#when the found family does anything at all >>>>>

[sqgeism]

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 lay on the horn to prove that it haunts me | amphoreus men x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; ! i love you, i'm sorry ! NEVER have a soulmate as an immortal. written by amphoreus men 🤦‍♀️

love mail — trend made me sad. decided to make it EVERYONE ELSES PROBLEM!!!!!!!!!!!

soulmated so hard, i couldn't live without you. anaxa knew his goal; to fuse with the titan cerces. but when he knew it was time, and he held his hand over his chest, his mind raced with a thought of one possibility. that maybe if he sacrificed his mortal body, that at least his consciousness could meet yours again. in a kinder, softer life.

anaxa was no fool, the possibilities of life after death were endless—absolute nothingness, a 'heaven' and 'hell', or maybe he'll be reborn. with a family who won't leave, and a lover he does not have to mourn early.

and as he holds out his coreflame to the sky, it feels like offering his heart to you all over again. everyone thinks he smiled because he fulfilled his duty as a chrysos heir, but it was in fact that in the 2 minutes and 11 seconds of him realizing he had passed the trial of reason; he had just enough time to replay his memories of you, and was ready to go home.

soulmated so hard, i couldn't make your favorite dish without feeling sick. mydei's love language was always cooking, he adored seeing that smile on your face whenever he made you his favorite dish, laughing at how fast you would eat and warn you to slow down. now he can't even smell the aroma of it without wanting to throw up.

it isn't his fault, he knows it isn't. but he can still smell the blood whenever he tries to. he can't smell a dish; he smells a battlefield. it makes him feel so weak but he isn't even mad about it, he's just a man in mourning. a husband mourning his lover who had gone far too soon.

call it silly, he doesn't care. but he kept the leftovers he made for you the night prior to your death still left in the freezer. it's like keeping a piece of you, really. he can't afford to lose anything else or it'll feel like you're really gone.

soulmated so hard, i'm yours in every universe but you can't be mine. phainon feels like he's just doomed for some kind failure and hardship in every universe, but the one consistent heartache will always be you. it's stupid, really. he'll see that smile he won't forget, fall in love with every version of you, only to have you taken away right before he can tell you how he feels. the worst part is that he knows you reciprocate, he found the unsent letters you wrote for him and he still keeps them in his jacket pockets. reads 'em whenever he feels hopeless because a new death means a new life, and even if he can't have you, he'll at least know you. even if his love will have you doomed forever. for who is phainon if he does not love you unconditionally through every rebirth of you?

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[likeabxrdinflight]

#fork found in kitchen#confession has ALWAYS been this fucked up#it's the secular law that has changed#and made it necessary for the church to remind people of this canon law#priests have and will continue to go to jail (or even die) to protect the seal of confession#and priests have and will continue to be excommunicated and defrocked for breaking the seal in favor of the law#also. there's a lot of people surprised that priests are not already mandated reporters#thats not true. in most places (in the US) priests ARE mandated reporters and always have been.#but most of those places have an exception for confessor-penitant privilege

Prev's tags felt important to include. It also feels important to note that in any other context, a priest is a mandated reporter. Catholic school teachers are mandated reporters, and all clergy, staff, and teachers affiliated with a catholic church will undergo a child abuse protection training called "protecting god's children" which will include information about mandated reporting. Confession, however, has also been the one exception. It shouldn't be, but this is the way it has always worked.

I will say this though, as someone who is a mandated reporter and has had to make calls to child protective services- in theory, the law makes sense. In theory it is in place to protect children and keep them safe. In theory we should all want that, right? We should want abuse to be stopped and children to be kept safe. But in practice? That just doesn't happen. I agree that priests should be bound by the same laws and limits to confidentiality as any helping profession- if I have to break the therapeutic relationship to report suspected child abuse or neglect, so should a priest. Churches shouldn't be above the law in this way. Especially the catholic church, which has a pretty notorious history of abusing children itself.

But it is worth acknowledging the nuance that in reality, child protective services are almost always dead fucking useless. I hate when I have to call them, nothing fills me with more dread as a clinician, because I know what's almost inevitably going to happen- families get upset with me, everyone's freaked out and anxious, if I'm treating a child they're going to be scared about being taken away from their parents, if I'm treating an adult they're either going to be pissed off with me or anxious or both. Often the opportunity to actually help the family is compromised. And then CPS will either hear my report and say "we can't do anything sorry" or they'll visit the family one time and then close the case. It is rare, in my experience, that they actually intervene in a way that anyone finds helpful. It is rare that they provide the kinds of supports and services that actually do prevent child abuse. And it is rare that a child is actually removed from an abusive situation. And in the circumstances where they are, it's usually traumatizing for the entire family system. Anyone who's worked adjacent to the foster care system will know how badly this can go.

It is also worth noting that this system can be exploited, and it certainly can be racist. Black and brown parents are significantly more likely to be reported for child abuse, and black and brown children are significantly more likely to be removed from their homes on the rare case that CPS actually does decide to intervene. The system is often punitive, not supportive, and it frequently upholds white supremacy. And I think, very often, the thing CPS is supposed to do- protect children from abuse- doesn't actually happen. Maybe every once in a while a child's life is saved. But many more children are only further traumatized. Many many more are not protected, and abuse continues to happen behind closed doors. Many who are removed from their abusive families end up in equally if not more abusive foster homes. Around and around it goes.

So I am not saying that priests deserve some special exception to the law just because they're priests and just because they work in a religious setting. A mandated reporter is a mandated reporter, there should be no exceptions. But it is worth having a conversation about whether or not mandated reporting itself actually helps anyone. It is worth having a conversation about whether or not CPS actually does any good, and it is worth having a conversation about how this system more often than not fails to protect children and families and is instead used as an extension of the police force. Is this really the best way to help prevent or stop child abuse? I certainly don't think it is.

in case anyone was forgetting what the church was all about

[lauren7050]

Okay I need y’all to hear me out on this. Lowkey based on my last little blurb.

Simon sees you as a little sister so he automatically protective over you, even though you both know damn well you can take care of yourself.

You’re able to talk with him more than the other guys do. You don’t push, you listen to whatever he wants to talk about. It goes the same for you, but he allows you to put your feet on his lap and (after some time) play with his hair.

Speaking of playing with his hair, he feels totally comfortable with taking his mask off around you. He knows you won’t judge and won’t make a big deal out of it.

Everybody else seems jealous of the relationship the two of you have. Constantly bickering and talking about everything under the sun.

Total Grumpy x sunshine vibes. You definitely have scary dog privileges when you’re out and about. (Skebshdk I love this for them)

Total brother and sister vibes. He picks on you and vise versa. But heaven forbid anyone else does.

You almost have to hold him back from punching whoever said it.

Anywho you guys are two peas in a pod, ride or die for each other. Even with all the bickering and the teasing, the fun moments make it all worth it.

He loves you and you love him. You’d do anything for him and the same goes for him.

Idc if this seems out of character but I love found family tropes like this <3

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

more cute j word stuff 😳

Follow-up to this post, which covers episodes 1-3. This post will cover episodes 4 and 5, plus anything from the voice lines and recently unlocked vignettes!

Jade teases Grim about having "become close" with his mother (even though Grim is very obviously expressing that he is fearful of Georgina) 😭

HE SUGGESTS GOING TO AN OUTDOOR MARKET??? 🫣 (<- basic bitch who loves farmer’s markets, art markets, etc.) Y-You shouldn’t have, J word…

dvjsbekeke I DONmT KNoW WHY but I found it really cute when Jade gave Riddle advice on which seasoning is best to get as a souvenir for Trey, especially when he pointed out that sea salt can be enhance the taste of sweets and not just be used for savory dishes ig I like a guy that can cook

Him convincing everyone to buy fragranced soap (and getting some himself) 🧼 🙂‍↕️ (<- likes nice-smelling men and I am slightly offended when my friends joke he must smell like rotting fish)

NOT HIM CASUALLY PROMoING ThE MOSTRO LOUNGE AgAiN 😭 (This time Jade mentions they sometimes offer gelato at the lounge!) IF THIS IS A PLOy TO BAiT ME TO AZUL’S eAtERY IT’S WoRKING BC i LOVE GELSAtO🍦

Bro’s so excited to go ham on this lovey dovey couple 💀 “Let’s target their weak point ❤️” (I exaggerated it by adding a heart emoji but he does actually express this sentiment) whAtEVEFr you say, J wORD

Crowley: NRC students don’t like to work together, they have too much pride!! (Jade, this event: *directs the team to dire water guns together at the bride and groom*) I’m happy that at least the mutual goal of causing havoc unites them…

THE WAY hE GETS EVEN MORE hyPED UP AnD DETERmINED WhDN HE’S PRESENTED WitHBA CHALLenGE????!?????!??

Encouraging Malleus to use MORE force 😭

Praising Rook’s aim!!! 🔥

Claiming believes in Riddle’s skills and then going, “No, I think you will lose control and crash” when Riddle asks if he really means it…

LETTING RiDDLE THINK tHEY’LL LAUCH ROOkmS CAPSiZED BOAT INTO THE COUPLE’s bOaT EGEN REALLY jadE MEANT TO ySE RUDDLE’S BOAT WhILD ee RIDDLE Is STILL IN IT???!?!

His and Riddle’s magic fighting causing fireworks 🎇

HE FLIPPED OVER THAT ROWBOAT BY HIMSELF despite making a big deal about how difficult it is to do at the start of the event dhsbkwsjkabajwk and he leapt in the waters like a dolphin just to show tf off

“Do you understand the power of an eel merman now?" IMM SoRRH Y JADE J ndeVWr ShOUlvdVE DoYBTED yOU zdoR A SiNGLR SECONd oTL

He acts all humble and says he was able to give his all + the Eternity Float was a success thanks to everyone’s support and being there to liven things up 😭 StOOOOOO P i CAN5’TTTTT

Awww, he’s relieved he got to see the bride and groom smiling…

THE WAY THE EVENT ENDS???? Jade says that if any of us get married to a merperson then they must have an Eternity Float! Then Georgina adds that the Leech Family will lend their support if such a thing were to occur. UM????? TF DOES THAT NMEAN????? Fund our wedding...

ANDALSO>????? SINCE JADE WAS ABLE TO FLIP OVER THAT BOAT BY HimSELF STATH MEANS FLYOD CAN DO IT BY HIMSELF WhILE JADE'S ON RTHE ROWBOAT WITH HIS SPoiUASE (i-in the case that Jade ends up marry a non-merperson, of course) 💀

Jade telling Malleus (in Malleus's vignettes) to listen to Grim (who, by proxy, will be Jade's representative as a rowing instructor). hubfasdbfasdf AND HE KNEW NOTHING WOULD COME OF IT, THEN ACTUALLY BECAME SURPRISED WHEN GRIM WHINING ABOUT NOT GETTING HIS FOOD WET OR SPILLED ENDS UP HELPING WITH MALLEUS'S BALANCE

Him calling merfolk who choose to marry humans "odd" when he's odd himself OTL

HE WANTS TO RIDE A GONDOLA TO MADE HIS ENTRANCE AT HIS OWN WEDDING IF IT WERE HELD ON LAND... Okay, ITALIAN/j

He loves the views from atop the highest point in Ultramarine City and talks about how the view from atop cliffs would be even more lovely.

Humble king who says it will take him a while before he can even compare to his elegant and mature mother. (Rook says that Jade resembles his mother in their "gentle demeanors" and "calm, mysterious auras"

TALKINGA BOUT HOW HE WANTS TO DO EVEN BETTER AT THE NEXT ETERNITY FLOAT

He's honored by Yuu complimenting his outfit and says it makes him feel like standing up straighter...

Complimenting his mother's fashion sense????? Instead of being embarrassed by her...

Jade seems to get all nostalgic talking about how he never imagines the day would come that he would be able to walk in this city on his own two legs. He used to just... gaze at it longingly from the waters. His younger self would be shocked to see where he is today 😭😭😭

In his vignettes, he is happy that we have high expectations of him!! If you pick the uncertain dialogue option, he reassures you the items aren’t dubious… probably.

He’s aware that items that are no interest to him may be of interest to land dwellers!!

Jade reconnects with someone that took care of him while he was on land and learning about human life with Azul and Floyd. He is friendly to them ^^

The school staff member mentions wanting to come up with spots so interesting to visit that it would make “even the Jade from back in the day” be surprised! 😭 HE REMeMVERED j ADE??? And this seems to imply kid!Jade had limited interest in life on land???

His teachers praised his attitude, grades, and appearance… Perfect angel, can do no wrong/j

LMAO in middle school, Jade went missing for three days. (He loves going out after rain or storms because it’s easier to find unusual things!!) dhwvwsisnkw He was distracted by something shiny he found and chased that light!

HE cALLs HImSeLDf iNNOcEnT

Bro got caught in a whirlpool and claims he nearly starved because he struggled to find fish, thinking he would die… I can’t tell if he’s exaggerating or not 💀

GEORGINA aqueezED hIM so TiGHT HIS bONES CRAvKED anD FlOYD lAUGHED At HIM

Not him basically going “If I am being told to not do something, doesn’t it make you want to do it even more?”

WAH 😭 Georgina is happy that Jade now has a friend that will tell him off sternly (Riddle) as well as a friend that does his best to understand Jade and accepts him as he is (Rook).

“This is good stimulation for you, Jade.” HE AGREES, NRC IS FULL OF INTERESTING PEOPLE 🙂‍↕️

NAuUUUuuUyR Jade says he will one day return to the sea, but for now he is enjoying his school life with everyone 🥺

*CRAMS ThiS CONTENT IN MY MOUFHT AND SLI0WPLY DisaigGETS IT FOr SUVCBSTENCANNCE*

[haridraws]

Hello, I hope you don’t mind me replying in a public reblog. I thought it'd be interesting to expand a little bit on this history for people who haven't heard of them - and on why I sort of think all of this is simultaneously true, and considering gender variation expansively can be useful for thinking about queer history!

I definitely don’t mean to say the Ladies of Llangollen were specifically punished for what they wore, or that they didn’t also wear skirts! The writing is mostly talking about other cases, just using this picture I already drew for the full history section to break up the text, but I totally see why the placement may look misleading here.

In the book itself, this is in the fashion section after explaining short hair was fashionable on women, and next to a caption that just says they “wore riding habits and hats considered more ‘masculine’.” (We have 17-19thC records of men generally disliking women’s riding clothes because they viewed them as not feminine enough, something that still happens with women’s sports clothes today.) Personally I found a lot of even French fashion plates with women’s riding hats in this style still had some kind of softer shape or element of decoration at this time, and saw the Ladies of Llangollen picture as really looking quite like men’s hats when seen side by side.

(These were the absolute most masculine ones I could find while researching the book, among many other more decorative ones, though I’d be interested if you’ve seen more!)

I’m sure I know much less about them, but my impression was also that their having to escape family expectations in Ireland is a way in which you might say they were to some extent outcasts, insofar as they ended up having to live outwith the society they grew up in (though the wording is a bit strong because it's really discussing other figures!) Of course, they were very much famous and quite beloved, lots of big names came to visit as a curiosity - but I think we can at least agree they're still people who did actually have to leave the country to get away from gendered expectations of them.

