#jewel of the seashore

[anghraine]

I got a comment that was like ... people are only mad about film Faramir because he doesn't act exactly the way they personally imagined him, and tbh I'm torn between being annoyed at how deeply disingenuous that argument is and slightly impressed at the sheer audacity of pinning the Faramir Controversy on difference from random people's headcanons rather than the book itself.

...then I got to thinking about how the whole time-consuming and wildly out of character handling of the temptation of the Ring is one thing, and justifiably gets a lot of attention, but Faramir allowing his soldiers to beat Gollum for information is quite comparable in my mind. They're his men! Gollum is an unarmed prisoner! I guess it's meant to show the exigencies of war or something and I'm just like ... hahaha no.

In a way it reminds me of film Aragorn just straight up killing the Mouth of Sauron in a way that seems meant to show their desperation in a badass cathartic way, and meanwhile, I'm thinking ... oh, our heroes murder ambassadors now. I feel like it's the same underlying kind of rationale, and quite far from not matching people's headcanons.

#faramir ordering his men to handle gollum gently and aragorn not actually killing sauron's (human) envoy are not people's headcanons #they're things that objectively happened (or didn't happen) in the source material being adapted #like the argument about how significant the divergences are is one you can have (obviously i find them very significant) #the argument about whether the comparisons should be made at all is one you can have (obviously i think comparisons are fine) #but 'people are just mad about not seeing their headcanons on screen'? nah. points for effort though. #anghraine rants #legendarium fanwank #legendarium blogging #pj critical #jewel of the seashore #húrinionath #vagueblogging intensifies

[temptress-writes]

📺 Sugar

A/N: Welcome to The Tonight Show with Harry Styles. The year is 1964, and you are his assistant. He's a bit of a shit. So this is a fun one.

C.W: sexual content: kinda rough— choking, spanking, degradation, slapping, spitting, squirting.

18+ ONLY.

***

New York City, 1964.

"Red leather, yellow leather, red leather, yellow leather."

The bright lights heated him even from behind the curtain. A warmth that coasted alongside his adrenaline. He struggled to keep his body cool underneath his designer sweater, felt his feet tapping restlessly in his leather oxfords.

This was his favourite part.

The cheers, the introduction, the attention.

You ran the lint roller over his shoulders as he sipped steaming tea from a paper cup. You made sure the collar of his plaid shirt was straight as it peeked out from his red sweater.

Another sip of steaming tea, another tongue twister.

"She sells..." You coached.

He took in a deep breath, watching you as you made sure he appeared perfect, rearranging the groomed curls on his head. Your green dress stood brightly against the black of the stage, the white cuffs of it framing your wrists as you fussed over his hair.

"She sells seashells by the seashore."

"One minute till curtain!" The stage manager yelled as he breezed by. "How're you feeling, Mr. Styles?"

"Like a million bucks, Sal!"

"That's the spirit!" Sal chuckled, running towards the side of the stage, probably chasing after an intern who wasn't doing their job properly.

"Remember, you're meeting your parents for dinner after this." You reminded, ticking off the mental to-do list that was really his. It was clogging your mind but after all, it was your job.

"I haven't forgotten." He rolled his eyes. Yes, you were his assistant, but he found you controlling at times and he had little patience for women who tried to control him. He preferred to be the one in charge.

"But you'll still find a way to be late, anyway." You stepped back with a huff. He really did make your job a living hell.

"I'm taking a refreshment in my dressing room after the show."

You scrunched up your face in disgust. Refreshment. You hated that you knew it was code for a visit from a desperate groupie. You remember when he told you how he chose which girl he liked the best. You'd been watching the audience file in and he appeared behind you, chewing gum with a confident pop of his jaw.

"Let me scope it out."

"Why?"

"Like to see who's gonna join me for a post-show soirée. See those girls?" He pointed to a group of overdressed girls, all giggling and excited for the show to start. "Bingo."

"How do you know which one to pick?"

He shot you a look, clicking his tongue. "The tits, sugar. I always pick the girl with the biggest tits."

"Ugh." You rolled your eyes. "You're disgusting."

"I'm just messin'," He tilted his head. "I'm an ass man, too."

You shuddered at the recollection.

"Yes, Mr. Styles." Your voice was laced with a seething sarcasm that he raised a brow at.

He didn't seem to conceptualise that you talked that way because that's how he talked to you. He couldn't see past his blinding, misogynistic ego.

You were purely volleying it right back at him. In hindsight, it wasn't the smartest move because you really needed this job and he had a tendency to fire staff with a snap of his jeweled fingers. He'd made the past six months hard on you and he really made your blood boil.

Who knew becoming Harry Styles' assistant would be akin to babysitting a grumpy toddler?

The Tonight Show with Harry Styles.

Hilarious with guests, a major flirt, and entertaining — even when reading out news segments.

He was well-loved by everyone. For his fun fashion statements, for his guests, his charm, his whole fantasy world on his show. Worldwide, he was adored as the most entertaining and handsome talk show host.

But you knew what happened behind the scenes.

Poised and perfect on camera, but as soon as the director called cut, you had trouble convincing yourself it wasn't a joke. People of the television world had a different sort of ego and you struggled to breathe among it all. Harry hated mingling with guests before and after the show more than he had to, he hated when the crew bothered him, he hated being approached by fans for autographs because he had a headache — or whatever excuse he was offering that day.

Don't get it twisted — he loved the attention he got from being so famous. You were surprised his head wasn't bigger. The one thing he loved most about being so popular was the fact that he could have anyone on his knees for him, be between their legs, and have them at their disposal. And he treated them like that was their only use.

The charming and cheerful Harry Styles.

Purely a falsity of a man.

The crew fled from the stage as the band started playing the introduction theme music and you swept the cup from his hand. You replaced it with two certs breath mints that he chewed on routinely.

"Wish me good luck." He demanded as you gave him a once over.

You beamed. "Break a leg."

"Thanks, sugar."

"No, like trip and fall."

His smile dropped into an unamused glare. "Oh, bite me."

The music ensued, getting louder with an abundant cheer from the live crowd, the curtain preparing to lift to reveal him. You rushed off stage, your Mary Janes clicking on the floor before nodding to Sal who gave you two thumbs up.

"Filmed before a live studio audience..."

"...All the way from Holmes Chapel, Cheshire..."

Harry took a deep breath, already bathing in the adoration he garnered from simply existing.

"...Give it up for your host, the one, the only..."

You rolled your eyes as he mouthed along with the words as they were spoken.

"...Mr. Harry Styles!"

The curtain parted and he stepped forward, his hands waving to the crowd before clasping them together as he took a small bow. He blew kisses, thanking them for coming and welcoming them. He egged on the drummer of the band while the crowd cheered for him.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!"

More cheers that he absolutely cherished and bathed in, letting them fuel his ego.

"We've got a great show for you tonight, we have special guests The Everly Brothers joining us!"

Your job while Harry was doing his magic spiel on stage was to check in with him during commercial breaks, smooth his hair, offer him mints, refill his water. Also to make sure everything was perfect for him when he wrapped up. He was extremely demanding, and while you were warned of that when you first took the job, you were still so surprised just how needy he was.

He liked ham and tomato sandwiches exactly fifteen minutes before he was put into his hair and makeup chair. He liked a cup of hot tea right before air time, alongside a few tongue twisters. He went through packets of Certs breath mints faster than you thought humanly possible. He also wanted a cup of black coffee waiting for him directly after he got off stage.

He didn't like to talk to anyone on his way to his dressing room unless it was Sal congratulating him and inflaming his already huge ego. Or security telling him about a waiting groupie in his dressing room. Or you, running over his schedule or helping him memorise his script. Well, he didn't like talking to you. He more or less answered in grunts or irritated comments.

As Harry settled in for his show post the joke segment, you ran around backstage. Ordering his coffee and one for yourself because you couldn't keep up with his demands without your own shot of caffeine. You were due within minutes to refresh him during the breed.

It really was an exciting job, aside from being a woman in a man's world. You were treated as such but you were lucky enough to be given the job in the first place. At first, you were nervous around Harry. It took him a second to warm up to you.

The first time you met was when he found you in his dressing room before a show, bent over the vanity as you watered his flowers. He thought you were there for a completely different reason and had quickly started to unbuckle his belt.

"Alright, let's make this quick."

You then spotted him in the mirror and turned with a gasp. "What are you-"

And before it could have got any more awkward, before Harry could even fully unbuckle his belt, Sal stormed in with a shocked laugh.

"Oh!" His amused gaze flickered between the two of you. "Harry, I see you've met your new assistant."

"I don't need an assistant, Sal. We've been through this. Why do you think I got rid of the last one?"

"Well, of course, you do! She's just here to help you perform at your best, Styles. Try not to scare this one off."

And while he'd probably never admit it to you, you actually were very helpful to have around. Once you'd stopped being so awkward and nervous and jittery around him, you found a dynamic that worked. One where he could be a condescending male and you could be just as snappy right back to him.

Past assistants had stuck to him like a bad smell and only irritated him. You did what was expected of you. Nothing more, nothing less. You kept your little purse stocked with certs breath mints, lint rollers and kept that fact that he fucked fans in his dressing rooms after and sometimes before shows quiet.

But after all, everyone was well aware. They even congratulated him on his sexual success. Nothing grossed you out more.

Aside from Harry being a mildly misogynistic, cocky, well-dressed thorn in your side, you loved your job. You met exciting guests whom you only dreamed of meeting. Stars you had posters of in your apartment, musicians whose vinyls you span on your turntable.

In your first week on the job, you met Santo and Johnny. They'd just finished a performance of Sugar Song and they flirted with you until you were a blushing mess.

Harry had watched the interaction, grumbling about professionalism and waiting for them to leave so he could torment you about it.

"Got the hots do ya, little sugar?"

"Kiss off, Styles."

That was the most colourful thing you'd ever said to him. The shock of it raised his brows and sent a singeing pang of arousal directly to his crotch.

There was a part of Harry that wanted to hate you. Because you were a woman bossing him around and because you got on his nerves. But the more rational part of him knew he could never hate you. You were too helpful and he'd be lying if he said you weren't one of the prettiest girls he'd ever seen. And he'd seen a lot of girls.

But he knew you were disgusted by his habits, how he slept with so many people. In his own sick way, he used it to his advantage, to keep you at arm's length. That and endless comments he knew would rile you up. And boy, did he rile you up. He'd finessed the art of it.

The show ran smoothly tonight, but by no means were you any less busy. You raced around with your clipboard tucked under your arm and two cups of coffee in either hand. You sipped on yours, grateful for the kick it gave. Harry was saying his goodnight to the crowd, his cup steaming in your left hand as you rushed to meet him.

"Thank you for spending the night with me, New York!"

His classic closing catchphrase. Cheeky and risky, but it was him and he got away with everything.

Thunderous applause overpowered the sound of your heels clicking as you turned a corner, beelining towards the stage exit. You were late. He'd be off stage by now, demanding things and barking orders like the diva he was.

As if you weren't going to hear an earful from him as it was, an intern bumped into you. The crash caused your two cups of coffee to spill all down the front of your dress. You barely noticed the burn.

"Seriously?" You seethed, holding your now empty cups out in exasperation.

"I-I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching-"

"You don't say."

You could hear Harry asking where you were and you groaned, absolutely vexed. You turned in the exact opposite direction of him and back to grab more coffee. You knew he'd especially need it tonight if he was meeting with his parents.

"What happened to you?" Sal guffawed and you rolled your eyes.

"If you see Harry, tell him that his coffee is coming."

"Bit hard getting it to him when you're wearing it."

"Not funny."

A few minutes later, you held a single coffee cup. Steaming, black. You wrapped both your hands around it, holding it steady and keeping far away from anyone who could bump you. Your dress had seen better days and the stain was obvious and uncomfortably wet.

You found your way back to his dressing room, where he'd no doubt holed himself up in to freshen up. You knocked, hoping he was alone and waiting for you before continuing on with his post-show... rituals.

"Come in!" You heard from the other side and you slipped inside quickly.

"So sorry, Mr. Styles, I had an accid- oh, my god!"

You took in the scene before you. Harry. With a girl on his knees in front of him. His jeweled fingers clenching a fistful of the girl's hair as she sucked him off. His brows were turned down in the middle but his eyes... his eyes were on you. And he was enjoying it. Enjoying the girl, and enjoying you watching.

"Alright, sugar?"

"I-" You didn't know what to say, and the girl didn't stop. You didn't know if that was her doing or if Harry was holding her down. You turned, and idiotically turned back around, taking the few steps towards him, and handed him his cup of coffee. You didn't meet his eyes, like a bumbling idiot.

You left the room, but not before hearing Harry take a hefty sip of his coffee and letting out a soft moan, "Oh, that's so good."

Vexed by his antics, and the fact that he made it his mission to throw you off like that, you signed out and went home. It was as vulnerable as you'd ever seen him and you felt an odd sense of jealously wash over you. Maybe you were jealous of past you, because she hadn't witnessed it. Or maybe there was a bit of jealousy there because you wanted to be the one on your knees for him.

As delightful as the thought was for a margin of a second, you felt ill knowing you'd be another Harry Styles groupie. And it would make your job more difficult which you didn't think was even possible.

But you couldn't stop thinking about it for the rest of the night. His blissful expression, the way he directed it at you as opposed to the mouth wrapped around him. He had told you to enter his dressing room so that you could see it.

The next night, you planned on fully avoiding him and pretending the whole thing never happened. Which was hard considering, you know, you were to follow him around and listen to his demands. And especially hard because you just wished he'd command you onto your knees already.

Sure, you found him extremely attractive — everyone did. You may have even had a little crush when you first met him. But then you got to know him, and his habits and his ways. Last night grossed you out just as much as it turned you on. You felt so thrown off and now you weren't sure how to act around him.

You arrived at the studio not too long before showtime, Harry's cup of tea in hand. You were a little bit late today but you figured he could survive fifteen minutes without you. He was in hair and wardrobe, getting his curls perfected and his forehead powered.

He sat in the chair with his legs spread, a pair of black dress pants and a white singlet, his inked arms on display. You focused on staying professional and met his eyes for a brief moment as you greeted him and handed him his cup of tea. No milk, and don't be shy with the honey, he'd told you when you first started.

His eyes scanned your attire, a pink dress with long sleeves but a shorter hem than usual, he noticed. He didn't hate having to look at your legs, your plump thighs, and the intrigue of what was between them ran rampant in his thoughts.

You had a soft yellow ribbon in your hair, keeping it swept away from your face in a high ponytail. He clenched his jaw, wishing it was his hand fisting your hair. He'd tie your hands up with the ribbon so you'd have to behave for him.

"Thanks. Dig pink on ya." He took a sip, his eyes full with mischief as he watched you over the rim of his cup. "Enjoy the show last night?"

You knew he was referring to you seeing him get blown by some random groupie so you ignored him, looking at your clipboard. "So Sal wants to see you in five, and we're reconfiguring some set pieces before airtime. So be on stage straight after you've seen him, okay?"

The hairstylist finished up, and you were left alone with him in the room. You were a lot stiffer tonight, more reserved than usual and he picked up on it right away. You raised a brow, wondering if he'd heard a single word you said.

He smirked. "Why did you come in last night? You know I have post-show celebrations in my dressing room."

"I was bringing you coffee! You told me to come in!" This man was exasperating. He knew that he'd asked you for coffee and told you to enter his dressing room after you'd knocked. He wanted you to see and now he was just winding you up.

He raised a brow. "Did I?"

"Five minutes." You reaffirmed. You tried to hide the way that his tone crept down your spine in slow, hot trickles.

He sat up in the chair, his hand reaching to cup the back of your lower thigh. You stopped breathing at the sudden touch and he pulled you towards him. His gaze was searing on yours, his eyes wondering and daring.

"You wanted to stay, didn't you? Watch me get my dick sucked while I watched you."

"No, I didn't." You whispered, letting him pull you forward until you were standing between his spread legs.

"No?"

"No." Even you weren't convinced by your answer.

"Hmm... you wanted to be the one on your knees for me. Is that it?"

You took a deep, shaky breath. His question fired something off in your brain. A realisation perhaps. You did want to be on your knees for him, being the reason for his pleasure, be at his command, make him feel good, make him fucking fall apart because of you.

"So pretty in this tiny fuckin' dress." He cooed. His hand came up, cupping your cheek. Your eyeshadow was a pretty soft blue and he adored it. His fingers trailed down, tracing your lower lip. "You'd look so perfect with my cock in your mouth."

You couldn't even suppress the whimper that ensued. Did you thank him? Slap him? Get on your knees and prove his point?

He didn't seem fazed by the fact that you weren't saying much. You were responding to him in other ways. Leaning right into him with your eyes lulled, your hands resting on his broad shoulders. Your chest heaving beneath that fucking pink dress. You were driving him crazy with how badly he wanted you.

