#Linen Care Instructions | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

burnforyou · 3 months ago

Text

POOL - LUIGI MANGIONE x READER

!SUMMARY! your brother's best friend teaches you how to play pool.

you lean against the doorway with your arms crossed your chest and observe him: bent over the table, long arm aligned with the cue stick, careful fingers angled just right. you bite your lip and follow the veins from his hand up his arm to where his thin pink shirt is rolled up.

the pink shirt.

the pink shirt that made you inexplicably weak every damn time.

the thin linen still allowed you to see his tan skin through the fabric. he never buttoned it all the way either, so you had an excellent view of his soft neck and collarbones. when it was warm outside he’d roll up the sleeves and you could just sit there and watch the small muscles in his forearm move.

he moves the cue back, bites his lip, and smoothly pushes it through his fingers with impressive precision. the wood end hits the white ball, which makes a satisfying click when it hits the red one. the red ball ricochets against another ball, both falling into opposing holes.

"you're playing all by yourself?" you speak up. he jumps, visibly surprised by your presence.

"yeah, nothing wrong with it." he shrugs and tries to play it cool while his heart is racing.

you've known each other for years and you still make him nervous. he'll be nervous around you forever.

"you wanna join?" he smiles at you in the doorway and takes in your appearance.

"I've never played."

"I'll teach you, come on." he waves you over.

"you're too kind." you run your fingers along the wood edge of the table and approach him teasingly slow. his dark eyes follow you the whole time.

"I can't believe you don't know how to play pool." he shakes his head.

"not all of us grew up with a pool table in our basement." you joke.

"I invited you over thousands of times and you always said no." your mind flashes with all the memories of luigi in high school, teasing you, making fun of you, his best friend's little sister, for having a crush on him.

"maybe I just wasn't interested."

"maybe you were just scared." he raises his eyebrows in a suggestive manner you like a little too much. his eyes sparkle.

"scared of what?" you try and laugh but it comes out as a breathless sigh.

"you were scared of what I'd do to you when I finally got you alone." he brings you into him and leaves his hand around your waist, bare from your backless dress. your chest is flush against his. your breath catches in your throat.

you keep your eyes on the doorway, remembering where you are. anyone could walk in and catch you two.

"are you gonna teach me to play or what?" you push him back and challenge with a smirk on your face.

"of course princess."

"the cue stick," he hands you the stick. you take it from him and follow his instructions. "hold the end in your dominant hand."

"bend to meet the table, keep the stick just above your hip level."

you bend (what you think is enough) over the table with one hand on the stick and the other on the table. he places his hand on your bare lower back and pushes you down on the table a bit more.

"lower. and that's not hip level." his hand grips yours on the stick and brings it up higher. he leans over your body, basically putting his whole body onto yours. you stiffen when you feel his hips against your ass. warmth pools between your thighs. he lets out a quiet noise you don't hear.

"relax. don't grip the stick too tight." his voice comes out an octave deeper, almost rough. his abs rub against your skin through his thin shirt.

he runs his hand down your arm and manipulates your fingers around the thin end of the stick. his hand moves delicately on your own, his calloused skin harsh against your soft skin. his veins move with every movement. his hand is so big, so much bigger than yours...

you let him do as he pleases, observing him laying your pinkie, ring and middle finger flat on the table. he wraps your pointer and thumb around the stick.

"This one's called a closed bridge." he removes his hand from yours and leaves it spread on the edge of the table.

he presses against you more, his body so much bigger than yours. his breath warms your skin.

"you're ready to hit the ball now. let the stick go through your fingers." he brings the stick up and through your fingers a few times, aiming at the cue ball.

"hit the sweet spot." he practically dirty talks into your ear.

"and..."

he brings his arm back, his hand still over top yours.

he jerks it forward and through your fingers with seasoned skill.

"strike."

the cue ball hits another ball and it shatters the thick tension in the room.

he backs away from you reluctantly. you already miss his sweet touches and the warmth of his skin against your own.

"there ya go. not bad for your first hit ever." you burn under his hot gaze.

"I can teach you more about the math behind the game, it's really interesting actually." he starts rambling about mathematical nonsense you really don't care about. but you stand there and hang onto every word he says because its him.

"...hitting the cue ball right is really important. there's this thing called a tangent line, it's also super important. the tangent line is 90 degrees to the line that the first ball you hit will travel, but starts from the center of the cue ba-"

you cut him off by gripping onto his collar and pressing your lips against his. he responds instantly, tangling his hands in your hair and holding the back of your head.

he breaks the kiss first and stares at you. your chests move in unison. you can't help but smile up at him hesitantly.

"you want this?" he asks, a smile stretching across his face too.

"yes, lu," you get on your tippy-toes and kiss him again. he licks your bottom lip and wraps his arms around you again, practically begging you to open your mouth to him. if his arms weren't wrapped around you, you would have collapsed.

you open up to him and he moans into the kiss. you kiss each other feverishly, lost in the pent up desire you've both had for years. a carnal need for you washes over him. you whine into his lips when he kisses you harder and sloppier.

he explores your mouth and bucks his hard cock into your stomach.

bliss falls over you. he bites your lip and purrs.

"you taste like strawberries."

MASTERLIST - PREV. WORK

!TAGS!

@legendaryclancy @strawbrriess @bellobambino @f4nfic-lover @btcowboy @chmpgneprblem @soggysouppp @hereandqueer6540 @poohkie90 @miarosalie11 @v1rtualsalvat10n @hypnotizedbyhood @webanglikethat @croucify @cumdnmp @ga33y3 @zeervzn @marzipanlvr @seesaw-it @raekensluver @ddlydevotion @hujirose @darleneslane @babydollfacedangel @withloveforlu @mxdnvghts @strawbxrryaxolotyl @bricapellan16

#luigi mangione #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione fanfic #luigi mangione fanfiction #my works #luigi mangione imagine #luigi x reader #luigi mangione fluff #luigi mangione fic

579 notes · View notes

antinousletmehit · 4 months ago

Note

hello! May I pls request a (fem or gn whatever you’d like) making Odysseus to sleep after finding out he hasn’t for a while (and maybe like taking care o him or hurt/comfort idk) no problem if not, thx!

୨୧┇pairing: Odyssues x reader

୨୧┇enjoy!!

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

You found him in the courtyard, seated on a low stone bench under the silver glow of the moon. His sword rested at his side, his hands gripping it as if he expected another ambush at any moment. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his shoulders slumped under the invisible burden of years spent fighting and wandering.

“Odysseus,” you called softly, stepping into the cool night air.

His head turned sharply, the warrior in him ready for an enemy. But when he saw you, his gaze softened. “It’s late,” he said, his voice gravelly. “You should be asleep.”

“I could say the same to you,” you replied, approaching him and sitting beside him on the bench. “When’s the last time you rested?” He chuckled humorlessly, running a hand through his unruly hair. “Rest doesn’t come easy after everything I’ve been through. My mind refuses to quiet.”

You frowned, your heart aching for him. This man had endured so much, war, betrayal, storms, gods, and now, even in his moment of triumph, he couldn’t find peace. “Odysseus,” you said gently, placing a hand on his arm. “You’ve done enough. The suitors are gone, our family is safe, your home is yours again. You don’t have to fight anymore.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “There’s always something to fight for. Something to protect. I can’t let my guard down, not yet.”

“You’re no use to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion,” you countered, your tone firm but kind.

He glanced at you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“I learned from the best,” you teased, earning a quiet laugh from him.

Standing, you held out your hand. “Come with me.”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing. “Where?”

“To bed,” you said simply.

His eyes widened slightly, cheeks flushed, and you rolled your eyes. “Not like that. You need sleep, Odysseus. Proper sleep, in a proper bed. And I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re resting.”For a moment, he looked like he might argue. But then he sighed, the weight of his fatigue finally catching up to him. He took your hand, allowing you to guide him inside.

You led him to his chamber, the one he hadn’t truly claimed since returning home. The bed was freshly made, the linens soft and inviting, but it still seemed foreign to him. “Lie down,” you instructed, pulling the covers back.

He gave you a weary look. “You’re bossier than Athena.”

“And yet, here you are listening to me,” you quipped, crossing your arms.

With a low chuckle, he obeyed, lowering himself onto the bed. His body seemed to sink into the mattress, and you could almost see the tension in his muscles begin to loosen. You pulled the covers over him, smoothing them out with care. “Close your eyes,” you murmured.

He hesitated again, but the exhaustion in his gaze won out. His eyes fluttered shut, and you sat beside him, your fingers brushing through his hair in slow, soothing strokes. “Stay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised.

Minutes passed, the room silent except for the sound of his breathing. Gradually, his tense expression softened, his breaths growing deeper and steadier. For the first time in what felt like forever, Odysseus slept.

You stayed there, watching over him as he had watched over so many others. And as the moonlight bathed the room in its gentle glow. You were happy he’s finally home, and in your arms like it was always meant to be

#epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #epic odysseus #odysseus x reader #odysseus #epic the musical odysseus

333 notes · View notes

fr0stf4ll · 4 months ago

Text

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 5

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 5k

Trigger warning; //

notes; Hey ! Happy celebrations for everyone <3 I'm back with the part 5 of the story, you guys are getting more elements about the story here hihi. Hope that you will enjoy it ! See you soon <3

previous ✧ next

The day after you had stabilized Azriel, you returned to the House of Wind to check on his injuries. Morning light filtered through wide windows as you stepped into the corridors, the faint scent of fresh linen lingering in the air. You carried your satchel of supplies—new dressings, salves, and a mild tonic—tucked under one arm. The tension you felt in your chest, the awareness of that golden bond, still hummed quietly under your skin.

