

“We’re gonna have words, Y/N, trust me. But I’ll get you patched up first, huh? Just close your eyes and let me get you home.”

Doing as requested, you try to focus on the beat of your mentor’s heart instead of his droning footsteps and the buzzing pain blooming across your skin.

The journey is slow and grueling, but MK reassures you several times both verbally and physically, stopping to adjust his grip on you and taking a moment to praise how well you’ve been doing.

And soon enough you’re home on Flower Fruit Mountain, bundled up under a blanket as MK stomps about the house in search of medical supplies.

“I can’t believe you. I cannot believe you, Clover. Pulling a stunt like this. Hands out. Now.”

You offer them up without hesitation, causing MK to falter with his sternness. “Good,” he praises, taking your left hand between his own.

A golden seal crackles to life on your palm, a severe restriction of powers. “No more staff.”

Then, he takes your right hand, prompting an exact replica of the first glittering power-limiter to sparkle into existence. “No more clones or shape-shifting.”

A final kiss to your forehead prompts a much more ominous seal to blossom across your skin, a bright golden line winding all the around your head, reminiscent of a single-banded crown.

“And no Mystic Monkey form, either.”

Something deep inside you starts to ache, a severance of your true identity forming within. All from a simple fatherly action that is no doubt being performed for “your own good”.

“Hands,” he repeats, grabbing a washcloth and a small water basin. You offer them again, a little slower this time, struggling to accommodate the newfound emptiness in your chest. MK begins to scrub your arms clean with a mild soap and warm water, frowning as he surveys the damage.

“You’re lucky. So, so lucky. If I hadn’t gotten there in time, you would have… they would have…”

A pause. Your mentor takes a deep breath. He pushes a small washcloth into your hands, frowning a little deeper as he rolls up the fabric of your pants.

“Pat your arms dry,” is his simple command. You slowly do as told, feeling as though your arms have been burdened with lead. As you work the wetness from your tattered skin, the Monkie Knight tends to your legs.

When all the wounds have been cleaned and your arms are no longer smothered in water and soap, MK takes them again and starts to apply large bandages to the worst of your wounds.

Each one is glittery, some shade of gold or red, branded with a smiling monkey face in the middle. They had been pricier than any store brand, but your mentor didn’t mind shelling out for the extra quality and cute designs.

The brighter colors and sparkling material made you smile when they caught in the light, and you smiling made him happy. They were an investment that paid themselves back several times over, in his opinion.

Your smile is one of his favorite things, now that he thinks of it. It’s proof that he’s doing well as a mentor, that he’s keeping you healthy and safe.

But looking at your face right now shows only regret and pain- maybe a little bit of emotional hurt alongside the discomfort caused by the struggles of battle.

“…I love you,” he says, hoping to cut the cold tension with a few warm words. “Even when you make bad decisions.”

“…I love you too,” is your delayed answer, causing the Monkie Knight to sigh in relief. Maybe you’re only saying to because he said it first. Or maybe because he’s done so much that you think you owe him that love.

Maybe you were on the verge of saying it yourself, without prompting or reason.

Regardless, MK drops everything to scoop you up in his powerful arms, his muscles straining to give a proper squeeze, pushing every bit of air free from your lungs.

“I won’t ever let you go again,” he says.

You doubt that he’s joking.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere MK #Let’s Start Over #Yandere Mentor

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queen-haq · 2 days

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Fic: Never You, Part 8 (Polin fic)

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV show)

Spoilers: S3 released scenes.

Summary: They may have been friends once but his callous words decimated their relationship. Determined not to have anything to do with him, Penelope is ready to move on. But Colin isn’t giving up, not at all. Friends or not, they are connected for life - and he intends to remind her of that.

Excerpt:

“You would hate me for not wanting to court you. You would be that selfish?”

“Of course you would think that.”

“What else is this if not punishment?”

Masterlist (contains links to previous parts and my other stories)

A03 link if that's more your jam

With her heart and mind in complete shambles the next day, the last place Penelope wanted to be at was the Bridgerton Manor. But there she was, cushioned between Lady Violet and her own mother for afternoon tea. As if things weren’t difficult enough, the Cowpers were also in attendance, which meant she was forced to watch Eloise and Cressida act like the best of friends. Occasionally Eloise would glance at her from the other side of the room, as if to gauge her reaction. The optimistic part of Penelope hoped it was because her former friend still cared, but the cynic in her knew otherwise. Eloise wanted to make it crystal clear that Penelope was alone now. Without Eloise, without the Bridgertons, she was an outsider. And who better to emphasize that point with than Cressida Cowper herself. The tall blonde had bullied Penelope since they were little girls, and now Eloise had joined forces with Satan herself. As if on cue, Cressida cast her a disparaging glance, whispering something in Eloise’s ears before both women exchanged a spiteful smile.