The night before had been his own sick little test. Either, you'd be game, or you'd pull away from him completely. Regardless, he'd know where you stood and accept all that accompanied him. He knew how fucked up it was but you really seemed to enjoy the game.

His other hand squeezed the back of your thigh, inching higher. "What colour are your panties?"

You gasped at the question, so turned on by him and how bold he was. It used to scare you, but now being on the receiving end was a completely different ballpark.

"Blue." You breathed out.

"What shade of blue?" He pressed on. "Like your eyeshadow?"

You twisted your lips in thought. "Do you want to see?"

Harry released a shocked laugh, but his mind was fucking reeling. Did you really just ask if he wanted to see your panties?

"A peek couldn't hurt."

He gripped your hips and lifted you up onto the vanity behind you. You were shocked that he could lift you so effortlessly and smoothly. You crossed your legs, more to tease him than anything else. Your expression was sultry, and he felt lightheaded at the sight of you. Slowly, you unfolded your legs but didn't open them.

"Don't be shy, sugar. Show me and I'll make it up to you."

You let out a slow exhale, mustering up all of your courage. You were shaking, but it wasn't nerves. He had you so worked up and he had barely done anything. He'd riled you up and talked to you, and you were already fucking saturated.

Your legs parted, feet resting on either side of his thighs on the chair. Harry's eyes stayed on yours, his hands reaching to slide up your thighs, pushing the hem of your pink press up so he could get a good view of you, finally looking down.

And what a fucking view it was. Your thighs were soft, and he let his hands squeeze at them. Sky blue lace covered the area he'd been dreaming about for six months. He let out a soft groan and let his fingertip brush over the skin where your abdomen met the panties.

"Lace? Did you wear these for me?"

"I had you in mind."

"Naughty girl." He smirked, shuffling forward. His thumb brushed over your clothed clit and you let out a whimper, biting your lip to quell anything louder than might to escape. "Can I taste you? Please? Been wantin' to for months."

You nodded, your mouth dry. You'd let this man do anything to you, and hearing him tell you he'd been wanting this for months left you in a frenzy.

"Words, sugar. Let's hear 'em."

"Please," You whispered. "taste me."

"Good girl, that's it." He pulled your panties to the side, desperate to see you and taste you. You were glistening, so wet and plump for him. He sighed, running his thumb along your clit before venturing between your folds to feel how wet you were. Your thighs jolted as he slipped his thumb to collect your excitement and spread it up to your clit.

"Why are you so wet, hm?" He wondered aloud, his eyes meeting yours again.

"Because of you, Harry."

"Me?" Cocky little shit.

"Mm."

"Are you always this wet for me, sugar?"

You hesitated, not sure if you wanted to give him this. He would never forget it, probably remind you that he knew every day. Probably slip his hand up your dress just to appease his own curiosity.

"Only when you're nice to me."

"But you like me mean, don't you?"

"You're an asshole."

"Gets you wet, though."

Abruptly, as if impatient, he lowered his head and attached his mouth to your clit. The scorching heat of it was intense, and you grabbed a fistful of his freshly tamed curls to hold him to you.

His tongue ran over your entirety. From your entrance right back up to your clit, tasting you fully as his mouth closed around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You threw your head back, rolling your cunt towards his face as he softly ate you with a passion that had you shaking.

Before anything more could occur, Sal knocked on the door, demanding that Harry meet with him. He knew better than to enter any room that was hidden behind a closed door when it came to Harry. But if he'd known it was you behind that door with him, that would be another issue entirely.

You shot up, pushing him out of the way and righting your dress. You were tingling and you could still feel his tongue between your legs. His eyes were dark as he watched you from his seat, amused by your fumbling.

"Go before Sal comes back." You were flustered, your body felt electric and all he'd given you was his mouth for what — ten seconds?

He was too relaxed, and it only pissed you off further. He stood, sauntering towards you to press you against the vanity. His hand cupped your jaw, his rings kissing your skin.

"Funny that you're making demands when I'm the boss."

You breathed heavily, unsure of how to reply so you just held eye contact with him. Your lips parted as his head tilted, inching closer. His hand loosened, melting to your cheek so he could rub it with his thumb.

"Who's in charge, hm?"

"You are."

"That's right." He crooned, his lips brushing yours. "And who's gonna give you his cock later?"

The air was stripped from your lungs, the depth behind his question clear. Would you submit to him? Venture into this connection you had with him? You got on each other's nerves but fuck if there wasn't the most incredible sexual tension between you.

"You are, Harry."

He hummed, gripping your hand and bringing it down to cup his cock. He was hard, and pulsed in your hand when you gave him a squeeze. You just about crumbled when he moaned, his eyes lulling as you did it again. Harder.

"There's my good girl."

Sal knocked again, clearly impatient tonight. Harry smirked and could feel his lips curl against yours before he pulled away. He left the room with a confident strut while you were left shaking. You took a second to catch your breath, willing the arousal between your legs to simmer down before heading back out towards the stage.

You grabbed your purse and kept busy doing your job while Harry caught up with Sal. He was doted over, like always, and Sal told him how his viewings were skyrocketing. After he'd finished up his tasks on stage, he was whisked back to wardrobe so he could be styled.

Because Harry was busy chatting with tonight's guest and getting ready, all you had to do was wait for him to come to you. You peeked through the curtains at the set. The audience was being brought in and you were watching the seats fill from the side of the stage.

A piercing whistle sounded out from behind you and you twirled on the spot. He looked phenomenal. His suit was a sky blue, not too dissimilar to the shade of your panties. His shirt was a crisp white, his chain peeking through where it was unbuttoned, sat between his pecs and the light dusting of hair.

His eyes looked greener when he was dressed in blue, his lips more raspberry. He approached you and your eyes flew down to his shiny black oxfords.

"Whaddya think huh?" He spun on his heels, showing off. "Matchin'."

"Blue suits you."

"Suits you, too." Harry winked, standing close to you before nodding towards the audience. "How's it looking out there?"

Was he... trying to make casual conversation? After his face was between your thighs and all the talk that proceeded it? "Full house, like always. Did you... was that on purpose?"

"What?"

"The blue suit."

"Why else would I ask what colour your panties were, hm?"

"Because you're nosy."

"You know... every time you insult me, I get hard."

"Good thing I have plenty of them, then."

"Come on," He pressed you tight against the wall. "Gimme another one."

"Prick."

He chuckled, amused by how freely you were cursing. "That all you got?"

"You're the cockiest son a bitch I've ever met." You breathed out. His hands pressed to the wall on either side of your head, caging you in.

"Alright." He was crowding your space, the spicy-sweet vanilla of his cologne clouding your senses. He checked to see if anyone was around before clicking his tongue. "Take your panties off."

"What?" You were well aware that any crew member could walk by, and you weren't about to be caught slipping your panties down your legs.

"You heard me. Just lemme hold onto 'em until the show's over."

"Are you bent? I'm not giving you my panties. I need them and someone could walk by at any moment."

"Mellow out, no one's gonna see."

You deliberated in your head, genuinely considering it. His head tilted to the side, gauging your thoughts. This was so... exhilarating. Exciting. You were so out of it for him, and glad that you finally both agreed on something. You were both attracted to each other physically and that was about it.

Fuck it. Your hands reached beneath your dress, and Harry took a step back to give you room, keeping a lookout. You stepped out of those pretty little panties and held them out to him on your index finger. He snatched them up, eyeing how delicate they looked in his hand.

"Far out." He laughed, in shock that you actually did it.

You were a bundle of surprises tonight. He was throwing stuff at you that was pretty out there and you were throwing it right back. Sweet little sugar had a little more spice than he had anticipated.

"Cheers, sugar." He twirled them around on his finger and you slapped his shoulder.

"Don't just wave them around!" You hissed, looking around to make sure no one had seen the whole interaction.

Harry shoved them in his pants pocket and you smoothed out the bump they left, always a perfectionist. The guest of the night turned the corner and almost bumped into the two of you. You jumped apart, letting Harry chat to the guest on his own. He rarely enjoyed it and you looked back to see the subtle hints of irritation on his face. You knew he'd flash that charming smile and those adorable dimples as soon as the cameras came on.

With only a few minutes until the show was due to start, you bumbled around and made sure everything was perfect for him. You were very aware of the fact that you didn't have your panties on, and with your dress being shorter than usual, you had to be careful.

Sal breezed past you, beelining towards Harry and the guest with a huge grin. He greeted them loudly and you did your part by waiting to the side for further instruction. The guest was led to their spot for showtime, one of the stage managers with them to keep them entertained and to give their cues. Harry shook Sal's hand, hearing Sal's usual encouraging words before making his way towards you.

"Feeling okay?" You checked in, handing him a couple of Certs breath mints. You walked side by side towards center stage, and he wasn't shy about his stare on you. It felt different — the air around you. Usually filled with annoyance, was something else. Hotter, dreamier, sensual.

"Snazzy." He nodded, chucking the mints into his mouth. "Little foreplay always gets me goin'."

You huffed out a breath at his response, resisting the urge to retort something cheeky as the stagehand came to run through the show one more time. You righted his outfit, his eyes not leaving you as you made sure he looked smooth and perfect.

As the stagehand left, you grabbed your round brush from your purse and went over his curls. You began adding a little volume while he hummed and oohed and aahed to exercise and prepare his voice.

"You know New York..." You guided.

"You know New York, you need New York, you know you need unique New York."

"Again."

He sighed, closing his eyes so he could focus. "You know New York, you need New York, you know you need unique New York."

"Lesser leather..." You hinted at another tongue twister. You ran the lint roller across the lapels of his suit jacket and over his shoulders, catching his eyes and not missing the glint in them. "...never weathered..."

"It's funny," He smirked. "you're a tongue twister master right now, but you won't be able to say your own name by the time I'm done with you later."

"Oh my-"

"Yeah, I'm gonna fuckin' ruin you."

"One minute till curtain, everyone!" Sal's voice boomed. "Look alive, look alive!"

The crowd was roaring with applause as the show began, but all you could hear was your pulse in your ears as your heart thudded in your chest. Harry, who usually thrived off of the cheers, was only focused on you. On your sweet voice asking if he wanted to see your panties, on your feisty insults.

"Filmed before a live studio audience..."

You called him a cocky son of a bitch and all he could think about was bending you over his knee and seeing how much shit you talked while his hand was marking your ass with its imprint.

Everyone fled the stage, but you were stood completely still in front of him. Frozen.

"Harry..."

His lips brushed yours again and your ears started ringing.

"...All the way from Holmes Chapel, Cheshire..."

"Look at you," He crooned. "Runnin' round with no panties with that pretty ribbon in your hair. Dirty little thing, aren't you, sugar?"

You could feel how slick you were between your thighs and your eyes fluttered as his hand ventured beneath your skirt from behind, cupping your ass cheek with a strong hand before venturing further. His fingertips found your cunt and you almost collapsed against him.

He hummed lowly, rumbling in his chest. He pulled his hand away, very aware that the curtain was close to pulling up. He held his index and middle fingers in front of you, glistening with your arousal, and ran them along your lower lip.

You didn't even hesitate to suck his fingers into your mouth, not losing eye contact. Harry's brows turned down, his mouth dropping as he drawled out a slow fuuuck. And then he kissed you. It was messy and wet and quick. His lips were so soft against your own before he sucked deftly on your tongue, tasting you and your cunt at the same time.

"...Give it up for your host, the one, the only..."

"Fuck, can we cancel the show?" He growled, holding you to him with a grip on the nape of your neck.

"N-No. I have to go."

"...Mr. Harry Styles!"

You fled from the stage, walking backwards, not wanting to take your eyes off him. His expression was one of longing, his eyes not leaving you either. The curtain lifted, igniting him in the warmth of the stage lighting and the eruption of cheers.

He turned and faced the crowd, waving and blowing kisses. His smile was dazzling, and his blue suit was celestial under the bright glow. He was wrapped in success and adoration. You could see it radiating off him as he found centre stage and bowed.

"Good evening, New York!" He waited for applaud to finish. "How are we?"

You rounded the backstage area, checking in with crew and chatting to the guest.

"Can I just say..." Harry continued, clasping his hands together. "you look ravishing tonight, New York." More praise from the audience. "It's true, you do."

You rolled your eyes at the excited yells and cheers from the crowd. You watched him in a totally new light tonight. He was on a level that no one could reach. He was born to be on stage, to entertain.

He introduced the guest and brought them onstage, talking about their upcoming music and chatting them up. During the commercial breaks you checked in with the guest, and made sure Harry's appearance was on point.

His eyes were on you the whole time, and you could see him fighting the urge to make some kind of questionable comment. His eyes veered south and stayed on where the hem of your dress brushed your thighs.

"Need anything else?" You asked him politely, aware of the audiences stare on your back.

"I won't need coffee tonight." He educated softly and you nodded.

"We're back in fifteen seconds." The cameraman alerted and you gathered your things and went to leave. The guest was busy fixing their hair with the stylist. Harry's hand on your wrist stopped you, pulling you back.

"Actually, there is one more thing." He back peddled, and you raised an expectant brow, leaning in close to hear him. "Stay right over there, okay? Wanna be able to see you."

He pointed to a spot off stage, where only guests and select members of crew like Sal or the director were allowed to stand during air time. And he wanted you there. So he could look over and see you and know you were watching.

"I- Yeah, okay."

You rushed off stage, standing exactly where he told you to. He watched you right until the advertisement break ended.

"And we're back in three... two... one..."

His eyes switched back to the camera, his expression slipping into the charm that came so naturally to him once he was live on air.

He was a star. Delightful and eccentric and unapologetic.

He exchanged more jokes with the guest, who as an up and coming musician, was gearing up for their performance. You stayed to watch the show exactly where Harry wanted you, and you were pleased that you didn't get any slack from Sal. You rarely got to actually enjoy the show like this, and in a way, it felt like Harry had done you a favour.

His eyes often flicked to you after he'd told a joke or said something cheeky. Like he was directed it at you, or maybe he was checking to see if you found him as funny as the crowd did. When you didn't laugh as hard as he thought the joke deserved, he'd try extra hard to get you to laugh at the following one.

It was odd that he was trying to seek validation from you when he had millions at his feet.

As the show wrapped up, you couldn't have applauded him louder. You were proud, you felt giddy and bubbly inside. He was born for this, there was no denying it.

And then there was the realisation of what was to come once the show had finished. You became nervous. And insanely wet. The anticipation rattled yet excited you and you weren't sure what to make of it.

You rounded towards his exit, a crowd of crew and groupies waiting for him. He came to you first, as you were closest. He shot polite smiles to everyone but his attention was on you.

"How'd I do?"

"Phenomenal."

"Did you like my jokes?"

You side-eyed a few people waiting for a shred of his attention and felt the need to rush this interaction between you along. You didn't want to raise suspicions and you also didn't want to take away any attention he could be giving to these people who were clearly waiting for him.

"My tummy laughs from hurting so much." You whispered. His grin was contagious, dimples and his bunny teeth on full display. His eyes were warm as he stared down at you.

"Really?"

"Mhm."

A throat cleared behind you and Harry looked up to shoot them a reassuring wink and then looked back at you. "Wait for me in my dressing room."

It was an order, even with the softness in his tone. You licked your lips, not missing when his eyes caught it. You backed away, slowly pulling your ribbon out of your hair. His jaw clenched as your hair fell free.

"Yes, Mr. Styles. Right away."

His dressing room felt alien to you as you slipped inside, a familiar place with such a different atmosphere now. How quickly the dynamic had changed between you was dizzying. You always knew you were attracted to him, but you never thought you'd act on it.

And you certainly never thought he'd have his mouth on your cunt minutes before a show.

How long were you meant to wait? You checked your appearance in the mirror, your cheeks flushed with excitement. Your dress was pristine, as was your makeup and you wondered how long that would last.

You were riffling through Harry's pile of books when he came in. Your spine straightened, every nerve tingling. He closed the door behind him, leaning back against it.

His gaze was one that had you clenching your thighs together. An intimidating hunger, a deep lust. His eyes were dark, void of the bright glint they usually offered. He didn't say anything and that only made the tension thicker.

And then he locked the door with a click.

He took one single step towards you and you inhaled a sharp breath at the slow, torturous pace of it. Like he was taunting and teasing you. He shoved one hand in his pocket, the other reaching up. He gripped his lower lip between his thumb and index finger, his eyes finding your feet in your Mary Janes and trailing up your legs.

He was slow with that as well as if to keep you on your toes. He had always been so rushed and spontaneous with a lot of what he did. But this.... this he'd been thinking about for a long time. He'd had months to plan this through.

Plan how he was going to play with you, make you beg for him, make you feel good.

