#tine beautiful things
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Natalie Wee NEVER BEEN KISSED / pinterest / 밤의 해변에서 혼자 On the Beach at Night Alone (2017) dir. 홍상수 Hong Sang-soo / Evelyn Waugh Brideshead Revisited / Mary Oliver North Country / Cheryl Strayed Tiny Beautiful Things / Aftersun (2022) dir. Charlotte Wells / Franz Wright East Boston, 1996; God's Silence
#this doesn't really have a theme lol i've just been browsing pinterest and so here we are#on self#web weave#web weaving#poetry parallels#poetry compilations#natalie wee#never been kissed#on the beach at night alone#hong sang soo#evelyn waugh#brideshead revisited#mary oliver#north country#cheryl strayed#tine beautiful things#aftersun#charlotte wells#franz wright#god's silence#poetry#words#spilled ink#dark academia#dark academia poetry#spilled thoughts#spilled poetry#poem#dark academia quote#writing
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sad about the fact that we were supposed to play neruda's corno da caccia concerto (with a trumpet, however, not a corno da caccia - as i believe is most common, contrary to what it was written for) some years ago and just. dropped it. it's such a beautiful concerto, and one of the two pieces that i've never actually played at a concert myself yet would really like to suggest to my current orchestra.... will keep you updated if that ever happens
#the other one is japanese suite by holst. a very different genre of beautiful yet beautiful nonetheless#own post#the version with tine thing helseth is just *chef's kiss*
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Perhaps it's only fate that you're the one to have caught the eyes of the three school belles.
Jang Wonyoung—young, rich, tall, beautiful are the words everyone use to describe her. After all, it's all part of her lifestyle as the rich chaebol daughter. However, you know one more adjective that's special to you only—bratty.
"Hi Daddy, I'm not wearing any underwear today. No bra, no panties, all bare underneath these pesky clothes right now. Can we skip classes, please? I'm so wet and needy for you already..."
Kim Gaeul—stern, composed, firm. It's in her to be like that—student council presidents aren't known to be lenient and kind anyway. However, she's got you wrapped around her finger(s) [and strap] every time you're alone with her—that's where she's very... kind to you.
"Mm, that's right, babygirl. Ride Mommy's strap just like that, suck Mommy's fingers just like that. God, you must've needed me so badly, hmm? So needy that you're already making a mess of my lap? It's a good thing Mommy likes you, babygirl. Now cum, cum for Mommy to watch."
An Yujin—cheerful, bubbly, and a joy to be with. It's her nature to be such an oversized puppy—"social butterfly" is what she is, and as your tutor, not only is she the saviour of your grades, she's always around to be a listening ear and a pick-me-up when you need it. However, here's the thing—you're her favourite tutee too, and it shows.
"Mm, fuck, honey, you're so wet already... fuck, it just excites me so much knowing that I make you drip like that. How does my tongue feel, honey? Do you like it when I eat your pussy? I can't wait until you're squirting all over my face, fuck..."
If all of them called you for a fuck on the same day, which of the three do you think you'd pick?
Or are you going to be naughty and book all three of them on the same day? Or worse... at the same time? ;)
Love you, dear.
So I finally got to this.
Wony, Yujin, and Gaeul are my triumvriate—I love them so much I'd crack my own neck if they told me to. But okay, I'll give you a run-down and ranking of who I choose:
1. Wonyoung
I'm a sucker for daddy kink and Wonyoung's whole self screams that she likes it, too. She's very charming, composed, and beautiful—and she knows it. So she likes to use it to her advantage to get what she wants: a punishment.
That's my favorite trope: the misattribution of control. That's why I write about it all the tine. I could be throwing Wonyoung around in the sheets thinking I'm in charge but really, she's the one who holds the reins.
Wonyoung, marry me. You may or may not be topping (heh) Gaeul in my IVE bias list
2. Gaeul
I'm a Gaeul stan before a human. The first IVE fic I wrote was about her. She takes a more submissive role in my fics (not for long...) but I honestly think she's a soft dom. If ever, she's the kind whose degradation is a little sweet-sounding.
I love the kind of woman who could just kill me. I hope—
3. Yujin
She's the muse for The Devil's Telephone obviously, and I love her. I could definitely hear that dialogue in her voice and it's so hot but I have to put her in third because she's up against Gaeul.
Maybe I'll take them both. Then Wonyoung for later. Best for last.
This Frisky GOAT level ask makes me want to yell. I love you, Sins.
:woman_bowing:
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WIP Whenever
@ramblingoak and @ghostchems tagged me to share a WIP and because I know it's been ages and I'm super behind here's a piece from Chapter 12 of IKNBS. Also the fic hit 666 kudos on Ao3 and I think that's a good reason to share this today ♡
The pasta is still lukewarm. Eating semi cold spaghetti two days in a row is not very glamorous but you’re pretty sure you’ve never eaten with quite as much enthusiasm and hunger. Copia himself bolts down the pasta like he hasn’t seen food in a few days. He looks relaxed now, a sort of post-coital glow in his mismatched eyes that never really stray from your body, a hunger not directed at his food, adoration that is unhidden, visible in every glance. You think that this is the closest to real heart eyes a human can offer and it gives you butterflies that make it hard to swallow your food.
His red zip-up hoodie is draped over your shoulders, the only item of clothing on your body. You sit on the mattress right next to where Copia is leaning against the wall in just his briefs, eating straight from the take away containers with wooden forks and paper napkins. His make-up is smudged, traces of it on the pillows, on the sheets, on you. He looks beautiful in the fading light, darkness slowly creeping in through the windows and deepening the lines on his face. With the long hours of the night stretched out before you like a calm expanse of sea, the only visible shores far off in the distance, you feel utterly at peace. So much time to spend with him, uninterrupted, time to worship in the only way you now know.
“You look beautiful,” he says, setting his empty paper box aside, “wearing my clothes.” A smirk, his eyes shimmering with lust and mischief. “Or nothing at all.”
You smile into your next fork of pasta. “You have to give me a few minutes after eating.”
“Who said I want to do anything, cara? Can I not compliment you with no ulterior motives?” When he sees your hidden grin, the raised brows, he chuckles. “You are right, there is no moment in which I don’t want you. Don’t need you.” A deep breath, his head falling back into the pillow that’s propped up behind his back. “But I can be patient.”
As if to disprove his statement, his bare hand reaches out to touch your thigh, squeezing the flesh and tracing its soft stretch marks all the way up to where it meets your hip. You shiver against his touch, goosebumps forming underneath his fingertips. He chuckles, repeating the ever same movement, stroking your skin until it stops tickling as much and becomes a steady, reassuring gesture. So focused on his touch, he barely takes notice of you still eating, wrapping the last few spaghetti around the wooden tines.
“Copia,” you say.
“Hm?” He looks up, squeezing your thigh once more. “Are you done yet?”
“What about being patient?”
“I want my dessert.”
You sigh dreamily, swallowing the last bite of pasta. “I love dessert. I wish we had some.”
“Oh yes, you do, eh? Macarons and croissants.”
“Mhm.” You close the empty box, scooting closer to him. “I was never allowed to have it as a child.”
“What else do you like?” he asks. “Real desserts?”
It seems like the talk of food has distracted him momentarily from touching you. You decide to crawl over him to get rid of your empty container, but he still grabs your hips the moment you’ve set it down, pulling you against his chest and rolling you over until he’s towering above you. A short gasp leaves your lips, his weight and warm body so solidly caging you in.
“So?” he asks, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your cheek.
“Most things,” you reply, shivering when his lips brush the tender spot below your ear. “Tiramisu.”
“Oh, really? You like Italian, eh?”
“I like Italians, yes. I like one Italian especially.”
He chuckles, looking at you with his love-struck eyes, the green shimmering so delicately in the soft moonlight that is now making its way into the studio. The first kiss is soft, a moan fluttering from your throat as his tongue licks along your lips. The next kiss is more demanding. He presses in hard until you open for him, his tongue teasing yours with no haste.
“Mhm so sweet,” he whispers. “My baby tastes so good. Better than all the pasta and desserts.” You can’t help but giggle and he hums in delight, pressing more kisses to your neck, your shoulder, down the column of your throat where he lingers, licking along the line of your clavicle until you shudder. “Do you know that I am addicted? I could taste you forever.” He gives a throaty chuckle. “Perhaps I will.”
tagging: @xfilesinamajor @copias-sewer-rat @kissingghouls @gothdaddyissues (if you want to and have something to share ♡)
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To Build A Nest (Bob Floyd x Reader)
Summary: In which the Daggers are working really hard on a project that you and Bob left unfinished
“Jake for the last fucking time! We are NOT painting that on the walls!” Natasha argued.
“Oh c’mon, where’s your sense of humor?” Jake half whined.
“Up your ass with the rest of you,” Natasha mumbled before her phone began to vibrate.
Quick as she could, Natasha answered the FaceTime call from you and Bob, finally happy to see Baby Auggie’s tiny little form snuggled into Bob’s bare chest under the little blue Peter Rabbit blanket.
“Oh look! Little Man’s out of his incubator!” Natasha exclaimed happily.
“He’s coming out alot more often,” you told her. “Still having some trouble regulating his body temperature, but if we give it another two weeks, he should be able to come home.”
“Oooh is that little man?” Mickey asked excitedly peering over Natasha’s shoulder.
A loud noise snagged Mickey’s attention before he could get a closer look at Auggie, disappearing to go and break it up.
“How’s the work coming?” you asked, a laughing grin threatening to crawl across your face.
Natasha grimaced when a loud “MOTHERFUCKER!” flew from Jake’s mouth. “How do you think it’s going?”
You and Bob both laughed but when Natasha turned her phone camera to show you the half done mural on the wall, your jaws practically dropped to the floor. “Oh my God!” you quietly exclaimed.
“It’s a work in progress but hopefully it’ll be done soon,” Natasha explained. “Hopefully these morons quit their bitching and keep working.”
“No, no, you guys are doing an amazing job,” you assured her. “Shit, the nurse is on her way in. Can we call you back again tomorrow?”
“No problem,” Natasha answered, before bidding you and Bob farewell for the evening.
She dove right back into the work, rinsing the brushes in the paint spattered mason jars while Mickey turned the bluetooth speaker back on to keep playing their music. Of course there had been pinched fingers, paint splatters on clothing and faces and things that had gotten mucked up along the way, but in all it hadn’t been bad.
Two weeks it had taken to get the whole thing complete. Two weeks of arguing, bickering and slugging through the work, night and day to get it done, but at last, the nursery was done. The paint had dried and soon, the Daggers were looking at the completed mural that had been absolute hell to paint....a Thomas Kinkade style painting of Disney’s Pinocchio.
“We did it,” Natasha said to Mickey. “We fuckin did it.”
“I still say we should’ve done Star Wars,” Mickey teased.
“Hey this was Bob’s idea, not ours.”
On the day that you and Bob finally arrived home with Auggie, the gang led you upstairs to the room, finally completed after having waited so long. It was beautiful, the mural catching your eyes immediately as well as the wood crib and the old rocker in the corner near the window. You and Bob were both nearly in tears when you saw the quilt hanging off the bed, embroidered with a large image of Pinocchio, Jiminy Cricket and a little bluebird.