It was one thing to have Eloise be angry at her, that Penelope understood and could live with, but to see Eloise and Cressida’s blossoming friendship felt like an arrow through the heart. And it hurt, it hurt so much.

The night of the ball Penelope would’ve done anything to reconcile with Eloise, but since then she came to realize a lot of hard truths. The ton, Eloise, Colin – they only accepted her as long as she followed their rules. A woman like her, shy and large, not borne into wealth or beauty wasn’t allowed to want things. She had to remain voiceless, live in the shadow of others, not expect to be loved or cherished. The moment she refused to play the part of an insipid wallflower she was punished. And that was fine, she would live with the consequences of the choices she made. But what she wouldn’t do was reveal her pain for anyone’s enjoyment. So Eloise could be as snide as she wanted, she and Cressida could humiliate her to their heart’s content but they would never conquer her publicly.

“Penelope, you looked lovely at the VanGuard soiree.”

Breaking out of her reverie, Penelope smiled at Lady Violet. “Thank you.”

“The various shades of green have been a surprise,” Portia chimed in, sipping her tea. “I wasn’t with Penelope the day she went to the modiste and Miss Delacroix certainly took advantage of that. Probably talked my foolish child into buying all the unused fabrics she couldn’t sell to others.”

“I doubt Miss Delacroix has to resort to trickery to sell her clothes,” Penelope replied.

“She is very much in demand as a dressmaker,” Lady Violet added.

“Hmph…” was her mama’s response. “I suppose it could have been much worse. At least the green doesn’t wash out her complexion too much.”

Violet responded with a stiff smile. “I thought it suited her quite well.” She turned to Penelope. “We’ve missed having you here for tea.”

Penelope merely smiled.

“I suppose my Cressida has kept Eloise so busy these past few weeks she hasn’t had time for… others.” Penelope had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at Lady Cowper. The apple certainly didn’t fall far from the condescending tree.

“I’m sure that will be rectified soon,” Lady Violet replied, a hopeful tilt to her voice.

Penelope didn’t have the heart to tell her things had irrevocably changed. Eloise refused to understand her motivations, and Penelope wasn’t willing to fall on her sword to make things right between them.

“Mother, Cressida and I are going to take a stroll in the gardens,” Eloise announced, linking her arms through Cressida's as they both headed out of the room.

Lady Violet’s warm eyes gleamed with compassion as she directed her attention back to Penelope. “Would you like to join them?”

That was the last thing she wanted. “Is it alright if I visit the library?”

“Yes, of course.”

The stern look on Portia’s face indicated she wasn’t happy about Penelope spending time in the stuffy Bridgerton library but Penelope didn’t care. It was a room she loved, filled with many warm, comforting memories of happier times.

Excusing herself, she walked away from the prying eyes of the mothers, desperate for a moment alone. Her stomach was still tied in knots, her head pounding. She had stayed awake most of the night in Colin’s arms, inhaling him in and etching everything about him to her memory. At the same time her guilty conscience had warred with her heart, reminding her of the horrible mistake she was making. It was only when fatigue took over that she managed to get some sleep. By the time she woke up Colin had already left, and she had spent the morning agonizing over what to tell Arthur.

Penelope quietly walked to the library, grateful it was in the opposite wing from where the bedchambers were. The last thing she needed was to run into Colin; after last night, she was too embarrassed to face him.

Stepping inside the library, she shut the door behind. She closed her eyes. Breathed in the air, the smell of books infusing her senses. Sunlight peeked in through the windows, casting shadows across the room. As children she and Eloise had spent countless hours playing hide and seek between the shelves. This room had also been a haven when Mama and Papa fought, or those days Mama had been especially harsh about her eating habits. Penelope would sneak away and make her way into the Bridgerton library through the gardens and the back door, desperate for a quiet place to simply be.

She crossed the room, walking to the window which overlooked the south section of the garden. Staring out, she caught a glimpse of Cressida and Eloise walking together, engaged in deep conversation. It was Cressida’s facial expression that caught her attention. The blonde, usually so smarmy and full of herself, seemed almost shy next to Eloise, even vulnerable. Apparently they were friends.

Taking a deep breath, she walked further into the room, behind the shelves, to the hidden alcove.