Mainly I think we might just mean different things by ‘gender non-conforming’, which I don’t mean as ‘equivalent of non-binary or genderqueer’, but in its broad and literal sense! I would say not marrying and going to live with a woman IS inherently not conforming to what’s expected of women at this time, and so was short women’s hair, even though it was a trend.

I don’t know if this is a source you don’t rate, but from whatever image - like Anne Lister - IMO their presentation is both not way beyond the bounds of what’s generally acceptable, but I also don’t think you could say it’s wholly conforming to the ideal of what most of society expected for women then. People are even still weird about straight, cis, traditionally 'feminine' women having short hair in the 21st century, and I think 'gender non-conforming' can be a useful phrase even just to talk about elements that only relate to appearance.

As a bit of a sidebar, we also live in a time now where anti-trans legislation attempts to confine all women to a narrow presentation range, but affects cis women who'd not see themselves as anything but women in terms of their identity at all. So I suppose I see pushing any boundaries of gender presentation as very linked now and historically, and broadening out definitions can often bring new possibilities. Most queer and particularly trans historians I’ve read take quite a broad view of what to consider when thinking about the many ways gender was historically more expansive than some people might think, including trends, and don't consider one interpretation as precluding any other.

Anyway, basically those mini instagram graphics are shortened from an 8-page illustrated history notes section at the back of a historical fiction book. It's a story using real history (and my modern experience) to imagine someone who does have an internal sense of gender at odds with what they're assigned - but it doesn't actually put a label even on the character, and I hope is pretty clear that we can never know the feelings of real people in the past, who existed with their own societally-specific ideas about gender and sexuality. (Though personally I don't really have beef with say, a big researcher of Anne Lister calling her 'the modern equivalent of a butch lesbian' as a way to get people interested.)

My book just has very short introductions that don’t include all the nuance - I’m not a professional historian and wanted them to be accessible to total beginners and young readers. (Though it does include sections about romantic friendships, as well as why we can't really label historical figures in a modern way!)

Mostly I wanted to point people towards finding out more for themselves, and hope it gives interested readers specific figures to look up and resources to get into!

Excuse the format (I made this for instagram since that's what the publisher wants, rip) but this is basically a shorter, easy-to-read version of the history section at the back of my new book. (Part 1 || The book)

More about my relationship with queer history (& section 28) under the cut

Looking up history to make a fun queer historical rom-com opened my eyes to how my entire idea of the past in this country was way off.

It also made me realise that part of the reason queer history felt like such new, revelatory information was a law that banned it, which was still in place when I was at school.

Section 28 was put in place by Margaret Thatcher in the 80s, banning "promotion of homosexuality" in UK schools and local authorities. Local libraries were forbidden from stocking anything with LGBT content, and it effectively stopped teachers mentioning any queer history, leaving them scared to even accidentally mention a same-sex partner.

-

just want to add a quote from that article:

legends.

-

Although the law was finally repealed in the 00s, it cast a long shadow. Older teachers were used to it, history books conformed to it, and new teachers still feared homophobic backlash.

Today there's a huge and disturbing rise in anti-trans rhetoric and legislation being attempted in schools and beyond, and it mirrors the homophobic conversations of the 80s. The truth that we've always been here gets met with vitriol - and to be honest, also just outright surprise even by well-intentioned, otherwise widely-read cis and straight people I know, especially in older generations.

I feel like there's also the flipside: once I listened to a podcast where two american women, older than me, were both SHOCKED that anyone was ever executed in Britain for being gay?? For me the threat of execution (before 1824), exile or imprisonment (the two years of hard labour that famously lead to the death of Oscar Wilde) were the main, only things I grew up aware of about queer history.

At best, the queer history I saw growing up was absolute tragedy. Part of what was such a revelation when researching was reading historical accounts that hint at hidden queer histories, secret joys and long, complex lives.

So by the time I finished researching my historical romance book, I'd decided to make an illustrated history section at the back too - these pics are a mini version.

I wish more people knew about the real history we have and how far back it goes - I hope someone unfamiliar might be able to get get a tiny introduction, and recs for ways to get a clearer view of our past.

[szariahwroteit]

Girls Need Love: A Kylian Mbappè x Original Character Erotic Series.

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 24

Kylian needn't utter a word for Giselle to know he was drained. His first season at Real Madrid was coming to a close, and "bittersweet" was the only way he could describe how he felt as the season began to roll towards its end.

It had been historical, momentous even, yet it ultimately fell short of the aspirations he had set for himself upon achieving a dream he'd set for himself in his childhood.

With an exit from the Champions League earlier than anyone within Real Madrid’s organization would have liked and a loss in a cup final against Spanish rivals Barcelona, all Kylian needed was a moment to breathe and Monte Carlo provided a space for him to do with exactly that.

With the season slowing, the players were given the week to rest and reset before continuing in pursuit of glory.

“My mom would lose it if she found out I was in a casino,” Giselle chuckled, the sound bright and airy as it echoed off the marble walls of the opulent establishment. The glimmer of crystal chandeliers above cast a warm glow that danced across her features, making her eyes sparkle with mischief. Kylian couldn’t help but smile in response, the joy in her laughter infectious, as he guided her through the lavish building bustling with life and luxury at the heart of Monte Carlo.

“Why?” Kylian asked in amusement, the click of Giselle's heels against the Mable filling the space around them.

“She was never that strict, but gambling and lying are two non-starters for her. My dad used to play poker with his colleagues every couple of months and after every poker night they’d argue.”

Kylian raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the insight into Giselle's family dynamics. “Sounds like she has strong principles,” he said, guiding her past lavishly dressed patrons and the shimmering rows of slot machines.

“Oh, she does,” Giselle replied a hint of nostalgia in her voice. “But I think it’s more about the trust. She always believed in honesty, even when it came to something like poker.” She paused, glancing at the vibrant tables where players were engrossed in their games. “It made my dad’s love for cards a bit of a sore spot. I always found it fascinating, though... how much emotion can be wrapped up in a game.”

Kylian chuckled, his gaze lingering on the emerald felt of a nearby blackjack table. “And what about you? Is it a sore spot for you too?”

Giselle thought for a moment, her lips curving into a playful smile. “Not at all. In fact, I’m more curious than anything. There’s no reward without risk, anything can happen.”

“True,” he agreed, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “But let’s be honest, I brought you here for the experience, not to become a high-stakes player.”

“Are you a high-stakes player?” Giselle smirked.

“I don't care for losing,” Kylian said with a sly grin, his confidence radiating from him. "I prefer to play it smart, stick to the games where I can gauge my odds."

Giselle tilted her head, a glint of mischief dancing in her eyes. "So, you're telling me you're a calculated risk-taker?"

Kylian nodded, the playful banter drawing him closer to her. "Exactly.”

“Was I a calculated risk?” Giselle asked, her cheeks flushing as the question flew from her mouth and their eyes met.

“It's paying off,” Kylian smirked as he leaned slightly closer, their faces just inches apart. “I’m all in.”

“Stop,” Giselle blushed, holding her hand up to his face and playfully covering his eyes, evading Kylian's intense gaze.

“Am I making you nervous?” Kylian teased, his hands finding the curve of her hips as he gently pulled her closer, his voice low and inviting.

“No,” Giselle lied, the warmth in her cheeks and fluttering of her stomach suggesting the very opposite.

Kylian's teasing demeanor only fueled the spark igniting between them, a palpable energy buzzing in the air. He could feel the heat radiating off Giselle under the crystal chandeliers.

"Really?" he asked, leaning closer still, the soft scent of her perfume enveloping him. "Because your nipples are hard and I have barely even touched you."

Giselle's breath hitched at Kylian's bold comment, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of crimson as his words hung provocatively in the air. The playful atmosphere shifted subtly, charged with an intensity that made her heart race.

“Wow, you don’t hold back, do you?” she said, attempting to sound nonchalant, but her voice trembled slightly.

“I don’t see the point in doing that with you, you're mine,” Kylian replied, his eyes locked onto hers with an undeniable intensity.

Giselle was in quiet awe as she allowed Kylian to lead her through the room, between his presence and the allure of the casino around them, she felt a whirlpool of excitement and desire swelling within her.

As they approached a lush, velvet-lined section of the casino, Kylian paused, turning to face her completely. The buzz of gamblers around them faded into the background, the chaos of the casino becoming a mere whisper against the charged silence that enveloped them. The flicker of a nearby table's spotlight illuminated his features, making her acutely aware of the muscles beneath his t-shirt.

“Giselle,” he whispered into her ear, the warmth of his touch and the depth of his voice sending shivers down her spine. “We should make this more personal.”

“How?” Giselle asked, curiosity flashing in her eyes.

“A bet between us,” Kylian grinned knowingly.

“Even on your days off, you still choose to compete,” Giselle laughed softly, the energy between them lustful, while remaining reserved in such a public space.

Kylian chuckled in response, his lips curling into a sly smile. "It's all in good fun. Besides, the stakes could be... interesting."

Giselle raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What kind of bet are we talking about here?"

“The kind where if you lose, you end the night completely naked,” Kylian whispered hotly into her ear.

“And if I win?” Giselle asked, her heart racing at the tantalizing implication of his words.

Kylian leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin. “If you somehow end the night with more chips than me,” he said, a confident smirk on his lips, “I’ll be at your beck and call for the rest of the time we are in Monte Carlo. Whatever you want to do, I’ll be your willing servant.”

Giselle's heart raced with excitement and apprehension. “That sounds like a very enticing wager,” she replied, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest.

Kylian's grin widened, sensing her eagerness. “Then it’s settled.”

They made their way to one of the bustling poker tables, the air charged with excitement and anticipation. Kylian took a seat, motioning for Giselle to join him. She settled in beside him, the velvet fabric of the chair cool against her skin, contrasting the heat simmering between them.

As players shuffled their cards and placed their bets, Kylian leaned closer to Giselle, his voice low and intimate. “Just remember, the key to poker is patience. Don’t rush into anything.”

“I think I can manage that,” she replied, a teasing smile curving her lips as she turned her head to look at the dealer, revealing a graceful line of her neck that made Kylian’s pulse quicken.

The dealer began to deal the cards, and Kylian glanced at his hand before turning his attention to Giselle. “What's your strategy?” he asked, genuinely interested in her approach.

“I say just enjoy the game, feel it out. If I get a good hand, I’ll go all in,” she said with confidence.

“Bold,” Kylian chuckled. “But you’re right, sometimes you have to take risks to reap the rewards.”

As the game continued, Giselle found herself swept up in the swirling emotions and tension of the table. Kylian’s mere presence beside her was electrifying. He offered soft whispers of advice, his breath grazing her ear, sending shivers down her spine each time he leaned in close.

Time seemed to blur as they played; they were absorbed in each other amid the chaos of the casino. Giselle exhaled with a mix of frustration and delight as she won a few rounds and lost some too, always with Kylian’s steady hand guiding her, his laughter ringing through the air like the sweetest melody.

”You are better than I thought you would be," he teased, his eyes gleaming with admiration as she won another round.

Giselle felt a rush of excitement wash over her, the playful competitive spirit igniting a fire within her. “Have I ever given you a reason to underestimate me?”

Kylian shook his head, a grin spreading across his face, clearly amused by her confidence. “Never. I’ve always believed you could handle yourself. It’s just nice to see it in action.”

The tension at the table was palpable, but Giselle could only focus on Kylian. The way he leaned in closer, his body brushing against hers, sent her heart racing with each whispered word.

“Okay, let’s see if this next hand can sway the odds,” Kylian said, straightening up as the dealer prepared to deal again.

As the cards were distributed, Giselle felt a flutter of nerves mixed with excitement. She glanced at her hand and then back at Kylian, who was watching her intently. “What are you thinking?” she asked, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, a habit she had developed when she was nervous.

“Trust your instincts,” he replied, his gaze never leaving hers. “And remember, it’s all about the bluff. Confidence is key.”

Giselle nodded, feeling the warmth of his encouragement wrapping around her. They played through the hand, and as the tension mounted, she carefully calculated her moves, glancing frequently at Kylian for reassurance. He caught her eye and smiled, a flash of understanding passing between them.

When it came time to place her bet, Giselle hesitated for just a moment, looking for guidance. Kylian raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed with her restraint. “You’re not just going all in without thinking it through. I like that.”

With a determined nod, Giselle pushed a stack of chips forward. “All in,” she declared, her voice ringing with confidence.

The players around the table gasped, and Kylian's smile widened, his admiration evident. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, pride evident in his voice.

As the others contemplated their next moves, Giselle stole a glance at Kylian. The intensity in his gaze made her feel powerful, igniting something deep within her that was both exhilarating and dangerous.

The final card was revealed, and with a quick assessment of her hand, Giselle felt the thrill of victory wash over her. “I think I have it,” she said triumphantly, her heart racing in excitement.

The other players revealed their hands one by one, and as she watched each of them fall short of her combination, Giselle's heart soared. Finally, it was Kylian’s turn. He laid down his cards, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw he had a strong hand too, but just not strong enough to beat hers.

“I can’t believe it!” Giselle gasped, clapping her hands together in delight. “I actually won!”

Kylian laughed, throwing his head back in genuine amusement. “I’m impressed,” he admitted, his eyes sparkling with admiration. “I underestimated you this time.”

A rush of thrill coursed through Giselle as she reveled in her surprise victory, but then the reality of their earlier wager hit her, and she felt a spark of mischief. “So, Kylian,” she said with a playful smirk, leaning forward a little, “I believe you owe me an evening of servitude.”

His composure shifted slightly, and a playful glint lit his eyes. “How exactly do you want to collect on that?”

Giselle glanced around, ensuring no one was paying too much attention to their exchange, and then leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, “Take me somewhere fun.”

“What kind of fun?” Kylian asked curiously.

“Somewhere else my mom wouldn't approve of,” she smirked teasingly.

“I don't know how much longer I can support your bad behavior, my goal is to get your mother's approval.” Kylian chuckled, yet the playful banter only fueled Giselle's excitement.

“Isn’t my approval enough?” Giselle asked, looking up at him through her lashes.

Kylian's gaze locked onto hers, a mix of mirth and intrigue dancing in his eyes. "Absolutely," he responded, his tone low and earnest. "But your mother's approval would mean a lot to me.”

Giselle had been rendered speechless, no man came without their flaws, but somehow Kylian managed to turn each of his into something charming, an intriguing balance between confidence and vulnerability that captivated her.

"Alright, so what will it be?" she asked, breaking the momentary spell that lingered between them, her heart still racing.

Kylian leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the table as he contemplated the possibilities. "I can take you to a gentleman's club nearby, outrageous enough for you?” he smirked.

Giselle's heart raced at the suggestion, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling within her. The idea of stepping into a gentleman's club was thrillingly scandalous, and she felt the adrenaline surge through her veins.

“That sounds perfect,” she replied, her voice laced with mischief as she met Kylian's gaze, a spark of adventure igniting between them.