When you eased open the door to Azriel’s room, you found him not only awake, but sitting propped against a nest of pillows. He turned his head at your arrival, and his hazel eyes, calm yet quietly guarded, focused on you. You froze for a fraction of a second, expecting something—recognition, some sign that he sensed what you had felt so vividly the night before. The mating bond. But Azriel’s gaze was polite, curious, nothing more than what you’d expect from a warrior thanking a healer.

“Good morning,” he said, voice low and even. His wings were carefully arranged, bandages neat and secure from your previous efforts. “I owe you my life, I think.” The corner of his mouth tipped upward slightly, a cautious attempt at a smile. “Thank you.”

Your heart twisted. You managed a professional nod, stepping closer to the bed. “It’s my duty,” you replied, your voice steady despite the pang in your chest. “How do you feel?”

He shifted a little, wincing but not complaining. “Better,” he answered, meeting your gaze without any flicker of that deeper connection you had feared or hoped for. Just calm gratitude and a warrior’s patience. “The pain is manageable.”

You swallowed, extending a gentle hand to adjust a pillow behind him and check the bandage on his shoulder. Your fingers brushed his skin lightly. Nothing. No spark, no sign that he felt what you did. He gave a small nod of thanks, as though you were any other healer administering care.

The golden thread inside you felt taut and delicate, as if one wrong breath could snap it. But what good was a thread if only one person felt its pull? You busied yourself with routine tasks: applying fresh salve, examining the healing tears in his wings, ensuring there were no signs of infection. He watched quietly, occasionally letting out a soft hiss of discomfort, but never more than that.

Every so often, you dared glance into his eyes again, searching for something—some warmth or spark that might betray an awareness of the bond. But you found nothing beyond polite interest and a soldier’s resilience. To him, you were a stranger who had saved his life, a skilled hand rather than a destined partner.

When you finished, you stepped back and forced a calm, reassuring smile. “Everything seems to be on track,” you said, keeping your tone measured and pleasant. “I��ll prepare a mild tonic to help with any lingering ache. If you rest and follow instructions, you’ll recover smoothly.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “You have my thanks,” he said simply. “And my respect.”

With that, you gathered your supplies and turned toward the door, heart heavier and more uncertain than before. You paused on the threshold, glancing back once over your shoulder. Azriel was settling back into the pillows, eyes drifting to the window, lost in his own thoughts—thoughts that, evidently, didn’t involve the bond you carried alone.

You left his room as you had entered: a healer, no more, no less. The golden bond within you lay silent and unacknowledged, a secret you would shoulder alone.

Days blurred into a quiet routine: morning rounds at the clinic, afternoons spent reviewing herbal stocks and training junior healers, and, scattered between these duties, several trips to the House of Wind. Each visit found you in Azriel’s room, applying new salves and checking that his injuries were knitting properly. He was a cooperative patient—patient enough, at least. He didn’t complain, though you sensed his restlessness. He asked questions about healing techniques, listened politely to your instructions, and always offered a sincere “thank you” after you were done.

In these encounters, the tension of that first night lingered only as a ghost of memory. He seemed comfortable enough with your presence. Once or twice, you thought you caught something in his gaze—curiosity, or a particular warmth—but you brushed it off. Your priority remained his recovery, not your tangled emotions or that elusive bond you had discovered.

But not all your visits were so calm. One afternoon, just after you’d finished changing the dressings on his wings, voices rose outside his door. You stepped into the corridor with your empty bowl of used bandages, intending to fetch fresh ones, when you heard the unmistakable sound of Rhysand’s voice—low, measured, but threaded with tension.

Azriel responded, quieter but sharper. You hesitated near the threshold, uncertain if you should intervene or give them privacy. Yet their words drifted through the partially open door, and you caught enough to understand what was happening.

“I’m not asking for permission,” Azriel said, voice tight. “I know what I’m doing, Rhys.”

Rhysand’s tone cooled noticeably. “This isn’t about your skill or independence. It’s about what’s best for everyone. You heard Y/N’s orders—no more unauthorized interference. Azriel, you nearly died. We can’t afford another risk.”

A pause, then Azriel’s voice, lower now, a note of frustration vibrating through it. “I’m not talking about the healer’s instructions. I’m talking about Elain.”

Your chest tightened at the name. So they were arguing about her. About his relationship to her. You swallowed, fingers tightening around the bowl as if it were an anchor in unfamiliar waters.

Rhysand sighed, weariness and a hint of annoyance seeping in. “You know the stance we agreed upon. Elain’s presence here complicated matters. She’s not a healer, and we can’t have her risking your life by trying something ill-advised. It’s best if she stays at the townhouse until you’re fully recovered.”

Azriel’s response was quieter, but no less charged. “I know she didn’t mean harm. She cared, and that caring led her astray. I’m not defending her action, but I want a chance to speak with her. This—this distance you’re enforcing feels like punishment.”

Rhysand’s answer came measured, each word precise. “Call it what you like. Her action nearly cost your life. Let Y/N do her job without interference. Once you’re healed, we can revisit the matter.”

A tense silence followed. You should have turned and left, but your feet seemed rooted in place. At length, Azriel spoke again, voice subdued yet firm: “I won’t forget this, Rhys. I know you mean well, but I have a say in who sees me and when. We’ll talk about this again.”

The tension crackled, and you took that as your cue. Quietly, you stepped away, heading off to get fresh supplies. By the time you returned, Rhysand was gone, and Azriel sat brooding by the window, wings carefully draped over the edge of the chair. He met your eyes and offered a faint, polite nod, as if nothing had happened.

But the atmosphere had changed. You redid a bandage and Azriel thanked you, his voice level, though a crease lingered between his brows. It wasn’t your place to ask about the dispute, and he didn’t volunteer information. Yet the words you’d overheard thrummed in your mind—the High Lord’s firm stance, Azriel’s quiet defiance. And, unspoken between them, Elain’s name, heavy with meaning.

You left that day more aware than ever that Azriel’s recovery wasn’t just about healing flesh and bone. There were deeper wounds, quieter tensions to navigate, and you found yourself caught at the edges of relationships and loyalties you barely understood.

At the week’s end, you returned to Azriel’s room for what would be your last scheduled visit. The afternoon light slanted in gently, highlighting the subtle improvements in his condition. His wings, once in tatters, now bore only faint scars slowly fading beneath well-applied salves. He was no longer propped up by a fortress of pillows, simply leaning back against a few cushions. His color was better, his breathing steady and even.

You approached with your medical bag, a familiar ritual by now. He watched your every move, though more relaxed than before. After a brief examination—checking the suppleness of his healing wing membranes, testing the resilience of muscle and skin—you nodded, satisfied.

“I think you’re in the clear,” you said, voice warm but professional. “Your wounds have healed nicely. You’re allowed to walk around the House of Wind again, as much as you like. Just…” You arched a brow, fixing him with a pointed look. “Please wait a few more days before attempting any training. Give your body time to adjust.”

Azriel inclined his head, his eyes thoughtful. “I’ll try,” he said, a hint of wry humor in his tone. “I’m not particularly good at staying idle, but I’ll manage.” There was a pause as he studied you, folding his hands loosely in his lap. “How are things at the clinic? It must be a lot of work, reacquainting yourself with everything after so long.”

You took a moment to consider your answer, recalling the busy days, the endless patient logs, the younger healers who looked to you for guidance. “It’s busy, yes,” you admitted, shoulders rising in a small shrug. “But well. The transition has gone smoother than I expected. Madja’s presence helped me settle in quickly. I’ve met most of the healers by now. They’re competent and kind.”

Azriel nodded, as if glad to hear it. “I’m relieved. I know Madja cared deeply about who would take her place. She made the right choice.”

Your heart tightened slightly at the praise, but you managed a small, genuine smile. “I hope so. I’m doing my best.”

A brief silence fell. You cleared your throat, deciding it was time to share your upcoming plans. “I should mention—I’ll be leaving tonight. I have to travel to Winghaven for a few days. So if you have any issues you will have to wait a few days or got to the clinic directly.”

At that, Azriel’s gaze sharpened. “Winghaven?” His brow furrowed. “Alone?”

The note of concern in his voice was unmistakable. Though he’d never demanded details of your comings and goings before, you could sense genuine worry now. Perhaps it was the memory of his own recent injuries, or simply the protective streak you sensed running through him and his circle.

“No, not alone,” you assured him, waving a hand lightly. “Cassian will be accompanying me. I’ll be there for just three days—no more. I’m to inspect the healers in the Illyrian camps, starting with Winghaven, and see what improvements can be made.”

Azriel’s shoulders eased a fraction at the mention of Cassian. “Good,” he said quietly. “Cassian knows the terrain and the people well. He’ll keep an eye out.”

You offered a small laugh, though it carried traces of earnest relief. “I’m counting on that. I’m prepared for skepticism, but at least I won’t be going in blind.”

Azriel regarded you steadily for a moment. The silence felt strangely comfortable, his eyes holding yours but revealing nothing that would add to your confusion. Finally, he nodded. “Then I wish you a safe journey. If anyone can bring them new wisdom, it’s you.”

You inclined your head in thanks, feeling the odd weight of unspoken things settle between you. You gathered your bag, stepping back and preparing to leave. “Rest well,” you said softly, voice gentling with sincere care. “I’ll see you when I return—if you haven’t taken flight before then.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I’ll be here, doing as you ordered, healer.”