He really enjoyed the secrecy of it. And all that would come after. He liked the idea of meeting your eyes at work, both of you exchanging knowing looks because you both knew what it took to pleasure each other.

Fuck. His sex life wasn't complicated. He fucked fans because the likelihood of seeing them ever again was slim. But you were close to home, dangerously so. He saw you all the time. And somehow that just made him want you even more.

He produced your panties from his pocket and came to stand in front of you.

"Now," He began, lowering his head to meet your eyes. "are you going to need help keeping quiet?"

He fucking knew he'd have you screaming for him. He was just being precautious, knowing that on the other side of the door, the studio was littered with crew members.

You shook your head. "No."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think you're that good."

He rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek, huffing out a humourless laugh before pocketing your panties again. You were so snappy and cheeky with him and he'd be lying if he said it didn't make his dick so fucking hard in his pants. You were winding him up. Trying to poke at him and provoke him. Well, it was fucking working.

"Oh, you don't think so?"

"I think that's why your ego's as big as it is. Because you can't fuck."

He did what he wanted to do earlier that day; he grabbed your hair in his fist. You gasped through a surprised smile, and he brought you close until you were pressed against him.

"What did I tell you?" His voice was low, thick with arousal. You'd never heard his voice that deep and you felt it between your legs. "Hm?"

"That you won't need coffee tonight?"

He gripped your hair harder and his cock throbbed when you smiled.

"I told you," His eyes were burning. "that I'm going to ruin you."

The way he pronounced every word was electrifying. As if he was really trying to get his message across. How was this the same man that had asked if you laughed at his jokes after his show?

You flicked your tongue against his lower lip. "Do your worst."

His kiss was far harsher this time. Still just as messy, and you figured that was just how he liked it. He wasn't shy about it. He used his teeth, nibbling on your lower lip, biting on your tongue. He used his free hand to fist your dress at the small of your back.

You were pressed tight against him and fuck, he was so hard for you. Even through his pants, you were impressed with his size. You wanted to feel more, experience him fully. You didn't have all the time in the world, locked away in his dressing room. You were both painfully aware.

He pushed you back, landing you in the chair next to the vanity. He stripped off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. You watched as he pushed your dress out of the way, clearly annoyed that the fabric was disrupting him from his goal. Your center was still so wet for him and he couldn't even suppress the low grown at the sight.

"Pretty little pussy," He gripped your inner thighs, holding them apart. "still so fucking drenched for me. You enjoyed watching me onstage tonight, didn't you? Hearing everyone fawn over me but you know you're the one I want."

"I want you, too. So bad, please fuck me." You whined, your hips rocking up restlessly.

"I wanna have a play first."

"Fuck, please just-"

He spat directly between your legs, coating your pussy in his spit. His eyes flickered up to the clock on the wall before he attached his mouth to you with a deep moan. He licked along your entrance and then right up to the sensitive bundle of nerves, fully tasting you again.

He dipped his tongue inside you, fucking you with it before pulling away with a pop and sucking your clit back into his mouth. He trapped it between his teeth and flicked and twirled delicious patterns against it that had your muscles clenching.

He ate you as if he enjoyed it more than you did. He targeted your clit perfectly, able to read your body and its responses so well.

He held eye contact while had his mouth on your cunt, burying his face against you like he couldn't get close enough. Your legs shook on either side of his head, and he kept them spread with his wide hands. You could feel how cold his rings were against your skin.

Your hands reached down, tangling themselves into his curls. You held him against you, his mouth so scorching on you that you felt lightheaded with the tingling heat.

He pulled away momentarily, slipping his index and middle finger in his mouth, all the way until he drew back so teeth were peeling off his rings. He grabbed your hand, taking two of your fingers one by one and replacing the rings on them. They were huge on you but you admired how his jewelry looked on you, the ones he wore while he was on air. Glistening and extravagant.

Now he'd removed them so he could feel you properly.

Deciding that you were wet enough, he ran the pads of his fingers along your entrance. They veered up, circling your clit slowly before heading south again. You cried out softly as his fingers slipped inside you. It was an exquisite sensation and you stared down at him in wonder, mouth agape as you moaned out.

He curled them up, your spine melting as they pressed against a spot inside of you that had before now never been discovered. It was a blinding pressure, tight and full and so fucking good.

Harry smirked at the apparent shock on your face before he moved his fingers, curling them against your g-spot. As he found a rhythm, he brought his mouth back to your clit.

You arched your back, gasping for air as he worked you. He pumped his fingers hard, bringing you higher and higher to an elevation you'd never known. His mouth left your clit and before you could complain at the loss, he was spitting on it once more before giving it a mild slap with his free hand.

You screamed out, not expecting the harshness to feel that enticing. You were being far too loud for him to continue this comfortably. He didn't want anyone to interrupt and moreover, he didn't want you to get in trouble. He wanted to make you come over and over without a care in the world.

The same hand that slapped you retrieved your panties from his pocket before he shoved the lace into your mouth.

If you weren't so blissed out, you may have even be shocked by it. But at that moment, it was so hot and dirty. You trusted him to know best and look after you.

His fingers pulsed against your g-spot and you felt an intensity building in your abdomen and you rolled your hips towards his face. His mouth was relentless on your clit, desperate to get you zoned out with pleasure.

Your walls clenched and ballooned around his fingers and he pulled away, his eyes on you. They were full of lust and hunger, piercing right through you.

"Eyes on me sugar, don't look away." He wanted to watch you. To stare into your eyes, to see your orgasm shatter you.

He pumped his fingers, his pace blinding. He knew exactly what he was doing, knew exactly what to do to get you there. He grunted with the exertion, the tendons in his arm flexing and bulging with how hard he worked you.

And then he smirked, almost pleased with himself. "Have you ever squirted before?"

With your mouth full of lace, you weren't able to verbally answer. You shook your head and he thought the confused frown on your face was fucking adorable.

Before you could even think about what he was asking, the most euphoric explosion of bliss rocked through you. You cried out into the lace, your entire body shaking as you came harder than you ever had before. It was fucking annihilating. You did as you were told, your eyes not leaving his. It was hard, of course. You wanted to shut your eyes and bask in the hot sensation that was taking over every nerve in your body.

But he wanted to watch you. And he wanted you to see the burst of fluid that erupted from your cunt, past his fingers. "Thaaat's it. Good fucking girl, come all over my fingers. Just like that."

You writhed in the chair, grateful for his grip on you. You didn't stop shaking, tremors of pleasure rocking you. He helped you as you came down, your chest heaving and your body trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You didn't think it was possible for you to come that way, and you could feel yourself becoming addicted to him.

Harry stood, his hand running up and down your thighs, squeezing them. He removed your panties from your mouth, leaning down to kiss you deeply. You blushed as you tasted yourself on his tongue and curiously ran a hand between your legs to feel the aftermath of your orgasm.

He watched, thinking it was so hot to see your fingers venture between your folds and along your dripping thighs.

"Feel nice?" He hummed, chuckling at your curious expression.

"So nice, I've never... I didn't think I could do that."

"You got me all wet, messy girl." He smiled, kissing you again.

He stood and helped you out of your dress, peeling off your bra so he could play with your tits. He sucked and bit at your nipples, feeling the fullness of your breasts in his palm.

"You're delicious all over, sugar." He admired your fully naked body. "Can't wait to feel you properly. See what that tight little cunt feels like around my cock."

He palmed himself as he spoke, so desperate to feel you. His expression was one of lustful longing, and you could feel it resonate between your legs as if you hadn't just had an earth-shattering climax.

"Take your clothes off." You whined, going to sit up and pouting when he stopped you.

He started to unbutton his shirt, revealing the white singlet underneath. "Stay just like that. Wanna give you my cock while you're sitting in my chair."

The chair where he sat before every show. Reciting jokes in the mirror while his hair was fussed over. The vanity where he'd first seen you, bent over it watering his flowers.

He got rid of his shirt, clearly impatient. He peeled off the white singlet too and you could have drooled at the sight of him. His broad torso and shoulders, his toned tummy, his strong pecs. The ink decorating him. Fuck, you probably did drool.

He caught the leg of the chair on his foot and dragged you closer, undoing his pants at the same time. You shifted forward, your hand reaching out to boldly cup his cock. He groaned, lulling his head back on his neck. His hand came over yours and urged you to squeeze him harder.

"You're so hard." You mewled, humming as he watched you feel him. His jaw dropped as you moved your hand expertly.

"I've been hard for you all night."

He was hyper-aware of the position you were both in and that you were on limited time. The studio was due to lock up soon, left only to after-hours security and the cleaners.

You leaned closer, pulling his pants down with his help. You ran your lips along his length over his briefs, letting your tongue flick out. He could feel the heat of your mouth seep through the material and he was losing his mind over the fact that only his briefs separated your mouth from his cock.

You peered up at him through your lashes, grabbing the band of his underwear to pull them down. You'd always been so reserved and controlled but the look on your face when you finally saw his cock had him fucking spiraling. Intimidation, thirst, determination.

With his pants and briefs pooled at his ankles, he guided you to take a hold of him. You obeyed, wanting to please him just as much as he pleased you. You pumped him slowly in your hand, loving how he felt in your fist.

"Your cock is so..."

Harry laughed, cupping your cheek and staring down at you expectantly. "What?"

"Pretty." It wasn't the word you were going for, but it wasn't the wrong word, either. He had a gorgeous cock, so thick and long. It was silky and hot and pulsed in your hand. You were impressed and intrigued.

"Pretty?" His voice was so soft as he regarded you.

"Yeah."

Pretty. He could deal with pretty. His thumb trailed across your lips. "Mm, and how's it taste?"

You pulled away marginally, grabbing his free hand and urging him to grab your hair in his tight first once more. You laid out your tongue and licked the tip of his dick, glistening with precum. You hummed at his taste and took him deeper, using your hand to spread your spit down his shaft.

Harry moaned deeply, taking a solid step forward so that you took more of him past your lips.

"Swallow me."

"Make me."

He narrowed his eyes at you, watching as you opened wide and held still, waiting for him to make you take it. With his hold on your hair, he guided you to swallow his cock. You were able to take about half, your hand working what you couldn't yet fit.

But he was helping you, not pushing you too far but doing it inch by inch. Your eyes began to water and you gagged when he pushed in deep. Your other hand was pressed against his thigh to keep yourself steady.

"Good girl." He praised, his voice low. "Take my cock so fucking well, don't you?"

He couldn't wrap his head around what was happening. He'd imagined this day far too many times to count, and it was always blurred by the unpleasant dynamic you two shared. But here you were, sucking him off after he'd made you explode around his fingers.

You loved having him down your throat. You enjoyed the challenge. He was so big and when you were able to take all of him, it was a feeling of satisfaction. He held you down until you were choking and your nose was buried in the hair around the base of his cock.

He wiped a tiny bit of smudged mascara from under your eye, admiring the blue of your eyeshadow and the colour of your lips as they wrapped around his cock. Fuck, he needed to be inside you. He was desperate for it.

He slipped you back onto the chair, angling you so that you were open to him. It happened so quickly and your mind was reeling at the sudden change. He was in full control and had no issue putting you where he wanted you. And you trusted him. He was so arrogant and you wanted to see if his bite was just as harsh as his bite. Considering the wet mess you'd made, it definitely was.

"Fuck, can't wait to feel you properly." He sighed, grabbing his cock at the base and running his tip between your legs.

Your gripped his arms, absentmindedly smoothing your fingers over some of his tattoos. "Beg me."

"What?" He raised a brow, his tone perplexed.

"Beg me to let you fuck me. You're an asshole, tell me you're sorry and beg me. Then I'll let you fuck me."

You didn't miss the way his cock throbbed when you called him an asshole, the flex in his jaw as he took in your words. Beg? Apologise?

He scoffed. "That's cute. As if you don't get so fucking wet when I'm an asshole to you. Just like how hard I get when you call me shit like that with that filthy mouth of yours."

You rolled your hips up, gripping his hip to pull him closer to you. "Please, baby. I wanna hear you beg."

The very tip of him slipped inside of you and you both moaned at the sensation. You were so wet and tight and he knew he could step forward and be inside you fully. But the expectant look you were giving him stopped him.

He gripped your throat, leaning down so he could bend over you. He gritted his teeth, his eyes hard on yours. "Please let me fuck you, sugar. Get you gushing on my cock over and over, fuckin' drown in your wet little pussy."

"Are you going to be nice?"

"But it's better when I'm mean." He crooned. "I'll make you take my cock, fuck you so hard, and won't stop until you cry."

Your eyes fluttered as he inched forward a little, sliding himself in further. The head of his cock was so snug inside of you and the way he stretched you had your toes curling. You brought your legs higher, hitching them up to his sides.

"Please," You mewled.

"Tell me, sugar." He needed to hear you say it. "Tell me you want me to fuck this dreamy cunt."

"Fuck me, Harry. Please."

"Hard?"

"Hard."

His hand tightened around your throat as he rolled his hips forward. He stretched you, so fucking big that he had to take his time to push past your tightness. His gaze narrowed as he pressed in tight, his hips flush against you. As he became fully buried inside of you, your vision tunneled on him and him only. On how good he felt, how his eyes were trained on yours.

He'd thought about what you'd look like stuffed full of his cock but he could never have imagined you being this perfect. Whimpering and moaning so fucking sweet while his hand was wrapped around your throat.

"Please move." You begged, feeling so overwhelmed with him being so thick inside of you but not moving.

He slowly retracted his hips, your pussy trembling to keep him there. He slowly pushed his hips forward again, groaning lowly as you clenched around him. He started out slow as first, wanting to ease you into it, his hands holding onto your sides. But you were desperate.

"You call that hard, baby?"

He shook his head, smiling at the bite in your tone. "You sure you can handle it?"

"What did I tell you about that ego of yours-"

He growled, seeing that you were toying with him again. He didn't want you to have the upper hand. So he started fucking you. Hard and relentless and strong. You cried out at his strength, his cock pumping against your g-spot so perfectly.

"Fuck yes, take my cock. Good fucking girl."

It was electrical. You were saturated from your orgasm he'd given you, he hit so deep, pushing against your front wall. He gripped your breasts, admiring as they bounced while he fucked you. He spat on them, unashamed in his desires to be so fucking dirty with you.

"Love your tits." He grunted. "Let me fuck them one day, sugar. Wanna see them fuckin' dripping in my cum."

"Yes, take whatever you want." You gasped.

You'd let him. He was cheeky and an asshole but he fucked you far better than anyone else ever could and he was just getting started. And you could find ways to keep his mouth busy when it started spouting nonsense.

"Yeah?" He hung over you, his curls dangling down. "Will you let me have you again, hm? Let me fuck your throat, your tight cunt, fuck- make you my plaything?"

"I want to be your plaything." You sighed, his necklace swinging in your face, glistening silver.

"You do, don't you? I'll have this pussy on my tongue while I memorise my script. Carry your panties around in my pocket and give them back to you when you've earned them."

The pressure was blinding and he brought your legs up over his shoulders so he could take you even harder. The legs of the chair scraped obnoxiously against the ground as he fucked you into it. He was brutal, making you take his cock with each harsh thrust.

You cried out, sobbing his name. He was so deep and you knew you'd be feeling him for days after. He picked you up, sitting you on the vanity. You leaned back against the mirror, icy against your back. He hauled your hips towards him, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He took his cock in his hand and fisted your hair with the other, holding you still so he could slide inside of you again. You clenched around him mercilessly, and he had to flex his hips harder so he could take you properly.

The vanity jolted on its legs under the force of him. Your hand wraps around his neck, trying to stabilise yourself against the onslaught of his thrusts.

"Call me an asshole again."

"Harry-" You jolted underneath him. "Fuck, you're an asshole."

"Yeah? Wanna hit me?"

"W-What?"

"Fucking do it. Slap me like I know you've been wanting to for the past six months."

Your hands clutched at his curls. Hitting him was the last thing on your mind right now while he was inside you. Until he'd brought it up, that is. You'd wanted to slap him on a daily basis and you wondered if he'd been reading your mind.

Mustering up courage enough to do so, you raised your hand and slapped his cheek. Not as hard as you could have, but the groan he emitted told you that you weren't gentle, either.

"So good." He grinned, his cheek reddening from your hand. You gripped his jaw harshly, licking your handprint before kissing him.

Your kisses moved to his neck and he tilted his head to give you more access to the skin. He flicked his eyes to his reflection in the mirror, finding his lustful expression, his cheek red, His eyes were alight with danger and arousal, driving his hips into you as he stared at himself. You moaned loudly as he pounded into you, unrelenting. Wanting you so out of it so that you could never look at him the same way again.

He imagined you looking at him during rehearsals, looking down at your Mary Janes with flushed cheeks. Your soft cadence as you asked him when he would fuck you next. Your surprised gasp when he'd pull you into a supply closet to fuck you hard and quick before anyone noticed your absence.