Giselle watched as he pulled his phone from his pocket, holding the device up to his ear as he made arrangements for his driver to pick them up. The anticipation electrified the air around them, and Giselle could feel her pulse quickening as Kylian hung up, determination glimmering in his eyes.

“Just a moment away,” he said, looking at her with a smile that made her stomach flutter. “Are you ready for this?”

Giselle nodded, though her heart raced in a flurry of nerves and excitement. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

They stepped outside, where a sleek black car awaited them, the driver standing elegantly beside the door. Kylian opened the door for her, and she slipped inside with a graceful smile, feeling the soft leather beneath her. Kylian joined her, settling close enough that the warmth of his body radiated towards her.

As the car glided through the illuminated streets of Monte Carlo, Giselle couldn’t help but steal glances at Kylian. The confident way he leaned back against the seat, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes, made her feel bold and alive. She was surrounded by luxury, but it was his presence that truly exhilarated her.

“Tell me more about this club,” Giselle said, trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach. “What’s it like?”

“It’s exclusive, but not intimidating. The performances are typically artistic, not just dances,” he explained, leaning in closer to her. “Wait until you see for yourself.”

Giselle could only imagine what awaited them, her anticipation growing with each passing moment. The car turned onto a quieter road, and soon they arrived at their destination. The entrance to the club was elegant, adorned with gold accents and soft ambient light.

As Kylian stepped out first, he extended his hand toward her once again. They walked toward the entrance, the soft murmur of music spilling out as they stepped inside. The atmosphere enveloped them, pulsing with a mixture of laughter and soft melodies. Giselle’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the lavish decor — rich fabrics, warm lighting, and elegantly dressed patrons mingling effortlessly with the erotic dancers scattered throughout the room.

“Wow,” she breathed, her eyes wide as she took it all in.

“Stay close,” Kylian said, his low voice sending a warmth through her as he placed a guiding hand on the small of her back.

They made their way to a plush seating area slightly elevated from the rest of the club, giving them an excellent view of the stage. The anticipation crackled in the air as Giselle settled into the velvet cushions, feeling slightly spoiled in the best possible way.

“What’s first?” Giselle asked as she watched Kylian scan the room, excitement bubbling within her.

“Drinks, of course,” he replied, signaling a server with a knowing smile. “Trust me; we can’t enjoy the show without the right drinks.”

Moments later, the server returned with two elegant cocktails, their colors vibrant and enticing. Kylian raised his glass, and Giselle followed suit, a smile widening on her face as they clinked their glasses together.

“To adventure,” he toasted, his gaze steady on hers.

Giselle felt a warmth bloom within her, every pulse screaming that this night held promise. “To adventure,” she echoed, taking a sip of her drink and savoring the sweet, refreshing taste.

As they chatted animatedly, the lights dimmed slightly, and the murmurs of the crowd hushed as the first performance began. The stage came alive with movement. Dancers clad in barely any clothing glided into view, their bodies moving in a fluid dance that seemed to mix sensuality with grace, captivating everyone in attendance.

Giselle's breath caught as she watched in awe, feeling Kylian’s gaze on her. “What do you think?” he asked, leaning closer.

“It’s mesmerizing,” she whispered back, enraptured by the performance. The dancers embodied both confidence and vulnerability, a blend that made her heart race.

As the show continued, she could feel the energy between them building, an unspoken connection forming amidst the colorful displays of movement and emotion. Kylian’s thigh brushed against hers, sending delightful shivers down her spine with each movement.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Kylian asked, his tone playful yet sincere.

“More than I imagined,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing at the intimacy of the moment. “This is beautiful, I expected stripper poles and money being thrown.”

Kylian laughed, leaning in a little closer as his hand found her thigh. “Just wait. There’s so much more to come.”

Giselle felt her heart race as Kylian's hand lingered on her thigh, the warmth of his touch igniting a fire within her. She looked up at him, her breath hitching slightly as the electricity between them intensified. The dancers on stage were mesmerizing, but her focus was captivated entirely by Kylian's presence beside her.

“More to come?” she echoed, her voice low as she felt a rush of thrill at the implication of his words.

Kylian’s gaze held hers, a glint of mischief sparkling in his dark eyes. “You have no idea what you're doing to me, right now.”

Giselle's heart raced at his words, the raw honesty in his gaze sending a rush of butterflies through her stomach. The intensity of the moment hung between them like an electric charge, and she felt herself leaning closer, drawn to the heat radiating from him.

“What am I doing to you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she dared to inch even closer, emboldened by the thrill of their surroundings and the connection they shared.

Kylian leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke, sending shivers down her spine. “How wet are you right now?” he drawled.

Giselle's breath hitched at Kylian's bold question, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of crimson as she felt a surge of heat between her legs. The atmosphere around them seemed to crackle with tension, the dim lighting of the club casting an intimate glow over their secluded seating area.

"I... I don't know," she stammered, her voice trembling slightly as she tried to regain her composure. The confidence she had felt moments ago faltered in the face of Kylian's intense gaze and the implication of his words.

Kylian's hand on her thigh tightened slightly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her skin. "Don't lie to me, Giselle," he murmured, his voice low and commanding. "I can see it in your eyes, the way your pupils are dilated, the flush on your cheeks. You're turned on, aren't you?"

Giselle swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest as Kylian's words echoed in her ears. The air between them felt thick and charged, the sounds of the club fading into the background as she focused solely on the man beside her. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the intensity of his gaze piercing through her defenses.

"Yes," she whispered, the word barely audible as she finally surrendered to the truth. "Yes, I'm turned on."

A smirk tugged at the corner of Kylian's lips, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he witnessed Giselle's admission. His hand on her thigh began to move slowly, his fingers trailing along the hem of her dress and teasing the sensitive skin beneath.

"And what about you?" Giselle asked, her voice gaining a hint of boldness as she met Kylian's gaze. "Are you turned on too?"

Kylian's smirk widened into a confident grin, his eyes darkening with desire as Giselle turned the question back on him. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke, his voice low and husky.

"You have no idea, Giselle," he murmured, his breath sending shivers down her spine. "I've been hard since the moment we walked into this club. Seeing you surrounded by all this... stimulation, knowing that I'm the one who brought you here, the one who's going to take you apart later... it's driving me crazy."

His hand slid higher up her thigh, his fingers grazing the edge of her panties and making her gasp. Kylian chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through her as he pulled back to look into her eyes.

"So yes, Giselle, I'm extremely fucking turned on," he continued, his thumb brushing against the damp fabric covering her core.

"And what are you going to do about it?" Giselle asked, her voice trembling slightly as Kylian's touch ignited a fire within her. She could feel the heat of his gaze, the intensity of his desire, and it only fueled her own arousal.

Kylian's hand paused, his fingers pressing firmly against her through the thin fabric of her panties. "That depends on you, ma chérie," he replied, his voice low and teasing. "Are you going to let me make you cum right here, in this club, surrounded by all these people? Or do you want to wait until we're alone, where I can take my time with you, and explore every inch of your body without interruption? After all, I am at your service tonight."

His words sent a tremor through her, the idea of being taken in public was both exhilarating and terrifying. She bit her lip, considering her options, her heart racing with anticipation.

"Take me back to the hotel," she whispered, her decision made.

Kylian's eyes glinted with excitement at her request, a predatory smile spreading across his lips. "As you wish, my lady," he said, pushing himself off the plush seat and standing tall. He extended his hand toward her, and without hesitation, Giselle took it, feeling the electric connection between them surge as they exited the club.

Navigating through the vibrant crowd, Kylian led her back outside where the cool night air was a sharp contrast to the heated atmosphere inside the club. The anticipation of what was to come sent shivers down her spine, and she could feel her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

In the dim glow of street lamps, Kylian pulled her closer, their bodies brushing against one another as they walked to the waiting car. The driver looked up, acknowledging Kylian with a nod, before opening the door for them.

Once inside, Kylian wasted no time in closing the space between them, his hand sliding possessively around her waist as the car glided through the streets of Monte Carlo. There was a palpable tension in the air, and Giselle could feel Kylian's desire radiating off him in waves.

As she leaned against the plush leather seat, a mix of thrill and nervousness coursed through her. She looked up at him, searching his face for any hint of hesitation. Instead, she found only determination and unrelenting desire in his gaze.

"How far do you want me to take this?" Kylian asked, his voice low and sultry as he leaned in closer, their faces just inches apart.

Giselle's breath caught in her throat, the proximity igniting every nerve in her body. "As far as you can.”

A predatory grin spread across Kylian's face, and he pressed even closer, brushing his lips against hers in a soft yet teasing manner. The taste of him lingered in the air, intoxicating and overwhelming. As their lips danced together, she felt a swirl of heat pooling low in her belly, yearning for more.

He broke the kiss and sat back slightly, eyes locked onto hers. “You have no idea what you're asking for. Once we get to the hotel, there’s no holding back,” he warned his tone both seductive and commanding.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Giselle breathed, emboldened by the promise of what was to come.

As the driver navigated the streets, Giselle could feel tension building between them—a heady mix of anticipation and lust that made it impossible to keep her eyes off Kylian. Every stolen glance sent a thrill through her, igniting the heat that simmered just beneath the surface.

“Just thinking about what I’d like to do to you when we get back to the hotel,” Kylian admitted, his voice thick with desire, as he leaned closer, brushing his lips just above her ear. “I want to taste you until you’re begging for me to stop.”

Giselle's breath hitched, a soft whimper escaping her lips. The promise of his words sent a rush of excitement coursing through her, igniting every inch of her body. “I want that,” she whispered, feeling a wild sense of urgency flare within her.

Kylian's eyes darkened with desire, his gaze soaking in every reaction she had. “Good,” he said, their breath mixing in the confined space, sparking an undeniable heat that filled the air around them.

Minutes felt like seconds as the anticipation hung thick in the air, until finally, the car came to a stop outside their hotel. The driver opened the door, and as they stepped out, Kylian moved to her side, his hand firmly on the small of her back, guiding her through the luxurious lobby and toward the private elevator.

As they rode up, the tension was almost unbearable. Kylian kept stealing glances at her, his gaze devouring her, making her pulse quicken with every moment that passed. When the elevator doors opened, he ushered her out into the dimly lit hallway, leading her to their suite.

Once inside, Kylian wasted no time. He closed the door behind them, his body pressing against hers as he leaned in for another heated kiss. The warmth of his body against hers made her heart race, igniting a need deep within her that craved to be fulfilled.

Giselle melted against him, her hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer as their lips moved together in a passionate dance. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them in this sanctuary of desire.

Kylian's hands roamed her body, his fingers exploring the curves and contours that drove him wild with longing. As he pulled her closer, his lips traveled from her mouth to her neck, planting soft kisses along her collarbone, sending shivers down her spine.

“Tell me what you want, Giselle,” Kylian murmured between kisses, his breath warm against her skin.

“I want you,” she replied, her voice thick with desire. “I want to feel you.”

With a growl of need, Kylian lifted her effortlessly, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her further into the suite. He laid her down gently on the plush bed, his gaze dark and hungry as he took a moment to admire her.

“You're so beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes roving over her form.

Before Giselle could respond, he captured her lips again, brushing his tongue against hers, coaxing her to open for him. She melted into the kiss, feeling his hands explore her body, igniting fire wherever they touched.

Kylian’s lips trailed down her neck, leaving a path of fire across her skin as he began to peel away her dress, revealing more of her softness beneath. Each inch he uncovered felt like a tantalizing gift, and Giselle squirmed beneath him, desperate to feel more.

“Kylian,” she gasped as the fabric fell away, leaving her vulnerable before him. “Please…”

“Please what?” he teased, his lips curling into a sexy smirk as he pulled back to look at her.

“Everything,” Giselle whimpered, her hands finding their way to his waist, urging him closer.

“I’m going to give you everything,” Kylian promised, leaning down to capture her lips again, his hands working to position his body above hers, teasing her with the delicious promise of what was to come.

The night stretched ahead of them, filled with desire and passion, as their worlds collided in a whirlwind of lust and longing, igniting a flame that could only burn brighter as they succumbed to the thrilling adventure before them.

Kylian was in awe as he broke away from their kiss to look down at Giselle, her body clad in nothing but a lace thong as she gazed up at him.

Pressing his lips to her neck, Kylian began his descent down her body, taking his time to get to the place between her thighs he seemed to have an insatiable appetite for.

Giselle's breath quickened as Kylian's lips traced a path down her torso, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The moment was electric, every brush of his mouth against her skin igniting a desperate need within her.

“Don’t tease me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensation of his warm breath against her skin.

Kylian paused for a moment, his eyes darkening with a mix of desire and mischief. “I have every intention of exploring you completely,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh, raising her anticipation to a fever pitch.

With that, he continued his journey, his lips exploring the soft curves of her hips, pausing momentarily to tease the delicate skin with soft kisses. Giselle squirmed beneath him, the need for his touch becoming almost unbearable as he made his way lower.

When Kylian finally reached the lace thong, he leaned back slightly, his gaze locking onto hers, the intensity of his stare causing her heart to race. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, his voice a sultry whisper.

“Yes,” she breathed, her confidence ignited by his desire. “I want you, Kylian. I want all of you.”

He grinned, the heat of his gaze sending a delicious shudder through her. With deft fingers, he tugged the lace aside, leaving her exposed before him. The sight of her, skin bare and vulnerable, was intoxicating, and he could feel his desire surge further.

Kylian leaned in, brushing his lips against her inner thigh, gently kissing upwards as he traced a path toward the place where she craved his touch the most. He paused just before reaching her, teasingly inhaling her scent, feeling her anticipation swell with every passing moment.

“Your skin is so soft,” he murmured against her, before finally taking the plunge, his mouth finding her core.

The sensation was electric. Giselle gasped as Kylian’s tongue flicked against her, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through her body. She arched her back, her fingers instinctively twisting into his hair, urging him closer. The warmth of his mouth was everything she had hoped for and more, and she was quickly losing herself in the sensations he was creating.

“Just like that,” she gasped, feeling his tongue dance with precision, teasing every sensitive spot he uncovered. Kylian was relentless, an expert in navigating her body, his movements fluid and instinctual, as if he had studied her every reaction until now.

Giselle could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears, her breaths coming in short gasps as Kylian continued his ministrations. Each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck drew her closer and closer to the edge.

“Please…” she begged, the tension coiling in her belly, desperate for release.

Kylian pulled back slightly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Want to cum?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

“Yes!” she cried out, completely at his mercy, her body trembling with need.

With a wicked grin, Kylian resumed his eager exploration, his tongue plunging deeper, coaxing her closer to the precipice. He skillfully alternated between tantalizing licks and soft, feverish kisses, drawing her closer to the edge until she felt as though she might unravel entirely.

Suddenly, as he focused on her most sensitive spot, Giselle felt herself teetering dangerously close to the edge. “Kylian, I—”

But before she could finish, he swiped his tongue across her with a firm pressure, sending her over the edge in a wave of delightful ecstasy. Her body tensed, back arching as she surrendered to the pleasure coursing through her, a deep moan escaping her lips.

Kylian continued to coax her through her climax, gently riding the waves of her pleasure until Giselle was left trembling beneath him, panting softly.