You departed with that quiet exchange lingering in your mind, the simple comfort of knowing he’d be on the mend as you embarked on your own task. The golden thread that you carried alone remained silent in your chest, and you tried not to linger on it. For now, purpose called you to Winghaven, and he had recovery and patience ahead. It was enough.

Those three days in Illyria were challenging, to say the least. You’d arrived with Cassian after a lengthy journey through mountain passes and windblown valleys, the chill air biting at your cheeks. Your first night was spent in Rhysand’s mother’s old cottage—an unexpected sanctuary tucked into the rugged landscape. The walls hummed softly with old memories, but provided a safe place to rest before the real work began the next morning.

You settled in as dusk wrapped the world in quiet shadows. Cassian had started a small fire in the hearth, coaxing warmth into the modest room. You sat across from him, knees folded beneath you on a low cushion. He offered you a cup of something hot and spiced, the scent of cinnamon and cloves wafting between you. Outside, the wind sighed against the wooden shutters, a distant chorus of wolves or perhaps just the moan of the breeze in the pines.

The conversation drifted naturally toward personal matters. Perhaps it was the calm crackle of the fire or the sense of isolation out here that made it easier to speak of things long unspoken.

“So,” Cassian began, leaning forward on his elbows, his tone gentle but curious, “you’ve traveled a great deal. Dawn Court healers, crossing seas for rare herbs… I’ve heard bits and pieces, but never your own version.”

You fiddled with the rim of your cup, gaze flicking to the flames. “I suppose you’d like to know why I left the Night Court in the first place,” you said, voice low.

He dipped his chin. “If you don’t mind sharing. I know you trained under Madja for a time. But then… you disappeared for centuries.”

You exhaled, the memory tugging gently at your heart. “I was a child during the first war,” you began, words careful. “I saw enough pain and loss in those early years to shape my entire understanding of healing. Madja took me under her wing afterward, teaching me for more than fifty years—an eternity to a child, but a mere blink to her. She was patient, strict when necessary, and always kind. But besides her…” You paused, searching for the right words. “I had no attachments. My parents, my kin—lost to war or scattered.”

Cassian nodded, respectful silence encouraging you onward.

“After those decades, I met a renowned healer from the Dawn Court—someone who saw a spark in me. He said I had a gift worth honing further than what the Night Court alone could offer. At first, I resisted. This was my home, wasn’t it?” You gave a hollow laugh. “But I felt… stuck, I suppose. Prythian was changing, and we were all rebuilding from ash and smoke. Yet I wanted to see more of the world, learn techniques from healers who knew magics and herbs I’d never even dreamed of.”

Cassian’s eyes gleamed with understanding. “So you left for experience.”

You nodded. “Exactly. The Night Court has always been a place of shadows and hidden strengths, and I love it for that. But I craved something more—new visions, new methods. Dawn Court healers taught me how to harness starlight in potions. In the Summer Court, I learned to treat venomous wounds from creatures that lurk in coral reefs. Across the seas, I found healing arts that rely on sound vibrations rather than herbs. Every place offered something unique, something that layered onto my understanding of healing until I could weave it all together.”

Cassian tilted his head, a small, admiring smile curving his mouth. “No wonder you could do what you did for Az,” he said softly. “You brought back a piece of every land to save him.”

You swallowed, touched by his words. “I hope so. Returning… it wasn’t part of my plan. But Madja asked, and I couldn’t refuse her. Besides, maybe I’ve gathered enough threads now to weave something truly worthwhile here at home. Maybe I won’t feel stuck this time.”

Cassian’s gaze drifted over the small room—old furniture, worn curtains, the echoes of a past High Lady who once dwelled here. “You left a home that felt too small,” he said, “and came back with a world’s worth of knowledge. You’re changing the Night Court already, I can tell.”

His sincerity warmed you almost as much as the fire. “It might be too soon to say it but I trully wish that I will be able to help”

Outside, the night howled softly, and beyond that, Winghaven waited—skeptical healers, reluctant warriors, a land that would test your resolve. But for tonight, here in this cottage, you had honesty and understanding. Cassian, it seemed, respected your journey, and in turn, you respected the loyalty and openness he offered.

You sipped your hot drink, and Cassian spoke of Illyria’s challenges: old traditions that died hard, camp leaders who would eye you suspiciously. You listened, grateful for the insight and glad for the company. Three days in Winghaven would be short, but intense. At least you would not face it ignorant or alone. And when you returned to Velaris, you’d do so with fresh perspective, your choices affirmed by the understanding gleaned here tonight.

The teacup in your hands had grown lukewarm. Outside, the night was dark and silent, and within the old cottage’s modest walls, you and Cassian had settled into a gentle rhythm of conversation. You had shared bits of your life, your wanderings, and the layers of healing knowledge you carried. He, in turn, had given you insight into the Illyrian camps, the challenges you’d face in Winghaven.

But your mind, restless even after the day’s trials, drifted to the quiet tension you’d sensed in the House of Wind—particularly around Elain and Azriel. You remembered Rhysand’s firm stance, Azriel’s simmering frustration, and Elain’s tearful regret. Maybe it was none of your business. In fact, you knew it probably wasn’t. Yet the curiosity gnawed at you.

Swallowing your reservations, you glanced at Cassian, who sat across from you, relaxed yet ever watchful. He had answered your questions willingly so far. Would he answer this one? You took a breath and ventured, “Cassian, can I ask you something more personal?”

He raised an eyebrow, curious but not wary. “You can ask,” he allowed, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “I can’t promise I’ll answer.”

You tried a faint smile. “Fair enough.” You hesitated only a moment before plunging ahead. “The Archeron sisters—they’re all closely linked to the High Lord and High Lady, yes? I’ve met Feyre, of course. But I’ve heard of Nesta, Elain… They seem important to this court. Could you… tell me a bit about them?”

Cassian’s expression changed subtly, as though he were sorting through what he could say. He took a sip from his mug, gaze drifting to the fire before coming back to meet your eyes. “Important might be an understatement,” he said quietly. “Feyre, as you know, is our High Lady. She and Rhys… well, they hold this court together in ways I never thought possible.”

You nodded, encouraging him without words to continue.

“There are three Archeron sisters in total,” Cassian went on, choosing each word with care. “Feyre, Nesta, and Elain. Each of them is very different. Feyre’s heart is this court’s beacon, always thinking of others, guiding us with compassion. Nesta… she’s complicated. Strong-willed, fierce, often prickly. She’s fought her own battles, overcome demons both inside and out. And Elain—” He paused, a subtle tension passing over his face. “Elain is gentle. Kind. She sees the good in everyone, wants to help.”

You swallowed, recalling Elain’s well-meaning but disastrous attempt to help Azriel. “I see. They must have deep bonds with you all.”

Cassian’s grin was wry, as if acknowledging a private joke. “Deep bonds indeed. They’re not just important to the court, they’re part of us—Rhys’s family, our family. We’d do anything for them.”

You considered his words. The Archeron sisters each had distinct roles and personalities. Feyre the High Lady, Nesta the warrior spirit (if what you gleaned from rumors was true), and Elain the gentle heart. “It sounds like they’ve all been through a lot,” you said softly.

“You have no idea,” Cassian replied, voice quieter. “War, transformations, personal struggles—those three have endured trials that would break many.”

Your gaze lowered, understanding dawning. Whatever had happened to them, it had forged unbreakable bonds not only with each other but also with these Illyrian warriors and the High Lord. You remembered Elain’s desperation at Azriel’s bedside, that fierce concern that led her astray. Perhaps it made sense now—she was a nurturer, wanting to help but lacking the knowledge. Her role within this tight-knit circle might explain why she was so devastated by her mistake.

You raised your eyes again, meeting Cassian’s gaze. “I see,” you said quietly. “I suppose they mean as much to each other as they mean to you all.”

He nodded, his stance relaxing again. “They’re family. And in this court, family isn’t just blood—it’s chosen. Earned. The Archerons earned their place in all our hearts, scars and all.”

As Cassian spoke, you saw a certain softness enter his gaze, especially when he spoke of Nesta. He lingered over her name, voice turning fond and respectful in a way that stood out. You took a careful sip of your cooling tea, weighing whether to pry further. Finally, you couldn’t help it: his tone when mentioning Nesta was unmistakable.

He caught your curious glance and let out a low, rueful laugh. “I suppose there’s no hiding it. Nesta is my mate,” he admitted, voice quiet but steady. The corners of his mouth curved into a small, proud smile. “It took us a while to find our footing, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Your thoughts spun for a moment, and you had to swallow a surprised breath. Feyre and Rhysand were mates, you’d learned that quickly enough. Now Nesta and Cassian. A fleeting, wry thought crossed your mind: three Archeron sisters, three Illyrian warriors, three mates? Was it so neatly arranged?

Cassian’s gaze sharpened slightly, as if reading your thoughts. He raised a hand, palm outward, as though to forestall your assumptions. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, tone turning wry. “Three brothers for three sisters. But it’s not that simple.”

You blinked, surprised that he’d guessed your train of thought. He set down his mug and sighed. “Elain already has a mate—Lucien.” He paused, letting the weight of that name settle in the small room. You hadn’t met Lucien yet, but you’d heard whispers of a fox-eyed male with keen wit and wandering loyalties. “That bond was forged during the war, under extraordinary circumstances. Yet Elain’s relationship with Azriel…” He trailed off, choosing his next words carefully.