Just as you grew accustomed to the position, he flipped you, brushes and hair products flying off the top as you found balance on it. Your eyes met his in the mirror and they blazed through yours as he pushed himself into your warmth again.

"Fuck," He hissed, throwing his head back as you gripped him tightly. He held onto your shoulder and fucked you, near on slamming you into the furniture. His hand crept up to cup your throat, the other doing the same as he found a rhythm.

"Right there, don't stop." You gasped.

"Gonna think of this every time I'm in this room." He grunted. "Sit in that chair before a show and think about your perfect cunt around me. How you smile when I wrap my hands around your throat, how much you love having my cock to choke on."

"I want you to fuck me on this vanity every day, Harry."

"Every day, Sugar." He was breathless. "So much I wanna do to you. Play with you, make your pussy cream for me. Fuck, how did we go so long without this?"

He started using his height to his advantage, screwing down into you. You struggled to grasp clarity, your senses clouding as pleasure took over. His hands tightened around your throat and he took you harder when a ghost of a smile touched your lips.

He slipped two of his fingers in your mouth, hooking them into your cheek and pulling. He hissed at how fucking submissive you were and how you were willing to be just as dirty as him.

Letting go of your neck entirely, one hand moved to your hip and the other to your hair. He pulled you up, forcing you to look into the mirror.

"I'm an asshole but I fuck you good, don't I?"

You wanted to slap the smirk off his face. He could sense your annoyance at how cocky he was. He took you harder and you eyed him in the reflection, not wanting to give him an answer. And that didn't work for him.

He gripped your hair tight, pulling you back until his lips met your ear.

"Don't I?" He spat.

"Yes,"

He spanked your ass. Hard. Twice. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, you fuck me good."

Pleased, Harry reached in front of you, getting you to wet his fingers with your tongue before rubbing fast circles on your clit. Your legs turned to jelly, your body melting against him as he took you hard and played with your clit.

You felt the rush of pleasure wrap around you and grow in every nerve ending. He watched you in the mirror, intent on seeing you come again. He held you up while you writhed in his arms, his hips unyielding as he split you in half with his cock.

Your hands flew out, pushing various things off the vanity top as your orgasm barrelled towards you. Harry gritted his teeth, bending his knees to follow you as you moved so he could keep fucking you.

"You gonna come? Hm? Dirty fucking girl. Running around the studio with no panties on. This cunt was so wet for me from the start, wasn't it? Tiny dress, bossy little heels, and that fucking clipboard."

This climax was more intense than the first, but no less wet. You exploded around his cock, crying out his name before his hand came over your mouth to keep you quiet.

"Shhh. Good girl. Keep coming on my cock, don't stop, don't stop." He was feral at how good you felt around him, rubbing your clit until you were trembling at the overstimulation. His hips slowed, faltering. He was losing composure the tighter your pussy clenched around him.

He picked you up, not wasting any time in settling back on the small couch in the room. He laid flat on his back, while you straddled his hips. Your hands ran over his chest, nails digging into the skin as he gripped your ass and moved your hips.

His cock sat snuggly between your folds and you shamelessly rolled yourself along his length. You felt empty without him inside you and you lifted up, grabbing his length with a shaking hand, and slid him back into your warmth.

You both moaned out softly, his cock throbbing inside you. He could feel how close he was, as could you. Your hot and wet and dreamy cunt wasn't helping him stave it off. His vision was trained on you sitting on top of him like a fucking angel. Your tits, red from his teeth, your full hips, and your blissed-out expression.

He rolled his hips up softly, encouraging you to move. "Ride me, sugar."

You found a rhythm that had you shaking, so sensitive from your orgasms His cock pressed deliciously tight against your g-spot with every roll forward. With your hands flat on his chest, you started to bounce on him. You were so wet and the sound of it was making him crumble. The wet slaps and the way your pussy was drenching him.

His gaze met yours and he just about came. Your eyes lulled, cheeks flushed and your mouth agape as you fucked him. The most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. He grabbed your tits, playing and pulling your nipples with deft fingers. He strained his neck, moaning as you picked up your pace.

You wanted him to finish. To feel the toe-curling euphoria he'd given you. The one given when a connection like the one you had was this electric.

"Ooh, shit. Just like that." He praised, squeezing your hips so hard you knew they'd bruise.

"Yeah? You love watching me bounce on your cock, don't you?"

You'd thrown his own tactic right back in his face. The sweet voice with the daring question. Of course, he loved it. He was addicted.

"Fuck yes."

Your hand trailed up, lightly wrapping around his throat. He could feel the rings he'd given you to wear against his skin and he snarled, holding your hips and screwing up into you, meeting your thrusts. Having you fuck him with your hand around his throat had him fucking spiraling into another dimension.

"You're close," You mewled, his cock throbbing hard inside you. "I can feel it."

"Yeah? Go on, make me cum. I'm gonna cum so fucking hard for you, sugar. Gonna fill you right up, fucking take it. Take all my cum- fuck."

He let you take him while his orgasm hit. It was white-hot intense, his grip on you not lessening as he moaned out your name. He pumped you full of his cum, the thick white ropes painting your walls. His brow turned down in the middle, his lips parted a little and you could see the whites of his teeth. The thick cords in his neck protruded under your hand.

He was stunning and animalistic and brazen, even in a time when one is most vulnerable.

The muscles and tendons in his arms flexed as he held you down on top of him, humming out lowly as the flames of his orgasm dimmed into embers.

And while neither of you was sure how it would feel post the explosion, you'd expected at the very least that it would be awkward. You didn't have the fondest attachment towards each other but fuck if you weren't addicted to each other's bodies now.

He sighed, reeling in his climax. His hands crawled up your sides, encasing you and encouraging you to come down to him. He hugged you, sighing in your neck before kissing the skin. You could hear a commotion in the hallway of the crew leaving and it suddenly sunk in that you'd just fucked your boss.

And neither of you could wait to do it again.

"Should we get out of here?" He asked after a few minutes.

"We?"

"Mm. Head back to mine if you want. Got the new Sam Cooke vinyl we can jam out to."

You grinned, trailing your finger along his lips. "Can we fuck again?"

His expression mirrored yours. "We are definitely fucking again. Don't have to be as quiet at mine, wanna hear how loud you get."

You rolled your hips, feeling his cock softening and his release beginning to trickle out of you. He hummed, squeezing you as if to warn you.

"Behave, sugar."

"But that's no fun."

He couldn't disagree with that. He checked the clock and knew there was only a slim window of time for you both to leave the studio without raising any brows.

"Come on." He slapped your ass. "Let's clean up and cut out."

You slipped into the bathroom, your legs shaky from how hard he'd taken you. You cleaned up, as he'd told you to. Your reflection in the mirror was a sight for sore eyes and you tried your best to look presentable and not freshly fucked.

As you entered the dressing room again and gathered your things. Harry had dressed in his more casual clothes, a pair of mint dress pants and a t-shirt, throwing his fur coat over his shoulders. He noticed the way you slipped on your dress and smoothed out your hair, touching up your lipstick. He approached you, wrapping his arms around you as you stood in front of the vanity.

"You know I'm just gonna get you all messy again, don't you?"

"I'm counting on it."

He smirked, kissing your neck and fisting the hem of that tiny dress. You pulled away, eyeing the time. You bent over, going to pick up your panties and frowning when he snatched them up before you could.

"Hey, I need those."

"What'd I say, hm? You'll get them back when you earn them." He slipped the blue lace in his pants pocket, straightening his fur coat and holding out his hand.

"Jerk." You walked towards him, nudging his hand away and leaving the dressing room. A showcase that the feisty dynamic between you was here to stay. The lights were off in the studio now, aside from a few dim ones high up on the walls. He scoffed, racing after you. He lagged behind a few steps, wanting to watch your legs as you walked. You turned, throwing him a dubious look and he smiled innocently as he was caught checking you out. "What are you-"

A gleam of a security guard's flashlight lit up the wall next to you. Harry swore, pulling you towards the exit before you were spotted. You wouldn't get in trouble per se, but being sneaky was so much more exciting than sticking around.

"Shit- let's haul ass, sugar. Wanna play with you all night."

The warmth and adoration he felt on stage, under those lights with every pair of eyes set on him. It was a dimmed sensation compared to how he felt with you. His sugar. Saccharine yet equally as fervent, gooey and thrilling and sticking to him as if magnetised to his cells. 

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles filth #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #smut #hes #anon #hs #hslot

[thelordofgifs]

a tiny little ficlet for @eilinelsghost! thank you for being such a wonderful friend <3

-

The first bright rays of Laurelin were brushing Eärwen’s cheek. She sighed, luxuriating in their gentle warmth and in the blissful silence – just a little longer, please—

There was an eager tapping at the door. “Ammë! Ammë, wake up!”

Eärwen and Finarfin had both agreed, when their son had been yet a babe-in-arms, that they would never lock their bedroom doors at night, never imply to Finrod in either word or deed that he was not first in their hearts. It was a policy that had many benefits: for who could possibly deny the tender pleasure that sparked in your heart the first time your baby stood quietly over your bed in the middle of the night and then confessed, grave and a little tearful, that he had had a nightmare, or else crawled warm and sleepy between the covers in the drowsy mornings, listening with his head on your breast to the song of the seashore outside? 

Eärwen would not forego that for anything. All the same, she thought she could possibly do without this sort of morning.

It seemed to her that Finrod was bouncing on her bed before the door had even swung fully open. “Wake up, Ammë! It’s cleaning-time!”

“Ingoldo, my elen-lingwincë,” said Eärwen. She reached out to ruffle his silky golden curls. “Yesterday we scrubbed Haru’s ballroom-floor. The day before that we spent hours cleaning sand off the paths around the rock-pools. What else could there possibly be left to clean?”

Finarfin, still mostly asleep beside her, huffed a small laugh. “Open-ended question. A beginner’s mistake.” For it was true, Eärwen saw, that Finrod’s grey eyes were bright with thought, and he was giving her question serious consideration.

“The beach,” he decided at last. “There are lots of gems on the beach, Ammë, and they’re all crusted over with sand and dirt and things! We should polish them.”

“Ingoldo, darling,” Eärwen protested. “There are hundreds and thousands of jewels on the beach.”

Finrod nodded earnestly. “And millions and billions!” he declared. Finwë his grandfather had been teaching him his numbers lately, Eärwen recalled.

“You had best make a start, then,” murmured Finarfin, the traitor.

“Perhaps Atya should help you clean today,” Eärwen suggested.

Finrod thought about this for a moment. “No, Atya needs to rest,” he said. “But you can help, Ammë! Come on!” He tugged insistently at her arm.

Eärwen stifled a sigh. It was going to be a very long day.

#silmarillion #my fic #finrod #earwen #finarfin

[tanoraqui]

of course, the alternate way for Eärendil to get a crew for company in sailing the eternal night skies is what I like to think of as Eärendil’s Anti-Recidivist Sailing Camp for Astrally Projected Oathtakers. Did you or your father permanently invest part of your soul in one or more very shiny rocks? Did you then invoke Eru in permanently binding your fate to said rocks, leading to some VERY dubious decision-making, and also rampant murder? As a consequence of all that murder and bound fate, are you now trapped in Mandos until the end of Arda itself, and going slowly mad(der) from boredom? Then Eärendil’s Anti-Recidivist Sailing Camp for Astrally Projected Oathtakers may be the right place for you!

Activities include:

Knot-tying

Sailcraft lessons

Steering (a special treat for well-behaved campers!)

Saying nice things about the Houses of Fingolfin and Elwë, and Finarfin for thoroughness’ sake, under threat of being sent back through the jewel to molder forever in Mandos (at the captain’s discretion)

Saying nice things about the captain’s descendants and in-laws, as the ship circles Númenor/Lindon/Rivendell/Gondor and Arnor for the nth time tonight

Fighting the giant darkness spiders and other nightmares which sometimes creep through the edges of reality

Sad Elf Seashore Radio Hour (with discussion: How Our Decisions can Reduce Loved Ones to Shattered Wrecks)

Singing classic sea and sky shanties, and writing your own!

To register for Eärendil’s Anti-Recidivist Sailing Camp for Astrally Projected Oathtakers, reach out your spirit to the nearest Silmaril. If you can’t, you probably don’t qualify for this camp. Living incarnates interested in taking a ride on Vingilotë may contact Elwing at her white tower at the edge of the world. Oath-cursed kinslayers imprisoned in Mandos should not do that, because she doesn’t begrudge her husband the company, nor the cheerful passive-aggression, but she has no interest in sharing it.

#earendil #elwing #feanor #the silmarillion #‘why does tanoraqui keep producing mid-day short fic ideas?’ well bc she’s back in the office #but everyone ELSE is on vacation #so she’s bored and avoiding work #and has no supervision #my fic #ficlet

[loonelybird]

My part of TobiIzu Exchange, the gift for @flawlessstriker

Paper, watercolour, acrylics and iridiscent pigments, 41x29 cm.

I am not a ficwriter and my English is very poor however during the painting I had some ideas for subject.

Imagine what People of Sea were in eternal hostility to the People of Seashore because fishermen catch the sea beings, destroyed coral and fish habitat etc. Mermaid and Mermen drowned ships for the vengeance.

But one day a poor fisher with white hair and face marks had a wonderful trophy, a beautiful Merman, one of tritons of Sea King. The scales of his fish tail varied from purple to bluish green with golden glimpses. The jewels made of pearls, coral, seashells ornated his chest and hands.

He had hair of the colours of the night, bright eyes, changed from violet to red in one instant, tender lips, create for smiling and kisses.

Beware ! Behind the charming appearances he was one of the most vengeful and skilled sea warrior. The sharpest dagger made from magical crystal was ready in his hand.

But suddenly Merman saw the magatama made from the same crystal as pendant on the neck of the fisher.

- Where your find it?

- In the sand on the beach. The stone was so beautiful that I made the amulet from it.

Merman can’t kill the human because magic of the crystal protects him.

Fisher in his turn can’t breathe captured by the beauty of Merman. He don’t want to share his precious trophy with no one of the villagers. Happily this early morning the beach was empty.

Fisher brought Merman into his hut and kept him in the great wood bassin. Merman said that his name is Izuna. The fisher’s name was Tobirama.

Izuna lived many months hidden in Tobirama’s house. Day after day they become more and more close, sharing food and conversations. Tobirama heared, fascinated, about the marvels of the Sea deeps. Izuna try to understand the human’s life, the need to survive which obliges people to take sea and to catch fish.

Finally they fall in love.

Unfortunately sea creature can’t survive long enough out of great waters. In the night Izuna could hear the voices of his parents and frends. They was searching for him!

Desperate Tobirama decided to free his more than friend. One night he brought Izuna in his hands back on the beach. The man enters into the sea as deep as possible and leave beautiful merman to swim in the vawes. Their hearts were broken but no one can change his nature and destiny.

Izuna returned to his warrior clan and Tobirama to his neighbors and his occupations.

Both of them nevermore were joyful.

Izuna made his duty as sea guardian but try not to kill humans.

Every day Tobirama took his boat as usual but not only for fishing. The most of the time he watched around. He was waiting for purple-green shines between blue vawes.

Maybe one day he’ll see it ?