Her heart was heavy, her mind still fraught with guilt. She had spent the morning writing and rewriting to Arthur, debating on how much to tell him. In the end, she decided to keep it short.

I made a mistake. One I’m not sure you can forgive me for. It’s best if we speak in person.

Tears welled in her eyes, her throat tightened with emotion.

As hurtful as Colin’s words had been about not courting her, at least they finally revealed what his true thoughts were. He didn’t love her, nor would he ever, and no amount of wishing would make it so. And ultimately, his honesty had been a gift because it allowed her to get through the pain and open her mind to pursue someone new. She hadn’t gone looking for Arthur, but when he’d come into her life she hadn’t closed herself off either. She may not have loved him madly like Colin but she held deep affection for him. There was also mutual respect between them and friendship. He understood what writing meant to her and pledged his full support, and that was a rare quality amongst men in their society. She had so much to look forward to and it was all gone now, completely eviscerated because of her own foolishness.

Tears fell down her cheeks while she pondered the bleak future ahead of her. Without any marriage prospects, she was doomed to be a spinster. Unlike Eloise, she wanted a husband and children, a contented marriage, a home where she would finally belong. As a spinster, however, she would most likely spend the rest of her life with Portia and be the sole recipient of her mother’s criticisms. Oh God. No, no, no, just the thought of that made her panic. Heart pounding, she clutched her chest, utterly dejected about her broken dreams.

“Pen? What’s wrong?”

She turned around to find Colin standing a few feet away. She swiped the tears from her face, quickly composing herself. “Nothing, I just have some dirt in my eyes.” While he crossed the room in only a few strides, she gave him a cursory smile. Seeing the concern on his face, she quickly averted her eyes away from him. “I need to return to the sitting room. Mama must be waiting for me.”

“You’ve been crying.” There was fear in his voice when he spoke. “What’s wrong?

She shook her head. “I’m fine-”

“I know I haven’t been a good friend to you recently. I wasn’t there when your father passed, I’ve been callous with your feelings – but please, Pen, give me a chance to help you. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Despite using all her resolve to hold it together, she started to shake. The lump in her throat made it impossible to speak. She closed her eyes, trying to keep her tears in check. She couldn’t bear for him to see her when she was feeling so low and pathetic.

All of a sudden his arms wrapped around her, enveloping her in a warm, comforting hug. “It’s alright. You don’t need to tell me, you don’t fully trust me yet. But please let me hold you for a while?”

It may have been posed as a question, yet his tight embrace indicated he wouldn’t let go even if she refused. And she tried, she tried to hold onto her pride and fight him off, but he was stronger and more resolute and eventually she gave in. The solace he offered made her crumble and she buried her face in his chest, crying silently in his arms.

For the longest while he simply hugged her, murmuring tender words, dropping light kisses on the crown of her head. He felt so strong yet gentle, offering his support, and her heart yearned for him. If only he could love her, want her for who she truly was. She let herself indulge in that fantasy for a few minutes, pondering life with him as his wife, being family with the Bridgertons, even having Eloise back as her best friend. She could continue to write, and they would be supportive without judging her. Her life would be perfect, she would never need for anything again.

Time held no meaning. All she felt was the warmth of his touch, his scent blanketing her senses, making her feel safe and secure in his grasp. Nestled in his arms, she listened to his heartbeat. Strong, slow, steady. Whereas her heart was pounding rapidly, like it always did when she was around him. A stark reminder of how much she was affected by him, whilst he wasn’t at all by her.

And that was enough for her mind to stop dwelling in the fantasy of Colin. There was never any possibility of a future with him. And she was absurd for letting herself daydream about it.

The tears stopped. A calm logic fell over her.

She took a deep breath.

Her foolish heart may have cost her a future with Arthur but that didn’t mean she was out of options.

She had amassed a small fortune already. And with any luck, the investments she made would continue to grow in value. While nothing would change her status as a spinster, that didn’t mean she had to live with Mama for the rest of her life. She could leave and build a life elsewhere, without her mother’s approval. In secret if she had to.

It wouldn’t be easy, but not impossible. After all, she had built Lady Whistledown from nothing. And now her nom de plume was one of the most influential names in the ton. She was Penelope Featherington and she could do anything she set her mind to.

“Who made you cry, Penelope?”

His words instantly brought her back to reality, and she was reminded of how desperately she was clinging to him. Immediately she dropped her arms, intending to step back but he didn’t release his grip on her. Instead, he tucked his finger under her chin and nudged her head up to meet his gaze.