Your brow furrowed, curiosity piqued. “I gather it’s complicated?”

Cassian gave a solemn nod. “Complicated doesn’t begin to cover it,” he said. “Elain’s mate is Lucien, but her feelings—her choices—don’t neatly follow the bond’s dictates. And Az… Az and Elain have a certain understanding, a closeness that’s never found a clear label. It’s delicate, messy. Not something any of us can force or resolve easily.”

Your heart twisted with new understanding. Elain’s tearful face by Azriel’s bedside, her desperate attempt to help him, made sense in a different light now. She was caught between a mate-bond she couldn’t ignore and feelings for another. The tension you’d sensed back in the House of Wind, the argument between Azriel and Rhysand, the High Lord’s firm stance—this was part of that tangled knot of loyalties and love.

You leaned back in your chair, fingers tightening around the mug. “That’s… a lot to untangle,” you said softly, marveling at the complexity of the lives you’d stepped into upon returning to the Night Court. “I suppose healing hearts is even harder than healing wounds.”

Cassian’s smile was gentler now, his eyes reflecting a sad sort of understanding. “You have no idea,” he murmured. “But we make do. We try our best, all of us.”

And so you sat there, in Rhysand’s mother’s old cottage, the fire crackling softly. The weight of destiny, bonds, and unspoken wishes pressed in around you. Three days in Winghaven would be challenging enough, but these people’s lives—filled with bonds that sometimes knotted rather than wove together—reminded you that not all healing could be done with herbs and salves. Sometimes, it was about patience, understanding, and the acceptance that not every wound could be closed neatly.

You said nothing more about it, not now. You’d carry this knowledge silently, weaving it into your understanding of the court and the people who had become part of your new world.

Over the following days in Winghaven, your schedule unfolded with steady precision. You’d arrived with a clear plan: assess the camp’s existing healer teams, identify gaps in their knowledge and supplies, and demonstrate a few techniques that might broaden their capabilities. With Cassian hovering protectively in the background, you were able to move through each task smoothly, guiding younger healers and checking on several patients who had been awaiting more advanced care.

On the first morning, you stood under a makeshift awning behind the camp’s central barracks, watching as a trio of Illyrian healers prepared poultices from dried herbs. They worked diligently, but with a certain mechanical repetition that hinted at a narrow scope of training. You introduced yourself, explaining that you were here at the High Lord’s request to advise and improve methods. One of them, a middle-aged healer named Serain, looked at you with polite skepticism.

“Been doing it this way for decades,” she said, packing a poultice into a cloth bundle. “We know how to close a wound and set a bone. What more do we need?”

You offered a measured smile, crouching beside them. “Closing wounds and setting bones are vital, yes. But have you tried using crushed frost-lily petals for inflammation, or incorporating a mild healing spell to halt bleeding before you stitch?”

They exchanged glances, intrigue sparking behind their guarded eyes. By mid-afternoon, they were asking quiet questions: what if they added a teaspoon of powdered ash-root to their salve for deeper burns? How did you stabilize a patient’s temperature overnight in the harsh winters? Slowly, their skepticism turned to curiosity, and by the end of the day, they were taking notes on your suggestions.

Between these lessons, you wandered the camp with Cassian shadowing you, stopping to speak with patients recuperating in cramped tents. One young Illyrian warrior, wing bandaged awkwardly against his side, stared at you warily when you entered.

“You’re from Velaris?” he asked, voice thick with bitterness. “What do you lot know about Illyrian injuries?”

You met his glare steadily. “A wing is a wing,” you replied, voice calm. “Tendons, membranes, blood vessels—it’s anatomy. If you allow me, I can show you a gentler binding technique that will let it breathe and heal faster.”

He snorted, but Cassian cleared his throat meaningfully, and the warrior grudgingly allowed it. By the time you finished adjusting his bandage, he flexed his wing gingerly and looked surprised by the improvement. “Huh,” he murmured, grudging respect coloring his tone. “Thank you.”

“Sometimes small changes make a big difference,” you said, standing and dusting off your hands. “No matter where I’m from.”

On the second day, you found yourself face-to-face with Delvon, the camp’s leader. You’d been warned about him by Cassian the night before, but mere words didn’t prepare you for the man’s presence. He strutted toward you as you emerged from a storage hut, his dark eyes narrowed and jaw set, wings mantling behind him as if to emphasize his status.

“So, you’re the ‘expert’ the High Lord sent,” Delvon said, voice dripping with sarcastic disdain. He looked you over as if assessing livestock, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Come to tell us how to heal our own warriors, have you?”

You inclined your head slightly, forcing a polite smile. “I’m here to offer knowledge that may help your people recover faster and better. If you wish to view it as an intrusion, that’s your choice.”

He snorted, stepping closer, invading your personal space. “We’ve managed for generations without Velaris meddling. Next you’ll be telling us how to fight our battles.”

You stood your ground, lifting your chin. “I’m not here to discuss your battle tactics, only to ensure your injured don’t suffer more than necessary.”

Delvon’s lip curled in a sneer. “All that fancy technique and gentle touches—waste of time if they can’t get back to the battlefield. But do as you will, we can ignore it if it’s useless.” With that, he stormed off, wings flaring as if to punctuate his dismissal.

Cassian appeared at your shoulder, having watched from a distance. He rolled his eyes. “That went about as well as expected,” he murmured dryly.

You sighed, tension easing at his words. “At least I know why everyone despises him,” you replied under your breath. “He’s impossible.”

“Delvon’s a relic,” Cassian said, voice low. “A time will come when leaders like him are replaced. Until then, just focus on those who listen.”

And so you did. Despite Delvon’s hostility, you spent your third and final day in Winghaven conducting a brief demonstration for a handful of healers who’d shown genuine interest. You guided them through mixing a new salve that combined Illyrian herbs with a Dawn Court technique of magically infusing warmth into the mixture. A few nodded in quiet approval, clearly seeing the salve’s potential.

When dusk fell on your last evening in Winghaven, you looked over the camp from the edge of a plateau, Cassian beside you. The wind tugged at your hair, carrying the scents of pine and distant snow.

“You made some progress,” Cassian observed.

You let a small, wry smile slip onto your lips. “Some, yes. Enough to plant seeds of change, I hope.”

He laid a comforting hand on your shoulder. “It’s all we can do. Now, let’s head back. Velaris awaits.”

With a final glance at the camp, you turned away, a pocketful of new experiences and a touch more understanding of the Illyrian people weighting your steps. Change might be slow, but you had played your part, and tomorrow, you would return home with new lessons learned.

don't hesitate to comment if you want to be added to the tag list ;)))

tag list : @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @bravo-delta-eccho @messageforthesmallestman @celestialgilb @tiredsleepyhead @annamariereads16 @arcanefeelingz @fuckingsimp4azriel @adventure-awaits13 @diaouranask @rcarbo1 @6v6babycheese @goodvibesonlyxd @sa54va87to90re12 @firefly-forest @babypeapoddd @hailqueenconquer @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @judig92 @pinklemonade34 @sourapplex @wickedshadowsinger @shinyghosteclipse @rose-girls-world @leptitlu @acourtofsmutandstarlight @feyrescanvas @dreamloud4610 @plants-w0rld

#azriel fic #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar fanart #acotar #rhysand #azriel acotar #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x y/n #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #elain #feyre

262 notes · View notes

mistiell · 2 years ago

Note

If you’re doing requests and it’s not too much trouble what about Astarion and getting patched up and taken care of by mc

Here you go babes <33 (Also, if he's a little out of character, I apoligize, I really did try my best lol) WC: 1k

---

“Ow! Gods, could you at least try to be gentle?” Astarion hisses at the sting of the salve you’ve concocted, startling you into jerking the cloth you’re using away.

You huff and drop your hands into your lap, brows furrowed in very clear annoyance, “I am trying. If you’d stop squirming, it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“Well, if it didn’t hurt so much, I wouldn’t be squirming, would I?” He quips. You roll your eyes.

Taking his wrist ever so gently, you turn it so you can see the gash on his forearm, fingers deft and kind even despite his whining. He’s being difficult; unreasonable. You’d be justified in being cruel with him.

You’re careful not to press so hard as you swipe the cloth over the jagged edge of his wound, blood seeping into the fabric and staining the off-white linen a dark crimson. Mouth quirked down, your face is drawn tight with a frustration he’s never seen on you before.

He hates it.

The fabric catches with a jolt of pain and he flinches more than he would normally, startling you away again.

You tut at him, stern, “Astarion.”

Sighing, he returns his arm to you wordlessly and glances away with a small, “Sorry.”

“You should have been more careful.” You chastise as you press the cloth against his wound; firm, but not harsh. Never harsh.

He scoffs, rolls his eyes, “So you're saying this is my fault.”

He wasn’t being serious, but it seems you take it as such. Your nose scrunches, and for a split second, you look properly upset with him. He’s expecting you to snap at him, maybe shout and finally leave him to tend to his wounds alone as he usually would.

You don’t. Instead, you take a breath and sigh, looking rather disappointed.

“You know that’s not what I meant. Contrary to what you may believe, I do actually care about you and your wellbeing.” Your voice is void of any sort of humour as you look back at his arm. Swapping the soiled cloth for a smaller, cleaner one, you fold it in half and press it to his arm, not sparing him a glance as you instruct him, “Hold this.”

He does as you’ve asked, and a stifling silence engulfs his tent. As you rifle through some healing supplies, he tries to come up with a way to get you talking again.