“Oh my God, you guys are the best,” you said tearfully. “It’s absolutely beautiful.”
“What can we say, we’re the best of the best,” Payback told you as he gave you the biggest hug you had in a long time.
“Oh but wait there’s more,” Jake informed you and Bob.
Off of a shelf, Coyote pulled a little yellow box that had been painted once again with those familiar images in the nursery, this time one of Pinocchio and Geppetto. “Your dad and my dad got together and fixed this a few days ago,” Jake explained. “Your Meemaw said she and your grandfather had cleaned out the basement and she found it in a box that had your baby stuff in it.”
“Is the box still here?” Bob asked.
“In the closet.”
Before Bob had a chance to look, he opened the little box in his hand, the little tines hidden within playing “When You Wish Upon A Star.” The whole room had gone silent when they heard it, Bob’s eyes soon filling with tears at the childhood memories that had come flooding back to him.
You two couldn’t thank your friends enough for what they had done for you both. That night, everyone had stayed over to help, Bob’s parents informing him that they were coming out from Oklahoma to help as well. You two ate dinner with your close friends and when it grew dark, you finally put Auggie to bed, bringing him up to his new room. Bob sat in the rocker, the tiny little one snuggled deep into his bare chest as the music box played away, his sleepy little coos filling the room.
And that night, the stars seemed to shine a little bit brighter over Fightertown.
#top gun maverick#robert bob floyd#bob floyd x reader#natasha phoenix trace#bradley rooster bradshaw#mickey fanboy garcia#jake hangman seresin#javy coyote machado#reuben payback fitch#dagger squad
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Pls I must know how mono celebrates Valentine’s Day with their beloved
[Val-en-tine's Day? Hm, I'm afraid I do not have information on this holiday in my data. Must have slipped my mind while I was doing research on your planet. My apologies, starlight.]
Mono twists back around in their seat to face their workspace, leaving the gift you brought them untouched.
[Please return to your chair. We will be landing momentarily. I need to grab some minerals from this planet and once I am finished I can make up for my error.]
Saddened, but understanding, you slump back down in the co-pilot seat. The monitor above your chair had been malfunctioning during the day, so you had no visuals on the planet as the ship floated into orbit. Heading to the bridge, Mono is unusually quiet. Their singular eye wanders in your direction before immediately looking elsewhere when you stare back. The only time it lingers is when they're pulling you away from the windows. Stepping out into the forgien landscape, you lay witness to the reason for their odd behavior.
You landed in some sort of open valley. Grayish blue mountains off in the distance and abnormal flora at your feet. The flowers vibrated with eye catching and transdimensional hues, small clusters of colors softly overlaying each passing ray. The sky is without filter, the tree tops peeling away to make room for the space you have traveled lightyears through by now. Other planets orbit round the one you inhabit, stars so clear you can almost touch them. The one thing both out of scene and the final touch to it was a picnic blanket in the middle of the field.
Mono adjusts a bow tie around their neck as you look up at them.
[Apologies for the ruse, starling. That blasted a.i tends to call me a "stick in the mud" when it is online. Looking back, I feel it may have been cruel, but I pray this will make up for it.]
As they speak stars rain from the sky. As they crash into the distant mountains bright sparks shoot off them like fireworks in the night, kissing the heavens in a luminescent glow.
[This is a place I discovered early on in my travels. It is a beautiful feat, but nowhere near as charming as you, my dear. The sparks are comparable to the flames within my heart whenever you grace me with your voice and touch. I love you more than there are stars in the galaxy, Starlight - Happy Valentine's day.]
#Mono my oc#yandere oc#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere scenarios#yandere headcanons#yandere imagines#yandere x you#yandere insert#yandere blurb#yandere alien#yandere x darling#yandere teratophilia#yandere fluff#soft yandere
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MANNA PART 6
Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham fic, sort of DD/LG dynamic
TW: eating disorders, noncon, abusive relationship
She/her pronouns for reader
NOTE: this chapter occurs chronologically pre-leg, within the first month or so of your captivity. I'm writing Manna out of order; when I upload to ao3 I'll put everything in the right place
---
You pass an evening with Hannibal like so many others, yet unlike for the state induced in you through his studious medicinal enterprise.
You are accustomed to the concoction of drugs that regresses you to a needy youth, the sleepers, the stimulants, the tea that lowers you from the electric heights of your righteous hysteria. Yet whatever element comprises the pill flushed down by water from a gently tipped glass elevates you to orbit a heaven above yourself, so removed from your imprisonment that you observe with an objective eye.
Dr Lecter has bestowed upon you the rare trust that you may eat without assistance, and you have done so, temporarily rescinding your disordered agitation to the mycelium half-dream.
Thus elevated, you watch yourself drape the tines of your fork back and forth across your half-eaten plate, enthralled by patterns on the porcelain that are not there.
Your eyes drift repeatedly to a painting on Hannibal’s wall, mounted coyly for any dinner guest to comment on. Naturally, have seen the piece many times before, in turns startled and disturbed by its subject. Now, however, you find yourself dully intrigued, an attention that does not go unnoticed by Dr Lecter.
“What is it, little one?” he asks, intently, laying down his cutlery on either side of his plate with a quiet clink. “Do you have an interest in art?”
“I don’t know,” you say, confused by the question. “It’s just this picture. Isn’t it... rude?”
Hannibal smirks, eyeing the image with fond appreciation. Its focus is a supine young woman, draped, half-naked, on a rumbled bed, towards which a curious swan approaches with curved neck bowed.
Likely it is the original painting, procured at auction, its price unimaginable; all things in this house are ripe with expense, even you, its demanding charge.
“Artistic nudity is only considered rude by children,” says Hannibal, blithely, “or else by shallow and ignorant adults. Does the depiction of genitalia offend you, my darling?”
You gaze up at the cowrie of a cunt under its shadow cap of hair, pinkly presented on spread silk, and think how often your own has been arranged likewise for Will or Hannibal to admire.
“Why is it in this room, specifically?” you ask; you struggle with the syllables of the word, spit at the sibilants in a manner unbecoming for so distinguished an event. “Doesn’t it put people off their food?”
“I find it makes for an amusing conversation piece,” says Hannibal, pouring himself another generous glass of wine.
You attempt to grimace, none of your muscles quite taking to the motion.
“I don’t think it’s funny at all. Just creepy. Sad.”
“Are familiar with the story of Leda and the Swan?” asks Hannibal, with interest. “Zeus, a virile and insatiable God, looked upon the queen of Sparta and desired her. So, in order to seduce her, he transformed himself into a swan so that she would be fooled by his beauty and appearance of vulnerability to take him to her bed.”
“He tricked her,” you say, quietly. “He didn’t seduce her, at all.”
Dr Lecter’s face scarcely moves, but there is something of laughter in the lines of his strange beauty.
“So it is the deception that unnerves you,” he says. “The pretence that he was an innocent creature rather than the all-powerful and lustful deity he truly was.”
You nod, not wanting to admit that you see your own face mirrored in the brushstrokes of the Grecian queen.
Prophet-like, Hannibal interprets the motion with flawless vision.
“You empathise with Leda. Recognise the parallels between her story and your own.”
“Is that why you put it there?” you retort, emboldened by the miles between you and the girl slumped in the dining chair. “Because you think you’re the swan?”
“The bird is a shield for the truth, remember,” says Hannibal. “So what would the swan be, in me?”
Dropping the fork with a discordant clatter, you consider.
“The polite, handsome doctor,” you say, at last. “You fool everyone; Jack, Alana Bloom. My parents. They would never have left me here if they knew what you really were.”
Hannibal tilts his head at a slight angle, as though by doing so he might uncover some mystery in your face.
“And what am I, little one?”
“I don’t know,” you admit. “There are a lot of things you’re hiding from me. How can I know what you really are?”
“Tell me your perceptions, then. There is no need to spare my feelings; after all, you so rarely do.”
Amidst your mushroom-made divinity, you are fearless in your answer.
“You’re a bad person. You’ve done things that would get you into a lot of trouble. Hurt people. Not just me. And you don’t feel bad about it. You think that everything you do is right, somehow. Like you should be allowed to do it. Like you’re a god.”
Hannibal absorbs this with a silence that seems sated, or almost so.
“And what about Will?” he prompts. “Is he, too, a starving monster under the guise of a tender animal?”
“No,” you say, with less certainty. “He’s... sick. You're using him, making him think that this is what he wants.”
Hannibal laughs over the rim of his wine glass.
“That is where you’re wrong, little one. The Will you think you see is only one wing of the swan. Soon, you will see beyond that fragile veil, and feel the mythic need of all immortals to plunder from the weak, merely for the pleasure of knowing that they can.”
A sudden sadness tugs you back to earth like a choke chain, a lump in your throat.
“So you don’t want to help me, after all,” you mumble. “It was all a lie.”
Taking your hand across the table, Hannibal presses a thumb to the pulse at your wrist, a soothing gesture.
“Not at all,” he says, firmly. “To recover from your illness you must be made to relinquish control in its most basic forms. The instances I return it to you are experiments in progress. Remember that Leda did not die after Zeus bedded her: she became a mother. In you, I seek another outcome. More than one, in fact.”
You gaze at him with disbelieving eyes, rejecting the hope he grooms in you.
“What other outcome are you looking for, Dr Lecter?”
Hannibal kisses your knuckles and places the fork back into your hand.
“Nothing you need to think about at the moment,” he says. “Now, finish what’s on your plate. It’s growing cold.”
#ao3 writer#dark fic#manna fic#hannibal lecter x reader#dark hannibal lecter#dark will graham#will graham x reader#yandere hannibal lecter#yandere will graham#hannibal fic#dark!fic#tw noncon#tw eating disorders#dead dove do not eat
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Part 1 I Part 2
Théo sat in the dark and cried.
She was so happy for Eugene!
Wasn't it wonderful for him to find love like this?
Her beautiful, kind son now had a life partner. Perhaps she would soon even be welcoming a grandchild or two to the family.
She kept trying to choke down her tears, sniffling pathetically, but now that the crying had began she found no way to end it.
She hated it. The crying. Herself.
"I figured I would find you here," a soft voice rang out from the darkness and Théo flinched, desperately trying to hide her face.
She tried to wave her hand at 'Tine, to get him to leave, but he ignored her half-hearted gesture so he could sit down next to her.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She opened her mouth to try to speak, but the moment she tried to make any sort of noise all that came out was another wretched sob.
"There, there," he hushed, taking on the same tone their mother had used on them as children, "Hush, hush."
"D-don't--"
"-- It's fine, Théo. You can cry, it's just me."
"I-it's noth…," she tried to speak again, voice shaking with effort, "N-nothing."
"Doesn't seem like nothing to me," he said and Théo scoffed at him. Stupid, patient Tine and his stupid endless kindness.
"S-stop--"
"Oh, don't be silly," Tine said, "If it bothers you so much to have me comfort you, then just consider it a debt of comfort to be repaid once one of mine get married. I'm sure I'll be a blubbering mess then too."