As she came down from the high, Kylian pulled away slightly, looking down at her with a mix of satisfaction and possessiveness. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her hip.

Giselle opened her eyes, still buzzing with pleasure. “You… you have no idea what you just did to me,” she replied, her voice still shaky.

Kylian’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. “Oh, I think I might have an idea,” he teased, leaning back for a moment to admire the way she looked in the dim light, the flush of her cheeks and the sheen of her skin making her look utterly exquisite.

“But now it’s my turn,” he said, his voice dropping low with intent.

Giselle's heart raced at his words, the anticipation of what was to come sending heat flooding through her once more. Kylian leaned closer, flipping her onto her stomach and raising her hips to his liking, before sending a stinging slap to her ass as he watched the natural jiggle of flesh as it recoiled.

Giselle cried out as Kylian's thick length filled her completely, stretching her walls around his impressive size. The sudden intrusion took her breath away, and she clawed at the sheets beneath her, trying to anchor herself against the overwhelming sensation.

"Don’t try to run from it, give yourself to me," Kylian drawled, his hips settling against her ass as he gave her a moment to adjust. He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back as he nipped at her earlobe. "Let me fuck you so deep you feel it in your stomach.”

Kylian began to move, his hips pulling back slowly before snapping forward again, burying his length deep inside Giselle's tight heat. He set a punishing pace, each thrust driving into her with a force that made the bed shake beneath them.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he fucked into her. "Your pussy was made for my cock."

Giselle could only moan in response, her body rocking forward with each powerful thrust. The sensation of Kylian's thick length filling her completely, hitting that sweet spot inside her with every snap of his hips, was overwhelming. She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts with her own. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with their labored breaths and moans of pleasure.

Kylian's fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips as he held her in place, his cock buried deep inside of her as whispered feverishly into her ear.

"Giselle, you're mine," Kylian growled possessively, his voice husky with desire. "This pussy belongs to me."

His hips continued their relentless pace, his thick cock thrusting into her with a ferocity that left her breathless. The sound of their bodies clashing filled the room, punctuated by Giselle's desperate moans and Kylian's commanding grunts.

"Yes, Kylian!" Giselle cried out, her voice trembling with pleasure. "I'm yours! My pussy is yours!"

Kylian smirked, a primal satisfaction coursing through him at her words. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "That's right, baby. Now, let me hear you scream my name."

His hand snaked around her waist, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in tight circles. The added stimulation sent shockwaves of pleasure through Giselle's body, as the arch in her back deepened.

"Kylian!" she cried, her voice echoing off the walls as she turned her head to look back at him.

Kylian's eyes flashed with a fierce intensity as he watched Giselle's face contort with pleasure. He loved seeing her like this, completely lost in the sensations he was giving her. His fingers continued their relentless assault on her clit, rubbing and circling the sensitive nub as his hips pistoned into her from behind.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged, his voice a low, husky growl. "Come for me. Let me feel that pretty little pussy squeeze my cock."

He leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck as he sucked and nibbled. His free hand reached up to grasp her breast, kneading the soft flesh and pinching her nipple between his fingers.

Giselle's body trembled beneath him, her inner walls fluttering and tightening around his throbbing length. She was so close, teetering on the edge of oblivion. Kylian's skilled fingers and the feeling of his hard, thick cock pounding into her sent her spiraling over the edge.

"Baby! I'm coming!" she screamed, her voice hoarse with ecstasy.

Kylian caught Giselle’s lips with his, groaning into her mouth as her walls constricted around his length, holding him captive.

Kylian's body shuddered as Giselle's orgasm washed over her, her walls gripping his length like a vice. He continued to thrust into her, prolonging her pleasure and chasing his release. The feeling of her coming apart beneath him, her pussy squeezing his cock so tightly, was almost too much.

In one swift motion, he had her on her back, her legs pinned as he gave himself a moment, the bulbous tip of his dick resting hotly against her slick entrance.

“Look at you,” Kylian mused. “You were made for me, made to be mine.”

Kylian's intense gaze bore into Giselle's as he held himself above her, his thick length pressed against her sensitive entrance. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the muscles of his chest and abs taut with restraint. His words, possessive and filled with desire, sent a shiver down her spine.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and anticipation.

Her hands reached up, tracing the contours of his chest and shoulders, feeling the power that resided beneath his skin. She hooked her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him to take her again.

Kylian's eyes darkened at her words and actions, a primal hunger consuming him. He leaned down, his lips crashing against hers in a bruising kiss as he slammed his hips forward, burying himself deep inside her once more.

Giselle gasped into the kiss, her back arching off the bed as Kylian filled her. The feeling of him stretching her, claiming her, was overwhelming in the best way possible. She moaned into his mouth, her tongue dancing with his as she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close.

Kylian began to move, his hips rolling and grinding against hers in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each thrust was deep and powerful, hitting that sweet spot inside her that made her see stars. He broke the kiss, trailing his lips along her jaw and down her neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin.

"Fuck, Giselle," he growled against her throat. "You feel so damn good. So tight and wet for me."

His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into her flesh as he increased the pace of his thrusts. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by their moans and gasps of pleasure.

"More," Giselle panted, her nails raking down his back as she tilted her hips towards him.

Kylian's eyes flashed with a fierce intensity as he gazed down at Giselle, her plea fueling the fire within him. He hooked her legs over his shoulders, folding her nearly in half as he drove into her with renewed vigor.

"Yes, more," he grunted, his hips snapping forward with each thrust. "Take it, baby. Take every inch of my cock."

Giselle's head fell back against the pillow, her mouth open in a silent scream as Kylian pounded into her. The new angle allowed him to go even deeper, hitting that spot inside her that made her toes curl and her vision blur. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his biceps as she rode out the intense pleasure.

"That's it," Kylian praised, his voice strained with exertion.

“Feel that, Giselle?" he panted, his breath hot against her ear. "Feel how deep I am inside you? How perfectly we fit together?"

“I do,” she moaned, turning her head so she could press her lips to his neck. “Cum inside me, baby.”

Kylian's body tensed, his thrusts becoming erratic as Giselle's words pushed him closer to the edge. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent as he chased his release.

"Yes," he hissed, his hips stuttering as he slammed into her one last time. "Fuck, Giselle!"

With a guttural groan, Kylian spilled himself inside her, his cock pulsing as he filled her with his hot seed. Giselle cried out, her inner walls clamping down around him as she came again, milking him for every last drop.

Giselle held Kylian’s body against hers as he shuddered through the aftershocks of their shared release. They lay entwined, the weight of his body pressing down on hers, creating a cocoon of warmth and satisfaction. Kylian's breath came in heavy pants as he gradually began to regain his composure, his heart still racing from the intensity of their passionate encounter.

Giselle smiled softly, feeling his heartbeat slow against her chest. She brushed her fingers through his hair, savoring the moment of intimacy and connection that followed the rawness of their earlier actions as she lifted her head, pressing her lips to his.

"You're so beautiful," she murmured against Kylian’s mouth, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

Kylian smiled against her lips, his gaze softening as he pulled back to meet her eyes. "You make it easy to be," he replied, his voice deep and melodic, holding a warmth that contrasted with the fierceness of their earlier encounter.

Giselle felt a rush of affection flood her heart at his words. She loved this side of him—the dominant lover who could flip to a tender partner in an instant. His strength was intoxicating, but his gentleness was equally alluring.

"Do you always make it this good?" she teased, a playful glint in her eye as she traced her fingers along his jawline.

"Every time for you," Kylian responded, his tone serious yet playful, and he leaned in to kiss her again, this time soft and lingering, a stark contrast to their previous passion but just as electrifying.

“I don't want you to pull out,” Giselle whispered, her voice sultry and filled with a playful challenge, her eyes sparkling with mischief. The intimacy of their shared moment heightened the tension between them, igniting a desire that was far from extinguished.

Kylian's breath hitched, his gaze locking onto hers with intense interest. "You want me to stay inside you? Just like this?" he asked, a teasing grin playing on his lips as he subtly rocked his hips against hers, reminding her of the warmth and fullness he provided.

“Yes,” Giselle replied, her body responding eagerly to his movements, her legs tightening around his waist instinctively.

Kylian's grin widened as he dipped his head, kissing along her collarbone before whispering in her ear, “I can do that.” His voice dropped to a low growl, filled with desire and a sense of possessiveness that sent shivers down her spine.

He slowly began to thrust again, but this time the rhythm was softer, more lingering. Kylian took his time, savoring the sensation of being enveloped by her warmth, of feeling every inch of her squeeze him as he moved. Each thrust was deliberate, each movement filled with a deep-seated passion that resonated between them.

Giselle moaned softly, arching her back in response to his motions. “Baby... just like that,” she encouraged, her fingers gripping his shoulders as she surrendered completely to the overwhelming pleasure.

Taking hold of Giselle’s right leg, Kylian placed it over his shoulder, maintaining the depth and slow, drawn-out rhythm of his thrusts.

“I love it when you're deep inside of me,” Giselle continued, her voice a low hiss as she gazed up into Kylian’s eyes.

“Please don't move, Daddy,” she gasped as he bottomed out inside of her. “Stay just like that, I want to feel you.”

Kylian groaned at Giselle's plea, his hips pausing as he remained buried deep within her warmth. The feeling of her wrapped around him, the way she begged him to stay, sent a surge of possessiveness through him. He loved the intimacy of this moment, the connection they shared.

"That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "Feel me inside you. Feel how we fit together."

He began to move again, his thrusts slow and deliberate. Each roll of his hips pressed him deeper into her, filling her. His eyes locked onto hers, drinking in the pleasure that played across her features.

"You're mine, Giselle," he growled, his pace picking up slightly. "This pussy belongs to me. Say it."

Giselle's eyes fluttered closed, her head tilting back as Kylian's words washed over her. "I'm yours," she breathed, her voice trembling with emotion. "My pussy is yours."

Kylian's heart swelled with satisfaction at her words. He loved hearing her claim herself as his, loved knowing that he was the only one who could make her feel this way.

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss as he continued his slow, deep thrusts. His tongue danced with hers, exploring her mouth as he savored the taste of her. Kylian's hands roamed her body, caressing every curve and dip as if committing it to memory.

"You're perfect," he murmured against her lips, his breath mingling with hers. "So perfect for me."

Giselle arched into his touch, her body melting beneath him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. The feeling of him surrounding her, filling her, was overwhelming in the best way possible.

"Kylian," she gasped, breaking the kiss to gaze up at him. "I need you. All of you. Forever."

Her words hung heavy in the air between them, a silent declaration of her feelings. Kylian's eyes searched hers, seeing the sincerity and depth of her emotion. His heart swelled, his love for her consuming him completely.

"I'm yours, Giselle," he vowed, his voice thick with emotion.

The deep understanding between them was punctuated by the snap of Kylian’s hips as he picked up the pace of his thrusts, his fingers slotting perfectly between Giselle’s as he pinned her hands above her head.

With a few final, deep thrusts, they both surrendered to the fire that had been ignited between them, their climaxes crashing together in a euphoric wave. Kylian let out a deep cry of pleasure as he found his release, filling her fully, while Giselle flooded with overwhelming ecstasy, succumbing to the wild bliss that enveloped them both.

After what felt like an eternity, they slowly came down from the high, breathing heavily, Kylian collapsing beside Giselle while still holding her close, their bodies tangled together as they basked in the afterglow of their passion.

“I think,” Kylian finally murmured, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he brushed his fingers through her hair, “that Monte Carlo might just be our new favorite getaway.”

Giselle laughed softly, still tinged with the remnants of their shared ecstasy. “I’d have to agree,” she replied, snuggling deeper into his arms, feeling safe and utterly satisfied.

As they lingered in the warmth of each other’s embrace, the flickering lights of the city beyond their window glimmered like stars, and for a fleeting moment, everything felt perfectly in place.

“This isn't one-sided,” Kylian interrupted her thoughts, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

“What isn't one-sided?” Giselle asked, her heart fluttering at the uncertainty of what he meant.

“You have met my family and I want to meet yours, I want nothing about what we have to be one-sided. I care about you,” he said, his gaze steady and sincere. The weight of his words settled around them, amplifying the intimacy of the moment.

Giselle's breath caught in her throat. She had never anticipated such a depth of emotion from him, especially after such a passionate encounter. “Kylian,” she started, her voice a mix of surprise and warmth, “you really mean that?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, a soft smile spreading across his face. “You’re important to me. I want to know you—who you are outside of these moments with me, outside of coming to see me in Madrid. I want to know the people you love and who love you.”

Kylian's career didn't allow him to travel as freely as Giselle's did, and he was conscious of the fact that she was always the one making time when he could hardly afford to make any outside of what his football schedule allowed.

He was conscious of the fact that she was a daughter, a sister, an aunt, and a friend. Relationships that went staggered for weeks on end whenever she traveled to him.

Giselle nodded, feeling her heart swell with gratitude and affection. "I want that too," she admitted, her voice softening. "It's just a big step, and I wasn't sure if we were on the same page.”

Kylian brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his gaze unwavering. "We are," he assured her, sincerity in his tone.

“You would like to meet my family when the season is over?” Giselle asked, her cheeks flushing as she cupped his face, searching his eyes for any hint of reluctance.

"Absolutely," Kylian replied confidently, a serious edge to his voice. "I want to meet them. I want to understand everything about you."

“I'm in this, Gi,” he continued as he took her hands in his, sincerity shining through his gaze.

Giselle felt her heart flutter at his words, the warmth of his honesty wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. “I’m in this, too,” she replied softly, her hand reaching to cup his jaw as she raised her head to kiss him.

For the first time in weeks, Kylian felt truly at peace as he lay in bed with Giselle their lips ghosting against one another they relished in their connection.

The season had been up and down, and his ability on the pitch had been both praised and heavily criticized, but one thing that had remained constant was Giselle's support, the look of admiration in her eyes that remained present even when he'd faced defeat.

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #41

"I love you."

The words rang out clearly, their thumb lovingly caressing your hand in theirs. They had simply taken it from your lap, much like everything else—your family, friends, and life. It had been so easy for them to manipulate those around you to give up on you, to let them have you, keep you like a prized possession rather than a respected partner.

All their lies and manipulations had worked out, and even now, when they spoke to you, you couldn't be sure if what they said was the truth or not.

"I know you can't always believe me," they admitted, reading your thoughts. Their sad smile turned into a thoughtful expression as they raised their gaze from your hand to your eyes again. "But it changes nothing for me. I love you, and that won't change."

"Then why do you lock the door when you leave? Shouldn't you trust me if you truly love me?"

Taking a deep breath, they shook their head. "I want to trust you, but my love is not dependent on that trust."

"What about my love then? Does it mean nothing?"

This time, they seemed truly hurt about your assumptions. Their thumb stopped mid-motion as they gripped your hand tightly, shaking it once as if to emphasize their words more. Their head inched closer, as if for a kiss, but you stayed in your position, not moving towards or away. If they truly loved you, you had nothing to fear, although they wouldn't get anything from you anymore either.

"It means everything. To be loved by you is the dream that made all of this possible! But I know-" they heaved a deep sigh, "-I know it's not that easy. That you wish for different things and people that I can't give you. Still, I hope! I hope that one day, you can love me."