“Why-,” His voice doesn’t come out right and he clears his throat to fix it. It comes out wrong anyway, “Why are you helping me? This wouldn’t have been the first time I’ve dressed a wound on my own, you know.”

“That doesn’t mean you should have to.” You reply as you begin securing the cloth to his arm with bandages, “No one deserves to suffer alone.”

The sentiment makes his stomach twist. “No one?” He huffs a wry puff of laughter, “Not even someone like Cazador?”

Your face contorts in abhorrence, “I meant good people don’t deserve to suffer alone. That bastard deserves every bit of suffering he has coming to him.”

He barely even registers the second part of what you’ve said, too busy reeling from the first.

Good people don’t deserve to suffer alone.

Good people.

“You... think I’m good?” He asks far too softly.

Finally looking back up at him, you look utterly confused as you nod, “Of course I do.”

He opens his mouth only to find he’s seemingly lost his voice. His gaze flits over just about every inch of your face, searching for any sign that you’re lying; a glance away, a twitch of your mouth. Anything.

He doesn’t find one. His heart sinks and sings simultaneously and suddenly, he can barely breathe.

“Why?” He murmurs. Part of him thinks he’s not equipped to cope with your answer.

There’s a moment where you just... look at him. He’d say staring, but he doesn’t think that’s quite what this is. What you’re doing would be better described as seeing him; all of him. His heart, his soul. Everything.

“Good people can do bad things and still be good, Astarion. And being good doesn’t always mean being a saint.” Your voice is kind; tender. Maybe a little joking towards the end. He guesses you’ve seen the apprehension on his face when your hands slide down his arm to cradle his own. Dipping to catch his gaze, your own is suddenly serious; unwavering, “What happened to you, the things you did. None of that was your fault. You told me what Cazador did to you when you disobeyed him. I’d be just as terrible to deem you a monster for going along with it knowing what would have happened to you if you didn’t.”

Your words strike him like a hard blow to the chest. Perhaps he’s not all that concerned with being a good person, but he’s never truly wanted to be evil, either.

Eyes stinging, he lets out a shaky breath through his nose as he cups the nape of your neck to guide your forehead to his lips. He lingers there for a moment before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in tight, mumbling against your hairline, “Thank you.”

Snaking your arms around his waist, you squeeze him just as fiercely, “Of course, my love.”

The laugh that escapes him comes out too watery for his liking, but he finds he doesn’t mind quite as much when its only you around to hear, “‘My love’? Isn’t that my line?”

You snort, and he feels you smile against his collar, “Perhaps.” “You do know that reusing material that isn’t yours is in poor taste, don’t you, darling?”

“Hush.” You pull back smiling, shaking your head as you ask in faux exasperation, “Now, will you please let me finish bandaging this?”

He follows your gaze to his arm and huffs dramatically, “I suppose.” “Oh, you suppose, do you?” You sass as you take hold of his wrist again, careful not to wrap the bandages too tight, “Do you also suppose you’ll sit still for me this time?”

“I do.” He grins.

And he does.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x mc #hurt/comfort

2K notes · View notes

butt3rnugg3t · 3 months ago

Text

Bonedeep Ache

Summery: Short drabble based on this idea I posted a bit ago. Though I feel like this took a different direction once I started writing it lol

AN: I live in the US (unfortunately) and I am an undiagnosed 23 year old with no health insurance and a shitty paying job so I can't go figure out what's wrong with me. This is entirely based on my own experiences, I'm not trying to self diagnose. Just trying to write the comfort I wanna read. Thanks!

AN2:Also hoping this reads ok, the longer I look at it the more i second guess my writing.

Remus didn't know what was worse. The cold snap that's been sticking around the last few weeks or his over protective boyfriends. Though one couldn't exist without the other it seemed.

His hip creaked under his weight as he moved to stand. Watching James come through the front door with the groceries for dinner. He was quickly ushered back down by Sirius. The self appointed guard dog for the living room it seemed.

"Not getting up unless you use your cane," Remus only rolls his eyes, grumbling as he settles back in his seat. He was aware he sounded like a petulant child. But he was a grown man and they were treating him like a weak child.

He was pulled out of his pouting by James running back outside. He made eye contact with Sirius, though he looked just as confused. He moved to get up again, catching Sirius glare. Huffing lightly and grabbing his cane reluctantly to follow his raven haired boyfriend to the door.

Remus isn't surprised by what he finds. His equally stubborn girlfriend, clad in the comfiest work clothes you could don this morning (one of his jumpers and Sirius' sweats). Arguing with James.

"I don't need picked up James, I can walk just fine-" James is quick to cut her off.

"The hell you can, you told me when you got in the car that your joints all hurt. Why didn't you wear your braces or your compression gloves." Sirius looked ready to blow his top, ready to storm out and join the argument on the porch.

Though Remus was quicker, sticking his cane out to stop his boyfriend. "Dove, wanna come have a bath with me?" Remus understood, the stares and questioning looks. The pitying looks. Though he also new you had your own reasoning for not wearing them.

So he did what he knew would help. Because it helped him too and sometimes that's all you need. Someone who actually understands. And as much as he loved his able body partners, they didn't understand the pain of it all. The deep ache to be normal, to just stop hurting.

"No big light, just some candles. Hot water and bubbles?" He hoped to coax you more. Which seemed to be working if your small smile and small step toward him were any indication.

James, ever the helper, nodded. Heading inside and up the stairs while Sirius held the door open. Remus was grateful for his boyfriends, he knew their scolding came from places of love. Of caring.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bracing himself on the edge of the tub Remus carefully lowers himself into the hot bath. Instantly relaxing back against the tub wall behind him. Taut muscles easing, helping you lower into the water next.

James stood at the door, awaiting further instructions. Poor boy just wanted to help. Wanted to solve the unsolvable reoccurring problem.

"hey I bet you haven't eaten yet have you dove?" Before you can even respond your stomach answers for you. Causing you to burrow yourself into Remus more in embarrassment.

Wordlessly James took that as his que, leaving the doorway. No doubt finally getting dinner fixed in the kitchen. Remus turned his focus back to you, silently picking up your hand from the water. Beginning to massage your fingers and palm. Lithe fingers working diligently to ease the ache.

After a while, Sirius pokes his head around the doorframe. "Foods ready, clothes are on the bed. Fresh from the dryer, towels too."

At his words he produces the fresh linens from behind his back.

Remus nods lightly, stroking your hair lightly. Voice quiet as to not break the reverie of the bathroom.

"Can you grab Dove? And get James to help me out.." Remus looks up to meet Sirius' understanding gaze. Apology written across the lycanthrope's face in turn. No words needed for this small recurring tradition.

Everyone under this roof understood that nerves were short when pain is pressing at the forefront. Remus was thankful for his partners. Dove for understanding, and yes even James and Sirius for their annoying loving scolding

#marauders era #reader insert #marauders fanfiction #mauraders x reader #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #comfort #mauraders comfort #idk man

174 notes · View notes

butterli5 · 20 days ago

Text

The whispers start the moment Regulus Black steps off the private jet at Heathrow.

After a decade of self-imposed exile, designing for avant-garde houses in Tokyo, living in obscurity in Berlin and then in New York. Dressed head-to-toe in matte black, signature silver rings gleaming on his fingers, the new head of La Maison Black has arrived to claim his legacy. The fashion world holds its breath as everyone wonders if the heir will keep up with the signature classic elegance that has been known for generations as the house of Black's motto, sharp lines and silhouettes.

Enter Remus Lupin.

Soft-mouthed, sharp-eyed, golden-skinned Remus Lupin, the modeling world’s newest obsession. Walked for Saint Laurent in Paris. Closed for Dior. Photographed by every major house. He’s got that particular kind of beauty that looks like it shouldn’t belong to this world, and yet here he is. A little rough around the edges. A little quiet. A little wolfish.

He meets him backstage after the after-party of a Valentino show for the first time, Shirt barely holding itself together, linen clinging damp to golden skin, only one stubborn button fastened like even he didn’t care enough to finish dressing properly. Loose black jeans hanging low on sharp hips. Barefoot, for god's sake. There’s a pale silver scar slashing his abdomen. His head is thrown back in laughter at something a beautiful redhead whispers in his ears from where she is draped over him like a cat, his fingers skimming across her bare pale thighs.

Mine, Regulus' first thought is at seeing him. That's how Remus lupin wakes up booked to close the show for La Maison Black's comeback show at Paris fashion week.

Remus shows up late for his first fitting, hair damp from the rain, sweater far too oversized, book tucked under one arm like this is some library appointment and not the House of Black fitting room where entire careers are made or destroyed.

And Regulus, seated like a king in black-on-black tailoring, hands steepled, eyes razor-sharp, should be irritated, but instead he's watching the slow, lazy way Remus peels that awful jumper off, dragging it over his head, all long arms and rumpled hair and golden skin underneath. The faint shadow of a scar just below his ribs. A line Regulus wants, irrationally, to trace with reverent fingers. As he opens the button for his oversized jeans and slides them down in a flash, the way models are used to do in a room full of people as the atelier assistant hands over the look, a sheer black shirt and silk trousers, all sharp angles and floating fabric, ethereal in the way it should float over the body.

Regulus sends out the assistant, because no one has the right to see him like that, and it is Regulus’ hands, not anyone else's that adjust the collar. Lets those cool, silver-ringed fingers brush the bare line of his throat. The hollow of his collarbone.

"Arms up," Regulus says, low.