#izuna #tobirama #tobiizuexchange #flawlessstriker #my art #my gift #my writing

[aveegrex]

MERMAN OSAMU X READER (PART 1)

PART 1 | PART 2 kinktober masterlist

pairing: merman! osamu x f! reader genre: fluff word count: 1,9k cw: alcohol consumption (mostly implied), brotherly banter, implied broken engagement, swimming at night

author's note: this piece would never happen without @flycloudddd 's amazing art. thank you again for being so precious and for blessing this site with your talent.

merman osamu who, unlike his flamboyant twin, popular amongst their kin, longs for the two-legged. he saw a two-legged once when his brother’s flock was traveling close to the shore: the child - he thinks so, otherwise it would be weird if all the two-legged were so small, - let out an excited cry when osamu’s pretty steel blue tail flapped over the water. 

when his kin settled nearby a small island, osamu never skipped a chance to swim close to the coast. it was nighttime, mostly, and osamu learned that the two-legged usually preferred daylight. he watched those little who stayed after darkness, puzzled as to why after consuming something from elongated shells the younger two-legged were so giddy to go for a dip. they also were so slow in water, and osamu studied his tail after this discovery, learning that it probably had much more use than he initially thought. 

he once took his reluctant brother to watch humans (osamu was surprised his brother had any sort of knowledge at all, and a little offended that such knowledge rested in his area of interest). atsumu called it quits and swayed his goldish tail twenty minutes in, calling osamu a “pervert” and leaving him to ogle at humans alone. he was about to head for a more populated part of the coast, the one with constant music and noise, but then a lonely frame caught his eye. 

a lonely frame that was making a very strange sound. osamu never heard this sound before, but it made his heart squeeze with sorrow. he stayed, watching as this human dug her feet in cold sand, and carefully moved to the thickets of weeds shushing under the soft breeze. 

the noise only grew with time, both shattering osamu’s heart and masking the smallest splashes of water as he swam closer, blue eyes never leaving the human. he watched, bewildered, as this human took something off her finger and threw it in water with a particularly loud scream. 

his eyes darted to the splash, but then were back only to see the figure disappear into the adjusting woods. osamu waited for a while in case the figure would return soon, just like those with elongated shells did after leaving more than one empty. but as no one came back, he sighed, soft bubbles resurfacing with the movement of his gills, and dove in to the place where the trinket sank. 

oh, this one osamu was familiar with. a ring. he knew those could be expensive, and this one sure was nothing short of precious, a fat diamond sitting atop. why would a human discard a fortune? 

he decided to keep it. atsumu always made sure to flaunt the jewels he and his pals found in their dangerous scavenges of sunken ships, so it would only be fair to shove the find in his brother’s smug face. atsumu never found a diamond. now he can shut his trap about osamu being the useless twin. 

but day after day the ring burned into osamu’s chest, the small chain it was put on itchy against his silverish scales. atsumu’s pout made him happy for exactly ten minutes, but then he wondered if that ring was cursed. why else would it only return his thoughts to the screaming human, so lonely on the dark seashore with her feet covered in damp sticky sand?

so osamu returned. again and again, he returned to the same shore, but he never saw the figure again. he traveled around the island multiple times, all in vain, every night ending with him returning to their underwater retreat devastated and puzzled. 

he was about to leave this night too, ending his daily retour with the inspection of a secluded cove. osamu for some reason had a soft spot for it: the warm lights streaming from the house just mere feet from the water, the big rocks cuddled together right next to the pier, and a large shade tree that left the water cool enough for him to delay there for a bit at dawn. 

osamu took what he thought would be the last glance at the cove, but then stilled. it was you, this figure from countless nights before, sitting on the pier with an elongated shell in your hands. 

cautious of his own movements, osamu darted up to the roots of the tree clawed up above the waterline. holding on to the snag, he peeked from behind it, studying the lonely figure. why would you be here? last time he saw you, it was across the island, on the dark and lonely shore. and now you’re here, under the warm lights streaming from the windows, and you’re doing the thing that those younger humans were doing that made them act silly. 

osamu huffed, and immediately reprimanded himself, as the cold water bubbled up around him. luckily, you seemed to pay it no mind, instead chatting feet in the water carelessly. you looked relaxed, even, like atsumu when he stole jellyfish potion from their mom’s cave when they were kids. yeah, exactly like that. but prettier. 

osamu’s other hand clutched on the ring. should he return it now? would it be polite to just swim closer and put it by your side on the damp deck? or should he wait till you’re gone to just leave it on the pier? 

“ya think too much, dumbsamu” he remembered his brother’s words as he failed to make a move at his cute mermaid classmate. osamu’s sight darted to the ocean, and he frowned. maybe, but any thinking at all would classify as too much in atsumu’s eyes. 

osamu noticed how waves roll a bit higher, how the sound is harsher, louder than it’s supposed to be on a quiet night like this, and his scales shifted, notifying him of upcoming storm. now or never it was. 

he looked back at you, seemingly unaware that the weather’s about to change. you should hide in the woods, probably. that’s where all humans go when the night comes, isn’t it? and he won’t reach you there. 

the ring buzzed against his chest. suddenly, it felt too heavy, like an anchor pinning him to this swampy water under the stag. osamu clutched the chain, eyes trained on your idyllic pose, the elongated shell set aside and, as samu knowingly guessed, empty. 

now or never. 

he swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded to no one in particular. 

the sky was so clear, devoid of clouds, all little sparkly crill that swim in it ablaze so brightly. the breeze, pleasant and unthreatening, the calm light pouring down your features from the house, the fireflies so carefree all around the cove - it was just perfect to return the ring now. 

osamu clutched on the ring tighter, and yanked on the chain, leaving a tiny pressure mark on his nape. now or never. 

“staring is rude, did you know?”

osamu’s eyes shot up, meeting your playful gaze. 

“yes, you, silly” your voice so smooth, so pleasant, splashes of water by your feet barely covering the sounds samu didn’t really understand. 

you saw him? 

“i saw you”

he tilted his head to the side, a little too much to come off normal, and you giggled. oh, that was even prettier. 

samu tilted his head to the other side, and you giggled again, louder, the little notes bouncing off the waves up to the starry crill, and osamu mirrored the sound, bubbly giggle awkward and skittish against your cheery and confident one. 

somehow, it made him at ease, so he giggled again. and again, and again, and again, earning you more and more amusement, until suddenly you hopped into water and popped right before him. 

“rude” you stuck your finger in his chest. “but cute” and his ears twitched, echoing your smile. 

“rrrrooodd” he echoed, his free hand mirroring yours on his chest. “khj-uutt”. he shook his head, droplets of water flying everywhere, and a little pout came from within his puzzled face. “samu”

you just smiled, eyes drifting all over his mystic features. the silverish strands in his hair, his sprakly dragonfly ears, his gills, moving rhythmically just mere millimeters under the water, and rare scales that adorned his buff shoulders. 

“samu” he repeated sternly, catching your attention, and it dawned on you.

“you don’t understand me, samu?” you cooed, hand failing to resist the urge to glide over his cheek. 

“samu, mhm” he nodded strictly, eliciting a giggle out of you. “khj-utt”. 

you just exhaled, not so out of defeat, but out of thrill, eyes fixated on his cerulean ones. he’s pretty, too pretty. a merman is always pretty, or at least your grandparents used to say so. you brushed it off before, but now, looking at the first ever merman you’ve witnessed, you saw where they were coming from. 

his ethereal eyes, his plump lips, the scales that shone like platinum under the moonlight, and the childlike naivete he oozed - not just the merman, he was the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. 

“samu!” his yelp broke you out of your thoughts, and your eyes darted down to the membraned palm, rising from the water. you gasped, seeing what’s inside. 

“samu, samu!” he shoved his hand under too close, pleading eyes and panicky tone making you clutch on his shoulder. 

“you’ve found it-YOU’VE SEEN ME?” 

“s-samu?” 

“samu, yes, i get it” you felt your anger pooling inside. he wasn’t just watching you minutes ago, but also all these weeks since your ex was chivalrous enough to fuck you over so pathetically. “were you watching me all this time, samu? stalking me?”

he flinched back, one sway of a tail to put him a foot further from you. osamu really didn’t understand your words, but the tone was enough. you were mad. angry. maybe he should have left the ring on the pier? but the storm…

he cringed slightly when your warm hands cupped his colder one. “you just wanted to give it back, didn’t you?” once more, your tone shifted, and samu tilted his head again, ears perking up in confusion. “oh, i’m so sorry, samu” you cooed, carefully swimming closer. “you just thought i lost it, and wanted to give it back?”

“lost it, mhm” he poked your chest with his hand, ears drooping down in relief. he heard that word before, atsumu took him to watch the fishmen retireving their nets from the water, emptied by atsumu and his flock for a bet. “lost it, you”

you shook your head, a huff of a chuckle warming up his chest as you embraced him, feet finding a reliable root underwater. “thank you, samu”

what use would it be to explain the intricacies of love now? the alcohol made you brave enough to engage in conversation with a merman, and it made you brave enough to let go of what your ex did, so there was no need to confuse this hunk with a tail any further. 

“samu” he puffed his chest proudly, his senses telling him you must be pleased with what he did. “khj-utt”

you were about to agree, when your mother’s voice cut across the mood, calling you up to the house. 

“coming!” you replied, eyes darting back to samu. he seemed startled, ears twitching to the sides in agitation. 

“thank you, samu” a sweet whisper heated his cheek, and he felt your lips pressing up against it, adorning the second one with blush. “cute”

he just stayed there, dumbfounded, tail swaying frantically under the surface. his heart, loud and joyous in his chest deafened the sound of you swimming away, only for him to realise seconds later. 

you didn’t take the ring.

MDNI, reblogs and comments are welcome, it's 'hello merman!' time of the year

taglist: @hoohoohope @justanothernpcartist @the-b-u-n-n-y to join the taglist, please leave a comment on my kinktober masterlist or dm me (remember u have to have ur age in bio)

© 2022 AVEEGREX, all rights reserved. reposting and copying my works without my consent is forbidden.

#aveegrex kinktober #merman osamu #merman aesthetic #merfolk #merman #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #haikyuu!! #haikyuu smut #haikyuu fluff #hq smut #hq fluff #haikyuu osamu #osamu miya #miya osamu #osamu x reader #osamu x female reader #miya osamu x you #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x y/n #osamu x you #osamu x y/n #osamu smut #osamu fluff #hq osamu #hq miya osamu

[mice-ducks-and-blots]

You said you would info dump about the treasure island Mickey au if anyone asked. Well, I am asking. If you don’t mind :)

(for context: this au here)

I was going to talk abt it when I doodled more of it, but that might be like next year or never kjkskjs so I'll do it now!!

Ok so. It's not a Treasure Island au, just some pirate au I thought while reading Treasure Island (and listening to Shiver My Timbers from Muppets Treasure Island, that song is SUCH a banger). Though it has the same aesthetics in the sense of time period and such.

Mickey here is a famous explorer and scholar who travels across the sea and writes about its misteries, creatures, islands. He's gained quite the reputation and people say he might as well guard the whole ocean inside his brain. He lives in a house a bit far from the city at the seashore, where he keeps his studies and findings such as fossils and shells.

The Phantom Blot is the captain of the Darkenblot ship and his black-stained flag is well known across the seas as belonging to the most fearsome pirate to ever set sail on them. (Pete is his first mate, Plottigat, the medic/inventor, and Scuttle and Trudy and maybe other baddies I'm forgetting about are there in his crew too)

So, there's this legend about a jewel called "The Heart of the Sea" very creative I know that allows the person who holds it to control the winds, tides, and storms. Blot wants it, and he's convinced that that famous mouse explorer knows where it is. So he has Mickey kidnapped and taken aboard.

Mickey does know some clues to where the heart might be, but he refuses to help Blot. Aftel all, the jewel would be trouble enough in the hands of some common pirate, so someone intelligent and cruel like him could only bring disaster. So Blot gives him a few days to change his mind, or he'll walk the plank.

While locked in the ship's cell, Mickey's helped by one of the pirates, who sneaks in some food and water when he can. He's suspicious at first, but soon learn that this one pirate - Donald Duck - Is not like he rest of the crew at all.

Donald was just a simple fisherman who, out of his enormous bad luck, ended up in the Drakenblot's way while fishing away from the shore. He would have been tossed overboard, but Blot noticed something about him - an almost supernatural sense of direction, and the ability to tell when the weather would change. He was too valuable to be lost, so he was forced to become one of the pirates. Or they'd harm his family (He carried a picture of his nephews with him).

So anyways after that Idk what happens exactly. I guess Mickey and Donald try to escape and Donald is almost drowned by the pirates, but when drowning he turns into a mermaid (though the design is more like a fish monster, yknow, like the ones from Pixar's Luca) and he grabs Mickey and swims away. They find Donald's uncle Scrooge who explains that Donald was a mermaid his whole life but if he knew that, the signs of his heritage would be impossible to hide (such as markings on his skin when he was in his terrestrial form idk) and that's why he hid it from him and Della (who found out she was a mermaid and had to hide leaving her sons to Donald, as she didn't want them to be chased and hunted).

Then uuuh I guess Donald, Mickey, the nephews and Scrooge (and Goofy too I want him to be there) go find the Heart of The Sea and I think the other mermaids before the pirates do, and Magica is in the au somewhere as a cool sea whitch/monster and Mickey and Donald become a couple at some point I think that's it

Thanks for the ask! <3

#ask #here's the infodump #that was a lot phew #feel free to give ideas to this if yall want :)

[lionsongfr]

A dragon’s life upon the seashore is never a bore!

I bake my scales in the hot sun, before dipping into the sea for summer fun.

I catch fish amongst the shining shoals, happily eating whales whole.

I fight with krakens who dare trespass, and make my bed upon soft sea grass.

I steal from pirates, those thieves and fools, filling my cave with their jewels.

Yes, life upon the sea is never a chore, especially for a dragon of the shore!

Find these dragons for sale at: /forums/baz/3250261 (or content source)

Lionsong #49028

#Flight rising #flight rising sales #dragons for sale

[rumbelleshowdown]

-

Showdown 2023 Unused Prompts

Mystery

Misty town

Unexpected hero

Snowstorm

Jeweler

Butler

Thunderstorm

Piano, sand, green

Signet

Heart condition

Letter

Inheritance

Hey, honeybee

Forest spirit

Sacrifice, True Love, healing

Blood ran cold

Insanity

Pottery wheel

Goose

Candy shop

Coffee shop

Surfing

Skateboarding

Argument, fever

Terrible weather

Torn wedding

Theft 

Treasure

Hunt

FBI 

Hide-and-seek

Out of the blue

Skinny-dipping

Gardener

Warrior, monsters

Magical flower

Howl, claws, scream

Siren’s song

Lonely night

Magic ritual

Waves on the seashore

Mermaid

Crazy

Dancing on the street

Magical library

Witches

Double identity

Night walking

Suffocating night

Gloom

Swindlers

Haunted house

Dress made of gold

Golden hour

Salem the cat

Fairy circle

Secret affair

Kissing in the rain

Waltzing on the snow

Secret garden

Dove, blood

Drunken beauty

Cracked ice, anger

Night, street lamp, snow

Fairy murder, dark, mist

Liminal space(s) 

A single red rose

Lost, beautiful, frightened, found

“Lover don’t go.”

Awkward

Video

Zoo

Truth or consequences

Live wire

Black and white

Teaching how to spin

She was late

Baby won’t stop crying

Magic gone wrong

Love after the apocalypse

Lazy Sundays, puzzles, smiles

Horror movie(s) 

Firefighter AU

Fake dating, pizza, sports

Different fairytale AU

New experiences

Music box

Feathers

Slow dancing

Reflection

Forgotten anniversary

Gentle touches

Delicate

Wake up

Blood on the carpet

Trapped, light, voice, comfort

He wasn’t there

You are my hero

Please don’t go

His heart broke, literally

“I wish you were…”

“Don’t take him away!” 

“Don’t take her away!” 

“How could you?” 

“Pick your poison.” 

Blood in the water

Siren, almost, real, scream

Trapped in the dark

The Light One

(S)he will come back

Kiss the tears away

Smile bright as sun

Freezing water, rescue, please

I will protect you

I feel safe

There’s so much blood

Red as blood 

Flickering in and out

Now it’s too late

It’s just a nightmare

Don’t leave me alone

Please, wake up

Sacrifice, pain, light, laugh

Please help my Papa

Your father’s a hero

Thought I lost you

I was worried sick

Fever, confession, tears, light

Dark eyes, pure heart

Homemade soup

Sick, shame, silly, always

-

#rumbelle showdown #rumbelle prompts #fic prompts #2023 unused prompts

[herenortherenearnorfar]

For @undercat-overdog more Baby Gollum AU, featuring penguins, an aquarium, and solo-parenting.

Halacormen is not Alqualondë for political tensions. Still, it’s a Teleri town, and Celebrimbor is… Celebrimbor. So he’s sat out this parenting expedition, leaving Alyahtar alone with a squirmy pingwin of a child.

(His child, in the sense that it was his responsibility, and he had made it—her. Most likely. There is a debate to be had.)

The pingwin are what they’re here to see. That’s what the small ones, the hobbits who brought about his end, called them, and the atrocious ruralism has stuck.

Alyahtar prefers their proper title, quesslingwë, given at the time of the first scientific treks south path the lightless lands. His opinion bears astoundingly little weight on Western shores. Some people go out of their way not to listen to him. If not for Celebrimbor he never would have averted that bridge collapse.

Their wagonfull of travelers is getting close to the coastline now. Maitamië stops charming their fellow passengers (a baby is always charming in Valinor—and if her teeth are arrowheads and her irises too big for her eyes, well, there have been rumors of the fate of orcs) and starts gasping at the approaching edifice of the Fisherman’s City. It’s an impressive sight, the great domes bubbling out of the icy southern sea, the long silver walkways looping out into the wavy blackness. From above there are said to be patterns, the long frills of a tail, interlocking scales, an impression of a fish viewed through murky water. From below, one sees a stranger sight, the moveable nets and hanging baskets of an entire modular, sea-set hatchery. They anchor oysters to thick braided ropes and culture their own kelp garden past the horizon. Deep on the ocean floor, they keep sea urchins and log-like, slimy creatures dubbed sea cumcumbers (another hobbitism). By all accounts it’s a clever operation.