Leaning forward, you taunted them with your closeness, lips almost touching as you whispered, "And if not? Will you be okay with being unhappy for the rest of your life? I can't even imagine that—no, I don't want that."

You saw the desire in their gaze as they watched your lips move, almost not listening to your words as they gulped. Then, their eyes found yours again, your reflection burned into them.

"What if things change? What if you fall in love with me while I prove to you that I can make you happy? Maybe it's just the current change you are unhappy with, but you will be happy by my side, given time. Have you thought about that?"

"Will you let me go if it doesn't change? If I can't love you?" you asked, tired of this discussion. As if they could convince you that all they have done could lead to genuine happiness. Their hand still held onto yours as they leaned forward, bumping their forehead against yours and closing their eyes.

"If..." they mumbled. "If you were in my position, would you? Would you let the person you love the most in the entire world go, and endure the gaping hole they leave in your heart for the rest of your life? Would you not fight until the end of time to make them happy?"

"But loving someone means letting them go, too, doesn't it?"

They grew quiet until they inhaled deeply. "But I can't. So tell me, would you really let the only thing in your life that makes you happy leave if you could avoid it?"

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)

[fernslivers]

A Breeze Blows A Crane Off Course (Pt 1)

--

"A breeze can blow a crane off course. You... are a typhoon."

A dying stranger appears in the shrine where you're reluctantly indentured. Being of little value, they're left in your care, kicking off a series of events that will take you further from home than either of you could have predicted.

--

A//N: Eeee, it's heeeere, I'm so excited to start sharing this multi-chapter piece I've been working on. This is where the Teahouse Jealousy storyline actually starts!

It's going to span the entire length of season 1, and while there's going to be a bit more backstory than I usually write for the Reader, it still won't be anything too specific.

As with the Teahouse fic, this can also be read as a standalone!

This is the only part outside of the canon, and takes place JUST before season 1.

Hope you guys enjoy!

TW: canon-typical violence/death, people being mean to reader, reader is WLW and it's implied their family rejected them for it.

----

It's a funny thing, in retrospect.

Well, not funny. People died.

But you didn't.

Because you were lowly. The lowest on the food chain for the entire shrine.

It’s because you were lowly that you were awake before the other attendants, the one tasked with sweeping the shrine from end to end.

Because you were out sweeping, it's you that found the stranger, slumped over in front of the messha nearest to the entrance, a burned out stick of incense in front of him, a red bloom beginning to dry across his side, his face grey as death. It's you that screamed for the others to come running.

Even that doesn't wake him.

They bed him down in the same little messha where he was praying, and tell you to try not to let him die. They said it was because you knew the rural folk remedies that would help his fever.

But the truth is, because his clothing was patched and threadbare, because he looked like a beggar, because the others resented being dragged from their slumber so early by your infernal shrieking, because you are lowly, because, because, because…that was why you were tasked with tending him.

And because of that, it is you that haggles in the kitchens for extra meat in the broth for him, and holds it to his lips as he mutters in his sleep.

It is you that looks at that red stain, anxiously, then goes back to the kitchens to haggle again for hot water, medicinal ingredients, clean rags, and strips of linen.

It’s you that carefully, blushingly peels back the stained blue cloth, sponging away the dried blood with a rag, stitching up the neat slice across his ribs.

It’s you finds out that your feverish guest is not a him at all.

It is you that falls back with a gasp when his eyes open, not shards of mahogany or ebony, but chips of glowing ice. He–...she shifts with a wince, puts a hand to her side, feeling the stitches. Those startling eyes widen; snapping to you, and as fast as you can blink, there's a sword point in your face.

“Don't scream.”

By the gods.

That voice. Nevermind it, if this is death, fine. You'll accept it willingly as long as it talks like that, all crushed silk and gravel.

You shake your head, indicating that you won't, and try to stop gawping at her like an idiot.

Once it's clear you're not raising any alarms, she immediately stops paying attention to you, looking around at the little hut, glancing on either side of herself for her belongings. “Where am I?”

You name your shrine, the title coming out breathless. For some reason, at your tremulous tone, she rolls her eyes. It really shouldn't make your stomach flip. It does.

“Go and tell your miko that I'm grateful for the assistance. I'll leave an offering on my way out,” she says, so drily that it almost could have been sarcastic. “And say no more than that, girl,” she adds, warningly; you don't know if she means about her eyes or her gender.

You scramble to your feet, stepping back a bit, but you can’t bring yourself to leave. Instead, you study her face, the thin features, delicate and sharp, perfectly honed like a blade. You watch as she slips on those strange, tinted glasses. You wonder if you should tell her the miko has nothing to do with her recovery; you're not sure if it isn't better that she underestimates you a bit, like everyone else does. It's kept you safe, so far.

Somehow, though, you find you don't want her to think of you as something passing. You want her to see you.

“Shouldn't you rest a little longer?” you say, finally, trailing off as she starts to rise, staggers. She looks over at you, dismissively.

“You're still here?” She asks, derision clear in her voice, cold. An eyebrow raises, as strangely appealing as her eyeroll earlier. “Not scared the onryō will get you?”

An instinctive shiver runs through you at the mention of a bogeyman from your childhood, but now it's tempered with something else, something that makes that shiver thrilling. You'll tolerate the coolness of the tone if those eyes meet yours again.

“I don't think you're a demon,” you protest, watching as she tries again to get up, and then collapses back on the bedroll with a grunt, her hand clapped to her side. “I was just startled. I've never seen eyes like that before.” She cracks one eye open through the pain and gives you an extremely unfriendly look. Your brain somehow decides that continuing to talk is the answer, instead of shutting up. “They're so pretty. Like clean water. Were you born like that?”

Silence.

For a moment, her features could have been carved of stone, unreadable, blank. One hand goes out, testingly, to push against the ground again; she lifts only an inch before flopping back with a frustrated huff. She thumps back onto the mat bed, glaring at the ceiling as if it's at fault that she's indeed trapped in the conversation.

She closes her eyes again, and you begin to think she isn't going to answer. But then her hand goes to the place where you stitched her, under the carefully scrubbed haori. She seems to be weighing something, closely; she rubs the cleaned, dried fabric between her fingers, lips pinched tight, raising her gaze to glance over you.

You wait, silent and expectant, every inch of you vibrating with more questions, but wary of the way her brow has furrowed. That cut on her ribs was too clean to be anything but a sword slice; even sitting down, she probably could slice you just as badly.

In the evening darkness, her eyes turn almost orange as she stares into the little campfire.

“I will tell you only as thanks for my care, though little thanks it is.” The ice disappears as she closes her eyes a moment, breathing in slowly, deeply. “I'm…impure. A half-breed.”

“Ohh…” You breath, absorbing this. Half-foreigner. You can see the slight difference in the angles of her features, now that she's pointed it out. But it's subtle; you wouldn't have noticed at all except for those eyes. So many questions queue up; you've never been that far from this locality, and this is the wildest experience you've had. Even before the questions, you want to tell her again that she's beautiful; you would never dare. Not after everything that got you sent here. You have learned the hard way where expressing that side of yourself gets you. Part of you wants to tell her that you know what it is to be seen as monstrous, but, like her, you’ve learned to guard your secrets closely. She seems to expect more of a reaction; but the softening of her features at your accepting response is short-lived.

“So you've seen a white man?” You ask eagerly, leaning forward. Her knuckles go bone-pale against the blankets, a muscle twitching in her jaw. “Are they nice?”

“No.” It's flat, hard as stone. “They are not.” Then, seemingly torn between indignance and genuine curiosity, she adds, “Why would you ask that?”

“Oh… well it's just…” You hesitate, thinking again of yourself, the horror in your family's eyes when they sent you here. Your hands bunch up the fabric of your kimono, feeling the coarse weave of it bite at your palms. “... I've met others that people say are monsters, but I know they aren't. I thought maybe the white men were the same way.”

“Hm.” Is the only reply, but she looks mollified when you glance up. Perhaps there's even a modicum of kindness in her gaze now, though you would prefer hostile respect to the mingled pity and disdain that you can tell is mixed into her gaze. Does she find it naive, maybe? Too sweet, or simple-minded?

She would hardly be the first in your life to think little of you.

Not the purest of the maidens here, nor the best educated. But a pretty survivor, quick and clever, adaptable as a common fox. Skulking at the edges of the buildings, barely tolerated. Willing to survive on scraps, ready to bite, but soft if the right hand pets it.

Always underestimated. Always overlooked.

You might have written off the samurai as another person who can't be bothered with you, even with her striking looks and purring voice.

Except that over the next few days, she seems to be about the only person that makes you want to be petted.

She's not chatty, mind. She shares only a little about her revenge plans, but even less else, not even her name. You get the distinct impression that she's only making conversation to stave off the frustration of being bored out of her skull. That, and perhaps the strange--to her--lack of concern about her impure blood.

She watches you prepare the medicine, propped up on her elbow; she wants to know the ingredients, and then how you know about them. She wants to know the pattern you used on the stitches, says that they feel more secure than what she's used before.

The more you reply, the more you start to feel a budding confidence; you know things. Useful things! How did you forget how much you know, how much you can do?

Every time you look up to reply, those flashes of blue stare through you like you're the only thing they've ever seen. And suddenly it feels…it feels thrilling to be seen.

Even with her questions, there's a lot of silence; it’s tense at first, and you find yourself chattering nervously. You try to keep it light; you don't have any friends here, but being unnoticed, you hear all the drama. It’s kind of nice to have someone to pour it all out for; how the various girls came to be here, that the head priestess is keeping back some of the offerings for herself, that one of the girls is in love with one of the cooks.

One night, as you’re trying to turn the gristly meat the cooks gave you into something edible, she asks,

“So why are you here?”

Your hand slips; some broth sloshes out of the pot and into the fire with a hiss, making the flames dance. In the flickering orange light, your gaze meets hers. The glow of the fire makes both of your gazes the same fire-bright color, equals.

“My… parents gave me to the temple,” you tell her slowly. It's not really the truth, not in full, but it's the most you're willing to say.

Silence falls again, and this time you don't rush to fill it.

“...Hm,” she says softly, and you risk a glance her way. She's looking into the fire, but the habitual scowl on her brow seems softened. You get the distinct impression that she’s more than aware that there’s something you're not saying, but that she can understand the desire to hold your cards close to your chest. She might even respect you more now that she's seen you can indeed keep some secrets.

After tonight, you'll take note of the way the silences feel more pleasant now, almost companionable. You'll chatter less frenetically. And she, in her turn, will appreciate the way you can give her space for her own thoughts.

In this moment, though, you're just glad when she falls asleep without asking any more about your story.

Seen…might be good. But underestimated is safe.

Unnoticed is safer still.

Unnoticed means that when you're taking your usual sneaky shortcut back to the messha, you're missed by the men that round up the other girls. You hear a scream, cut off with a gurgle and a thump, and step around a corner to see the white uniforms hemmed in by a ring of black clothing and naked blades. You duck hurriedly back behind the nearest building with a hand clapped over your mouth.

Someone is sobbing; you know you saw a uniform crumpled on the ground; the red overtaking the white. Over the sounds of distress and protest, the male voice is harsh, demanding to know the location of the onryō with the pale eyes. You cautiously edge up to the corner of the building and peek around, listening.

One of the head priestesses steps forward, says something in a low tone. As you watch, one of the men proffers a jangling bag; the miko takes it. She points in the direction of the little outbuilding where the samurai has temporarily been set up; at least, she points the way in the direction that isn't one of your secret shortcuts. The long way, the way one would walk when they are proud of people seeing them. Not the secretive, faster ways you go.

Nobody here ever looks for you, so, like a common stray, nobody notices when you slip away.

You run like mad down your secret shortcut, as if all the demons you've ever read about were snapping at your heels. The samurai looks up when you tumble in through the door, stammered syllables trailing off into whooping coughs for air.

Her eyes freeze over. She gets the gist of it.

You expect her to start gathering her things in a hurry; there's got to be a dozen of the men at least, all armed, and she's not yet recovered.

“I–...I can-... tell them you already left–...” You gasp breathlessly, but she cuts you off.

“Get on the mat.”

You stare at her. “Wh-...”

“If they find you here alone, you're dead.” Her tone is quiet, blunt. You flinch at the words, but you know she's right. She staggers over against the front wall, tucked behind the doorway. “Get on the sleeping mat. Face the wall. Don't move.”

You stare at her like she's growing another head right before your eyes. She stares back, unmoving, her brow darkening the longer you don't move.

She's opening her mouth to snap at you when, in the distance, you hear stealthy footfalls on the path; your heart leaps into your throat, choking you. You're dead you're dead you're dead plays on loop in your mind. She glances over her shoulder, then back to you, impatient, but hesitates at the naked fear in your eyes.

“I won't let anything happen to you,” her tone isn't gentle, or soft. It's just as blunt as her prediction of your death, harsh, factual. But it's the simplistic straightforwardness that reassures you. She says it like she already knows it's true.

Lying with your back to the door, blanket pulled to the crown of your head, playing at being decoy–it's no less nerve-wracking for all of that, though. It takes every ounce of focus that you have not to flinch or gasp when you hear the steps grow closer, and then cross the threshold, echoing in the silent room. You squeeze your eyes shut, clenching your jaw until it creaks.

Metal sings out. It's followed by a garbled rush of gasps and grunts, and distinctly fleshy sounds.

There's a thud, an ever so brief silence. A woman screams.

You roll over to see the samurai standing in the doorway, looming over a bloodstained lump in black clothing. You push yourself up from the bed, staring at it, your first dead body. The samurai glances up at you, then down at the body, and then steps almost coincidentally forward, blocking the man’s dead grimace from your view.

Past her, you can see the other men frozen in the act of climbing the steps of the hut, the priestesses behind them. The men look shocked, some angry, while the priestesses look horrified. Many of them have turned their faces away, or clapped hands to their mouths.

“You!” The head miko shrills, pointing an accusatory finger over the men’s shoulders. “I should have known it would be you, helping a demon, you mangy little gutter-fox! After we took you in, despite everything about you!”

You flinch. Your eyes go to the samurai, wondering if she'll query this; she doesn't even twitch. Her entire focus is centered on the people with swords in their hands. Squabbles are clearly beneath her notice; blood is all that's on her mind.

It only takes a few clashes of swords for the men to recognize that they're in serious trouble. A few of them look your way when they see that the samurai is proving more of a challenge than anticipated. As two encircle the samurai, one inches forward, towards where you’re plastered against the hut’s wall, his eyes malevolent. Do they think to use you as a hostage, perhaps?

Always underestimated.

The first man to close his hand around your wrist learns the hard way how impossible it is to hold a frightened animal in a trap. Your complete lack of skill is helped by the absolute wildness of your thrashing, sinuous as an eel, impossible to easily keep a grip on. He swears in frustration, fumbling with you and his weapon at the same time.

It makes him distracted; both of you fail to notice the two bodies thumping to the ground at the samurai’s feet.