The shirt slides over him like a second skin.

Remus obeys, slow, without breaking eye contact. Regulus steps in closer. Too close. Tugs at the hem. Adjusts the drape of the fabric across Remus' narrow waist.

It is also Regulus who rips the offending fabric after the end of the show, Remus sprawled on his bed, pupils blown wide as he waits for Regulus' instructions.

Regulus peels him apart like a secret. Like he’s waited years to see him like this.

"You will wear what I make," Regulus says, rough, reverent, "mine." Dragging silk and lace from Remus’ skin like it's just another barrier to destroy.

Remus looks up at him, flushed, wrecked, so goddamn gone for him, and smiles, all teeth.

"Then you'd better keep making more."

It's no one's business if Remus Lupin becomes the face of La Maison Black six months afterwards.

#Moonwater #romantic moonwater #remus lupin #regulus black #romantic moonseeker

141 notes · View notes

harridansibyl · 4 months ago

Text

Personal associations/interpretations of the dark/mystical houses (4th, 6th, 8th, 12th)

4th house

twisted tree roots, cultural practices, heirlooms, photo albums, inherited features, traditions, the mother, past lives, generational trauma, picture books, garden beds, childhood homes, ancestor altars, hand written recipe books, hearth, squeaky wooden floorboards, genealogy archives, caves, oak trees, baby wrap carriers, emotional security, cultural heritage, building foundations, photo albums, genetics, laundry lines, swing sets, property, mines, crops, sanctuaries, the chest and heart, home steads, fields, farms, root cellars, harvests, pots on stoves, brooms, backyards, agriculture, vines on trellises, handmade blankets, grandparents house, laundry baskets, attachment styles, singing lullabies, history, deep emotions, instincts, the unconscious, summer, waxing moon, vase of flowers, bath time, picking berries, celebrating holidays, chicken coops, older sisters, family gatherings, stone paths, forest walks, ancient structures/buildings, ancestral languages, cupboards, staying in

6th house

vitamins and supplements, morning routines, pharmacies, tasks and lists, doctors offices, health food stores, stomach medicine, hygiene practices, journals and planners, schedules, herbal teas, personal rituals, emergency kits, dog walks, lymphatic drainage, caregiving, donating blood, examinations and checkups, meditation, colour coordination, sticky notes, gastrointestinal problems, folded laundry, labels on everything, retirement homes, hand washing, braided hair, herb gardens, filing cabinets, face masks, kombucha, detailed diagrams, volunteer work, medicine cabinets, cleaning supplies, shelves, acts of service, skin care, organic linen, gauze and stitches, stress-induced illnesses, essential oil/herb baths, house plants, instructions, repetition, holistic medicine, giving advice, yoga studios, "gut feeling," bone broth

8th house

altars, divination, near death experiences, candle wax, feeling crushed by a heavy weight, grave dirt, red/dim lighting, funerals, double income, control, the underworld, cheques, insurance, heirlooms, ghost sightings, power imbalances, crime documentaries, ouroboros, bank accounts, grief and loss, shadow work, the womb, manipulation, scrying mirrors, Russian nesting dolls, keys, mortuaries, tests from the universe, pendulums, crime scene tape, the phoenix, projections, credit scores, animal bones on a forest floor, blood stained sheets, metaphysical shops, spiritual attacks, deep emotions, snakes, dead flowers, late autumn, wedding veils, envelopes, full moon, muddy boots, shadows at the corners of your vision, scarab beetles, inner processing, experiencing crisis, inherited possessions, natural disasters, sexual trauma, psychological studies, ancestral connections, cracked dolls, veil between realms, mental illnesses, deep connections, intimacy, reincarnation, torture devices, keys, whirlpools, the sound of sirens, unconscious fears, intense first impressions, pushing limits, feeling bound, scratches on walls, ten of swords

12th house

abandoned places, liminal spaces, long winters, shadowy figures, reoccurring dreams, repeated patterns, fog-filled forests, self analysation, inner worlds, cave systems, unfinished basements, hallucinations, solitary confinement, empty parking garages, spiral staircases, substance abuse, trapped in purgatory, hidden beneath the surface, maladaptive daydreaming, hospital hallways, confines of society, waning moon, moths, wandering aimlessly, disconnection from the world, psych wards, healing others, tired eyes or dark circles, chronic mental illness, suppression, addictions, hiding places, overnight shifts, unexplainable experiences, past life karma, exhaustion, cobwebs, others projections, catacombs, bird cages, premonitions in dreams, prescription bottles, self destructive patterns, late night walks, misty lakes, the feeling of walking out of the movie theater at night, identity crises, blurred faces, empty public transport, astral projection, comas, diary entries, dissociative episodes, shape shifting, generational trauma, observing people, mirrors, padded rooms, the afterlife, chain link fences, paradoxes, feeling misunderstood, repression or memory loss, hikikomori, the freeze response, disappearance, waiting rooms

#astrology #astrology community #astro tumblr #astro notes #astroblr #astrology aesthetic #4th house #6th house #8th house #12th house

252 notes · View notes

x-z-x · 7 months ago

Text

SAND AND METAL

Seth x Goddess!OC [Habibah]

Synopsis: Hathor gives birth to her first descendant, and Seth is the last to find out.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Incest / Smut + Erotic Asphyxiation.

spanish version ‧ masterlist

“What’s happening with Hathor?”

The gods turned at the new voice, and some faces showed displeasure at seeing the latest addition to the room. Seth raised an eyebrow at their reactions, while Sekhmet smiled widely, ready to provide answers.

“Apparently, her daughter is causing trouble,” she said with malicious laughter.

“Since when does she have descendants? Who among you was it?” he asked, slightly aggressive due to the confusion.

“None,” Maat sighed, crossing her arms. “She had an affair some time ago and...”

Seth made a sound indicating his opinion on how foolish it was for her to end up pregnant, then watched them with suspicion, wondering if this had been a secret kept just from him.

“What did she do to make Hathor run through the halls in tears?”

“She was born with her mother’s beauty. She enjoys dancing and travels with a troupe to different cities for performances, but her appearance is drawing quite a lot of attention,” Bastet explained.

“Seriously, the problem is that she has too many suitors?” he scoffed.

“It’s more than that; some are deities who are starting to fight and cause chaos,” Maat said, emphasizing the gravity of the situation. “We asked Hathor to impose order and demand that her daughter act according to her divine title, but...”

“Divine? Did her daughter ascend?” he asked, less sympathetically.

“She is the Goddess of Precious Stones and Metals. Everything we use was crafted by her,” Thoth said, pointing to the impressive necklace he wore.

Isis smiled with mockery, but Seth dismissed the situation as a waste of time and left the place, heading to his temple. Upon arrival, contrary to what he had said, he ordered his most loyal servants to find the young woman who captivated everyone. However, the information didn’t arrive until several months later, and by then, any interest had faded.

Still, Hathor didn’t hesitate to confront him when she learned he knew her precious daughter was coming to the city. Nervous and agitated, it only encouraged the man to dismiss her concerns even more.

“Don’t mess with my baby! I’ll deal with the suitors, erase every trace of affection, and nothing will happen!” she growled, frowning.

“Now you choose to act? Battles and conflicts have arisen because of her, and that’s my territory.”

“She’s the victim, don’t blame her! If you do anything...”

“What?” Seth raised an eyebrow, a challenging smile on his face. “Do you think you can stand up to me?”

Hathor turned crimson, her violet eyes' pupils becoming vertical slits, her aura extremely threatening.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to destroy you if you interfere with her. I don’t care if I have to alter the feelings of every living being to have them protect her and turn against you,” she declared, sparks flying from the tips of her fingers. Then she turned and left the hall.

“Since when does she dare to speak to me like that?” he muttered angrily, tapping his nails against the throne he occupied.

Choosing to go regardless of the circumstances, he instructed them to prepare less conspicuous clothing and to cover his red hair well to remain unnoticed. Wrapped in linen, he set out at dusk for the designated area, frowning at the large number of people already occupying the front rows.

“Sir, please come this way,” a young woman with fine jewelry and a broad smile announced.

“Don’t touch me,” he growled as she grasped his arm.

“Please, I have instructions from the lead interpreter to take you to the front row,” she explained, maintaining her charm.

Seth squinted and moved forward, noticing that several mortals dressed like her were organizing the spectators. Both women and men watched him pass by, curious about who he was as they were led to more favorable spots. When he stopped, they led him to a cushioned area just a few meters from the makeshift stage.

As the sun set, torches were lit, and the musicians settled into their places, quietly chatting among themselves. It took some time before the performance began, and after a while, a man finally welcomed the audience and announced the start of the show. The first to perform were a mixed group dancing in pairs or small ensembles before breaking formation to interact with the audience. Seth admired the performance, wondering where they had found so many beautiful and talented people, while the crowd laughed and applauded at the artists’ infectious enthusiasm.

Minutes passed in a different activity for him, the final act arriving as a curtain was lifted to reveal several female silhouettes that captured everyone’s attention. A different rhythm began to play, and the fabric was released by the men holding it on ladders. Nine women showed their backs, with one standing out at the tip of the V formation. Gradually, they turned, and finally, the face of the girl Seth had come to see appeared, his mouth slightly open in awe.

With a confident and seductive smile, and lips as red as rubies, the goddess lifted her eyelids to reveal dark purple irises, with long lashes inherited from her mother. She walked slowly as the other women scattered across the stage. In perfect synchronization, they began their choreography with incredible flair. Crystals and golden beads intertwined and flew through the air as they twirled, the decorations sparkling as brightly as she did, leaving the audience breathless.