Alyahtar is not about to test Ossë’s patience, so recently extended to such delights as “letting him on boats” and “ letting him wade at the seashore if he agrees to be slammed in face by every wave” to deep water exploits. The temptation would be too great and his old colleague does not have remarkable patience.

No, they’ve come come to see the pingwin, and those are conveniently on land, along with the rest of the aquarium.

Maitamië shakes his arm. “Birds,” she points, directing his gaze for the hundredth time to a pertinent bit of wildlife. In this case, a group of fat boobies swooping out over the rocks to their east. A nesting ground, based on the streaks of droppings painting the dark stone white as the towers of Gondor.

“Yes, they’re quite common along the coastline. Certainly more so than mammals, current company excluded.”

His seatmate, a tiresome weaver from just south of Alqualondë, who loves canvas and his five daughters, two of whom live in the city they’re destined for, chuckles knowingly. Like he thinks Alyahtar counts himself among the mammalian order. A frustrating misconception, but one that’s better uncorrected. Sauron is not the most uncontroversial of figures in this land, but he’s not recognizable. Centuries behind helmet and wolf-mask and changeling guise have granted him an anonymity wretched Finrod Felagund can only dream about.

“Big birds,” Maitamië says in fairly coherent Quenya, directing his attention to a cormorant above. She follows it up with a garbled, half Westron, “They eat fish and I eat fish and I eat them.”

He brushes her wispy hair, already tangling in the brisk sea breeze, back from her face and wipes her runny nose. They’ve had to remove most of her beloved jewelry for this trip, the air gets too chill in the far south, and without jewels she’s antsy. “Larger diving birds do eat fish—not all seabirds though. There are some scavengers along this part of the coast, along with some insectivores and waders.”

It’s delightful how she drinks in new information. There’s a hunger to her every movement in the world, as if she knows that she spent centuries starving in the dark and has decided to make up for lost time. They’re not certain how cognizant their ghostling is of her last life—there seems to be knowledge from before, but awareness is hard to gauge with a toddler.

Maitamië’s dragonfly eyes narrow fractionally. “Insectivore?”

“They eat bugs.”

She shrieks, little hands grabbing the wind—she’s lost her gloves again. “I eat bugs!”

The entire wagon is grinning at her, the fools. Healthy child development is no laughing matter. “Yes, they’re very high in protein. Worms and snails, midges, crickets, mayflies…”

The low recitation of invertebrates, along with a gentle rocking, quiets her wriggling. Curled in his lap like this she feels like a project; the closest comparison for this weight is the pressure of a lap desk and yards of chainmail atop it to loop. Wolves never ran so small, nor Celebrimbor so hot. Neither ever tried to take his earrings out of his ears just to see what would happen—at least not in public. He is constantly monitoring curious hands and frustrated teeth.

One last hill and the gates of Halacormen are before them. With the ocean as a wall, they put little into actual gateage, but there is a waist high silver fence ringing the premises to deter the neighbors, who’d otherwise break in and gorge themselves on fish.

Visible past the bright walkways and domes and lighthouses of the city, is a rocky beach, a low, flat expanse of perfect pebbles. It goes on for about two miles and all up and down it birds nest. When Halacormen was first constructed, it sat on a more disfavored end of the beach, too close to the aggressive cliff dwelling birds, not suitable in the character of the rocks provided.

Over the next few centuries the presence of mass amounts of sea life, as well as the soft hearts of elves, changed the game. Now the pingwin nest as close to the city as they’re allowed and beg shamelessly for scraps. In an effort to contain a burgeoning nuisance species the city officials sectioned off the nesting ground. Now tours must be monitored and there’s an associated aquarium, with, he’s been told, many excellent examples of sealife.

“Fish?” Maitamië coos, pointing at the gleaming spires of the mariner’s town. Alyahtar redirects her hand (gloveless once more) to a low slung grey stone building curving along the seaside.

“Fish,” he confirms.

They part ways with most of their travelling company at the entrance to the city, another bit of evidence that mercy is real. A few stick the course, including a young taxonomist from Tirion with an audacious goal of categorizing all living things based on their relative balances of the three humours (air, water, and fire), as well as a quiet fellow in woodland green who has been giving him odd looks.

The remaining band trudge along the rocky path to the pingwin, Alyahtar at the back as his child insists on walking on her own two legs (short).

“Fish first, or birds?” he asks when they finally arrive. Celebrimbor has been all about presenting choices, lately.

“I want fish!” Her Sindarin is better than her Quenya, perhaps because she hears fewer dialects of the former. They’ve been attributing her productive verbal delay to the linguistic variety of the West. It should even out in time. “And frogs! And squid!”

“I can only guarantee you the fish, but our cephalod prospects are good.” He crouches in front of her, furs dragging in the gravel. “Remember, we look with our eyes, not our teeth.”

“Mnnaph.” To demonstrate, she takes his hand (gloved, someone has to model appropriate dress) and gums it, pointedly not biting down.

Alyahtar passes her a piece of jerky to chew on, one of his bracelets to fidget with, and slides her little hand into his. “We look with our eyes and do not touch at all. These are demonstratory fish.”

“For science,” his scrap, his little concretion, their gift of grace, says. She learns very fast.

They step inside the dark aquarium. The exterior is built sturdy, to weather storms, but inside it glows with as much glass and light as a Vanyarin cathedral.

Light refracting through water makes everything blue, a deep, pure color that brings to mind newborn stars. He rather wishes he had his husband to share the shade with—it would make a beautiful gem.

The cold southern waters don’t sustain the brightly colored coral dwellers of Alqualondë or the large pink salmon of Oromë’s inland lakes. This is a place for deep water oddities, three foot tooth fish, giant squid, black and white toothed whales. Only the smallest, shallowest specimens fit in this building.

With a shriek, Maitamië drags him to a tank of mackerel, swarming like birds. The flash of scales as they swim past in perfect synchronization sends her into paroxysms of delight, throat bobbing like a pelican. “Glem, glem. Ada, look!”

They are, he must concede, very good fish. Parasite free. Healthy. The people here know how to do at least one thing well.

They move past the exhibits on bivalves, crustaceans, and sea urchins with minimal incident, the tanks being too high for her to get her hands inside them. Someone will have to wipe sticky handprints and several licks off the glass after they go, but that’s a problem for other people.

At the squid they run into trouble. It seems that some of the elves of the institute are interfering with the animals. Doing this around a three year old ought to be a crime, in Alyahtar’s opinion.

He catches Maitamië by the scruff just as she begins to run. “Look with our eyes, tadpole.”

One elf is stripped down to breeches and diving amid the while a partner stands above her at the lip of the tank. Two more are at the base of the tank for backup. Two dozen sluggish squid, a forearm long at most, swirl in the water around the diver, who is occupied securing a loose mesh netting between the two sides of the aquarium, dividing it, and the squid population, in half.

Maitamië, still trapped in his arms, leans forward and shouts at the nearest person. “Why? Why!”

Instantly, all of them smile, dopey in the way Valinorean get around infants and echoes of the forbidden east. The one elf whose hands aren’t full jogs over.

“Hello! You’ve caught us at a bad time, we’re trying to split our squid.”

Alyahtar inclines his head politely. “Yes, I can see that.”

Wriggling like a worm, Maitamië asks again, “Why?”

“Why, please.”

The elf doesn’t balk at the demand, or the teeth Maitamië is showing. That’s some kind of testment to his character. “We’re doing an experiment to see if we can reduce rates of intrashoal violence among the squid along the coast. We’ve been seeing very high levels of mortality before spawning, which may be a result of contamination spilling out from Avathar.”

They’d passed by that tainted place on their journey south. It hurt just to look at, ached to be in the vicinity of. It weeps, like an old wound unhealed. Unsurprising that the pustulence might sicken other lands.

“What are the symptoms?” he asked, suddenly curious.

Their guide glances briefly at Maitamië. “Ah. Aggressive in-group cannibalism. We expect some level as they get big enough… but this is driving population collapse.”

Maitamië looks back to him. “They’re eating each other when they shouldn’t,” he tells her.

“Look with your eyes,” she agrees.

Alyahtar bounces his hip, shifting his lanky surprise so she sits more securely. “I’ll keep this one out from underfoot then. But if you have any papers…” It’s always good to see a well executed bit of mending, the world made better. It’s almost as good to see an obviously botched job because then he and Celebrimbor can fix it themselves.

“We don’t expect the results for a few years,” the elf (young, probably not in charge) says. Then, in a lower voice, “But if you write to the head of the marine reparation program he loves to talk about the process.”

The pleasure of finding a new corner of research to meddle in gets him through the dogfish, the cod, the hake, the speckled pink skates. When they finally emerge into the brisk summer air of the pingwin hatchery Maitamië collapses into entirely new contortions of joy.

“Bird! Bird! Gwin-bird!” A fearless pingwin squawks at her and she makes a miserable retching noise back.

“Hands to yourself and stay on the path,” he warns. Tourists around them are going so far as to put hands on the pingwins, who, being accustomed to interaction, preen in response. Some local girls, obvious by their otterskin capes and greased limbs, are playing in the surf, splashing each other and their avian friends.

Two of Ulmo’s nereids, wearing a blubbery guise, are sunning themselves on a guano stained rock. One of them sees Alyahtar and makes a rude gesture.

Maitamië clutches his wrist. “Look! A baby.”

Sure enough, in one of the low rock burrows is an early hatching nestling. It hasn’t opened its eyes yet but it has a thin coat of fuzzy feathers. As they watch one of the parents waddles up to deposit food in its open mouth.

“A papa and a me-gol,” she whispers in wonder.

“What?!”

“You’re the big one and I’m me.”

Sometimes, he wonders… and then he puts his questions to the side. “You are what you are,” he agrees, and watches fondly as she mimes regurgitating krill into a baby’s mouth.

This is a perfectable thing. This is a wound that is healing.

There is no better work to do.

#new year fics #undercat overdog #sauron #silvergifting #silmarillion fanfiction

[warthoong]

people taking Maglor for a spirit/a ghost headcanon, my beloved.

Listen, I love this idea. I love the hilarious part of it, like, fishermen creating thousands of superstitions because they heard a mysterious singing and then the sea suddenly became calm. Imagine they leave Maglor gifts/offerings. Tell youngsters stories about a tall figure that sometimes can be seen on the seashore. "The one who sees them will die!" "What?! No! If you see them, they will give you jewels so precious and beautiful you can't even imagine!" "THE MOTHER OF AN ACQUAINTANCE OF MY NEIGHBOR SAID HER FIRST HUSBAND HAD DIED A MONTH AFTER A MEETING WITH THE SINGING SPIRIT!"

Also I love the poetic part of it. Maglor is a narrator, the one who tells everybody these unbelievable stories, the one who creates them. I think it's beautiful that he himself ended up as a legend or kind of a story he was so eager to tell

#silmarillion #maglor #meta?.. headcanon?..

[anghraine]

I do have some sympathy for criticisms of how Éowyn's arc is resolved in LOTR (the book), even though I like Éowyn/Faramir a lot. I agree with some of those criticisms, even!

But I'm a Faramir stan first and foremost, and I am a bit puzzled at the idea that her arc is essentially sacrificed to prop up Faramir's. For me, it's Faramir's arc that is sacrificed to give Éowyn resolution.

For most of his on-page time, Faramir's characterization is deeply caught up with Boromir's and Denethor's and the dynamics between them (on an in-story and meta level). These and the high tragedy of his family are essential to the presentation of Faramir every single time he appears until the horror of Denethor's death.

And then it just ... vanishes. We don't know anything about what he feels about his family after Denethor's death. We don't know how he reacted to what Denethor tried to do. He never mentions or is shown thinking about it, or about Boromir (who he loved dearly but previously had complex feelings about), or what his family's place in the new Gondor should be. Did he find out he'd retain the Stewardship during the coronation? Was it already settled, with the later interchange with Aragorn a matter of ceremony? We don't know!

One of Faramir's greatest character moments is his speech about his love for Minas Tirith and hopes/fears for it in the future, but by the time Faramir meets Éowyn, he knows he'll have to leave Minas Tirith (his lifelong home) in the best possible scenario. Yet we know very little about what he feels about leaving Minas Tirith apart from what he can offer Éowyn in Ithilien.

It's not just that he's underwritten after Denethor dies, though. He's still quite lovingly written—as Éowyn's love interest. The narrative emphasizes Éowyn's development and healing during their romance and the resolution lies in Éowyn realizing her love for him and seeing a future other than war or what she went through in Rohan. Faramir becomes this kind of dreamboat love interest for Éowyn and is characterized almost entirely in service to resolving her arc.

And I do think it's beautifully written in ways that ... mostly have a lot of synergy with the overarching themes of the book etc etc, and we can fill in the missing spaces here, and so on. But it does seem to me that Faramir very abruptly goes from a character who independently exists in his own right, whom the narrative cares about in his own right, to a character who primarily exists to advance other characters (mainly Éowyn, a little bit Aragorn). He is much more a character in Éowyn's story than she is one in Faramir's.

#anghraine babbles #anghraine rants #legendarium blogging #legendarium fanwank #jewel of the seashore #húrinionath #éowyn

[imakemywings]

Haunted, Hunted (Ch. 2)

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Characters: Elwing, Maedhros

Summary: Elwing must pass through the abandoned forest of Doriath to reach her aunt’s house. As long as she stays on the path and keeps her magic jewel close, she should be safe…

Chapter length: 2.4k

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

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On Elwing’s next trip to visit her aunt, she stashed in her basket a midsized kitchen knife, and began to choose high-necked dresses and tunics and shirts for her trips—things that hid her necklace entirely from view, cloak or no cloak. It was true the red wolf had insisted he meant her no harm, but to the point of both the wolf and Evranin—there were many things in the world which might harm a young Peredhil.

Before she had left with the knife in her basket, Evranin had reminded her yet again about running from wolves:

“Where there is one, there is a pack,” Evranin cautioned. “Even if you escape the one wolf, her sisters will catch you by surprise. Wolves do not travel alone.”

But the nearest Elwing came to seeing that wolf or any others was catching a flash of gray eyes watching her from the darkness, something that came and went so quickly she was sure she had imagined it each time. Her mind had never shown a limit of creativity on ways to torment her.

No, she didn’t see the red wolf again until several years after their first encounter.

By then, she had begun to think the whole thing had been but a dream, that there had never been any talking wolf, only a child frightened and alone and haunted by the ghosts of her past. It made sense, she decided from the lofty reason of adolescence, looking back on her childhood, that she had been so frightened about the woods her imagination had created something more tangible to fear. Evranin had become less tense about Elwing’s trips as several had come and gone with no excitement (to her knowledge), and Elwing had stopped carrying the knife.

This time, Elwing sang quietly to herself on her way through the woods, and the basket was full of things she herself had made. There was a fall chill in the air and she had tied her red cloak tightly around her neck, but it only reached the tops of her thighs now, and Evranin despaired of how quickly she grew. The forest was slightly less green, as some of the trees yellowed and then went orange and dropped their leaves, leaving the remaining evergreens standing proud. The fog which had blanketed the seashore that morning had also stretched its fingers into the woods, carpeting the forest in a low-lying mist.

As Elwing picked her way along the overgrown path—it was really becoming less clear by the year where the path was and was not—she was considering what to do for Eärendil’s birthday later that month, and these two considerations so absorbed her that she was caught by surprise when the red wolf sprang out of the ferns, blocking her way. In that moment, she became aware at once of how quiet the woods had gone.

Elwing jerked back with a gasp and the jewel about her throat felt hot against her skin.

“Elwing,” the wolf growled lowly, its tail lashing from side to side through the mist. “It has been quite a while, hasn’t it?” He was both every bit as large and also larger than she imagined. He had loomed so massive in her memory she had thought her childish mind must have exaggerated—but no. Seated, he would have been as tall as she was; his ears, taller; his head wider than hers; his paws as broad as the hand of a grown man.

“I began to think I had dreamed you,” she admitted.

“You did not,” said the wolf, in a tone that sent a chill down Elwing’s back.

“Have you been well?” she asked politely, because it seemed proper to speak politely to a beast that could tear her throat out, and because she did not think she done anything to warrant the wolf’s testy manner.

“I have not,” he barked and for the first time, he flashed his teeth at her. His canine teeth looked as big as her finger. “I have yet to recover my family’s treasure. The one which you promised to bring me.”

I did not promise you, Elwing thought.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” said Elwing.

“Are you?” The wolf began to pace back and forth, but such was his size that he could only manage two steps before he reached the width of the path and had to turn around. The muscles in his shoulders rippled thickly with the movement.

“Indeed I am,” she said. “I would know of lost family—”

“Then why have you not brought it to me!” the wolf snarled. Elwing quailed inwardly, flinching at the noise.