Théo tried to shake her head again.
How would he know?!
At least his children were all his. Truly his.
'Tine never had to worry about them being driven away by the other parent, because there was none.
No other parent to be the favourite or the enemy, to one by one take all of your children away from you.
All except Eugene. And now she had to let him go too.
"He'll still be living with you," 'Tine said and Théo frowned.
"Stop that," she managed to say, very weakly, and he smiled.
"I won't." He said, reaching out to wipe a tear-stained cheek. The skin around her eyes was puffy and sore from all her crying.
"I feel--" she said, tenatively, "Pathetic."
"It's the first time one of yours get married. It's bound to be an emotional moment. There's plently of mothers who cry at weddings."
Théo pouted, "Because they're happy."
"And you're not happy?"
Théo shrugged.
After a moment of silence, the wind rustling through the trees, Tine spoke up, "Can I guess? Is it because of Joseph?"
Théo sighed, and looked around.
Not too far away from here was the tree where they had shared their very first kiss, all those years ago. It felt like a different lifetime altogether.
If she had known how everything would go, would she have done things differently?
Kiss Theodore first instead?
Become the poor, hard-working wife of a farmhand, surrounded by a litter of kind, hard-working children.
She wrinkled her nose slightly. Would that have been better? Or would it just have given her some other grief she couldn't predict?
"Do…," Tine hesistated, "Would you like to come stay with us for a while? You know you're always welcome with me and the kids."
Théo shook her head.
"No," she said, "No, I… I need to be there for Eugene and Iliana. They need someone in their corner."
"Doesn't Eugene have that now, though?" Tine said.
"I-Iliana then," she said, her voice wavering.
"And what of when she marries?"
"T-then--" She stared out into the darkness, trying to think of something.
Émile and Charles Elias were so far away now, too far away.
Eugene married. Iliana probably not too far behind in marrying as well.
What if there were no grandchildren for a long time?
What would she even do then?
"You know what I think?" Tine said, laying an arm around her, "I think you've done such a great job being a mother that you forgot about everything else.
Remember all the projects you used to do as a kid? Cross-stitching, knitting, mastering every craft you got to try?"
"Maybe," Tine said, "It could be time for you to make some sort of project that won't depend on your children.
If you put all of yourself into others, who will take care of you?"
Théo snorted, "You, apparently."
"Alright, alright," 'Tine said, "All I'm saying is this - if you pick up a project just for yourself after all these years of raising your children, who could blame you? I know my own twin well enough to know you've never been the idle type."
"Maybe."
"Maybe," Tine pulled her closer to him, "Now. Shall we return to the party?"
Théo shook her head.
"Just a little longer here," she said, breathing in the fragrant summer air, "Please. Just a bit more time."
Part 1 I Part 2
#300 years challenge#sims 4 decades#sims 4 legacy#sims 4 historical#olafssons#gen 4#théodora olafsson#constantine olafsson#ts4 decades#ts4 historical#ts4 legacy#simblr
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I love all of your work. I keep trying to imagine dad tommy from fic where his little girl comes home declaring she's got a boyfriend, and him panicking because she's like 6 and he can't scare the little boy without having his wife (the reader) chewing his head for it.
Omg thank you 😊
Okay for context, Florence was born in 1929 and is reader and Tommy’s youngest child (and his favorite of all four).
And i felt the prompt went better by being from Tommy's pov to focus more on Tommy and Florence’s relationship.
Other shelby children: Charlie and Gabriel (the Shelby Boys) and Diane (Diane Elizabeth)
Six years old
Gif by @samcoving
"Who's your new friend, Flora?" Tommy asked his youngest as he kissed the top of her head and then took his place at the head of the dinner table.
Frankly, Tommy thought it wholly unnecessary that they were using the large dining room they use to host gatherings instead of the more private family dining room.
But Florence Eleanor Shelby had demanded a dinner party for tonight, so he dressed for dinner and promised his wife not to overreact when he learned why.
A promise his wife had bet three shillings he'd break before the first course.
"My boyfriend." She beamed at him.
It took everything in him not to spit the water he had been drinking. He was going to need a drink, but Y/N had a strict don't drink in front of the children or I'll have your guts for garters, or so help me God, Thomas Michael Shelby policy.
"Hello, sir, I'm Andrew Roberts, pleasure to meet you." The little boy said courteously and waited until Tommy acknowledged him to resume eating.
Because in the pantomime that is life, his little girl attached herself to the son of Billy Kimber’s accountant.
Can't scare the boy, can't be rude or else Roberts will see it as a provocation, so he acts like this is just another friend his favorite child has brought over.
"I'm gonna marry him, daddy." Six-year old Florence tells him and you make it worse by indulging her in this fantasy.
The last thing he wants is for one of his children to marry young like his parents and the John did.
"But the girl is six," his wife’s says, "you're worrying for nothing."
"You're wrong, love," he tells her later once the dinner is over.
Six turns to eleven and she and Andrew remain thick as thieves.
She was bold, bolder than her best friend, the Princess Margaret, and Andy Roberts is shy and cautious like Tommy can assume his father was.
Calls him her boyfriend still, and he reminds Y/N that its way past being a phase.
"They're children, Tom" she shakes her head even as she does some last minutes things on the children's matching costumes.
Eleven turns to sixteen and Andrew nervously asks him for permission to ask Florence to a dance.
He has a shotgun on his lap when he gives the teenage boy his answer.
Florence locks herself in her room in tears and his wife shakes her head. "There's no harm in a dance. If you don't let her go, she'll just escape through the window and steal the car again."
So he listens to his wife and the next morning he apologized to his daughter and made her promise she wouldn't do anything stupid.
Sixteen turns to twenty three and they've been featured in everything from Tabloids to Time Magazine as the United Kingdom's entrepreneurial power couple.
Florence had invited them to a dinner party at her place in Mayfair. She had news and she had made him swear on the lives of his five grandchildren (by his three older children) not to overreact.
"Mummy, Daddy, I invited you today because Andy and I have news." She's nervous, but doesn't show it. His little girl had taken over the family businesses (the legal ones)and blossomed into a strong, independent and beautiful woman like her mother.
He knew what was coming.
Thomas Shelby had cornered Andrew Roberts after he bought the engagement ring.
But Roberts had sworn him to secrecy until the tine was right.
"Out with it, girl, your mother's not getting any younger." He tries to lighten the mood at the cost of his wife subtlely kicking him ubder the table.
"We're getting married!" They try to say it in unison, but nervous Andrew had said it first.
"You knew, Tommy?" his wife asked him suprised.
"Known since she was six."
#tommy and florence#florence shelby#reader is a side character#tommy shelby imagine#tommy shelby fanfic#tommy is a good dad#dad!tommy#tommy shelby x fem!reader#tommy shelby x wife!reader#tommy shelby x reader#thomas shelby x reader
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SEBASTIAN STAN! - family
pairing: sebastian stan x gn!reader
warnings: dogs!!! | fluffy | short drabble (my first!) | use of google translate ( sorry if incorrect! )
summary: you got a little lonely whilst seb was away, filming. so you decided to get a little something to keep you company.
written: 28 / 05 / 23
currently, sebastian is away for filming. even though you call him everyday, you somehow seem to miss him even more as the days go by.
as your watching tv, since you have nothing else to do, a thought pops into your head. what about getting a dog? it may take a bit of time to convince seb, but surely he’ll be happy with a dog, right?
so, with that, you unlock your phone and open safari. happily you search dog adoption centres near me and instinctively click on the first link. it takes you to a colourful bright screen with silhouettes of dogs, all different shapes and sizes. you search and search and search for the perfect dog, looking carefully at each of them. until one in particular catches your eye.
NAME: Bucky!
BREED: Golden Retriever!
PERSONALITY: Cuddly, energetic, loyal!
COST: $100
huh, bucky? what a coincidence. you thought. he was perfect. and that very same day, you drove down to the pet adoption centre and adopted him. as soon as you saw him, you knew he was the one. seb was going to love him.
that was a month ago. today is the day seb comes home and, of course, you forgot. you forgot he was coming home, you forgot to tell him about the puppy, it’s like the dog took his place. you were laying on the couch with bucky asleep on your stomach when you heard a car pulling up in the driveway. confused and a bit startled you abruptly sat up, waking up bucking in the process.
“sorry pup,” you said to bucky, stroking his head softly. and that’s when you remembered, sebastian. how could you forget he was coming home? you looked around to see if there was any mess, fortunately, there wasn’t. but then you looked down. bucky. you never told him about bucky. now panic mode had set in, and you instantly went through all the negatives.
what if he doesn’t let you keep the dog? too bad.
what if he hates bucky? how could he?
what if he hates you? oh no.
just then the door had open wide and in steps the one and only sebastian. with a huge grin he exclaims, “dragâ, i’m home! where are you?”. still panicked you did the first thing that came to mind; hide bucky under your, well sebs’, shirt. not the smartest of ideas. “uh, in here seb!” you call back. he pokes his head around the living room door frame and smiles at you. “there you are. mi-a fost dor de tine.” he walks over and gives you a kiss. unsurprisingly he notices your his shirt.
“first of all,” he begins with a confused look, “is that my shirt? secondly, what is under it?” there is a moment of silence between the two of you until you speak up. “um well, yes. and there’s nothing und-“. you get cut off by a gentle nudge from bucky, signalling to let him go. “i kinda got a puppy whilst you were filming.” you say lifting up the shirt to reveal bucky.
with the most wholesome eyes, bucky looks up at seb and wags his tail. seb kneels down to give the golden puppy a few scratches. “oh, dragâ! i love him! what’s his name?”. he happily says, like a kid in a candy store. “his name’s bucky. you like him?” you are hesitant to ask, only praying that he doesn’t hate you. in fact, he laughs at the coincidence. “of course i like him, he’s beautiful! we have a little family now!”
you get a little teary-eyed at that. “you don’t hate me for not telling you?” he looks at you shocked, dumbfounded even. he pulls your face into his hand and says softly, “i would never hate you. now, scooch over. i need some family cuddles.”
a little family, indeed.
ALERT!
hello! thank you for reading my very first drabble / oneshot..? i’m not sure. but, i hope you enjoyed this! please do not take credit for my work, please do not translate or rewrite this either! all likes, comments, reposts, follows are all very much appreciated! feel free to send in a request. make sure you have eaten, drank some water and had enough rest, and i love you all so so much! 🫶
mi-a fost dor de tine = i missed you
#sebastian stan#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan fanfic#sebastian stan fanfiction#sebastian stan fluff
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dangerous, tainted and flawed (know that it doesn't hurt me)
The first time he wanders into Raphael's realm, it's entirely by accident.
It must have something to do with the tiny, whispering threads that connect their magic - they're thinner than spiderwebs and more delicate than a scorned man's bruised ego, but they are there.
And it's not like Gale was trying to find his way back to the House of Hope - yes, he and the devil might have something of an understanding between them now, hard-won and tumultuous on the best of days - but he isn't entirely sure he wants to make house calls a habit.
(It does occur to him that he could leave at any point. Any time. Whatever force keeping this place so violently oppressed doesn't seem to affect him whatsoever. A favor of Raphael's, perhaps? It seems... unlikely.)