A sword tip sprouts from your assailant’s chest like a bamboo shoot, and his grip on your wrist clenches, before going limp. You watch the light leave his eyes, and barely notice the warm liquid spattered on your face. You've never watched a human die before. Now you've had a multitude of examples.

When the last man topples, the miko are already gone, scattered in terror. She doesn't seem to care about pursuing them to wherever they've hidden. Only shakes the red off her blade and lets it sing back into its sheath.

~~

“No,” She repeats.

For a moment, you consider pointing out that you saved her life, but then hesitate. You look around at the carnage, staining the courtyard of the temple, admitting to yourself that as far as saving lives go, you're probably both even on that, now.

“Well I can't stay here.” You try not to whine.

Goodness knows you don't want to, that's for sure. If you could have traveled alone, you would already be gone years ago.

She follows your glance around the courtyard, her face impassive. “So go to another temple.”

“Alone, on the open road?” you protest, though your reluctance has little to do with fear of marauders. You've always managed to slip past watching eyes.

Except hers. She gives you a very skeptical look, then starts to grab her cloak, before pausing with a suppressed grunt. Her hand goes to her side, just for a moment, and then she swings on her cloak with her jaw set. One palm has a faint red stain.

“You've reopened your stitches,” you say as persuasively as you can, cocking your head in a distinctly animal fashion, hopeful as a fox waiting for a handout. “You'll need more medical care if you want to heal up quickly. I could come along just until it heals.”

This time you do see a flicker; her shoulders twitch every so slightly under the cloak. You pursue the tiny opening like it’s quarry.

“Surely swift revenge means getting healthy again as soon as possible.”

She turns, and looks you over again; you can feel the tingle of her focused gaze. Mizu, observant as a survival tactic, and a connoisseur of underdogs, pays attention to the way your soft lashes veil a stubbornness in your gaze, and remembers the quick effectiveness of your untrained thrashing. She sees the potential, and hates that she does.

She points a finger at you–a warning, a rule, a threat, all rolled together. “Just until the next temple. Then you stay there. Got it?”

“Of course,” you reply, all agreeably pliant, but the gratitude is unfeigned when you follow up by thanking her profusely. She tersely tells you to knock it off and gather your things.

“And wash your face!” She calls after you, irritably, as you scramble to obey, racing off into the temple.

You're back in a matter of minutes. Pale eyes take in the quality of your newly acquired clothing and bag, assuming correctly that they didn't begin life as yours. She shrugs; finders-keepers. She would rather see you with it than the others, anyway.

~~

How unfortunate for her that the next three temples aren't taking new girls on, not for any tasks. For now, it seems, she's stuck with you.

How strange, this abundance of temple acolytes. Yes, indeed.

She doesn’t seem to have caught on yet, an odd thing for such an observant samurai.

So…maybe she's not looking very hard.

Maybe after a few weeks, she's beginning not to mind the extra set of hands at camp set-up, or how few rations she needs to buy in town now that you can forage for her. Maybe it’s even rather sweet to awaken from a mid-day roadside nap to your proud and excited exclamations of having hooked a fish with your cobbled-together fishing pole.

She already seems to be ever so slightly less irritable about the burden of company, though dour remains her default expression. The sudden increase in time to train certainly helps; it's a strange luxury to use the last of the dusk light to train after a day of travel, only to come back to a fully roaring fire with food cooking on it, instead of starting from scratch in a cold, silent clearing. She never asks you for the help. You do it anyway, without a word said between you about it.

That's another thing she likes–though it would be pulling teeth to get her to admit it–that you don't need to be told twice. Usually, not even once. Someone wants a fight? You make yourself scarce. Something odd that she might have missed? You point it out–without crowing about it. You watch her like it's your job, and you keep out of her way without needing to be guided to do so.

Maybe she'll stop trying to shake you off, soon. Maybe you'll be able to stop waiting until she falls asleep first, and waking before her, just to be sure you aren't left behind. Maybe, if you're lucky, you'll soften her up enough to let you simply stay.

Before your miko-bribing money runs out.

Maybe, though, you’re the oblivious one. Maybe she noticed a long time ago that you would hurry ahead every time a temple rose into view, even though you never left her side for any other reason. That she would find you already talking to the priestess when she walked in. Maybe, secretly, she finds it funny, a private joke just for her, that such a clever little fox would fritter away the money it pilfered when it was meant to be washing its face, all just to get to travel with a cranky onryō.

If you're that determined, then she really can't be bothered to waste her time fighting with you about it. It's not her job, nor her responsibility. You're only a young woman, it won’t be hard to shake you off when she feels the time is ripe.

Always underestimated.

[shahaddahlan0]

"A Candy... and the Weight of a Nation's Pain"

How can I explain what it means to suffer from hunger?

Not the ordinary hunger that fades with a delayed meal, but the kind that leaves a scar on the heart and an ache in the soul.

No matter how I try to describe it, the world won’t understand… won’t understand that true pain sometimes lies in the simplest of things like a "piece of candy".

Today, I found my little nephew crying his heart out, just because he wanted some sweets.

I looked at his mother… I know her well. A patient woman, but in that moment, she was helpless.

Not because we have no income we’ve learned to live with that but because there was simply no candy available, even if we had the money.

I felt sorrow for the child… but even more, I ached for my sister, and that silent heartbreak in her eyes as she watched her son cry, unable to do anything.

I rushed to him and held him tightly.

He loves me dearly… ever since he was small, he would come sleep between me and my husband, and we’d watch cartoons together, we play with cats and turtles, and I teach him how to play the guitar, eating marshmallows, cake, sweets, and chocolates the same chocolates I might love even more than he does. Lol!!

I love him so much, and I always feel like he's my own son

But today… everything was different.

As he leaned into my chest, I could almost hear him say without words:

"My crazy aunt… I know you’ll bring me what I love, like you always do."

But this time… I failed him. And I’m not used to letting anyone down especially not a child.

Can you imagine? All he wanted was a small piece of candy.

And I had nothing to give.

My heart sank, my eyes teared up, and I stood there helpless.

But God never forgets the children.

Suddenly, I remembered a small box of dried grapes tucked away in the kitchen.

I ran to get it for him…

And when I saw his smile return, it felt like I had been given the world.

He kissed me and said, “I love you, Shahad!” and giggled.

That moment… was one of the most beautiful in my life.🫂

Momentary feelings I wrote in my mind and named them...

"A Candy... and the Weight of a Nation's Pain"

This is my campaign link, If you can't donate to my family, I would like you to share it with your friends☮️👇

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, ( #502 ) & #3 verified by @bilal-sala7✅️

https://gofund.me/36f14d33

[materassassino]

JoeNicky + 5

Oh yes, I love getting JoeNicky prompts! Happy trailer day, everyone, lol. I know it says "fluff" but... this got a little bit sad. But then it ends happy!

50 Fluff Prompt List

----

5. “Home stopped being a place when you entered my life.”

“I find it strange.”

Nicolò looks up from his methodical darning at the window, mending a tear in Yusuf’s favourite hose (the Lord only knows how he did it). Yusuf often does this, launching into discourse as if continuing a prior conversation that, to Nicolò’s knowledge, only occurred in his own head. Yusuf’s mind is a wonder, sometimes.

“What?” he asks.

“That you have never wanted to go home,” Yusuf says. He leans on the table, indolent, codex open before him and full of drawings he has yet to let Nicolò see. He tilts his head slightly, like a curious pup.

Nicolò’s hands can no longer move. He ducks his head, all the better to avoid Yusuf’s prying gaze (though he does not mean it that way, he is not demanding, simply unendingly curious in that way of his). He swallows.

He remembers Yusuf’s home. He remembers the warmth of it, and the welcome despite everything, the brief, glowing years of acceptance before the pain of leaving it. It gave Nicolò a glimpse of how, perhaps, a family was supposed to be: a devoted father, a loving mother, siblings who shared laughter and tears. All beautiful things Nicolò had never had. He had loved his sister, Little Caterina, but the pieve had been a relief, freedom from the gaping maw of the di Genova household. He had felt more at home with Father Giambono and Desiderio and the other boys, despite his fears and doubts.

Should he have returned to them? It has been too long, certainly. Father Giambono will be dead, the other boys, few as they were, scattered to their parishes and duties, across Liguria, perhaps as far as Corsica. And he cannot, even in his wildest dreams, conceive of returning to Genoa, to the house of his birth. He feels a terrible son for being relieved his father will be dead, and then unapologetic, for Umberto was a father only in that he sired children. Caterina the Elder, his mother, will likely be dead as well. Domenico and Massimiliano will have more children now, even grandchildren, and they would not care to see him.

He does wonder who Little Caterina married, and if he is a good husband. He hopes Umberto found some scrap of goodness in him to choose a decent man who treats her well, instead of marrying her off to the fattest purse or the vastest lands he could.

“I had nothing to return to,” Nicolò says, and he knows he sounds dispassionate, but this is his truth. He left Genoa, he left Liguria, and Italy, and then he left himself at Jerusalem. He is not the same man who was born by the sea, taught in the foothills, forged cruel in the wilderness of Syria and Palestine, and remade anew beneath Yusuf’s hands.

He stiffens when he catches Yusuf’s gaze, and the pity in it. It makes him feel bitter, envious, all base, foolish things that should have no place between them. He looks away again.

“I am sorry, Nicolò,” Yusuf murmurs. Nicolò does not reply.

Yusuf rises, crosses the room to sit beside him, cross-legged, and extricates Nicolò’s still hands from their work.

“It is alright. I took you to my home, that makes it yours as well.”

Nicolò’s breath hitches. He looks up, and sees that Yusuf’s eyes shine with affection, a smile tilting up the corners of his moustache. So handsome, so full of love, that Nicolò aches with it. Will he ever stop aching, filled to the brim with an adoration he is certain goes beyond anything he has felt before? He has no idea. He has never loved like this.

“Home stopped being a place when you entered my life,” he blurts, before he can even think. Yusuf gasps softly, his hold on Nicolò’s hands tightening. “My home is wherever you are, Yusuf.”

When they cross seas and ford rivers, climb mountains and traverse deserts, when they walk ancient paths and new city streets, when they rest beneath trees and sleep entwined under a roof or under the stars, Nicolò is home. As long as Yusuf is there, he is home. Where else could he ever want to be? Genoa birthed him, yes, but Yusuf is the place he belongs.

He raises Yusuf’s hands and kisses them, each knuckle, turns them over and kisses each palm. These hands are where he belongs. He leans forward, and Yusuf rushes to meet him, wave and shoreline, and those lips are where he belongs. He would gladly wander the Earth forever if Yusuf were to be at his side.

When they part, Yusuf brushes their noses together, humming gently. “Then home is wherever we might be,” he says.

“Together,” Nicolò adds, because he must.

“Of course, beloved,” Yusuf replies, and Nicolò allows the sounds of it to full his chest with sunlight, his heart settled within the sanctuary of Yusuf’s open palms.

[venusscore]

Bruce Wayne finds out about and takes in his biological child (reader) that’s a result from a hookup, except they’re a toddler:

Everyone, while excited, also are treating you like you’re made of glass

Bruce is terrified of the idea of you being like your siblings one day, hopping from rooftop to rooftop and fighting crime, risking your life each night…

Bruce spoils you, of course he does. You’re his new baby, and he has never had the opportunity to know his kids before they grew up and started defying him. Sometimes you follow him around like a duckling with its mother and he absolutely melts

Dick is absolutely excited. You’re so little and innocent! He hates that he’s so busy, or he’d just play with you all day.

Dick also, when he picks you up, is so afraid. If you even seem slightly uncomfortable, he offers to put you down. He doesn’t want to hurt such a fragile creature

Jason, at first, didn’t want to be near you. It’s not like he dislikes you, but he’s aware that he looks a bit intimidating, and that little kids also don’t know what personal space is, something he values

However, when you one day look up at him with your curious eyes, his entire demeanor fell apart. Once we warmed up to you, he was a great, cool older brother. He takes you to get your favorite “unhealthy” snacks that Alfred tries to make sure you don’t eat too much of, he takes you to the park, he even let you hold his helmet! (It was a bit too heavy for you)

Tim is probably the most neutral on you. He thinks you’re sweet, but you’re too little to really understand all the nerdy stuff he talks about, and he doesn’t really have the highest interest in children

With that said, his boyfriend, Bernard, loves you. You have such chubby cheeks and you’re so little! Watching you smile and laugh with someone he loves so much makes his day more than anything

So sometimes he’ll make sure to bring you along if he’s going out, or just take pictures for later. After all, there’s no harm if it makes everyone happy

Damian was warned ahead of time. It’s not that Bruce thought Damian would be a bad brother, but he did worry Damian would be a bit too blunt or rough, since he wasn’t exactly taught gentleness when he was your age

However, Damian found that it was hard to critique someone so innocent and sweet. He started to teach you things, like that the bee who stung you was just scared, or that if you don’t blow on your food it’ll burn your tongue

When you weren’t following Bruce, you were following Damian, which Dick has taken several photos of and shown off. As irritated and Damian may act about it, he’d never stop you

Cassandra thought her lack of communication would bore you, but she found it actually made you run to her when you were overwhelmed or upset

One night, when Bruce was arguing with another one of his children, you came up to her with a red face and tears. So she let you curl up next to her while she watched the television

Stephanie immediately started dressing you up in outfits and cooing over you

She’s several times tried to get you to do more activities that use your brain. She just knows you’re gonna be smart one day!

She likes reading books to you at night, and even showed you how to do a crossword. She nearly laughed out loud when you held up a Barbie doll you found in Bruce’s attic and claimed it looked like her. It was just too precious!

Duke thinks you’re a great kid. He sometimes joins Stephanie in her adventures on educating you

He likes to make sure you feel like a real kid. He’ll ask you what you want to be, indulge in your passions, even if you’re bad (yes, he will listen to you play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on the piano for the fifth time in the wrong key). He enjoys having a little mind in the family, and it brings him joy to see you grow up and develop more and more of a personality

extras:

Barbara finds you so cute! She’s several times dressed you up like Batgirl (Bruce nearly had a heart attack when he saw you once). She lets you watch crime shows with her, but covers your eyes when bloody scenes come on the screen

Selina thinks you’re just darling. As you grow up, she loves to talk gossip with you. You? Angry at your supposed best friend for telling everyone your secret? She’ll explain in detail exactly how to get revenge on them. She even lets you name one of her cats

________

hello, everyone! This is my first time writing real fan-work. I only recently got into the DC fandom, so I’m still learning everything. I tried to research some characters that I was unsure about, since characters like Cass, Duke, and Steph have so little content on them, but I never got anything definite. Please tell me if anything is inaccurate!

Also, I’m aware that not everyone likes Timber, so I can write an extra thing with Kon if yall like!

thank you!

[splishsplashsploshing]

Team Free Will are a bunch of Slytherins to me.

Like Sam and Dean are codependent fucks who go fucking feral without each other and will do anything to reach their goal of "Get my Brother back!"

Castiel just decided to declare himself God one day and has led Heaven, or at least factions of it, on like two separate occasions. Bit ambitious to do when he's a former foot soldier.

Sam (when souless granted) bit through his arm and drew a devil's trap with his own blood. That reads as cunning and determination to me.