Seth’s red eyes followed every movement, admiring the curves that swayed with mischievous grace. Ignored until she decided to get closer to the prime spot, she crouched with a predatory air and crept to the edge of the platform, supporting herself on her hands and knees. The crowd cheered excitedly as she maintained eye contact, rising at one point and slowly swaying her hips. She traced her legs, thighs, waist, and neck in an extremely sensual display before turning and calling one of the men dancing nearby.

Euphoria erupted at the potential of what might happen, with Seth grinding his teeth and watching almost without blinking as she placed both hands on the man’s shoulders and began to caress him. He held her and spun her around, recognizing her intentions, and stroked her exposed abdomen while maintaining a challenging gaze toward the god. At this point, due to the heat from the large torches and the dance, she glistened with a light sheen of sweat and had cheeks flushed like beautiful garnets.

"I’ll wait for you," she said, her voice fading into the music and the noise.

Seth read her lips and watched as she threw a bracelet at his feet. Some people tried to reach for it, but he covered it with his hand, glaring at them so intensely that they backed off.

Once the event ended, he decided to wait for a signal. Suddenly, the bracelet began to heat up, pulling him with an unseen force in a specific direction. He let it guide him through a couple of crowded streets before turning into an alley, where the woman awaited, leaning against a wall and inspecting her nails.

"I learned of your existence only recently, unlike the rest," he remarked with a hint of reproach.

"It’s understandable. From what I’ve been told, your temper is rather volatile and aggressive," she said, shrugging as if it didn’t matter much. "What brings you here?" she asked, tilting her head and closing the distance between them, but soon found herself trapped as sand coiled around her legs.

"As the God of War and the Desert, I’ve come to deal with the trouble you’re causing with your suitors."

She averted her gaze and rolled her eyes silently, prompting Seth to issue a warning sound that forced her to speak.

"Do you have somewhere more private?"

Seth narrowed his eyes, considering the question before grabbing her by the arm and vanishing in a whirlwind.

"This is…" she hesitated, looking around.

"My temple," he finished, shedding the unnecessary linen, letting his red hair fall freely over his shoulders.

"Wow," she murmured, gently touching a strand. "I could make so many things to enhance this color. It’s so beautiful..."

Seth grabbed her wrist high in warning, allowing her to smile and lick his hand without breaking eye contact.

"Careful, or I’ll cut out your tongue."

She snorted, pulling free and turning her back to him, elegantly walking toward the massive stairs leading to the main building. The jewels and gemstone threads hanging from her chimed harmoniously with each step, glowing brighter as she neared the torches.

"It’s huge. I wouldn’t mind spending a few weeks here," she teased, brushing a wall with her fingers.

Seth followed at a measured distance, his eyes tracking her every move, taking in everything she was. Since he first saw her, an unfamiliar, overwhelming need had been growing inside him, frustratingly hard to ignore.

"Did I offer for you to stay?"

"Don’t you want me to? I’m good company," she turned, walking backward. "Why do you think those who know me fight over having me?" she winked.

"Sex."

"If that’s all, why don’t they forget me when I leave? What makes them cling so tightly?" she slowed her pace, drawing closer. "You saw it tonight—the crowd gets excited just watching me... Even you."

Seth clenched his teeth in frustration, and she stuck her tongue out teasingly.

“Do you have your mother’s permission to be mingling with gods?”

“I haven’t needed her approval in centuries,” she laughed. “I told her today I’d try to avoid causing chaos. Who knows, maybe getting close to the God of War is the solution.”

“You’ll be more trouble than pleasure.”

Her laugh rang out at that, before she pretended to ponder deeply.

“Do you have musicians? Maybe a private dance would change your mind.”

“We have matters to settle first,” he replied indifferently, though she knew a little push would make him fall. “What’s your name?”

"I'll tell you depending on what you decide after my dance."

He clenched his jaw, hating the carefree tone in her voice and the mischievous glint in her eyes. The constant smile was unnerving, making it seem like she was the one in control.

"Why do you live like a nomad, performing shows?"

"Mortal or immortal, every being is born with a family they can cherish—or not. My mother is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, and she'll always have a place in my heart. But the rest doesn’t really matter much. I met people who share my interests, people I enjoy spending my days with. They trust me, and I trust them, so I chose them," she explained, a new air surrounding her. "I won't leave that caravan, not when everyone I care about has an expiration date."

"You have feelings unbefitting of a deity."

"What is a god without humanity? If you don’t understand the people you’re meant to protect, represent, and serve, how can you be an empathetic and respectable ruler?" she asked, her eyes filled with pure seriousness. "I know I’ll never rule Egypt, but that doesn’t make me indifferent to those who pray to me."

"By the way you speak, I have no doubt you’re close to Osiris and Isis."

"Well thought out, both had a big hand in raising me," she responded, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one hip.

"Whatever," he mimicked her stance, looking her up and down. "Are you incapable of ordering your lovers to stop fighting over you?"

"Most haven’t even managed to lay a finger on me; they fight purely for the desire to do so. I’ve intervened, but the one who really should be stepping up here is Nephthys and encouraging peace."

"I don't question that. They should’ve turned to her from the start."

"She’s your sister. If she doesn’t act, you could ask her."

"Who do you think I am, a messenger?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Wow," she sighed, tilting her head. "So what now, we sleep together and let the rumor spread to scare the gods?"

"You’re really persistent. Do you want me that badly?" He clicked his tongue, grinning smugly.

The question drew a dry laugh from her as she stepped closer.

"I won’t deny you’re incredibly attractive, but even before you showed up at the performance, I knew I was in the mood for some fun tonight. If you don’t join me, I’ll find someone else to satisfy me."

Seth exhaled and held her gaze, his heart racing as he fought the urge to look away, feeling as if she were pulling him closer to the edge of a cliff.

"I believe you promised to dance and change my mind, didn’t you?"

"Finally, we’re getting to the important part," she said, pleased, taking a step back. "Lead me to your musicians."

Without delay, he took the lead and left her waiting outside as he entered a room. From the corridor, she could hear the hurried greetings of men and women as they scrambled to follow his commands, a few accidental notes sounding in the shuffle. A considerable line of people soon filed out, their eyes widening as they caught sight of her. She smiled, reveling in the way some let their jaws drop in astonishment.Seth exhaled and held her gaze, his heart racing as he fought the urge to look away, feeling as if she were pulling him closer to the edge of a cliff.

"I believe you promised to dance and change my mind, didn’t you?"

"Finally, we’re getting to the important part," she said, pleased, taking a step back. "Lead me to your musicians."

“What’s keeping you all busy?” Seth asked from the back, his voice causing everyone to snap out of their stupor and hasten their movements.

"If you decide not to have sex with me, I’m glad to know I won’t have to look far for another partner."

He shot her a sidelong glance, gritted his teeth, and then tossed his hair back.

"Let’s go."

They walked calmly, with Seth entering first into a vast room where a massive mattress lay nearly at floor level. Posts with large curtains were arranged to shield the bed from view, while four attendants lit incense and prepared alcohol.

"Release the side curtains."

Another small group hurried to comply, loosening the ties and leaving only one section uncovered.

"Interesting," the goddess remarked, taking a few steps around the room.

The musicians arranged their instruments and took positions concealed by heavy drapes, their role clearly to observe the guest.

"Prepare as you wish," Seth said with an indifferent gesture before heading to the bed and reclining against a large mound of pillows.

Two women approached with golden goblets filled with wine, which both accepted before the temple owner instructed them to leave.

As she drank calmly, she approached the musicians to discuss her preferences. They exchanged opinions and reached an agreement on how to proceed. Satisfied with the outcome, she moved several meters from the bed and took her place directly in front of the open section.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Are you?” he replied, raising an eyebrow as the incense began to fill the room.

Winking, she emptied his glass in one gulp and raised it in the air. At this signal, the musicians began to play as she turned her back to him, keeping her arm extended above her head.

As she swayed her hips slowly, the gold she wore started to melt and reshape. It dripped down her arm, first forming a small head and then an elongated body. The newly formed snake coiled and descended to rest around her neck. With both hands on the sensitive area, she turned slowly and smiled with her eyes closed, letting herself be carried away by the music. She caressed her collarbones and shoulders before extending her arms, while the serpentine creation moved across her chest and encircled her. Suddenly, a piece of fabric fell away, revealing a breast.

As if nothing had happened, she continued her dance, the metal caressing and embracing every part of her body as it descended. Her adorned wrists and fingers skimmed her skin and created perfect movements in the air, captivating the onlookers who held their breath as the serpent approached the garment covering her most intimate area.

Unperturbed, she turned and placed both hands on the back of her legs, carefully lifting a bit of the fabric. The serpent coiled one of its segments around her thigh to keep her hand in place, taking advantage of the opportunity to slither beneath her skirt.

A murmur rose from the left side, and the woman glanced over her shoulder to see Seth’s unblinking gaze, though one of his eyebrows twitched involuntarily at a comment she couldn't quite decipher. With a smile, she arched her back and bent her body backward, her free fingers caressing from her abdomen up to the exposed breast, squeezing it with delight.

The serpent gradually released her, and she turned to show how it emerged from the front, starting to rise and drag the fabric up to the edge of revealing her inner thigh. However, she made sure not to expose too much, guiding it to change direction slightly. She pivoted on one foot, preparing for the imminent drumbeat, and at that moment, she fell to her knees with her hands extended and her hair cascading forward.