In any case, Gale doesn't leave. No - he couldn't! Not because of any oppressive spell - he's a scholar, for Mystra's sake! Raphael wasn't wrong when he called Gale out for his rampant, often troublesome curiosity. It's a damn good thing he's not a cat. He'd've burnt through his nine lives and then some by the time he was ten.
He isn't sure how long he's wandered the cavernous, seemingly endless corridors of Raphael's labyrinthine manor when he catches the faintest sound of music coming from the east. A piano, to be precise. Someone is playing the piano.
And... singing?
No... It's more of a drone - a monotone drawl that sends gooseflesh down his arms and thighs. Gale chases the sound of the unenthusiastic rendition of an old Cormyr lullaby to a set of open oak doors at the very end of an incredibly impressive vaulted corridor.
It reminds him of the cathedrals back home. The windows lining the hallway are stained glass; dappled light pours a rainbow of color across the marble floor, splashes of reds and yellows and blues and greens, of purples and opals and softest, rosy pink.
The bedchamber he finds himself wandering into is cavernous. Dark. Everything is tones of crimson and gold. There are what look like leather collars hung on the wall beside the bed. Gale's stomach clenches and his ears heat.
But then - something else catches his eye.
There's...
A bloodied riding crop on the floor. His stomach sours in a different way.
The sheets are in disarray. It smells of Sulphur and sex, of booze and blood.
No one sits at the piano. It stands lonely between a pair of massive stained glass balcony doors and plays on its own as Raphael recites the lullaby over and over and over again.
He's nowhere to be seen.
With his stomach in his throat, Gale follows the sound of the Cambion's voice into the bath chamber and finds there a scene that could outdo all the greatest tragedies - and perhaps even turn some fairytales into one.
Because the worst part - the very, very worst part - is that Raphael is almost devastatingly beautiful in his agony.
The Cambion sits slumped against the side of his stone bath, head tipped back to rest on the floor. His wings spill over the stone like pools of velvet, the joints bent in directions Gale knows can't be comfortable. The water is shiny with soap and oil - in excess, Gale would say, as if Raphael had gone through an entire bar or more.
Beside the bath are three bottles of wine. Two are empty. The third is half empty; Raphael’s elegant, clawed fingers tap idly over the green glass and Gale wonders if a bottle is more like a glass for someone like the Devil he knows.
But he doesn’t know him, does he? Not truly. Not the man beneath whatever mask it is Raphael’s forged for himself.
He’s covered in scars, Raphael. Across his upper arms, along the tender undersides of his forearms. The firelight brings it all into sharp relief, gnarled skin gleaming like tines of gold across the landscape of his body. They go all the way up his throat, too - no wonder he wears those high collars.
A broken devil. What kind of beast has the world made him into? Gale has yet to decide.
And then - a tear cuts down Raphael’s temple. The Devil shuts his eyes and his voice fractures in the middle of a verse that Gale’s mind finishes for him.
- comes the claw.
Raphael takes a shuddering breath. Gale’s resolve becomes as unconquerable as the Weave itself. Slowly, as one might approach a wounded animal, Gale sidles to the edge of the bath. He kneels down and reaches out to touch the water.
“It’s cold,” he murmurs.
To his surprise, the Devil doesn’t startle. His chest - too thin and bony, ridged with more scars - rises and falls with slow, shallow breaths. He keeps his eyes shut as he turns his head towards Gale. One of the devil’s hands emerges from the water and when his claws light gently in the middle of Gale’s palm, he stays right where he is.
“You should not be here,” the Devil murmurs.
It’s the softest he’s ever heard Raphael speak.
It’s devastating.
Settling on the floor beside the bath, Gale gently catches Raphael’s thumb between his own and the side of his palm.
“I could hear you,” Gale murmurs. “In my dreams. You sounded…”
Horrible. Terrified.
Pained.
Raphael’s brow creases as his nostrils furl in subtle sneer. When his lips ghost over the back of Gale’s hand, the wizard’s stomach lurches up between his lungs.
He’s drunk, Gale reminds himself, both fascinated and bemused all at once. Remember that he’s drunk, Dekarios.
“My apologies,” the Devil says.
Gale’s eyebrows shoot up. Raphael’s lips twitch.
“I can smell the shock on you, Dekarios. I might be damned, but I pride myself on my decorum.”
“Such as it is,” Gale says. It comes out… fond. Soft.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then;
“Who hurt you tonight, Raphael?”
He can’t not ask it. He can’t leave this alone, can’t just - pretend this creature is deserving of whatever wickedness has been inflicted upon him. Not when Raphael is thumbing idly over his knuckles and gazing at the back of Gale’s hand as if he’s trying to memorize the sinew and bones beneath his golden skin.
“You’ve a good heart, Gale Dekarios,” the Cambion says. “I can feel it - even though your sweet mistress tried so very hard to blanket it in silence. It beats like a silver flute sings.”
“And you’re even more poetic when you’re drunk.”
Raphael hums. “What can I say? Something about you… it inspires me.”
“You’re not escaping the question, Raphael.”
“I think I’m doing a fine job of it.”
“Raphael. Look at me.”
Gale doesn’t know what shocks him more - that Raphael obeys, or that the devil’s gaze is almost… pleading. Leaning closer, Gale catches Raphael’s hand properly in his own.
“Who hurts you and leaves you like this?” he asks quietly.
The Cambion’s lean throat works around a tough swallow. When he speaks, it’s around the gravel he can’t chew through.
“My lord husband, Dekarios,” he says flatly. “And trust me when I tell you there is nothing - nothing - you can do to help me. You should - you need to go. Now. And don’t come back here.”
His hand slips out of Gale’s. Gale feels a bit like he’s been cut loose to float through the astral.
“Raphael,” he starts; “go!” Raphael shouts, body coiling like a serpent’s. “Leave this desolate place, Gale Dekarios - and do not return. If you reduce me to begging -“
“Then what?” Gale challenges. “What then will you do, if I reduce the great demon Raphael to begging? There is nothing you could do to me that has not already been done by another - no exile, no ruin.”
Raphael searches his face. He’s been rendered speechless - Gale cannot claim victory on his own, though. He wagers the wine had something to do with his success.
“You need me,” Gale murmurs. “And I find myself thinking of you more often than I should ever admit to anyone outside this room. Our tale is not yet over, Raphael - and if you insist on saving my life to preserve the sanctity of our story, then you cannot complain when I attempt to do the same.”
A shaky, wet laugh spills from Raphael’s lips. “My,” he manages, “but I wish I hated you more, Gale Dekarios. You would’ve made an incredible thrall.”
Gale smiles. “There’s still time to grow tired of me. Don’t you worry.”
Raphael’s brief smile fades and he reaches up to gently dust his claws over the curve of Gale’s chin.
“Go, Gale Dekarios,” he murmurs, “and know that I will endure as I always have.”
“You needn’t do it alone.”
It’s Raphael’s turn to finally be surprised. The Devil opens his mouth and then shuts it. He drops his gaze to Gale’s hand where it hovers still above the water and after a beat, his clawed one crawls back into it.
Gale doesn’t leave.
Not just yet.
#title from million dollar man and running up that hill#baldur’s gate 3#the land of gods and monsters verse#bg3 raphael#gale dekarios
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she is nearly the splitting image of her mother, with dark hair and shining eyes, and when she first approaches, hands hidden behind her back, mischievious in a way that reminds him so dearly of adrien, luka can't help but smile.
"hi, emma."
"hi, bampas!"
he picks her up before she can duck out of his grasp, and just like the old man he is, a grunt comes out of him when he moves back to sit in his dining chair. laughter peels out of her like it's the funniest thing she's ever heard.
she's a squirmer, made a little bit harder to hold because her dress balloons out similar to the shape of a cupcake— her shoes are shiny and rather tough on his pants, with tiny ridiculous buckles that he spends a good time fussing with to get on her in the mornings when it's his turn to dress her, and emma wants to choose to wear a dress. it was adrien's turn this time, which is why her socks are frilly and her mary janes are polished and she's wearing a plastic hairband, because adrien doesn't know how to fix her bangs in a way that marinette makes look simple.
"what are you up to?" he asks her. she's still small enough where she only needs to sit on one of his thighs. "are you hungry? it's almost dinner time."
"not yet! i have something for you!" her voice is tinny like a house sparrow, and one of her hands touches his wrist. in her other, a little package, wrapped hastily with tissue paper and a significant amount of clear tape. "i gave presents to papa and mama, already. i couldn't find you, but mama said you'd be in here."
the princess is never alone. not only is it dangerous to her, but it is also dangerous to everyone else; she's not in control of her magic, not yet, and though she's good at glamour, she's not good at everything else. a sneeze could make something catch fire. they've already gotten the unfortunate problem where adrien's books will disappear if she says something innocuous. which is why when luka looks up, there is a caretaker all the way at the doorframe, attempting to be quiet and out of the way— but luka wasn't raised in a place where servers blended into the landscape of a room, so he greets them, and all the while emma continues to stir in anticipation.
"where'd you get me a present from? school?"
"today was money day! i learned how to use money."
"oh, yeah?"
"it was fun!"
she goes on to explain the little room the class had been taken to, with many colorful books and low tables filled with baskets of stuff. pencils, rulers, erasers, shiny things that caught her eyes— all of it were accessible provided they had enough money— he doesn't recall ever seeing this letter from the school, but then again, it was probably marinette that filled it out. he knows that if adrien had seen the envelope, he would've sent far too much money, because he spoils their child like the princess she is. then, they would take their little basket to the cash register, where every cent is counted, right up to the total.
all that to say... "i got you something!"
"what'd you get me?"
"open it!" she says with a giggle. "please? i want you to open it."
i want bampas to open it!
well, that's an easy contract.
he struggles a bit, because the tape is sticky and the tissue paper is lilac colored— her favorite color, because it's the color that jules has in her wings— but inevitably he finds himself unwrapping it to reveal a little, tiny, plastic kalimba.
oh.
"oh," luka says, picking it up. it's smaller than his palm, child sized, with bigger tines made for children learning a new instrument, rainbow colored to get their attention. it's perfect. "emma... this is beautiful."
she's glowing like a star. "do you like it?"
"i love it."
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Fluff Alphabet - Giorno
requested by: anon
based on this post
A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?
I think this guy loves springtime walks!! He would love the sprouting flowers and trees since his stand revolves around life and stuff. I think just those gorgeous daytime walks would be really fun for him <3
B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?
Oddly enough, your hands. Not like Kira tho LMFAOOOOO more like... just how gentle you are. He loved when you run your hands through his hair or cup his face. He also loves when you tell stories. He's a sucker for just listening to how you tell him stories <333
C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?
This man has such a soft and tinee voice, so I think he would just comfort you through speaking to you. He would rub your arms and give you a soft hug while quietly telling you that everything's going to be okay. If you need him to be quiet though, he will and just sit next to you until you feel better
D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?
Oh, marriage, 100%. This man could be with you for the rest of his life tbh. Maybe even kids if you wanted them. I think he just wants that iconic loving family like the one he never grew up in. I think he would love to adopt children with you and make a mini familia <3
E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?