Dean and the deal to get the Mark of Cain in order to defeat Abbadon. He saw power and said, "Sign me up!" Bit ambitious, taking the mark of the first murderer who, you know, killed his brother and thinking "Yeah I'll be fine controlling this!"

Castiel is seen to fight off like five other angels and win while he's in the process of falling from Heaven in season 5. Girlie is literally a master strategist.

I know you might be thinking "Oh but Sam is so ravenclaw" or "Dean is so gryffindor/ Hufflepuff" or whatever other houses. But I have to say I think Slytherin fits them all the best.

Sam may have a reputation of being all "Get This: LORE!" in later seasons but from 1-5 he's desperate for control, he's wanting revenge and he's willing to do anything to achieve that.

Dean may be nurturing and brave, but we've seen that Dean reserves that for Sam and members of his found family, it's not for everyone he comes across. Even then with his found family, Sam comes out on top for him. Dean will do anything to protect his family, and he will directly harm others to do so. Look at the Gadreel situation in season 9, Dean forced Castiel to leave the bunker and also forced Gadreel upon Sam even though Sam wouldn't have wanted to be possessed. Overall it protected Sam, but it hurt Castiel and Sam simultaneously.

Castiel may be a warrior of Heaven, but he betrayed his loyalty to Heaven and fell to earth. You could say that Castiel was then just loyal to the Winchesters instead, but he then betrayed them for what he believed was needed to win the war in Heaven. He does what he feels is necessary for what is right, damn the consequences. You could also argue that he has a bit of hubris, believing that he could be the angel that found God, believing that he could bring free will to the angels and rule heaven.

And that concludes my "Team Free Will totally suit Slytherin as a Hogwarts House" rant.

[cookierunslut]

Listen. Listen. An AU where the COD are forced to call a temporary truce with the Ancients bc of some other threat.

But it's total chaos. Dark Enchantress sometimes regrets bringing in these traumatized kids to work for her bc now they're a bunch of unmedicated, traumatized adults with totally unhinged coping mechanisms and only a mild sense of direction. They do not take this seriously at all.

Basically it's a giant, entirely unhinged, disfunctional family of ppl with like, a third of the morals a normal person has and even less sense of self preservation and common sense.

-Licorice 100% makes it his personal mission to test everyone's patience. He's playing all these dumbass pranks and taking nothing seriously.

-Has free access to the kitchen tho bc the rest of the gang sometimes wants him to cook for them (bro's a malewife in denial. He can do all that homemaker stuff so damn well, he just doesn't want to. But he'll do it for PM)

-Pomegranate has a prey drive and actively stalks the servants of the Vanilla castle when she can't find Licorice. (She has enough self control to not kill Licorice, but no one needs to know that.)

-If she does find Licorice, she will actively bully him and their fighting can be heard for miles. DE deploys their failsafe (sends PM in to them) to break up these fights.

-Since Red Velvet has been around, there's been an increasing number of cake hounds in the gardens.

-They brought Butter Roll to help the scientists but the guy scared most of them with his wild theories and stories of his experiments.

-Red Velvet and Crunchy Chip surprisingly hit it off and swap dog stories and tips for care. Sometimes recipes for meals, tho it's mostly Red Velvet telling Crunchy Chip which recipes are good for aging hounds, shiny coats, joint health, and so on.

-Caramel Arrow has no trust in Pomegranate whatsoever, but absolutely teams up with her to hunt Licorice for sport when she falls victim to one of his pranks.

-Choco Werehound has the most fun just being a social butterfly and learning proper princess mannerisms from Princess Cookie. They form a shockingly good friendship.

-Poison Mushroom has the time of their life passing out Shroomies to everyone they see. And they get to hang out with Strawberry Crepe again too, plus her new friends, Custard 3 and the Gingerbrave gang.

-Sometimes PM can be found foraging near the Vanilla Kingdom or the castle gardens with Licorice.

-Licorice and Butter Roll were once found stoned out of their minds, laying in the castle gardens and staring at the sky with PM.

-Matcha was swiftly banned from the kitchens and had to go to the labs.

-For some reason Dark Enchantress insists on bringing her children minions to every meeting and it takes so damn long to get anything done.

I feel like them interacting without having to be enemies would just be chaos.

[superbat-lmao]

The minute they turn 18, Jon and Damian elope.

Compared to the rest of the Bats, and even a lot of other heroes or vigilantes, the two have had a very open relationship. They talk about everything. Damian inherited the strategic planning of his family and Jon inherited the emotional vulnerability.

It means that once they are together they both know that no matter what the other does, this is it. To have found someone you love and who loves you this strongly, to outlast change and loss, it’s not something you let go of.

They get married the day after the second 18th birthday, not wanting the anniversary to overlap completely but also needing their families out of their hair. It’s done at a courthouse in Kansas, the same place Jon’s parents and grandparents had it done, even if they later threw public ceremonies.

They both finish out school and then start on the rest of their plans, for Damian it’s medical school. For Jon it’s figuring out his major. They get an apartment together and their families smile about them being college roommates. The let them smile, knowing that they’re building their first home together.

They attend college. If anything happens on campus, both of them are there to respond and make contingency plans for the fallout.

They graduate. Their entire families come out of the woodwork and throw a joint graduation party. They have job offers all over the country and they discuss at length where they should live. With Jon’s powers, distance is a difficult conversation, because Damian doesn’t want to rely on it, but can’t ignore its utility.

They settle on New York. Close to both their families, enough problems for them each to solve, and a city they can let become their own. To learn and love as their parents have before them.

They live their lives, their families thinking they’re best friends and never really bringing it up. And they don’t mention it either, not needing to. They are secure in each other and honestly were under the impression their families already knew.

When they adopt their first child, an orphan from a battle that few survived, it is a shock to their families that they never realized they were married. That Damian was Jon’s medical proxy not as his doctor, but as his husband. Asking them why they didn’t say anything leaves the couple baffled. It never occurred to them that their families didn’t know. It was on their taxes, their league files, to them it’s the equivalent of common knowledge.

They have a vow renewal that their families and friends can attend. They’re partially glad they waited since now their child can be in the photos.

Time goes by, they live their lives, and at the end, hold the record for longest lasting marriage between two mortals. They made it 75 years, their proudest accomplishment and happiest endeavor.

[loverlessnight]

My Favourite Polin FanFiction: Alternate Universe

Modern Setting

Cruel & Unusual: A Tale of Personal Growth: Penelope Featherington is officially over Colin Bridgerton. Deservedly so. She’d worked tirelessly over the last twelve months to move on from him. She’d listened to Lizzo on repeat, read every self-help book under the sun, been to therapy, and even changed the plot of her novel from a coming-of-age romance to a zombie thriller in a world devoid of men. In fact, she was seeing someone, not exclusively, but it was certainly heading in that direction. She’d done everything in her power to move on from her stupid, heart-wrenching, soul-destroying crush. Everything short of having a lobotomy. Which was why it was a tad concerning that she’d just shagged him.

so come give me a hug (if you're into getting rubbed): The three times Colin and Penelope were just cuddling. You know, as friends. That's all. Really. And the one time- Well, you know.

Faking It: When the editor-in-chief of Mayfair Magazine insists that Penelope work with a new writer on her sex column, she wants to scream. When she finds out it’s Colin Bridgerton, she wants to murder something (or someone). It’s been five years since she last spoke to him and a lot has changed. Penelope has changed. And she is not about to let him steal her column out from under her. Especially not when he’s under her.

Heatwave: Colin is three days into the worst heatwave south-east England had ever seen, that ripe, delicious, irresistible Omega scent sending his Alpha slowly insane, Aubrey Hall is Hell on Earth. And it’s all Penelope Featherington’s fault. Her and her fucking boyfriend.

Call Me: If Colin could only want her when there was a few thousand miles between them, so be it. Even if it stabbed brutally at something inside her for nearly two bloody years, Penelope had allowed herself the indulgence, thinking it was all she’d ever get of the man she loved with a wasted, aching, childish heart. One version of him wanted her, and that was enough. Because it had to be enough when it was all Colin wanted from her. Until she met Harry.

Call you when the party's over: Colin and Penelope were just friends. At least mostly, they were just friends. Completely and perfectly friendly and one hundred percent normal about ninety percent of the time. Even when he was couch surfing at her flat between jobs abroad, everything was okay. They were just friends. Well, for six days of the week anyway.

I'm Having His Baby: Penelope Featherington has a drunken one-night stand with her best friend, Colin Bridgerton, and there are major consequences. They now have to figure out how to mend the pieces of their broken friendship all while navigating this complicated and life-changing journey they've found themselves on together.

tie me up, tie me down: Penelope needs to learn to give up control. Colin thinks he has the perfect solution.

a little bit closer (you're my kind of man): Colin believes his 6 months away have been spent in a long distance relationship with the woman of his dreams. Penelope believes she's never going to get over her unrequited crush on her rather touchy best friend. What could possibly happen between the two of them, alone on this balcony?

Growing Pains: For a few years, Anthony was the only Alpha in his pack—his family. Benedict—his only true littermate considering the small age gap of two years—was an Omega which was pleasant. His younger brother perfectly balanced him out especially after their father had passed away. Only for Colin to start showing signs of presenting a year after. Now there was a baby Alpha in the house again.

Friends Can Kiss?: “Fine, I’ll kiss her.” Colin declared, “It’s not going to change anything. You idiots all think a kiss is some mind-bending moment. But you will see that friends can kiss and just go on living happily as they were.”

Double-Sided Tape: How the fuck does Colin Bridgerton not only fall in love once, but twice, with the same damn woman? But more importantly, how does he make it abundantly clear to her just how desperately he wanted her?

Big Deal: One rainy evening Colin decides to teach Penelope how to play poker.

Bless The Telephone: Or, the one where Penelope and Colin start having phone sex as “friends.”

I'm Making Her a Mama: The one where Penelope and Colin decide to make a baby “as friends.”

august: Penelope Featherington is house-sitting for Violet, and Colin comes home early from his travels.

EpiPen: Five times Bridgertons decide to stop eating nuts, and the time Colin realizes he’d given them up a long time ago.

Bad Idea: "Why won't you have a threesome with me?" After years of a rather unconventional friendship, the least Colin expected was to top the list of people his friend would consider having a threesome with. But when a drunken game night with the Bridgertons brings to his attention that he is in fact the last person on the list (in addition to the fact she is seeing this annoyingly handsome man), Colin must take matters in his own hands.

(Almost, Not Quite) 36 Questions: What happens when two nerds start gossiping at a posh wedding reception late into the night.

False Grudges and Unexpected Sleepovers: Enemies to lovers in one bed with a dash of praise kink.

breathe: during Christmas at Aubrey Hall, Colin discovers Penelope enjoys getting crushed.

motivation: Penelope helps Colin study for his exams. Colin needs some extra motivation.

City Lights: Sometimes she wonders what people would say if they knew that Penelope Featherington was Colin Bridgerton's booty call. Felicity would probably spin it into some grand adventure, casting Penelope as the lonely figure stood on some moonlight shore as she waited for her lover to return. Eloise would undoubtedly be violently sick and then call her an idiot... and Penelope, well Penelope could hardly believe it herself. It has to stop though. It has to.

Soft: Penelope and Colin fool around whilst hungover at Aubrey Hall, and turn their relationship upside down.

but i'd like to just pretend: It's not friends with benefits. It's friends OR benefits.

if it's the thought that counts (let's think it through): Colin had asked her to take his virginity. Not lose it with her, like throwing it in the bottom of the closet with the old school shirts unworn for years, or like a treasured bracelet, adored until it falls off one day never to be seen again. Take. Like it was his to give and hers to claim. Like she could cherish it. And she’d said yes.

The Age of Exploration: Under the summer sun of Aubrey Hall childhood best friends Colin and Penelope uncover a different type of heat which neither can ignore.

Wrong Number: Penelope gets a breakup text from an unknown number, (spoiler alert, it's Colin) and absolute chaos ensues.

Snowflakes in Her Eyelashes: The Bridgertons are all jetting off to the Scottish Highlands for Christmas and Penelope Featherington is coming with them this year. She's a close family friend and gets along famously with each and every member (young and old) with one significant exception-- the third eldest son, Colin Bridgerton. They may have been best friends as children, but now, in their mid and late twenties, they couldn't be further from friends. These days they can't even be in the same room with one another without trading verbal jabs that intensify steadily until someone literally has to pull them apart. After a lot of deliberation, though, Penelope accepts Violet's invitation despite this fact. She figures they'll be staying in a huge house and there will be a crowd of other people to distract herself with. What she can't possibly know, however, is that the storm of the century and a series of unforeseen events are going to make that house and that crowd much, much smaller.

Cradle Robbing: When his parents are caught up with the birth of yet another Bridgerton baby, little Colin seizes his opportunity and switches his baby sister with the delightful little redheaded baby he has become infatuated with at daycare.

Regency Setting

Dr Bridgerton; or With his educated eyes, and his hand between my thighs: There lay in Penelope a sickness, or so she had been told. A very specific kind that only this physician, as he called himself, could potentially be willing to alleviate for her, if there were any hope at all. At least that was what the flyer had said. A gentleman by the name of Mr Bridgerton had developed a technique of stimulatory effect to relieve the sufferings of women. Of sharp tongues and short tempers gone in a few months or less, within three sessions with his special apparatus.

The Bridgertons' Ward: When Viscount Edmund Bridgerton finds an unconscious little girl while playing hide and seek with his children, the Bridgertons' lives become a little more yellow. But the question would always remain: Who is Penelope Aubrey?

(Lack) Luster: Everyone knew that the spinster lady of the Featherington barony had no intentions of marrying and similarly, no man had any intention of marrying her. So why, pray tell, was the newest Bridgerton bachelor chasing after her skirts like she was some pretty little chit?

Of Stirrups and Silk: The Bridgertons had never known fortune, stability, or favor from the ton. So how on earth could they refuse when Lady Penelope Debling extended her hand, and told them she would guarantee their success in the marriage mart?

Royalty

buried in the shallow grave: In a world where the marriage ritual leaves a permanent mark on you, the word that reflects your match’s first impression of you appears in your skin. On her wrist, visible to anyone close enough to read it, was written her word with golden letters. Shallow.

golden crown, bloody sword: the Adventures of Princess Penelope and Sir Colin, her Knight Protector!

Western

sweet things need time to grow: local cowboy offers to help farmgirl dig a well (aka cowboy colin meets prairie girl pen)

Vampire

Crimson Reveries: Colin is not obsessed, but he has noticed that Penelope’s lips have always been tainted red ever since her presentation. It is quite striking against her porcelain skin and fiery red hair — it draws the eye, that is for certain. As temptation prevails and a kiss is shared under the moonlight, deeply buried feelings begin to unravel. Night after night, Colin is haunted by dreams of crimson lips, pearly white teeth, and a passion that leaves him breathless. Yet, something unsettling lingers behind the dreams. As the days pass, and the line between reality and fantasy starts to blur, his mind spirals into unnatural territory. He wonders if her lips bear the colour of something… more eternal than red paint. And that perhaps, it is not truly him she desires, but rather something he possesses.