It was then she noticed the dark storm brewing in his gaze. There was anger in his eyes, on his face, his jaw clenched. The Colin she grew up with was cheery and affable, equally popular amongst ladies and gentlemen of the ton because of his friendly nature. But he wasn’t the same man staring back at her now, seething with rage, a strange viciousness vibrating off of him.

“No one gets to hurt you, Penelope.”

He wasn’t loud or boisterous with his threat, instead his tone was quiet which made his words even more dangerous. Because he wasn’t putting on an act. He meant every word.

His thumb swiped the tear stains from her cheeks, first left, then right, before trailing down to her lips. His breathing grew more shallow with every second, and his eyes held her transfixed, making it impossible for her to look away from him. She was his prisoner, body and soul.

“Tell me who it was.”

She swallowed audibly. “Why do you care?”

“Because you're everything to me.” His arms encircled her back, pulling her against him. “And I will destroy the fucking world before I let someone hurt you again."

There was no time to argue, to think. A palpable force compelled them together, as real as the air they breathed. His lips closed over hers, kissing her possessively, and she kissed him back with equal fervor, desperate to touch him. The pull between them was too much, yet not enough. His hands all over her body, pulling at her dress, hers frantically removing his waistcoat and shirt because she wanted – no, needed – to feel his bare skin on hers again. They were spiraling towards full madness. Nothing else mattered except his mouth dragging down her neck, trailing a path of heated kisses. On his knees now, she clutched his hair as his mouth sought out her breasts. The friction from his mouth laving her hardened nipple over the fabric of her dress was electric. She couldn’t take it, rolling her head back at the sheer intensity of it.

"Colin! What are you doing?”

Penelope's eyes flew open.

Standing on the other side of the room was Eloise, watching them with complete horror on her face.

#polin #penelope x colin #colin x penelope #bridgerton #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #never you #my fics

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voiceofsword · 3 hours

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hi mimi :] guess who got new "matching" voicelines . i think i might be a bit delusional but it's a saga in my HEART and i will now rough tl/paraphrase them for you as i haven't the time to do it properly atm ( i'm at work but i had to inform you asap )

niki: i'm developing new recipes for a cooking segment on a new show i was put in charge of ! i'm thinking of focusing on spring vegetables ..

rinne: ( yawn ) i went out with niki early in the morning to dig up bamboo shoots, and we stayed there until pretty late in the evening, i've been so tired .. i think i'll sleep a bit now

niki: rinnekun told me spring was a great time for picnics, so i'm going to make a bento ! what would go nicely in it .. 💭

i swore there was another one but i don't feel like checking the shop atm to see if i missed a line . will update you if i did o7

WAUUGHHH THANK YOU... IVE SEEN A FEW COMICS ABT THEM BUT HAVENT GOTTEN THEM MYSELF so thank u so much for keeping me updated. now i will ramble

thinking about rinne being like (grumble grumble) why am i up this early (grumble grumble) damn you niki (in spite of agreeing to drive him the night before).... but still driving him, and joining him in digging up the bamboo shoots, and they end up having such a good time that he forgot he was even that tired at all to begin with. cue rinne and niki sitting in silence for like 5 mins in the car before he starts playing stuff from a playlist he made for the two of them and they immediately start singing/humming along

and in the following bento line i can imagine that happening almost before rinnes, like oh, bc rinnes doing this for me ill make us some food since he said spring is nice for picnics :) itll be fun and yummy food is always good~ (not just thinking about the food, obviously, but specifically remembering that tiny detail and wanting to Share That with the person he loves)

so by the time they have a few bags of bamboo shoots and are exhausted and covered in dirt nikis like ta dah!!! i made us bentos!! and rinnes thankful but also like omg, is this a date, does niki like me? i wouldve gotten dressed nicer 😳😳 nikikyun, you shoulda told meeee (super teasing, everyone knows theyre dating, hes being silly) and niki jokingly smacks him like no way! not like you wouldve done the laundry today anyway!! (but makes no attempt to reject the date idea) and and and.

idk i just started thinking about this scenario, i always love the "oh i have to do this thing" and the other immediately joining in like "well duh obviously i gotta go with you" both in the more serious sense and with more everyday activities like this, as much as they complain they treasure each others company so much IM DEADDDDDDD

#mimthinks #sorry for messy messy doodle but ive been so artblocked aaHH (SCREAMING CAT)#anyways thank u so much eve again for tl <3 and thinking of me aaAAA IM FLATTERED!! AGAIN!!!!#hope everyone missed my word vomit posts (crowd boos)

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