He's a babygirl, but he is a dominant babygirl LMFAOOO. He literally becomes a capo at 15, so I think he would be the more dominant one tbh
F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?
You two don't fight often, but when you do, it is always resolved rather quickly through conversation. This man loves you way too much to just argue with you over stupid crap. So if there is an argument, the two of you will take a little time away from each other and then have a conversation. He thinks communication is very important, and wants you two do use it often <3
G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?
Oh, this man is so grateful for you <33 I think one of his love languages is acts of service, so when you two do some of those for each other, it makes him swoon and he can't thank you enough for everything you do for him <3
H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?
If you didn't know he was in the mafia before you dated, I think he would hide that from you for as long as he could because he didn't want you to get involved in anything dangerous but other than that, he is very open with you :)
I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?
I think you made him a little more open tbh. He's a pretty reserved guy and had a lot of past trauma he had to heal, but you helped him with that healing and made him more open to you. He now smiles a lot more and is much more social <3
J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?
Honestly, no. Mista jokingly flirts with you, but never crosses any lines and knows better than that. Plus, your friends are really cool, so Giorno isnt worried at all <3
K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?
OMFG I WOULD FAINT! This man holy cow, this man can KISS. He's got soft lips and is overall an amazing and passionate kisser with nothing but love swelling from him <333
L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?
He was definitely nervous, but I think he would still be his kid self and write you a little note and turn it into your favorite animal. It would run over to you and then turn into the note that says. "You're cute :)"
M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?
As said before, yes <3 He would propose to you in the spring time and plan to get married that next spring <3 it would be a small wedding with close friends and cherry blossoms would be growing <33
N icknames - What do they call their s/o?
Darling, dear, my love (in both english and italian <3)
O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?
He definitely looks at you more than he looks at anyone else <3. He will just admire the things you do for him and will express that love for you through words. This is only obvious to you though as he has made it clear that he likes to admire you. To others, they couldn't even tell if the boy was in love
P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?
He does let everyone know that you two are together. He never brags, but he never fails to mention you to others. However, he is not a big fan of PDA. He will gladly hold your hand in public and even give you hugs, but her will never kiss you in public I dont think. He just prefers to have that aspect of your relationship be for the two of you only <3
Q uirk - Some random ability they have that's beneficial in a relationship.
Communication and the ability to tell you how much he loves you. He will never fail to mention how much you mean to him and whenever you two have a bump, he will make sure to ask what's wrong or even just talk to you. He may be a quiet guy, but he sure knows how to talk to you
R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?
VERY ROMANTIC. The kind of guy who will take you on late night walks to go get a drink and watch the stars. The kind of guy to take you to a 5 star restaurant and smile at you. The kind of guy who buys you jewelry. He loves spoiling you with romantic acts, even if cliche
S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?
This man is more than supportive. He will help in any way he can to get you what you need! He thinks that you are a very talented individual and is big on making dreams come true. His came true, so more than anything, he wants yours to <3
T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?
Honestly, no. This man doesnt want any part of anything terrifyingly new. He likes adventure, but that doesnt mean he wants to switch anything up with the both of you. He likes the routine you have. But if you want that, he will try to get a good compromise going <3
U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?
He probably knows you better than anyone. He can read you like an open book sometimes and knows when you are overwhelmed and knows when you are happy about something. He can always tell when you're going through something and wants to help anyway he can
V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?
After he became a capo, you became his entire life. He never wants you to get hurt and honestly, he would give up his life as a mafioso if you needed anything. You are his first priority because he got his dream, he wants more than anything to keep you safe
W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.
He can't fall asleep without holding your hand. He doesnt know why, he just needs to hold your hand. If he is cuddling you, know that he is holding your hand. He also sleeps in his undies lol and needs a plush blanket. He's just very picky about sleep and needs to be very cozy
X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?
I think he is! He prefers cuddling and kissing right before bed though, I think the sunlight for him means work, but nighttime is cuddle and kissy time for him <3
Y earning - How will they cope when they're missing their partner?
He was used to being alone for a very long time, but when you are gone, he will just be super lonely. He'll stare off into space for a little, but still be doing work. Night time is the worst if you're gone though. He cant fall asleep without you
Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?
This man would kill for you. Yeah. He's a little feral, but he NEEDS you to be safe and honestly, he needs this relationship with you. If you're unhappy, he will be more than willing to change what you don't like, but will never change who he is. But he would do anything for you tbh
@beanbings-things
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jjba masterlist (2) (3) | pinned post
2023 @tonberry-yoda – do not repost or claim ANY of my work as your own! likes, reblogs, and comments are not only welcome, but appreciated <3
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#im not a giorno simp but this was so fun#jjba#asks#writing#fanfic#my writing#<3#fanfiction#tonberry answers#jjba x reader#jojos bizarre adventure x reader#giorno x reader#giorno#giorno giovanna#giorno giovanna x reader#vento auero x reader#vento aureo#jjba part 5#golden wind#golden wind x reader
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Too sweet
chapter 1 of my first oc fanfiction, please be nice to be I cringe too don't worry, be sure to read the prologue for some extra context or something and yeah enjoy :3 (not proof read im too lazy)
cw/tw: none as of now
Besides beer himeno is a sucker for strawberry milk and maybe banana milk, usually one or the other is in stock but this time had to be my lucky day when none of them are in stock and now i'm not sure what i'm going to fill the fridge with now since we can't just only have beer in there, frustrated I head to the checkout counter and pay for the pain au chocolat that i've always had since I was a child, casually I walk myself back to me and himeno’s apartment, it's around 10 am and she's probably still asleep.
Yesterday everyone in division 4 went out for drinks, rare thing now a days but himeno wanted an excuse to not drink alone or with me since apparently, lately i've just been quiet maybe that's why himeno took me out to drink, it was nothing out the ordinary just so light drinking for me and just having mindless conversation with the other members. As I approach the elevator to get up to my floor I spot a familiar face. “Val-len-tine!!!” Power’s voice echoes through the lobby as she runs at full speed towards my direction she quickly gets ahold of my arm and squeezes me, clear that someone did not want to cook breakfast for the hungry girl, Denji approaches with caution since Power dislikes him talking to me, “Hey valentine, the evil man over there told us no breakfast from him because me and power stayed up playing cards and he couldn’t get his beauty sleep” denji exclaims, looking into powers eye she nods and points at the tall “evil” man that did not cook them a breakfast, I walk towards him as he looks anywhere but my direction.
“Hey aki..” I poke him on the shoulder, “did you not get your beauty sleeep?” I continue the joke, still not even a look from the man, power snarks at him, “Lets just go up to your apartment and you can make me a delicious breakfast, i'm starving hereeeeeeeee” power squeals, I sigh and nod in agreement, “You're welcome to join too by the way aki…ill let you use the balcony, yeah?” usually I wouldn’t dare let him near the balcony or himeno, I told them if they needed to smoke to do it somewhere else because I couldn’t stand my plants dying, aki looks back, making eye contact with me then power, he slowly starts walking towards the elevator, “I think I just convinced him to stop being evil power” I chuckle.
Opening the door to the apartment, denji and power scurry like rats into the couch and bean bag in the living room, I set my bag down at the kitchen and head to wake up the sleeping himeno herself, knocking softly on the door I call out her name and after a few russels and groans she's up, “You better wear something to cover yourself or no food for you” knowing she will not obey my instruction she walks out in whatever she passed out with. The tv is on, the apartment is loud and warm. “Powers plate is on the left, the rest of you can sit wherever you want” I slightly demand with my voice, everyone surrounds the table and aki is nowhere to be found but of course one glance to the right and he is right on the balcony just admiring the totally interesting sky, I get up from my seat and walk over to the sliding doors that enclose the balcony, sliding them gently and stepping over and sliding the door shut behind me. “I did your job, could you finish now and have something to eat?” He glances my direction, I can barely look at him because its so bright outside, squinting my eyes I ask him to come in, he throws the cigarette out the window, “before you sit down though, can you wash your hands? I can barely stand the smell on himeno when we eat I don't need you to add on to her please” I ask with a bit of sarcasm on my face, Aki never gives me any reactions when I speak, sometimes I hate speaking to him, it feels like i'm speaking to a wall that thinks im stupid or something. “I got it.” Finally a response comes out of his mouth, I motion towards the table and slide the door open again.
Today is rather quiet, it's about noon now and everyone is doing their own thing around the apartment, himeno and aki are talking, and i'm over here babysitting power and denji. “You know she doesnt like boys, stop trying to talk to her” power sticks her tongue out at denji, “why is this always a discussion with you two? Denji doesnt even talk to me because you scare him away power, look at where he's sitting right now power” I laugh as denji is a good 2 feet away from me, powers attachment to me makes me happy, she's sweet and funny when she isn't doing anything for personal gain and her cat likes me so she automatically likes me more because of meowy.
“Val, we need to start heading out soon, please kick them out I don't want to do it myself” Himeno says walking towards her room, I stand up and sigh, “well you heard her, you guys also have things to do so please make her happy” I start walking the duo towards the door, aki follows behind me as I open the door for power and denji to walk out, I move to the side to give aki a chance to leave as well, as hes walking out he looks at me, weird, he's just staring me down like he wants to say something, “Thanks.” That's it? It took him that long to utter the word thanks? I dislike non aggressive aki…it's hard to speak to him when he's giving me auto generated response, “anytime, but don’t think ill let you smoke near my plants again” I smile at him, he starts walking towards the elevator where denji is waving goodbye to me and power is just intensely looking at him, waving back I close the door and head to change myself.
Himeno and I headout the house and embark on whatever Ms.Makima has planned for us and it'll always end with himeno complaining, either way it's the job we have to do so she’ll shut up eventually. Himeno opens the door for me to enter Makimas office, “Hello, valentine.” makima said to me, greeting himeno next. “I've been alerted about a demon with a piece of the gun devil is roaming around Shinjuku station, it's unknown what type of demon it is, if you could go and patrol that area to give everyone peace of mind it would be appreciated.” Quickly me and himeno leave to head to our destination, and soon the complaining will start. “Shinjuku? Really the most populated place we could go to, I hate her stupid assignments, its always some low level slime sucking devil!” I just let her take it out, we shortly started heading towards a train to take us.
Arriving at Shinjuku station I'm quickly distracted by the thousands of stores I could be exploring but sadly I'll have to focus on finding the devil disturbing, me and himeno walk the streets up and down just patrolling with nothing to be found. Me and himeno stop for some lunch, i'm not really interested in eating anything so I just had a drink while with fascination I watch her eat the burger she bought, wondering what this day is gonna lead us to.
#chainsaw man#aki x reader#aki x y/n#aki hayakawa#chainsaw man fanfiction#csm fan fic#csm aki#fanfic#aki smut#smut with plot#oc fanfiction#oc#my ocs#anime#aki one chance#cigarette#writing#long fanfic#aki hayawaka#csm spoilers#csm himeno#csm denji#chainsaw man denji#pochita
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Pace non trovo - IkePri (Silvio)
Fandom: Ikemen Prince
Pairing: Silvio Ricci/MC (Emma)
Warnings: None - not even spoilers really, just speculation
Summary: Silvio sets out to discover what it takes to buy Emma…but the true cost isn’t something either of them expects. (6.7k YES YOU READ THAT RIGHT WHY BRAIN words of snark and fluff, SFW)
Author’s Note: Frankly I’m just tired of looking at this. It’s long and I’ll never be happy with it but I want it out there before Cybird undermines all my ideas. And the gratuitous Italian is all my own headcanon.