Fantasy

My Jolly Sailor Bold: Little mermaid Pen tries to eat and gets eaten instead.

Medieval

My Knight in Shining Armour: Penelope had come to terms with the fact that she would always live her life by the sidelines. She was a skilled healer and her business was booming, yet, the villagers did not trust her. They thought her a witch and shunned her. Bar from Genevieve, the local seamstress, they all avoided her like the plague unless they required her services. One day, while out to gather for ingredients for another potion, she nearly got trampled over by a horse. Instead of meeting death, however, she met something else. Or rather someone else... Now, why was the handsome knight making her mind go all fuzzy? More importantly, would she ever see him again?

[applenilune]

Trepidation | one -The file-

SUMMARY~ Three years ago a Colonel from the Deepspace Fleet was murdered by his wife, now, rumors about a mind controlling chip are circulating on the Fleet’s corridors, making the officers feel scared and unsafe. Colonel Caleb is assigned to find out if they are true. But, why is a murder case from three years ago related to rumors about a chip? What does the former Colonel wife knows about that? Can Caleb get to the bottom of the mystery, without getting too close and attached to her?

Pairing~ Caleb x fr

Rating~ M! Explicit!

Warnings for this chapter~ mentions of death, mental illness,blood and suicide.

Tags~ 18+ MDNI, Dead Dove, dark themes, slow burn, eventual smut, trauma, mental illness, slightly gore descriptions, manipulation, murder allegations, conspiracy, stalking (I’ll add more as I think of them)

A/N: HELLO! This is my first fic after Years without writing anything, but the chokehold that Caleb has on me is so strong that I needed to write something for him. I’m a huge fan of thriller/mystery/romance books so that’s why I wanted to write something kinda dark, also, something that I want to mention, English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes that I could have made but I hope it’s still understandable. ALSO, I’m approaching this fic as a “beginning of the toring chip”, so it’s not going to be a 100% accurate depiction of the chip that we saw on the game, but it still will be kinda related. To finish, the female character has no name so in this chapter I put it as y/n but I’m not really sure about it so, maybe I’ll change that later, let me know how you feel about that.

Almost everyone on the fleet knew what had happened with Colonel Davian Vayne, he was young, 27 years old when he died, he was extremely smart and capable of handling the officers on his command, he never hesitated when it came to take hard decisions on his department, all of his work was clean and in perfect order, maybe that’s why he had become colonel at such a young age, everyone knew and liked him, he had the perfectly life, he was wealthy, his parents owned a chain of very fancy and famous restaurants around Skyhaven, and with his status as colonel the money only kept growing, he was elegant and charming, tall and broad, his blonde hair and hazel eyes drew attention from all the woman on the fleet, he was the type of men who everyone respects, who everyone raised their eyes to look at. He seemed to have no flaws.

He was also married, his wife was a real estate agent, not everyone knew her at the fleet, they had only see her a couple of times when one of the fancy dinner parties took place and everyone was encouraged to bring someone along, to make the parties more fun and interesting, who wouldn’t want to know how was the life outside the farspace fleet job? who do you live with? who were you when you weren’t using the uniform?

Colonel Davian’s wife was really a lovely person, said by the few people that met her, the few times she was on one of the fleet’s dinner parties she was always engaged in small talks with everyone learning about her husband’s teammates and their families, talking about her job and her life as a colonel’s wife, she was beautiful, they said, her delicate features, big beautiful eyes, soft skin and long jet black hair made all the people turn to look at her when she entered a room.

They made the perfect couple, what else could you ask from a partner? They were both so painfully perfect.

So, it came as a shock when everyone found out that colonel Davian Vayne had died, or better said, was murdered, by his own wife.

People refused to believe it, there was no way, how could a woman like Y/N Vayne kill her husband on such an horrific way? But she did, there was no doubt about it, she was the only one there with him the night he died, there was no one else’s fingerprints or anything that could lead to believe that someone else did it, that someone had forced their way into their home and attacked him, and when the officers deployed by the fleet arrived at their home and saw her covered in blood they immediately arrested her.

The scene itself was heartbreaking, the living room of the fancy house was dimly lit, decorated on the most elegant furniture, everything remained dark and silent, the lights on the kitchen were the only ones on, the officers approached the area, and saw her, she was out of her mind, on her knees in a corner on the floor of the fancy kitchen crying uncontrollably and screaming in pain with a knife on her hand, she was hurting herself, like she was trying to kill herself too, trying to join her husband, making cuts all over her body, they attempted to calm her down but she was so out of herself that it took them a while to get the knife out of her hands. Her night gown was covered in blood, hers and her husband’s, and everything else in the kitchen was covered in blood too, like if someone had took a bucket full of blood and just splatter it around everything on the kitchen.

The colonel’s body laying lifeless on the floor, also surrounded by an insane amount of blood, his throat had been cut, really deep, it made everyone on the scene felt sick to their stomach.

When she was asked why she did it, she didn’t said anything, she refused to talk with anyone, locking herself inside her own mind, they seemed to have a perfect life, a beautiful dynamic between them, what reason could she possibly had to kill her husband in a really horrible way?

Everyone decided that she was just crazy, something must have snapped on her mind, for her to, all of a sudden, attack her husband and end his life so abruptly, specialists ran a few tests on her, and a few weeks after the murder she was put on trial for killing her husband, Davian Vayne, and condemned to life imprisonment, but since she was declared mentally ill and unstable, they put her on a mental facility, where she would spend the rest of her days.

That had happened three years ago, and even though when it happened it was all that people talked about in the fleet’s office, as time went on, it began to become less and less of a conversation topic. Until almost no one talked about it, until the events even started to morph into something that made no sense at all, no one talked about it anymore, unless someone brought out a memory about colonel Davian Vayne and his work, then all of the stories about the incident were talked on the corridors, people felt sorry about their story and then moved on with their lives.

The world kept moving, besides the lost of a lovable and capable colonel, there was nothing stopping the world from spinning, especially on the fleet, they had a beautiful memorial on his honor and then, that was it.

Since his wife had been convicted and the case had been closed, people just decided to move on, there were other cases, there were other problems, other wars that needed to be fought, other matters that needed to be addressed.

Work at the fleet kept coming so everyone just kinda forgot.

If it didn’t actually happened to anyone in your family or someone close to your heart, then it just became a corridor gossip, and those were never ending too, there was always someone else’s business to discuss, the adjutant did this, the first sergeant messed up the mission, the lieutenant cheated on his wife with the cafeteria girl, half of the battalion died on the deepspace tunnel, the captain was attacked by a wanderer that appeared at his office, etcetera.

People always talked, that was something undeniable. That’s what people do, no matter where you work at.

Recently on the corridors there had been a rumor spreading, people claimed that, there was a chip of some sort, being developed by some technology company that wanted to establish those chips on the fleet, or their officers, to be more exact, to control and keep them on the fleet’s track, wipe their brains clean so that they could write the actions of the employees using the chip, like robots, soulless machines devoted one hundred percent to their job, to make them do what they wanted. To keep the fleet pristine and flawless.

People were starting to get scared, word spreaded like wildfire and it started to affect the fleet’s image, the information wasn’t still out in the public eye, but if they didn’t stop it, it eventually will.

That’s why Caleb was sitting here, in the General’s office. He wanted him to dig deeper, to find out if the claims were true, he had been receiving comments from concerned people who wanted to know if that information was actually true, there was really a chip being created and designed specifically for mind control of the fleet’s employees?

Caleb had become Colonel just a few months after Colonel Vayne had passed away, now, he occupied the place he once had, the General had decided that Caleb was more than well prepared to take the place as the new Colonel, all his skills and knowledge, and all of the experience and decision making he had made on the deepspace tunnel were more than enough to prove that he was perfect for the position, yes, colonel Vayne had died, but they couldn’t leave his place empty, he had died, but the show must go on. The fleet needed to fill the position. And Caleb was the perfect choice. No one had doubts about it.

Caleb was sitting straight, his hands intertwined on his lap, his expression stoic as he listened to the General speaking to him across his desk. He had explained all of the concerns and lies that were being discussed amongst the officers and he thought to himself that it was an stupid rumor with no fundament, but he also understood the way that this could affect the work of the fleet. They wouldn’t want a collective panic surge forming in the minds of the employees. It would make them look weak. And that is the last thing the fleet wants, to look weak.

“As I’m sure you are aware Colonel, we cannot let this situation escalate more, if we let all of this nonsense talking continue, it will affect our performance as a whole. I need you to conduct an investigation about this, I know it’s not really your specific job but, I cannot let a lower range officer take care of this, you have my full trust, your work has been anything but perfect, so all of this, it has to be just between us, I don’t want this to grow bigger until we have full knowledge and control about it. When you’re done with the investigation, you report it directly to me”

“I understand sir, you don't have to worry” Caleb said with a calm demeanor “I will personally take care of it”

The general pushed an e-file pad that was sitting on his desk on Caleb’s direction, he had his hand placed over the file, not wanting Caleb to take it yet, until he had finished talking.

“This is a classified document, the information that resides in these pages is knowledge of a few people, not even you as a colonel, could have access to it, I’m giving it to you because the minute that these comments came into my ears, this file was the first thing that I thought about, I think it could help as a start”

“If you allow me sir,” Caleb said “You really think that this corridor conversations require a deep investigation?”

“People is getting startled, not even me as the fleet’s General had any sort of information regarding any sort of chip, we cannot leave anything to speculation, we need to maintain this corporation afloat, if there is any sort of mind controlling chip I want to know, we need to protect our people”

Caleb nodded, then the General release the folder and pushed further towards Caleb for him to grab it, then took a small piece of paper and wrote down the password Caleb would need to unlock the e-file pad, when Caleb took them, he stood from the chair and prepared to leave.

The General was really committed to his work, he was one of the few people on the fleet that actually cared about the people under his wings, more than the wellbeing and orders of the higher ups, Caleb thought to himself that, that was actually more of a weakness than strength, but he wasn’t the General…yet.

“I’ll start working on it right away sir” he said, as he saluted the general and then turn away to leave his office, when his hand was over the door handle the General said:

“Not a word about this to anyone Colonel, until we know what we’re actually dealing with. You and I are the only ones that know about this, let’s keep it that way.”

Caleb opened the door without responding, since it wasn’t actually necessary, and he stepped outside, this was the most odd request he had received, to him, all this situation made no sense, the officers were focusing on a stupid hallway gossip instead of doing their jobs, but since the General had asked him, he literally had no choice but to dig into it. And he was the best at his job.

Caleb walked expressionless straight to his office, people turned around to salute him, but he didn’t bother to respond or even look at them, when he arrived, he ordered his secretary to not interrupt him under any circumstances, the curiosity about knowing what was in that file that he was just granted access was itching on him, and also, he wanted to be finished with this nonsense as quick as possible, he locked the door behind him, and walked to sit on his chair, he placed the file on the desk and looked at it like hesitating for a second, what was he going to find out inside of it?

He opened the file, and when it asked him, he introduced the password the General had provided him to unlock the e-file pad. It opened, what it said on the first page on bold letters made him furrow his brows. What does this case had to do with the rumors about the chip? It made no sense, why was the General giving him this file?

FARSPACE FLEET INVESTIGATION BUREAU

CASE 00MI1608

RESTRICTED ACCESS

PLEASE RETURN THIS FILE IF YOU ARE ON LEVEL 08 OR BELOW

YOU WILL BE PROSECUTED

ASSASSINATION OF COLONEL DAVIAN VAYNE

AUGUST 2045

The murder of colonel Davian? He was killed three years ago, what his murder file had to do with a fucking mind controlling chip? He relaxed a little bit on the chair, the general had given this to him for a reason. He started reading the file to find out why.

The file had a lot of pages, this specific case was handled by the fleet itself because the victim was a high rank officer, Caleb was fixated on the information from minute one, it was like reading a suspense, thriller novel, everything was so intriguing to him.

The firsts pages of the file were about the night the murder had taken place, as it said, it was a quiet summer night, the Vayne’s were at home and all of the sudden something has snapped up in his wife, the investigators wrote that they were probably arguing about something in the kitchen, when Y/N Vayne suddenly decided that she had enough. Took one of the expensive chef knives that laid on the kitchen island and cut her husband’s throat.

Caleb moved onto the next pages, there were pictures of the crime scene, it was kinda like what the stories around the fleet were told, Davian was on the floor, his throat had been cut so deep that you could see the muscles tore open, the floor was so covered in blood that it was like if someone had moped it with a bucket full of blood.

Caleb was desensitized of watching this types of scenes, no one with a high position on the fleet wasn’t accustomed to this sort of stuff, you had to handle the hard situations, so he didn’t even flinch at the images.

The next few pages were images of Mrs. Vayne’s body, she had apparently been tryin to end her life too, there were cuts made by herself all over her body, her arms, legs, neck, stomach, almost everywhere. She wasn’t successful in her attempts of course but Caleb thought that that was a strange way of trying to kill yourself.

He continued reading the file.

After the colonel’s autopsy, there were physical and psychiatric tests that were conducted on his wife.

The doctors wrote that she refused to talk to anyone for almost a week, it was like she was in some kind of mental lockdown, almost like she refused to believe that this was her new reality. That she had killed her husband.

They had her arrested on the hospital, hands cuffed into the bed, but somehow when she was not being watched she broke free from the restraints and began hurting herself again, when the officers, nurses and doctors entered the room, she was again covered in blood, she was on a frenzy, she had a deep wound in the back of her neck, arms and legs, she had also bitten herself really hard, they searched the room, looking for whatever weapon she had used to do that to herself, but they found nothing.

After that incident she calmed down, it seemed like she had just waken up from a long dream or a coma, or so they thought because now, when she started to speak again, she began talking about how someone had been tracking her down, someone had been following her and watching her, and she also said that someone had implanted a chip on her body, and against her will, they made her kill her husband.

She had no full memory of the night it actually happened, only flashes of memories, she couldn’t explain what had driven her so numb or mad that she murdered her husband so brutally, but she kept repeating that this was not entirely her fault. That they needed to investigate further, that they needed to find out who had done that to her to find out who the real culprit was, but there was no evidence to back up any of those allegations. It was all her doing. And she was saying that only to escape the sentence.

Caleb had to read that again, She said someone had been watching her, put a chip on her body and were controlling her actions. Whoever did that to her, made her kill the colonel, her husband.

A chip.

A controlling chip.

Caleb had to stop for a moment, analyzing the situation, this was why the General had told him that it might be related to the chip rumors happening now. It made him feel, amused, desperate, desperate to know the truth, eager, excited, almost.

He didn’t like not having the full story but…He liked challenges, they were too…enticing. And mysteries, he liked those, and Y/N Vayne was buried in mystery so deep that he wanted to dig her up.

The rest of the file were the prosecutors notes, the case they built against her, so that they could give her a sentence, thanks to the test ran by the psychiatrist’s they had decided to put her on a mental facility, she was obviously sick on her brain, she was out of her mind. She just talked nonsense, right? It was all nonsense? Now he wasn’t so sure.

He knew what he had to do first, to get to the bottom of this entire situation.

He had to talk to her.