“Because I do not have it,” she said. “And still I do not know what this jewel looks like.”

“You would know it,” the wolf insisted. He stared up at her, his eyes boring into hers. “It is very valuable,” he said softly. “Beyond measure, in fact. It comes from a land you have never seen, presided over by the divine powers. Many have coveted it, and many have died for it. Do you know what I think?”

Elwing could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Silently she begged the necklace to protect her as it had done before.

“What?” she asked.

“That you are lying to me!” The wolf lunged at her and Elwing screamed, throwing herself backwards. The wolf’s paws hit the ground where she had been, but he made no further advances, though she must have made an easy target sitting in the dirt. She realized she had wet herself, but this humiliation only girded her anger.

“I am not lying!” she said.

“I think you have what I want,” the wolf said quietly, lowering his head, his stiff ears angling back. “Do you know why? Because your father had it. In fact, he stole it from me.”

“That’s not true!” Elwing shouted immediately. “My father was not a thief!”

“Oh, your father was a thief and your grandmother was a thief and your great-grandfather too! A whole line eager to grasp what they could never make themselves!” The wolf’s hackles were rising, the coarse fur bristling along his spine. Elwing found she could not look away from his eyes; she was pulled to them, as if there was something her mind was trying to tell her, something that drew her thoughts back to her muddled nightmares.

“No one in my family is a thief,” Elwing insisted, pushing herself up to her feet. She wished she had done as her younger self had done and brought a knife. Perhaps it wouldn’t have helped her at all—but she might’ve felt braver with it. “My—perhaps you lost this jewel on your own!”

The wolf paused, his tail flicking, and then a terrible look that vaguely resembled amusement crossed onto his face.

“Things do tend to become lost in these woods,” he agreed, and those eyes that had decorated her worst dreams pinned her to the ground. “Many and valuable things. Hasn’t your nurse warned you of that? And hasn’t she told you,” he went on, flexing his claws against the earth, “that wolves do not travel alone?”

Evranin’s warnings echoed in Elwing’s head. Her alarmed gaze snapped up to the woods, away from the red wolf, and peering at the scene from the gloom beyond the path behind him were three more sets of eyes, alike to those of the red wolf.

The pack, she thought, swallowing a whimper. There was a rustling and a slightly smaller, russet-colored wolf began to emerge, but the red wolf gave one lash of his tail and the russet beast subsided back among the leaves.

“I do not have what you are looking for,” she asserted, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “If you have lost something here, you should look in the Thousan—”

“Ah! As if we have not already delved Thingol’s warrens for our treasure!” snapped the wolf. “Many years has it been since it was lost to us—if it were here, we would know it.” He sat down, still unnervingly large, and relaxed his shoulders. “You must forgive my temper,” he said mildly, in a jarring shift of tone. “It is a terrible stress, you know, trying to maintain the legacy of your family. You must be familiar with the feeling.”

There were certainly those who expected a great deal from her, but Evranin made sure that too much pressure was not placed on her, and she had the council to rely on also, who still took care of most practical things, given her age. It was her duty, and most days she was content to do it. She and Eärendil spoke of this at times, though he had Lady Idril still to carry the mantle of Gondolin and the line of Fingolfin and Anairë.

“It can be hard,” she allowed, wanting to cultivate this calmer avenue of conversation and hopefully win her escape.

“This jewel was made at my father’s own forge, by his hand,” said the wolf. “He is lost to us now, but this was his greatest achievement. So you must understand how it pains me not to have it in our possession.” When Elwing hesitated to respond, the wolf went on: “Truthfully, your father was likely not aware of its true value. And of course, what it means to me and my family.”

Elwing wanted to agree, because agreeing with the wolf seemed her best chance to not die, but she could not bring herself to even imply her father was any kind of thief.

“But you do understand, don’t you?” the wolf said, curling his tail around his paws as if he were one of the fluffy sheep hounds back in town. Elwing’s eyes darted back to the bushes behind him, but if the other three wolves were still there, they had retreated so she saw not even their eyes—or they had moved around behind her. “You see how easy it would be to fix my problem, and how much it would mean to me. You’re a clever girl, aren’t you, Elwing?”

Perhaps it was being spoken to as if she were a child still learning her alphabet that steeled her spine.

“I understand,” she said, wishing she could speak aloud as angrily as she did in her head.

“Good,” said the red wolf, inclining his head briefly. Elwing exhaled silently, thinking their encounter at an end; soon she would be on her way, and indeed the red wolf moved aside, so that he was no longer blocking the path forward. “And of course you of all people appreciate the danger of these woods for children,” he added as Elwing began to move past him. She halted, hearing the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. “You must have been very fortunate not to meet the same fate as your brothers. Your nurse must be very brave.” Elwing’s tongue tasted of iron.

“She is,” she whispered. “She protected me.” The jewel felt like it was humming against her breast; she would not have been surprised to feel it vibrate.

            Elwing did not remember the fall of the kingdom of Doriath, but she knew that it had come about in the darkness around the winter solstice, and she knew herself how far temperatures plummeted after dark that time of year, even in the woods. Far too cold for children.

            “As any noble nurse would,” said the wolf most graciously. “And look how you have grown under her care! Old enough to look after yourself now, aren’t you?”

            “I still have much to learn,” Elwing demurred, as Evranin would have appreciated.

            “Clever and wise, then,” said the wolf. Elwing remained tense, but he allowed a lengthy pause before speaking again. “I can see that you have kept our meetings to yourself. This too, is wise. You and I, as scions of royalty, understand these complicated situations, where others may not grasp them. And your nurse surely has enough on her mind without my problems adding to her woes. I would not wish to trouble her.”

            Elwing was not sure what to say to that, except that she was not certain this praise was a good thing, so she said nothing, merely nodded and carried on her way. She did not ask what he meant about his being a “scion of royalty.”

“You will remember our bargain?” he called when she was a yard or so from him.

            “I remember,” Elwing replied.

            When she arrived at her aunt’s house, she felt so exhausted she nearly collapsed the moment she crossed the threshold. Blessedly, when she made noise to her aunt about laundry, the woman assumed it was her menses—which came horribly irregularly for Elwing, which Evranin (who was an Elf, and knew nothing about menstruating) said tentatively must be her strange blood, and on which the Men in the village generally agreed—and asked no questions. She also respected Elwing’s privacy enough to let the girl wash her things herself, rather than insisting on doing it for her, for which Elwing was intensely grateful.

            As she scrubbed, she replayed again and again her conversation with the red wolf. How had he known about the deaths of Eluréd and Elurín? Why pick her to ask about this mystical jewel of his? There was a simple explanation, but it seemed too coincidental to believe. Could they be the same wolf pack who had slain her family? And if so, she wondered with alarm, was it true that he knew she had the necklace (for she was by then nearly certain that her own magic jewel was the one sought by the red wolf)? Yet it was so that the necklace itself had been made by the Dwarvish allies of Finrod Felagund of Nargothrond, and the jewel rescued at great risk by Elwing’s own grandmother, a tale she had been told countless times and could now recite herself with considerable accuracy.

            Turning these thoughts in her mind, she spoke little for the rest of the night.

            When she went to bed, she expected to dream of the wolf and his terrible teeth, but instead, she found herself lost in Menegroth, running through the winding tunnels, calling out for her mother and father, for Eluréd and Elurín, but all she heard was the thin echo of her voice and her own footsteps around the empty halls. Eventually she came to the throne room and here dread pooled in her stomach—for when she opened the door, surely she would see the bodies of her parents, who had of course been killed in these halls, but her hand moved against her will and pushed open the door. When she entered the room, though, it was empty, as if no one had ever been there at all.

#rocky writes

[systemofstars]

I kissed Aphrodite’s lips

And I tasted war

I looked up at her face

Now pale, which was once flushed

She avoids my gaze

And I put my hand in her hair

Her eyes fill themselves up

“You couldn’t love me and he did”

“How could I ever feel enough?”

“You left without a trace to the boy next to the lake”

“And now I’m stuck here tracing your skin and cursing the spells I that failed to cast”

I trace my finger up her thighs and she clenches on to my skin

I think I’m in love the way I make her weak

But I tug my hand away and untangle her body from mine

Tears fall down her face in defeat

“I love him, not you” I tell her

Believe me, you never say this to the goddess of love

Specially when she’s laying bare can covered in jewels and releasing gold on to your bed sheets

But that’s what I told Athena when I promised her I’d see her

Gods don’t know love the way he did

And they can’t seem to understand

Why I can’t love them the way I love him

I know I’m hurting them

Even if gold flows in between their legs

And their eyes glimmer like comets

“They won’t understand” whispers hades

And he cracks the ground open and gives me his hand

Eternal fall, a wake up call

And I find myself back on the seashore where i had last met him

“Don’t stand too close to the sea”, I scream

And he pulls me so close to him, not a single drop of fear in his speech

“Well, if he wishes to take me away,

know that I’ll find my way,

Olympus or earth

a part of your soul is the same as me”

#love #tumblr #poetry #poets on tumblr #aphrodite #greek myth aesthetic #greek myth #greek myth poetry #greek mythology

[makirinawa]

嘘月 (Liar)（ヨルシカ/Yorushika）Jpn->Eng translation

Usual disclaimers apply. I know there's a lot of translations out there of this one, including one by Netflix, but this song has given me a lot of ideas for things to draw so I thought I'd give it a try. I like moon imagery, what can I say?

I translated the title as "Liar," which is usually written 嘘吐き and read うそつき (usotsuki). n-buna writes it with 吐き (read つき/tsuki) replaced by the character for moon, 月（also read つき/tsuki) for a little play on words that doesn't translate well :)

雨が降った　花が散った

ただ染まった頬を想った

僕はずっとバケツ一杯の月光を呑んでる

本当なんだ夜みたいで

薄く透明な口触りで

そうなんだ、って笑ってもいいけど

Rain fell, the flowers scattered

I thought of your cheek, dyed red

I am always drinking moonlight by the bucket-full

It’s true. It tastes just like the night, with a

Thin and transparent mouthfeel

It’s fine if you laugh and say “is that so?”

僕は君を待っている

I am waiting for you

夏が去った街は静か

僕はやっと部屋に戻って

夜になった

こんな良い月を一人で見てる

本当なんだ、昔の僕は涙が宝石で出来てたんだ

そうなんだ、って笑ってもいいけど

Summer has past, the city is quiet

I finally returned to my room

It’s become night

I am looking at such a beautiful moon alone

It’s true, a long time ago I cried tears like jewels

It’s fine if you laugh and say “is that so?”

声はもうとっくに忘れた

想い出も愛も死んだ

風のない海辺を歩いたあの夏へ

I’ve already forgotten your voice

Both your memory and my love have died

On a seashore without wind, I walked towards that summer

僕はさようならが欲しいんだ

ただ微睡むような

物一つさえ云わないまま

僕は君を待ってる

I wanted to say goodbye

Like drifting off to sleep

Without being able to say a single thing

I am waiting for you

歳を取った一つ取った

何もない部屋で春になった

僕は愛を、底が抜けた柄杓で呑んでる

本当なんだ味もしなくて

飲めば飲むほど喉が乾いて

そうなんだって笑ってもいいけど

僕は夜を待っている

I've become older, another year has passed by

Spring has come to my empty room

I am drinking love from a ladle with a hole in the bottom

It’s true. It has no taste

And the more I drink the drier my thoat becomes

It’s fine if you laugh and say “is that so,” though

I am waiting for night

君の鼻歌が欲しいんだ

ただ微睡むような

物一つさえ云わないまま

僕は君を待っている

I want to hear your humming

Like I’m dozing off

Without being able to say a single thing

I am waiting for you

君の目を覚えていない

君の口を描いていない

物一つさえ云わないまま

僕は君を待っていない

君の鼻を知っていない

君の頬を想っていない

さよならすら云わないまま

君は夜になって行く

I don’t remember your eyes

I am not picturing your mouth in my mind

Without being able to say a single thing

I am not waiting for you

I don’t know the shape of your nose

I am not thinking of your cheek

Without being able to say even a single goodbye

You are turning into the night

#yorushika #yorushika lyric translation #maki_translation

[fanficsforloki]

To Prove To You - Chapter three

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4.4k

Series Summary: Nereide is a sea nymph with a peculiarity: she knows how to control her element (water) and has magical abilities. Poseidon, aware of that, decides to send her to Asgard as a student of Frigga. She studies with Loki, and as they grow up, they begin to develop feelings for each other. But what if Odin's plans for her get in the way?

Chapter summary: After a small conversation with her father, Nereide finds her safe place: Loki's arms.

Content: Unestablished relationship, Friends to lovers, fwb, platonic love, romance, angst, fluff, loss of verginity

Content warnings: smut, melancholy, dacryphilia, Loki is a fabulous bitch with a big heart and witty sense of humor, a bit over dramatic and very clever. He's sensitive, but hides his feelings and acts really rough around Nereide also because he likes to see her pouting and eventually becoming even more clingy.

Chapter warnings: mention of fingering, Loki is quite h0rny

To Prove To You Playlist

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Nereide savored the nostalgia as she walked towards the seashore. The sun warmed her skin, and the sea breeze softly caressed her cheekbones. Her heart quickened at the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, beckoning like a long-lost friend. She eagerly climbed onto the rocks and seated herself at the edge of the water.

As the sun dipped closer to the horizon, the sky turned into an impressive canvas of colors - a breathtaking blend of vivid oranges, pinks, and purples intermingling in a dreamy symphony. The sea, once a deep sapphire blue, shimmered with vibrant hues that reflected the sky above. those nuances made it difficult to distinguish the sea bed, making the surface almost opaque, illuminated by the small diamonds of light that glittered among the waves

. Rays of sunlight sparkled like molten gold on the surface of the water, creating a stunning visual spectacle. The waves lapping at the shore took on a captivating glass-like quality, as if each one carried within it an array of jewels from the heavens above. Such was the mesmerizing beauty of the sunset over the sea – a fleeting moment where nature unveiled its true splendor. The Sea was the second thing She loved the most. The first were nothing but Loki’s She’s. Precisely, that peculiar sparkle they had whenever She was around him.

Her eyes wept as she looked up, catching sight of the rainbow path of the Bifrost in the sky.

She sighed deeply, wishing to return to the ocean, her original home. Yet, her allegiance lay with Asgard now, and it tethered her to that realm.

The air was crisp and clean and the glowing stars seemed within touching distance. The grass was a lush green, soft like velvet.

People in Asgard were tall and regal, dressed in fine clothes that shimmered in the sunlight. Everywhere she looked, music and laughter filled the air.

Nereide felt as if she belonged here. She had been brought to Asgard as a child and had grown up among the people, learning their customs and ways. She had felt at home here ever since. Kinda…

Beautiful castles and palaces, towering mountains, lush forests and clear streams, and the vast ocean beyond. Her beloved Ocean…

In the distance, she could see the majestic Rainbow Bridge, which connected Asgard with the other Nine Worlds. It seemed to her that it was the most incredible sight she had ever seen.

As she explored the realm, she began to realize how magical it truly was. Everywhere she looked, there was beauty and mystery. She saw wonders that she had never imagined, and felt a deep connection to the people and places of Asgard.

This was the home she had always been looking for, the place where she truly belonged. Did She truly find her place in the universe? Or her someone?

Whenever She closed her eyes, the only thing She could She was Loki pressing his lips on her. She could feel them licking, biting, nibbling her lower Lip, how they moved Down her jawline and her neck, leaving her breathless. Between the crashing waves, She could still hear the husky yet sweet moan he made when She overpowered him.

Nereide was in limbo between Dreams and reality, her heart pounding in her chest as the Memory of Loki's eyes locked with hers. She had never been so close to someone before, neither him, and her heart was fluttering like a butterfly, as if it was struggling to take flight. Loki's gaze was so intense, so alluring, that it seemed like he could see into her soul. She felt like she was melting, Just likes the night before when She was squirming in his arms, and the warmth from his body felt like a nice, comforting embrace. Even though he was the God of Mischief, Chaos and destruction, Loki did smile a lot, and Nereide loved that. He was such a ray of Moon light when he smiled. His lips always curled up into either a grin or a coy smile.

Nereide blushed and looked away, her heart skipping a beat. The remembrance of His low and velveteen voice whispering in her ear sent shivers through her body. She let out a gasp, imaging that the Wind caressing her skin was His silky touch whenever he moved closer to her. The sensations of the material of His clothes gave her goosebumps, and She could feel the heat collecting Down into her womb. Nereide’s heart stopped as the wind brushed against her ear, thinking It was Loki’s lips.

He cerainly wasn’t hot. He was kinda different from the Asgardians. His skin was cold like ice

As she continued gazing at the brilliant colors arching across the heavens, Nereide felt torn between her love for both her worlds. In that moment, embracing seamist and sunlight, she found solace somewhere in between.