Pace non trovo, et non ò da far guerra;
e temo, et spero; et ardo, et son un ghiaccio
(I find no peace, and all my war is done.
I fear and hope. I burn and freeze like ice)
- Francesco Petrarca
“What price?”
The words are aimed down a set of glistening silver tines at her, fork brandished over the breakfast plate like a saber. A pair of deep blue eyes pierce her from the other end, and she pauses a moment to sip at her tea, collecting her thoughts before replying calmly. “What price what, Prince Silvio?”
“Your price. How much to buy you.”
She nearly aspirates her swallow as it abruptly reverses course, tannin burning her nose as she chokes it back down and clears her throat. “Forgive the impertinence in stating as much, Your Highness…” It takes more effort than she’d like to admit not to put any additional emphasis on his title. “But you seem to be laboring under some misconception. I am not for…sale.”
This was, by far, the strangest breakfast conversation she had had in a long string of strange breakfasts, since coming to this castle.
Silvio scoffs with derision after finishing his bite of soufflé. “Everything and everyone can be bought, donna.” Setting his fork aside he dabs at his lips with a crisp linen napkin, before leaning forward and shooting her a crooked grin - teeth bared in a way that reminded her of the fact that dogs were only generations removed from wolves. And could be equally as ravenous. “It’s merely a matter of finding their price. That one thing they just can’t refuse.”
She lets the smallest bit of her ire slip, tugging the corners of her mouth down and her eyebrows up into twin arcs of disbelief. “And supposing, for one ridiculous moment, I did have such a price? You believe I’d just tell you it?”
On a languid shrug, Silvio slouches back into his chair, gaze fixed on her contemplatively as he toys idly with the pendant around his neck. Looking every last inch the disgustingly rich, disgustingly arrogant tyrant she knew him to be. “You wouldn’t be worth it if you did. But figuring it out is half the fun.”
Nothing, not faking her existence as Belle or the harrowing waltz she had to dance day in and day out to keep herself safe in this viper’s nest of a court, had ever filled her with the same sort of gut-wrenching dread as that last sentence did.
The gifts began shortly thereafter.
At first they are easy enough to dismiss - or as easy as a room where every flat surface has been covered in vases of cut hothouse flowers could be, at least. Some so exotic she’d only seen their like in the beautiful illustrations of botany books that came through the shop, puzzling over the foreign syllables of their names as she traced their strange petals with wondering fingers.
“Have them gathered up and sent to the hospital and orphanage,” she suggests to Rio, who looks every bit as unamused as she feels. “At least they can brighten someone’s day.”
“That won’t be enough to stop him.” Rio proclaims this with the air of someone who knows as much from personal experience, and that is enough to give her pause. “This is only an opening feint.”
“It won’t encourage him either,” she finally concedes on a shrug.
The flowers are followed by chocolates, which look decadent, but she passes them along to the castle staff as a show of appreciation for their hard work. The elaborate cake that comes next goes the same way. The cake is followed by the silk dress that was reminiscent of a waterfall, a glorious froth of blue silk. After the dress comes the figurine of a single rose, bewitchingly carved of carnelian and gilded, nestled in a vase of porcelain so fine the light shone through it like paper.
“I told you, Your Highness. I can’t be bought. Least of all for trinkets.” She reminds Silvio of this after she knocks on his door that evening to return the rose (however reluctantly), having learned over the past weeks that he would not accept them if a servant brought it back.
He leans insouciantly against the doorframe, takes the gleaming flower from her hands and offers her a smug tilt of the lips in return. “Every item you refuse tells me something too. You’ll run out of secrets soon enough, coniglietta. And places to hide.”
“I will have to continue to respectfully disagree.” She breathes slowly through the perpetual finger-twitching urge to slap the smug expression from his regretfully handsome face and spark a diplomatic crisis.
~~~~~~~~
The jewelry, though, he delivers himself.
She is in the library some days later, poring over a stack of study materials earmarked by Sariel. Night had fallen whilst she was unawares, only realizing how dark it has grown when the servants pad silently in to light the candles and lamps around her. She likes the library at night, when the curtains can be twitched back to reveal the velveted drapery of darkness outside. When the endless, echoing castle grows just a little bit smaller. A little bit less of a reminder that she doesn’t belong here.
She’s lost in a treatise on ocean shipping lanes when her concentration is broken by the clatter of a door being thrown open, followed by a familiar jangle, and she braces herself for the oncoming storm.
Silvio strolls up like a thunderhead of furred cape and spiced cologne, plucks the tome from her hands and holds it up before him, letting it dangle from his fingers the way one might a dead rat. He turns it just enough to read the title embossed on the spine, before scoffing audibly. “I could tell you far more about maritime trade than you’d find written in that. Probably more than this entire library contains.”
“How very kind of you to offer, but I believe I’ll pass.” She rescues the book from him before he can drop it, sets it carefully aside and narrows her eyes peevishly up at him towering over her. “What is it you need…Your Highness?”
He draws a brocade bag from where it had been tucked into a breast pocket and loosens the drawstring that had cinched it shut tight, tipping the pouch over his palm and shaking it until a waterfall of gems pours out. When he holds them up between his hands can she see it for the necklace it is, strands upon strands of sapphire knotted with pearls, luminous in the wan lamplight. It looks like a queen’s ransom. Moves like a poem.
She doesn't mean to gasp. But intention does nothing to stop his eyes from sharpening when she does regardless, and his smile edges as fierce as the baying of a hound on the trail. “You like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” she admits, because she tries to abide by honesty as the best policy, and it would be a crime to insult something so lovely with banality.
“You should see it on.”
Before she can react he’s taken her by the shoulders, steered her over towards where the night has made a mirror of the windowpanes and she can see herself, mouth slacked with surprise, reflected back in perfect details. His hands, the second - no, third? fourth? - part of him she allows herself to admire, have the necklace around her neck between blinks. The barest brush of his fingers against the nape of her neck a warm contrast to the cool metal that nuzzles along her collarbone and breasts.
And for an instant, the library falls away. She stares enchanted into a mirror where she sees a queen looking back - Amphitrite among the waves, perhaps. Consort of the ocean, with a froth of seafoam and tides adorning her throat. Or the mermaid of her beloved stories, trading her freedom for legs, her voice for her heart.
Her life for her love.
While it lasts, it is a gossamer, glorious moment. But she blinks it away, because she knows better than most that happily-ever-after was the way few fairy tales ended.
Her fingers scrabble under the weight of her hair, seeking the clasp. “Take it off, take it off.” Her heart wrenching too tightly to care that it seeps into her voice, stringing it too high. Only when Silvio’s hands grasp hers to still them, surprisingly gentle, does she feel the sting of where she’s scratched herself.
He doesn’t say a word as he removes the jewelry - but for an instant, his gaze flickers up to meet hers in their reflection, a mirage shimmer of blue, and she wonders if she’s only hoping for the remorse she thinks she finds there.
Whatever it was, it lasts only a moment before it’s swept away by frustration. “Scores of women would kill to have this.”
“Then give it to one of them,” she tells him, turning about to face his anger head on. Dismay over her own heartache, over letting him get even infinitesimally under her skin, loosening her tongue. “Not me. You can put all the peacock feathers you want on a jackdaw, and it’ll never change the fact that it’s a dull. Ordinary. Jackdaw.”
She hurls the last word at him as if it is his fault that she were born without the gravitas of a surname to tie her down, to make something more of her than flotsam in this world.
He studies her for long moments, no sound between them save her own heavy breaths, as thunderclouds gather in his eyes. Something ghosting across his face, come and gone before she can read it. “At least a jackdaw can fly. Show me the peacock that easily can.”
She doesn’t trust herself with a reply not to expose anymore of her truths than she already has, and he makes no move to stop her when she pushes her way past him.
~~~~~~~~
"He's been asking about you."
It's Sariel, not Rio this time, who enlightens her as to this one morning over the tower of books he stacks up on her desk.
She doesn’t bother looking up from her page, or ask who he’s speaking of. “Tell me something I don't know.”
The desk shifts slightly as Sariel comes to lean a hip against it beside her, his arms folded and she can feel the weight of his stare on the top of her head. Knows by now it would be bruised with castigation. “Not sniffing around about your identity, exactly. He paid a maid to tell him the books you’ve read. The chef to spill on your favorite dishes. The gardener to say which flowers you linger at longest in the garden.” Sariel pauses, and it’s a jagged silence, one that might bleed her if she moves wrong. “Just what did you say to him?”
The clap of slamming her book shut is satisfying, but not enough to ease her frustration. Carefully, she arranges her hands atop the closed cover and takes a long, grounding breath before looking up at the man beside her. “I said ‘no’ to him. And I don’t think he’s taking it well.” She shakes her head over Sariel’s molasses chuckle, exasperated. “What is wrong with him? He could just ask me these things, if he really wanted to know.”
“And would you tell him?”
She lets his challenge slide past, unanswered because she can’t. “He thinks he can buy me. Thinks that if he throws enough money at me, I’ll love him.”
The silence is back again, only this time it’s not cutting. It’s expectant, like the breath held while watching a child toddle its first unsteady steps.
“Why would he ever imagine that would work?” she finally asks to break it - not because she expects an answer but because she can no longer stand it.
Sariel heaves a soft sigh. “What do you give someone, when you fall in love?”
She frowns at the rhetorical question before answering easily. “My love. My heart. Myself.”
There’s a smile hovering about one corner of Sariel’s lips, but she can’t decide if they’re canted with amusement or melancholy. “A ready answer. Because you’re certain of their value.”
She picks his words up and turns them about, peering through them from all angles as if they were a kaleidoscope. But the stark shapes they form both sadden and unnerve her, and she tucks them safely away - to be examined some other time.
~~~~~~~~
She almost preferred the jewelry.
The gems and the pretty lie they offered had been strong, the compulsion to accept them almost overriding her better sense for a moment, but it had been just that - a momentary temptation.
This. This though?
She flipped gently through the pages one more time, as if to commit the scent of its delicate pages and the gentle script flowing across its pages to memory. An authentic first edition of her favorite collection of stories that had been left on her desk, adorned in a simple red ribbon to mark it as a gift. Something she never dreamed she’d so much as see, let alone hold. Let alone read. Let alone be offered the chance to possess.
The writing box, inlaid with mother of pearl and meticulously carved yet still surprisingly practical, had been another gift difficult to return. The tray of pastries from her favorite shop, still flaky and steaming and tasting of many happy days gone by. The beautifully enameled music box that played the same childhood tune she often hummed to herself in the library
The single rosebud in a slim crystal vase delivered with her breakfast, exquisitely perfect. So freshly cut that the morning dew still clung to its blushing petals just on the cusp of unfurling, the exact shade of coral she knew would open to reveal how they brightened to yellow within, like dawn breaking in a blossom. They grew on the south trellis, and she had spent hours on her strolls admiring their sunny cheer and thinking how lovely the sight of them greeting her each morning would be.
