The Midnight Cat {Finnian X Reader}
- Odsłon 2,029
- Głosy 75
- Części 14
Dla dorosłychW trakcie1h 6m
Ostatnia publikacja czw., lut 18, 2021
There will be some triggering content in this story including: Child abuse/neglect, Gore, Cannibalism, etc
Under the heavy calm of night a woman of elegance danced in the hands of someone unfamiliar, she danced with grace and sang with a voice of woven silk. To appreciate such a scene can be done once for it shall be the last you hear such beauty.
How can one slowly being corrupted fall for such an innocent man.
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शिवरुद्रिका: Eternal balance
The torches along the passage hissed in the wind. She turned from him, the rustle of her silk echoing louder than any sword-drawn threat he had ever faced. He did not move at first. Her steps echoed down the corridor, every sound a declaration that she would not turn back. Then his hand found hers-only for a heartbeat, but it was enough. The air between them stilled, thick with the pull neither of them had words for. She drew in a breath to speak, to command distance again, but he moved closer instead, the space narrowing until the cold marble at her back caught the edge of her veil. His voice dropped, not harsh but heavy with the weight of what he had never learned to say. "हमें क्षमा कर दीजिए," he said, each word measured. "नफ़रत निभाना आसान था... मगर यह खामोशी-यह हमें अंदर से तोड़ रही है।" He who had never knelt to kings or storms now found himself humbled before the woman he once called enemy.
Peculiar demon//Sebastian Michaelis x demon!reader
strange, isn't she? she's a abnormal demon--no, human? cursed to feel human, mortal. that cannot end well for a demon. Her/she pronounsZakończone
HARLEEN : The art of her undoing
She is fire in silk, he is a storm in a crown. Their kingdoms demand obedience, but their hearts refuse... "You belong to me, Harleen. Every glance, every breath... mine." he growls, eyes dark with hunger and passion "I am not yours," she whispers, trembling under his touch. "You already are," he hisses, stepping closer"whether you fight it or not." In corridors of power, under moonlit forests, in the exile of shadows, every touch ignites desire, every word leaves a mark. "I won't let anyone take you from me," he murmurs, fingers brushing her hair. "Then I'll fight," she breathes, heart racing. "Good," he says, "because I've already lost myself to you." Love is forbidden. Passion is lethal. Obsession... is unavoidable.
In Due Time
Nyara wasn't looking for anything serious. Just a little text here and there, a couple of dates, a few phone calls, you know... the basics. A little attention never hurt anybody. Then Solomon came along offering consistency, intention, truth. A little more than her expectations would allow for. What starts off as a casual slow burn turns into what Nyara could only describe as a dream come true. It was steady, yet unfamiliar. It was the kind of connection that didn't ask for permission, it just sprouted all on its own. Every time she thought she had it under control, his smile reminded her that she didn't. Does her peace still need protecting or has it come to her in the form of a 6 foot 1, dark skinned man?
Some Endings Grow Roots
She was never meant to survive. Born from betrayal, raised in shadows, and silenced by those who should have protected her Bailey learned to survive without softness. Until survival wasn't enough. Fleeing London for the chaos and beauty of Naples, she finds herself in a city that doesn't pretend to be kind. There, she meets Giovanni calm, dangerous, and hiding secrets of his own. But this isn't a love story born from safety. It's a story of trust built in ruins, of voices rising from silence, and of a girl who refused to let her trauma define her ending. Some endings break us. Others grow roots.Zakończone
State of Affairs
He'd wear her father's blessings, kiss her hand for the cameras, and whisper his truth only when the doors were locked. "You were never mine to love. You were mine to use. But I'll ruin anyone who tries to take you from me." This isn't a love story. It's a war dressed in wedding silk. And she's not sure who's going to bleed first.Zakończone
The torches along the passage hissed in the wind. She turned from him, the rustle of her silk echoing louder than any sword-drawn threat he had ever faced. He did not move at first. Her steps echoed down the corridor, every sound a declaration that she would not turn back. Then his hand found hers-only for a heartbeat, but it was enough. The air between them stilled, thick with the pull neither of them had words for. She drew in a breath to speak, to command distance again, but he moved closer instead, the space narrowing until the cold marble at her back caught the edge of her veil. His voice dropped, not harsh but heavy with the weight of what he had never learned to say. "हमें क्षमा कर दीजिए," he said, each word measured. "नफ़रत निभाना आसान था... मगर यह खामोशी-यह हमें अंदर से तोड़ रही है।" He who had never knelt to kings or storms now found himself humbled before the woman he once called enemy.
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