She stood up, closing her eyes while the wind was blowing furiously through her hair. With her hands on her heart, she took a breath and jumped in the water.

She decided it was time to visit her father in his grand underwater palace. As she ventured deep into the ocean depths, the surface world disappeared behind her, and the realm of the sea god began to unfold.

Poseidon's palace, hidden beneath Mount Olympus, was a shining city reminiscent of Atlantis. Towering spires sparkled like bioluminescent jellyfish amongst sprawling coral structures. It was said that the buildings themselves were made from living coral infused with the god's divine essence.

Nereide marveled at the vibrant colors as she continued her descent. The city bustled with mythical sea creatures – hippocamps, mermaids, and tritons – all mingling in perfect harmony.

She didn’t remeber it so colorful and welcoming. A smile drew on her lips while she turned herself into a water spiral, rushing to the palace.

As she approached Poseidon's palace at the heart of this wondrous city, Nereide noticed that it dwarfed even the grandest structures she had seen thus far. The colossal gates were adorned with intricate artwork depicting legendary battles between gods and sea monsters. Pearlescent tiles paved the grand entrance hall, reflecting light in myriad hues, making it look like a flowing river.

The throne room itself was a testament to Poseidon's power; an enormous chamber filled with marine life swimming through pillars sculpted by torrents of water. At its center towered a massive throne carved from ancient shells and precious gemstones. Upon it sat Poseidon himself, his strong presence echoed throughout this sanctum.

As Nereide entered her father's domain, the ancient ocean god Poseidon was still a majestic sight from the throne of his underwater kingdom. Nereide could not help but gaze upon him with awe.

The god of the sea reclined in his pearlescent throne, his broad shoulders and muscular frame a stark contrast to the delicate, swirling curves of the seat. He wore his trademark three-pronged trident upon his left shoulder, and his blue eyes glimmered with the depths of the ocean in them. His full beard was peppered with grey and seemed to move ever so slightly, as if it were livelier than the rest of his body.

-I am Poseidon, God of the sea. What do you want?

Poseidon spoke, his deep voice echoing through the chamber.

Nereide paused, her gaze shifting from her father to the marble floor. It had been years since she had last seen him. At first, she thought he had not recognised her.

-Father?

she said softly.

Poseidon snorted, and groaned, annoyed. He had seen this scene way too many times.

-Oh dear. Not another one. Who’s the mother this time?

-I…don’t know???

Nereide said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Poseidon's eyebrows rose, then he gave a hearty laugh.

-Oh, well that doesn't really surprise me. So, what do you need then, child?

Nereide hesitated, her nerves suddenly flooding to the surface. She glanced down at her father's hand, then back up to his face. She was thankful for the kindness in his tone, but her heart still raced with fear.

-I was here just to tell you–

She paused, gathering her courage and steadying her breathing.

-Wait. Don’t you really recognize me?

Poseidon raised his eyebrows, his eyes widening and his lips curling into a derisive smile. He leaned forward and placed his hand upon Nereide's head.

-Look, i have hundreds of kids; it can be though to keep track of all of you, ok? What do you want?

He began to lose his patience with her, but then, Nereide shouted:

- I’m Nereide! The one you sent on Asgard like 1000 years ago???

-Of course, my child

he said, and the warmth of his voice filled the room.

-oh well yeah i remember you.

Poseidon smiled warmly at his beloved daughter—a gesture of love amidst his evident authority as ruler of his oceanic kingdom and a complete jerk.

-So, why did you come by this time?

Nereide sat on the ground with her legs crossed.

-I arrived first in the healing category at the magic tournament and third with the pair match. Just wanted to tell you.

-Oh, you did? That’s an achievement! You’re really making your oldman proud!

he patted her head.

-I’ll reward you then, for your great performance. What do you want.

He acted exactly like a divorced father who didn’t want to know a single thing about his kids. Seeing him again made Nereide realize that Odin wasn’t that bad after all.

She shrugged, looking down at her feet.

-A hug is enough.

Poseidon laughed, and just threw her a pearl necklace.

-You are always welcome within my halls, my daughter. You have done me great honour.

Nereide chatced his gift, looking at it kinda disappointed.

-Thank you father

She wasn’t sure why she was thanking him.

Poseidon let enter two guards to accompany her back.

-Of course, my dear. Remember, you are my child, with all the power of the seas within you; you have my love and protection always and should you ever need it, my counsel is yours.

She was quickly dismissed, and she returned to Asgard as fast as she could.

He didn’t give her not even the sight of the hug she asked for.

Nereide was a vulnerable child when Poseidon left her, and the pain of his abandonment weighed heavily on her heart as she walked across the colors of the Rainbow Path, going back to the palace. Nereide was filled with emotional turmoil. She felt betrayed and abandoned, and this pain and sadness was further compounded by the fact that Poseidon had been so close to her. She had always looked up to her father, and felt a deep bond with him. For years, she had grown up believing that her father loved and cared for her, only for him to leave without a word. She felt like she was worthless and unloved, unwanted. Nereide was incredibly hurt and confused by Poseidon’s abandonment. She couldn’t understand why he had left her, and she had endless questions that she could never find an answer to. She felt as though she was stuck in an endless cycle of pain and anguish, with no way out.

Even though Nereide was a grown woman and had people in her life that she considered her family, she felt the pain of her father’s abandonment. It was like a wound that would never heal, and no matter how she stumbled her feet on the ground, she couldn’t seem to get rid of the pain.

Nereide's anger and sadness was further compounded by the fact that she struggled so much to find a sense of belonging in a realm that was kinda foreign to her.

Nereide was filled with a deep sadness. She felt lonely and isolated, like she was the only one who was going through this pain and suffering. She questioned why she had to be the one to be abandoned.

Nereide was so much overwhelmed by her emotions she began to speak by herself. She walked in the hall with her head held high.

-I should not care. I am a nymph. If i really belong to someone, i belong to Nature.

She heard a loud laugh behind her. She turned just to see Loki throwing his head back.

Nereide threw a wave of water on him.

-can you CUT IT OFF? I could actually fall for you if only you weren’t a jerk.

The water bounced off him and he was unfazed. His brows furrow.

-Me? A Jerk? You are a fool. You do not know how to deal with me, don’t you? Thanks for the bathe attempt anyway, but now my only purpose is to be your undoing.

-Fair enough

Nereide wasn’t in the mood for his stupid drama divah vibes.

-You must really like to play the role of the bad guy huh?

She kneeled on the ground.

-Believe me, Loki, if you continue this path you will only find your death.

She spoke in a threatening tone as she raised her hand waving them in the air, forming a water bubble.

Loki kept smiling wikedly. He was always amused to see her angry. It was such a rare moment. He didn’t even remember when was the last time he saw her this upset.

That day, Loki even wore his horned helmet and that gave shivers to Nereide. She loved him in his formal estate, but as he laughed again, she just wanted to run to her chamber and don’t leave it until the next day.

-It’s you who should be afraid, doll. I create my own fate. And i can decide yours.

She looked up at him, waving a no with her left hand. She froze the bubble and then turned it into a sword, keeping it at her side.

-Why are you trying to convince me? I am afraid, i actually am terrified. Not for my own existence, but yours.

-You think you can hurt me??? Try it.

-I can’t.

She let the sword melt and covered her mouth with one hand.

-I don’t want to hurt you.

-Really?

He leaned against a column.

-You don’t want to hurt me, you say, as if you didn’t just state that i should die because of you. What’s it all about, Nereide? Weren’t we playing to rule over Asgard like a few moths ago? Aren’t you into playing some stupid games with me?

Se didn’t care about his mean behaviours, she knew he was just trying to bring her up to the edge just to fight a little, and she thought that he probably did that so he could erease what he did the night before. She was still warm because of their kiss, and her mind was foggy because of the cruelty of her dad. And now, even Loki was playing with her.

-I never said you should die! That throne isn’t worth you. You could have so much more.

She was losing control over her emotions.

The only idea of Loki to become such a bad one like her father twisted her stomach. She swore, she never wanted to see him sitting on that stupid chair that meant nothing but awfulness.

Loki raised an eyebrow while he smirked.

-And what am i worth, in your eyes?

He stood up, slowly getting closer to her step by step.

-Tell me, Nereide, what is it you think i should be doing with my life?

As he was aproaching her, he reduced the volume of his voice, reaching a whisper filled with nervousness.

-What is my true potential? I am curious…

-You are worth to live, Loki. That’s all that matters to me.

He looked sightly concerned.

-You would care if i died? But why? Why do you even care in the first place?

A confused look came over his face.

-Have you...developed…something towards me? Is that what is all about?

-You worth MORE than anyone else. And i care if you died, because it’s not like i had developed feelings for you, i’m ever so fond of you, and wouldn’t do THAT yesterday if i wasn’t. And stop with all this circus! You still hadn’t realized yet, but you’re not evil! Just because you’ve done bad things doesn’t mean that you are evil.

She began to cry, sobbing like a child. All the emotions she felt from the Magic Tournament and that very moment were washed away by her thick tears.

Loki looked at her with his eyes pleeding. He felt bad for her. He pushed her enough. He sat next to her on the ground, is shoulders slumping.

-I feel it in my character now. I’d rather be feared than loved. I need people to be scared of me…or…why would they bother listening to me? I want people to fear me and respect me.

-You just want to prove to your father that you are someone, because you’re sure you live under Thor’s shadow, and that your parents prefer him. But you are loved. There are plenty of people out there that love you. And i adore you, no matter what you do, you will aways be you. That’s all that matters.

He couldn’t do anything but remain silent. Nereide got up,and ran upstairs.

Loki threw a frustrated punch on the floor.

He had been so sure that this would be the end, that after all his pushing, he might have pushed her away entirely. He pounded his fist against the floor once again, the sound echoing through the stillness of the empty hall. What had he done? He had taken her love, her kindness, and her trust, and in the end, he had pushed her away and made her feel unappreciated.

He knew he had hurt her, and the guilt weighed heavily on his heart. Nereide watched from a distance, her eyes tear-filled and sorrowful. He saw the despair in her gaze, and it cut through him like a knife. If only he could go back and undo all the wrong he had done.

Loki bowed his head, trying to make sense of the situation. He had wanted to make her flustered but he realized that the more he pushed, the more she clung. The truth was, she only wanted him to love her, and he had failed her in that respect.

He wished that he had appreciated her more during their days. He wished he had been more mindful of her feelings. He wished he had treated her with the love and respect she deserved. But he couldn’t help, he always ended up hurting her.

Nereide came closer, her steps tentative and hesitant. She stopped in front of him, her gaze studying his face in the faint light of the fading sun. He glanced up at her, and the love he saw in her eyes made his heart ache.

-Look, i'm sorry

He said, his voice filled with pain and regret.

-I never meant to hurt you. I was so selfish and stupid...i…i don’t enjoy hurting people

Nereide shook her head and stepped closer. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he felt her warmth seep into his skin.

-It's okay

She said.

-It's not your fault. We both made mistakes, and we'll both have to accept the consequences. But I want you to know that I am not mad with you. I’m dealing with other stuff now, that’s why i’m upset.

Loki turned back to her, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace.

-I'm sorry, I always ruin everything

Nereide sighed, her fingers running through his hair.

-it's okay. We can still fix this. We just need to take it one day at a time.

Loki nodded, his arms still around her. For the first time in a long time, he felt a sense of hope. Maybe they could make it work, if only he could be more open and honest about his feelings. He pulled away, looking into her eyes with a newfound understanding.

-I promise i'll try my best to make it up to you.

Nereide smiled, her eyes filled with love and understanding.

Loki leaned in and kissed her softly. He knew it would take time, but he was determined to make things right again. He held her close, and for the first time in a long time, he felt at peace.

Whenever Nereide thought of Loki, her stomach flipped with excitement and apprehension. Her cheeks Flushed as her thoughts immediately dart to that secret spot where she hides her hidden admiration for him.

When She was with him She could feel her chest tighten and her palms become clammy, fidgeting with her Fingers. She often found herself smiling uncontrollably as her thoughts turned to his mischievous smirk and the light-hearted banter they’ve enjoyed throughout the years.

Then, when she imagined his embrace, her skin Tingled with anticipation. She could feel her heart swell and her breathing quicken. As much as Nereide found herself daydreaming of the feeling of his lips on hers, of the softness of his big yet slender hands, and the intensity of his gaze when he looked into her eyes, and as much as she could taste the sweetness of his kiss, and feel the electricity of their connection, most of the times She realized he was there. She wasn’t Just picturing herself kissing him. It was His kisses that shutted Down her mind. He did maintain his promise once in a while.

No matter what, her thoughts always eventually turned back to Loki. She could feel her heart soar and her spirit ignite. She knew, She was sure that no matter what life throws their way, they will always be connected.

On the other hand, Loki's sexual tension and desire towards Nereide was such a complicated tension full of longing and anticipation that he could barely stand.

Of course He admired her beauty, intelligence, and independence and found himself drawn to her. He wanted to be around her, to be her friend, and to protect her from harm. But as their friendship grew and so they, He found himself longing for her presence. He was powerless. He wanted, he needed her body against his. He wanted to explore her and lose himself in her.

The intensity of his feelings scared him and made him feel vulnerable, but he couldn’t resist them.

Loki's desire for Nereide was overwhelming and undeniable. He wanted to possess her and to never let her go. He wanted to learn her body and to make her his own. He wanted to make her feel desired and loved, and to bring her pleasure like she had never experienced before. God, he knew She was a Virgin and claimed her virginity as His long time ago. He wanted to be Her First and he knew he was going to be.

It was consuming him, he wanted to fuck Her slowly in his bed evrytime they fell asleep together. It was a miracle that he never got up grinding against her soft thighs. Loki swallowed. The pretty image of Nereide spread out on his bedsheet with his hand shoved Down Her gown and his fingers filling Her up as She lets out breathy moans began to invade his head. And dear Goodness, he felt so dirty for It. And dumb. How could he possibly consume His frustration with plenty of princes and princesses when he Just wanted Her?

He often found himself this near to moan Nereide’s name under the sheets.

He wanted to lose His breath between Her legs. He wanted to to be soaked in Her fluids.

He wanted Her to cry for him.

He wanted to fuck Her in that very moment where he was pressing Her against the marble floor in the main hall while their tongues were intetwining.

But he let Her go once again.

Loki knew She was frightened.

She couldn’t bear His loss, She wanted to keep all this a secret. They both had quite the bad reputation, it was obvious that a relationship between them wasn’t pleased.

*

Loki strode into the grand ballroom, his long legs carrying him quickly and confidently across the polished marble. His dark hair was swept back from his forehead and his deep eyes sparkled with amusement, almost seeming to dance amidst the flickering candlelight. He moved with grace, his every movement echoed by the sound of the music that filled the air.

Yet there was something about him that felt out of place. He always felt likes the black sheep of the family. Some tiny detail that made it obvious to him that he did not belong amongst the rich and elegant guests. For one, there was the slight sheen that seemed to linger on his skin, like the glimmer of frost on a cold winter morning. For another, the very air seemed to still around him, as if something in his presence had caused time to pause.

No one else seemed to notice the strangeness of Loki. All eyes were drawn to Thor as he walked amongst the guests, and everyone who looked upon him smiled in admiration.

Loki was dressed in the finest garments and his horned helmet. He knew his Little Nereide had some dirty thoughts about it. He was always deligted to see Her struggling, trying not to stare at him. His skin, while pale, was flawless, as if it had been untouched by the weather and time. His features were sharply handsome, with a strong jawline and a sharp nose that gave him an air of regal power.

Loki almost seemed to shimmer as he moved. He was like an embodiment of winter, a cold and beautiful force that seemed to command the attention of all those present.

But his heart manager to skip a bit anyway as Nereide’s voice reached his shoulders.

She always called him Her “moon kissed boy”.

He grabbed Her by the elbow dragging Her away from the dining hall.

-Are you still upset, darling? Too bad if you aren’t, because i know a way to distract you.

***

A/N: Hi there folks! This is the first time i write a few lines to all of you. I'd like to thank you all that is reading, i hope you're enjoying the story. I'm sorry if it is a bit slow in the beginning, but i had quite an enormous story in mind and had to summarize it. I will make sure to make some flashbacks.

I don't know who edited the photo above, but i'd like to thank them!!!

Also, i'd like to thank Junisfics and her The Worthy fic. It really helps me to draw inspiration for the smut scenes.

Anyway pals, this is where the true fun begins eheheh.

Should i add a tag list? Let me know if you are interested!

#loki #loki fanfiction #loki imagine #loki laufeyson #loki smut #loki x oc #loki x original female character #to prove to you #to prove to you canon #loki x y/n #loki x reader