She’s on her fourth read-through when she hears the musical tinkle that precludes her door flying open, although she’s not surprised by now. More evenings than not saw Silvio finding some excuse to come by her room after dinner had wound down, for one reason or another. He’d find the flimsiest of pretexts.
A part of her, when she was feeling generous, wondered if he was doing her the favor of making her daily rejection easier.
There‘s a bottle in his hand, half filled with some tawny wine, and she suspects from the faint color that rides his high cheekbones that the other half of it is already in his belly by now. “Drink with me, donna,” he orders, lifting the matched set of delicate stemware in his other hand imperiously.
She’d learned over the past weeks it was simpler to just say yes, or at the least not offer any protest, and get this all over with sooner.
He takes her silence for the grudging assent it is, and throws himself onto the settee beside her. His ridiculously long legs consuming the space as he props his boots on the low table and twitches his cape back behind his shoulders, pouring a measure of port in each glass before handing her one.
She takes a polite sip, rolling the heavy sweetness on her tongue to savor before swallowing. If she has to suffer through his company, at least it means being treated to good liquor, she supposes.
They lapse into a silence that, while perhaps not comfortable, isn’t uncomfortable either. It’s familiar, at least. He’s in one of his moods, she can tell, the ones that have him frowning at the far wall, lost in thoughts he doesn’t deem fit to share. Or at least not with her.
She wonders if there’s anyone he does.
She suspects there isn’t.
It’s a surprise even to herself when she speaks first, bothered for some unknown reason by the quiet. “You’ve gotten better at this.” She lifts the book in her hand slightly for emphasis. “I’m still not accepting it. But higher marks for effort.”
He blinks back to himself and offers her a cocky grin that she pretends not to notice seems a bit taut around the edges. “You haven’t seen anything resembling effort yet.”
Scoffing softly, she opens the book back to where her bookmark lay tucked between pages, ready to dive back in when -
“Which story is your favorite?”
“You’re asking me? Whyever for, when you could simply pay the maid to tell you?” she tosses back dryly and he has the grace enough to glance guiltily away, however briefly. That tiny gesture though buys enough goodwill for her to answer. “This one.”
He leans in to peer at the title she traces on the table of contents, and his next question, posed without pretense, startles her. “Why?”
“Why?” She echoes him blankly…and then dithers. Weighing the pros and cons of giving him the gift of such knowledge for free, of letting him prize open any wider that tiny crack he’d inflicted on her careful wall. Marred it with a bejeweled hammer of glittering tide and brine.
Even she’s not sure what prompts her to speak, in the end. “It’s the story of a mermaid that falls in love with a human prince after she saves him from a shipwreck, and all the things she gives up to try and be with him.” Pausing, she arrows a sidelong glance his way. “It’s a story about how we can’t control other people or how they feel about us. The only thing in this life we can really control is ourselves.”
He looses a small sound of disbelief, and she braces herself for the sting of whatever crack of derision is sure to follow, feeling the faintest heat of embarrassment kiss her cheeks at having perhaps handed him the whip.
But it never comes.
“And does she?” he asks.
“Does she what?”
He throws her an exasperated look. “Does she end up with the prince?”
A smile toys with the edges of her lips, and she can’t quite resist tweaking the tiger’s whiskers. “You’ll just have to read it and find out, won’t you?”
She expects him to scoff something dismissive about a waste of time, about having better things to do. Instead, she’s taken utterly aback when he sets his drink aside and shifts sideways on the settee, feet propped on the arm of it, crossed nonchalantly at the ankle, and his head pillowed on her thigh. “Read it to me then.”
It takes a long moment for his demand to even register, and so astonished is she when it does that she reflexively obeys. Reading aloud the first sentences of a story she knows so well she could practically recite them from memory, their cadence and rhythm as familiar as old friends.
By page six, the intense blue of his eyes has been shuttered away behind drifting lids. By page ten, the tense set of his neck has softened against her leg. By twenty-three, his chest rises and falls in a steady, slow rhythm and it finally sinks in.
The first prince of Benitoite is asleep on her lap, lax as a newborn babe.
She finishes the story and rolls right into the next. She should close her book, she should push him off her and order him to go sleep in his own room if he’s that exhausted…and yet she finds herself reluctant to do so. Stealing glances instead, between pages, down at the absurdly handsome lines of his face. Softened now in repose, looking almost boyish when at peace. A far cry from the tyrant of norm.
The whitecap shock of his hair has spilled down to cover one eye as his head lolls sideways a little, and unthinkingly she brushes it back. Wholly unprepared for how soft and sleek the strands are as they slip through her fingers. What she imagines a bolt of silk brought from some far flung shore would feel like, the likes of which she’d only ever seen with her face pressed to the glass of some luxurious shop before arriving here at the castle.
When he doesn’t even so much as flinch she lets her curiosity get the better of her, trailing her touch through the odd dark thatch that stands out so starkly from the rest. She half expects it to feel coarser, or maybe thinner somehow, but it feels exactly the same as the rest, lapping along her skin like warm water. Like summer’s sultry waves, inviting indolence.
She loses track of how long she’s doing this, lost in fascination and story abandoned, when he stirs slightly. A line creasing into existence between his brows and she freezes, trying to eke out breath past the pounding knot of her heart in her throat at the thought of being caught, because he would never. Ever. Let her live this down.
But he doesn’t wake - just turns his head to nuzzle into her touch, the warmth of his soft contended sigh caressing her palm like the ghost of a kiss.
Haunting her long after she’s wriggled herself free and made her escape to the library, book rebound in ribbon and left carefully arranged on his slumbering chest.
~~~~~~~~
It’s two days later when he corners her in an empty corridor.
“You left me there. I woke up and - “ He cuts off, but from the faintly petulant note souring his voice, she can fill in the rest of that sentence with his accusation. ‘You were gone’.
“You invited yourself in, I figured you could see yourself out,” she replies.
“You returned the book. I thought you liked it.” There’s frustration furrowing his brows now, the dogged aggravation of a child endlessly trying and failing to hammer a square peg through a round hole.
“I did. But I’ve already told you. I don’t want your money. I want -” She snatches the tail end of that sentence and holds firm, lest it slip free and ruin her like the proverbial tiger.
But he seizes on it all the same, a courser catching the scent, and leans in. Avarice sparking a blue flame in his eyes that burns her just to look at it.” What? You want what? Name it and it’s yours. Anything. Anything at all.” There’s a wild edge to his words, rendering them half breathless snarl.
She shakes her head. “You don’t understand. You could never understand. What I want…you can’t buy it, you can’t steal it, can’t beg or barter for it. It’s worth nothing and yet it’s priceless.”
Misery makes her sick to her stomach, sitting like a swallowed draught of sweet poison, because it’s in this awful moment that she realizes finally.
She wants him to understand.
Thus has she become undine, and every wobbly step in this sudden unfamiliar land is treading atop the edge of a knife. An agony unlike any she’s ever known.
“You don’t even know me.” She throws those words up like a feeble shield, putting a hand out to keep him at bay, as if he hadn’t already made gleeful rubble of her defenses with this strange siege they’ve been locked in. Her heart and her mind a cacophony that almost drowns out the tight hiss of his breath as she makes contact with the warm wedge of skin left bare by the cut of his shirt, her fingers tangled between the weave of chains about his neck.
Any force she’d been about to put into the attempt withers entirely when she chances to glance up, baffled by the way he’s gone impossibly still - only to find a flush riding high on those sculpted cheekbones, spreading like an overturned well of red ink.
She can't say how long they're both locked like that, the moment stretching gossamer thin, her every heartbeat another strand plaited into this snare holding them in place. Until he wrests back control of the situation by surging forward, into her touch.
She can feel the hard swell of his chest flex beneath her fingers as he braces an arm against the wall behind her, the fall of his cape half caging her in. Making an entire world of two alone. The shift of his position causing her hand to slip even further into the gape of his shirt, muscles of fresh-forged iron pressed hard against her palm, the anvil pound of his heartbeat behind them emblazoning a brand she’ll never forget.
She knows he’s doing it intentionally.
Her mouth goes bone dry at the sensation, dread and a searing curl of awareness battling for supremacy in the pit of her stomach as he brings his lips to her ear, so close they traipse along the curve of it as he speaks. His voice a dark bedeviled purr, a rumble of sound that glides down every last nerve in her body to gather right between the legs most wickedly. “I know all of your secrets…shopgirl. Save the one that matters to me most.”
It’s the cold slap of fear that has her leaping from the sprung jaws of that trap, left trying to catch her unsteady breath as she backpedals another desperate handful of paces.
“You’re running again, coniglietta,” he calls after her.
The words nip mockingly at her heels as she turns tail and abandons him to that hallway, but she ignores them. Just like she ignores the thundercrack behind her of his fist striking the wall, as she races away like the coward they both now know she is.
~~~~~~~~
One thought seems to crash through all others again and again, incessant as waves chewing away at the shore. Shopgirl. Shopgirl. Shopgirl. Stopping her mid-bite of breakfast, waking her from her dreams.
He knows. Some way, somehow, he’s found her out. The one thing she was never supposed to let happen.
The thought of what he might do with the knowledge gnaws at her, a bone in the jaws of some great beast. Will he hold it over her head, blackmail her into compliance? Demand concessions of her, a piece at a time, until she’s given herself away entirely? She’s left in a breathless sort of agony, her heart leaping into her throat at the faint rattle of a teacart wheeled down the hallways, the chime of the chatelain’s keys as she shoos the maids off on their morning duties. Hunted and haunted.
She backs off the edge a little when the days roll on without sight of him…until even that becomes a new source of worry. Unsure of what to make of the disruption of their strange little dance, tripped up by the unfamiliar rest in this waltz. Left in this lurch, it’s almost a relief of sorts when she hears the faint ringing outside her door one evening.
Only for all her fears to come roaring back again when the sound that follows is a knock. A knock. “Donna. Open up.”
The doorknob is cool against her clammy palm as she turns it, keeping a tight grip on it to hide the way her hands tremble when Silvio comes into view on the other side. Clutching just as tightly to affrontery as a mask when she raises her chin to fix him with a hard look. “It’s late. What do you want?”
He sighs, rakes a fierce hand through his hair, and her fingers twitch with the memory of how soft it had felt between them. “I won’t stay. I only came to give you this.”
It’s a small oblong box that he thrusts unceremoniously in her direction, his eyes fixed somewhere over her shoulder, and she takes it half on reflex. Still rolling on it when she opens it and finds a necklace nestled within.
For a moment her stomach drops, fearing a repeat of the last time he’d tried to ply her with jewelry, but its freefall is halted as she takes a closer look. It’s no gaudy spill of gems this time, hardly a one to be found, in fact - only a simple chain twisted in a clever design, with a single pendant hung on it. A ring with four points, small gems polished and winking cheerfully from each, anchored by one in the center. No two the same shade or sheen.
Like a compass rose, some absent corner of her mind notes, as she holds it up to stare at it blankly.
It’s surprisingly understated for someone like Silvio, yet exquisitely crafted. And it hurts her heart more than a little to return it to its place, close the lid, and offer it back to him. “You know I can’t -”
His hand lifts, as if to push it towards her again, before falling away into a fist at his side only a fraction through the motion.
“You can’t return it. Not this one.” His gaze remains locked on the long box in her grip, as if he can see straight through the velvet to the gems cradled carefully back inside. His expression guarded in a way that catches her attention more than any bluster or thunder ever would - because for all his countless faults Silvio could always be counted on to be unabashedly Silvio. “Shove it in a drawer and forget about it, throw it away, sell it if you want. It’ll fetch a pretty penny. But it’s yours to do with as you will now. My last gift.”
There is an unnerving openness to his eyes when he finally shifts them to meet hers. What she imagines a cloudless day at sea would be like, in which you can no longer tell where the horizon ends and the ocean begins and you are left adrift in a sphere of blue. Only a sliver of timber and a smear of pitch between you and drowning in that expanse. “I can’t take it back. It’s no longer mine, and it won’t ever be again.”
Beyond baffled, she watches the unfamiliar sight of his receding back as he abruptly turns and walks away. Leaving her holding the box, her tongue…and countless unanswered questions.
~~~~~~
A week goes by without a glimpse of Silvio. And then another.
Fourteen days of blessed, uninterrupted time in the library. In the halls. In her room each evening, without anyone crashing through the door like a summer squall. It sounded downright heavenly.
So then how did she explain this ennui?
There’s a listlessness to her routine now, a sameness. As if a great hand had come along and pressed the peaks and valleys of her days flat. She should be studying right now, attending to her duties as Belle. Instead she sits and stares unseeing out the window, lost in thought. Precarious towers of books and papers strewn across the workspace before her, but she ignores them in favor of toying with the pendant around her neck absently.
Wearing it isn’t accepting it, she tells herself. She’s merely resigned to believing the truth of Silvio’s words, and it seems a shame to let something as lovely languish in a drawer somewhere. It was hardly the necklace’s fault she took issue with its gifter.
Sariel’s voice breaks her reverie. “I see your mind is on your new gift, and not here where it should be.”
Guiltily she lets the chain slip from her grasp and sits up straighter. “It’s not a gift,” she tells him, kneejerk. “It’s…it’s a…loan.”
Sariel’s snort shreds her tissue paper reply. “Too bad it can’t lend you some focus.” He rounds the table and narrows his eyes as he looks down at the pendant nestled in the hollow of her collarbone. “May I?”
Mystified, she nods, and reaches up to undo the clasp, passing the delicate piece over. It gleams like a spill of moonlight across dark water against the leather of his gloves as he adjusts his glasses and peers at it closely. Long enough that she begins to almost worry. “Is there some problem?”
“No, no…” That’s what his reply is, but when Sariel glances up at her there’s a tension plucking at his tone. “This was a gift from Prince Silvio?” She nods, and Sariel makes a small sound low in his throat. “Why didn’t you return this one too?”
“I tried.” She shrugs helplessly. “He wouldn’t let me. Said it was mine to do whatever I wanted with, he couldn’t take it back.”
He studies it another moment, before turning his attention back to her. “Have you ever heard of acrostic jewelry?” At the shake of her head he goes on. “It was all the fashion some time ago. Hidden messages spelled out in gemstone by using the first letter of each. I wonder…”
When he trails off thoughtfully, she snatches up a scrap of paper and quill.
“This one is an emerald, clearly.” Sariel brushes a finger against the central gem, first of the five, its verdancy the richness of sunshine filtered through pines. “There’s lapis, opal, ruby, and…this one I’m not as familiar with but it’s very distinctive. See that luminous stripe to it?”
She nods, because she’s already well familiar with the lustrous band that bisects its startling green, pale as spring’s tenderest new growth. Had stared at it in fascination as she shifted it and the stripe seemed to move with her every new angle.
He snaps his fingers and a servant is suddenly there, in that uncannily prescient manner of the servants Sariel always seems to surround himself with, a heavy tome in hand. She can see from the embossed title that it has something to do with gems and minerals, and she waits with anticipation while he opens it and thumbs through the pages.
Only to jump when he snaps it emphatically shut only moments later, nodding sagely. “I thought so. Cat’s eye.”
E. L. O. R. C. She writes them all down dutifully, and then frowns at the resulting gibberish. “Are you certain?”
“There’s no telling in what order you’re meant to read the compass, I suppose. North, South, East, West? Clockwise? Does the center stone come first or last?” He holds up a finger, as if something had just occurred to him. “It’s a bit of a reach, but lapis is also sometimes called ultramarine…fitting for a seafaring prince, I suppose.”
She adds U? to her page, and sighs.
Sariel only offers her an adder’s sly grin. “Oh, and lest I forget.” He turns and selects a volume from a nearby shelf, before setting it on the desk beside her. “That might come in handy. Good luck.”
The sound of the door closing behind him as he leaves barely registers with her, as she reads the title in dismay.
A dictionary of the language of Benitoite.
It takes her the better half of a very large pot of tea to puzzle it out, the evening light slowly slipping away one tannic sip at a time as she works, amber squares of light from the window sliding across the desk and plucking warmth from the necklace back around her neck once more. The possibility of it being a foreign term throws a monkey wrench into her entire thought process, slowing her down.
Until finally she sets her quill aside and looks at the last arrangement of letters still uncrossed out, the entry open on the dictionary page nearest.
The chair clatters to the floor as she shoots to her feet, but she pays it no mind. Her pulse churning too hard to focus on anything other than those five letters as they chase themselves about in her head, an endless circle just as they march on the pendant. Shaking in the scoop of her collarbone with every thunderous beat of her pulse.
She hikes up her skirt and runs, abandoning book and pen and ink, heedless of the late hour - out the door, down the halls, from one wing to the next. The gilded ornamentation and statued niches naught but a glittering blur as she goes, blind to their opulence and to the servants that step out of her way. Watching with both bemusement and alarm as she flies past and ever onwards.
Her lungs are burning, her chest heaving with every breath when she finally scrambles to a halt in front of one particular room, half crashing into the carved and gilded panels in an ungainly tangle before she manages to grab the doorframe and keep herself upright. Too breathless for words to call out as she pounds on the lacquered grain.
“Che cazzo…” Silvio’s bitten out curse is muffled and distant, but she can hear the rumble of him storming towards the door, before it’s thrown open unceremoniously, a dark scowl on his face. “You don’t have to break it down. What do you -”
He never finishes the sentence. Only stares at her mutely, mouth open and eyes wide, dark circles smudged beneath them that didn’t exist weeks ago.
“Do you…” Words high and reedy as she struggles for air, she gulps in a breath and tries again. “Do you mean it?”
He leans back slightly, a sudden wary tension breaking the perfect square of his shoulders. “Mean what?” His gaze, though, flickers down to alight ever so briefly on the necklace resting around her neck. Speaking truths she knows his tongue may never.
And she decides she’s done with giving him the chance not to.
It’s not elegant. It’s nothing like her stories at all when she throws herself at him hard enough to send them both stumbling a few steps, arms around his neck to pull him closer to her level when he finally finds his footing and steadies them both with his hands on her waist - near enough to catch the intoxicatingly spiced scent of his cologne, near enough that the wide blue of his eyes and the coral of his blush fill her vision before she lifts herself up onto her toes and presses her lips to his.
She wasn't sure what she had expected, least of all when the moments where he stands stock-still drag on for seemingly ages, but it’s not what she gets. Not a plunder, or a demand, a war or a siege - what she gets is a kiss that’s gentle but meticulous in the best of ways. His mouth sweeping a soft caress, testing the give of her own. As if he was memorizing every tiny detail, lingering on each moment.
She’s lost in it so utterly that it’s a shock when he pulls away, and she has to stop herself from chasing after him. Greedy for more already, her hands clutching at the weave of his shirt plaintively, the tiny ember that’s been slumbering inside of her since their interlude in the hallway fanned to a full blaze by the taste of his breath on her tongue. “Silvio…”
If she had an ounce of shame left it died a swift, ignoble death at the way he bends his head to lick a hot line up the length of her throat.
“Yes, I meant it.” He growls the words more than speaks them into the hollow beneath her ear, and she can feel them tremble her very bones. Feel them seep into the marrow and become a part of her. “I told you, I would give you anything. Although…it was already yours all along, whether you knew it or not.”
Reaching up she twists her fingers into his hair and hauls his gaze back to meet hers, triumph and giddiness galloping reckless through her veins. “I love you, you stupid man, I lo-”
He presses a finger over her lips, silencing her. Hunger yawning, yearning in the stare he pins her with, so vast and great she wonders if it would ever be satisfied. “Be sure. Be very sure…because I never let go of what is mine.”
She catches his finger between his teeth and nips at it defiantly. “I am sure. And you did let go of something that belongs to you, once.”
He rumbles a laugh, replacing his finger with his thumb and drawing it gently along the curve of her mouth. A gesture so reverent that it nearly breaks her heart, as if she truly were something priceless. “Once. Just once,” he agrees, using that same thumb to part her lips so that the rest of his thought is murmured into her mouth. Prelude to a kiss that burns away anything resembling doubt. “But you’re more than worth it, tesoro.”
Pressed tightly together as they are, there’s no telling where one heartbeat begins and another ends, or whose belongs to whom. Her pendant remains caught between them, silent witness to the union...steadfast in its unending litany spelled out in gems far less precious than the sum of its whole. The price of her.
Cuore.
Heart.
#ikemen prince#ikepri#ikepri silvio#my writing#hahahah what even am i doing anymore#idk#if you read this whole thing you are my new favorite person#my favorite flavor is CHEESE
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Things I noticed on my rewatch: s2 ep3 Part1
This is something I did not notice the first time here but it has to be said again: Zoë Robins is phenomenal as Nynaeve!
something it did notice on rewatch: There are no braid tugs in this ep. and I don't know whether there are any this season and I think they did that deliberately to show that Nynaeve has lost herself. In s2 ep1 the wisdom of the two rivers has forgotten about Bel Tine... and with her time with Ryma Sedai and what happened during the finale it is a great setup for a journey to find herself anew in s3.
they gave her this backstory in s1 and it makes the first arch hit hard emotionally and the third arch even harder eventually, I want to scream and weep with her
the nature locations during the test are stunning! Look at this post if you want to see it and more Laneave in beautiful nature.
I appreciate the plot twist they put into the third arch. Nynaeve saying she will never put the tower over everything and saying goodbye to Egwene felt very real. And the recap at the beginning of the episode shows Lan being sent away by Moiraine to make it even more believable.
These embroidered herbs on her:
Her tests included all the EF5 which is really touching! (even the grief for Rand)
Egewene called Nynaeve by a nickname:
But this is the third time (!) for her to believe Nynaeve is dead and it definitely has to stop! 😡
#rewatch#wot season 2#wot on prime#nynaeve al'meara#nyneave#the wheel of time#wheel of time#going though the arches#trauma
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