She slowly straightened up, and the musicians adjusted their rhythm to match her movements. Seated in a W shape with her legs apart, she locked eyes with Seth and felt the intense heat from his red gaze, which made her smile. She then turned her attention to one of the women who had earlier caught her eye. Attractive and alluring, the woman was a tempting prospect if Seth chose to let her go. In an instant, the protagonist contemplated how to seduce her, but the god’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

Everyone snapped out of their trance and ceased their actions, the musicians hurriedly gathering their instruments and leaving the room. Within minutes, they were alone, and she approached the foot of the bed, tilting her head with curiosity.

“Didn’t you like the performance?”

Seth took a deep breath, finished his wine, and threw the glass off the bed with a loud clink. He adjusted himself and gestured with his index finger, signaling her to come closer. She smiled and took a few steps onto the bed, getting on all fours and crawling towards him until she was on top. The serpent, curious, slithered over the red-haired man’s body as they locked eyes.

“It was disrespectful of you to look at someone else when you should have been trying to convince me.”

“Is that why you cut off the dance? I was just assessing the best option in case you decided to pass on such an incredible opportunity,” she defended herself, moving closer until their faces were only a few centimeters apart. “So, what’s your answer?”

After a moment of silence, he placed his right hand on her head to close the distance. Their lips met and quickly intertwined, his feeling incredibly soft mixed with the aroma of the wine they had drunk.

"When you decided to meet me, had you planned this?" she asked as he pulled away, his hand caressing the small of her back.

"You’re the first descendant of Hathor, and she had hidden you from me jealously. It was just curiosity," she replied. "And you? Why did you give me the bracelet?"

"Isn’t it obvious? You captivated me the moment I saw you. I definitely wanted us to share a bed."

Seth flashed a small sidelong smile and brushed her hair back, the intertwined lines of gems shining in his hand as he gathered it.

“What’s your name?” he asked, even more dazzled by her incredible appearance up close.

She smiled and tilted her head towards one of the curtains, as if deciding whether to reveal the information. Finally, she turned back and kissed the palm resting on her cheek.

“Habibah, which means ‘the one who is loved,’” she confessed, with a look of complicity.

“Your mother really knew what she was doing, because that’s how everyone seems to feel when they meet you.”

“Even the God of War and the Desert?”

“I’m not like the others. Do you think you can make me feel the same way?” he said with a touch of challenge, but sounding more like an invitation to continue what they had started.

Accepting the challenge and everything it implied, she kissed him deeply, her tongue exploring his. Seth caressed her warm skin and then pressed down, aligning their bodies so that she could feel his erection. Without hesitation, she began to move her hips, and he let out a pleased sigh, his hands finding their way to her waist.

Habibah ran a hand through his red hair and descended slowly, tracing her way down his chest until she focused on one of his nipples. Seth gritted his teeth, undid the clasp of the upper fabric, and started to caress what was within reach, instructing her to lie down.

Without hesitation, she moved a few pillows and settled against the soft mattress, watching as the serpent coiled around the man’s arm like a perfect and beautiful accessory. He barely noticed the gold, focusing instead on returning her affections. Habibah closed her eyes and took a deep breath as his lips arrived at her breasts. She caressed his shoulders and back, lightly scratching as she felt him burning like the desert under the sun.

The incense began to take effect, lightening their minds and giving way to an intense desire that drove them to hold each other with urgency. Their hips searched for each other frantically, moaning against one another in broken kisses, their legs and arms entwined in a connection with no clear beginning or end.

Habibah slipped a hand between them, urgently seeking his erection, which she attended to with skillful movements until she lifted the fabric that covered his intimacy. Seth created some distance and propped himself on his knees, removing the minimal clothing and setting it aside before focusing on her. Completely naked and adorned only with jewelry, she settled herself as he took her legs and dragged her over his thighs. The movement elicited a small surprised sound from Habibah, and he watched her expectantly while caressing the outer side of her legs.

“Do it,” she encouraged, brushing his stomach with a hand.

Seth tightened his grip, leaving momentary marks before releasing her and taking his erection. With a single movement, he inserted the tip and then thrust in a steady rhythm until he reached the deepest point. Both moaned, and the woman arched her back with a wide smile while pulling the sheets.

“You’re incredibly wet,” he growled, his cheeks flushed with satisfaction.

“You say that as if it’s something strange. Don’t women get excited with you?”

She shivered with excitement and pleasure as a sharp, red gaze emerged among the fiery hair. The intense tickling sensation made her laugh with delight until she nearly screamed as he began to thrust forcefully. Breathless, she tried to steady herself amidst the sounds of raw impact, the heat and pleasure spreading like waves from the center of her body to every corner.

"You shouldn’t be competing with the God of War," he said with a proud expression.

"I don’t mind losing," she replied honestly, though she knew it would only fuel the fire further.

Seth narrowed his eyes but soon regained his composure, placing his hands on the mattress with a feigned calm as she wrapped her legs around his body. She swayed her hips, feeling his member pressing down, and he resumed the movement with great force after a hiss. Habibah pulled him towards her by the nape to kiss him, shivering as his tongue entered and took control. The thrusts were relentless, with a stamina reminiscent of someone who had fought countless battles to defend Egypt.

With tearful eyes, she admired the man moving above her, pushing aside her strands of hair to see him better, noticing the earrings that moved violently in sync with their owner.

"I’ll make you some prettier ones," she said, brushing against the fine, rectangular gold plate.

"How can you think of that in the middle of sex?"

"Maybe you should try harder," she pressed, noticing how the atmosphere shifted in the blink of an eye.

The room fell silent, and Habibah's skin tingled as she realized she had made a mistake.

"Turn around," he commanded as he withdrew from her, not waiting for her to move and grabbing her by the arm to start repositioning her.

Any doubt vanished when she lost her breath again, feeling Seth penetrate her abruptly and hold her by the neck with considerable force. She was left gasping for air and tried to grab his wrist, but the sand made her hands stick to the bed.

"Such behavior with someone who was born long before you is very inappropriate," he growled, his abs tensing as he gradually adjusted the angle to graze the spot that would drive her wild. "Talking less and learning would do you a lot of good."

Involuntarily, Habibah’s eyes rolled back as he found her most sensitive area, her legs wanting to give out but unable to do so due to the force with which he held her.

“Se… th…” she called, her muscles trembling in a way she had never experienced before.

“Hmm?” he asked, loosening his grip.

A bit of awareness returned to her as she tried to ask for a breath amidst the perfect administrations. However, Seth increased his effort, making it impossible for her to speak.

Cursing inwardly, she let her head drop as moisture dripped down her thighs, slightly staining the sheets. Seth held her by the hips for added stability and wrapped sand around her neck, the itching heightening the effects of pleasure and strangulation. Any cries and moans were muffled or cut off, with only a few gasps escaping as he breathed heavily and occasionally growled in deep satisfaction.

Struggling to swallow and relishing the challenge, Habibah briefly focused and set the serpent in motion. The god's hips lost their rhythm, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the golden creature firmly wrapped around the redhead's throat.

“T-Two…” she tried to say, and he deliberately loosened his grip. “Two can play… this game,” she smiled proudly, though she soon rolled her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows.

He breathed heavily, the metal not yielding in the slightest and intensifying his own sensations.

“I knew you’d be a pain if I brought you to the temple,” he growled, his brow furrowed.

Habibah tried to laugh, but a strange sound escaped as she felt the onset of her orgasm.

“But I… I also give you pleasure,” she defended, feeling her lungs burn and forcing the gold to make him suffer the same way she did.

A desperate, frustrated groan escaped from the man, who felt the constriction sending electric waves to his erection. He clenched his jaw and threw his head back, pushing into her with renewed urgency to provoke the impending climax.

Both seemed to have lost control of their consciousness and bodies as they moved, overwhelmed by the need to escape the pleasure consuming them. They were on the brink of fainting, allowing brief moments of calm before their necks were swiftly constricted again.

Habibah's spasms intensified, reaching a climax that opened a new world of pleasure. Her legs trembled uncontrollably, making lascivious sounds as the moisture increased significantly with the release. The pressure of her walls became too much for Seth to bear, and the stimulation pushed him to his limit, culminating inside her. He trembled and groaned loudly, delivering the final thrusts with some difficulty until the stimulation became overwhelming and he stopped.

Both the metal and the sand loosened, and they both breathed heavily, their eyelids drooping as they collapsed onto the mattress, savoring the comfort. Habibah, lying face down, slowly turned to look at the man, who had one arm draped over his forehead as he steadied himself. He looked just as beautiful, if not more so, with an enviable profile and eye and hair color that she would love to highlight with various creations.

“That was good,” the young woman sighed, stretching her arms.

Seth watched her, unknowingly mimicking her movements, silently admiring the beauty that had captivated him at a single glance. They chatted a bit and decided that this would be the only round, though their mouths didn't escape some additional entanglements until they surrendered to sleep.

When the sun was high, the god cracked open his eyes and, groggy, took a few minutes to become aware of his surroundings. Floral scents filled the air, none of which were familiar, so he looked around and noticed Habibah’s absence. Frowning, he sat up, ready to get up and find out if she had left, but then he heard a noise in the room and, cautiously, drew back the curtains.

Facing away from the window, the goddess examined herself in the mirror as she applied a type of oil to her face. Her hair was wet and slicked back, the sunlight streaming in and drying it quickly. She was visibly focused and didn't realize that Seth had awakened until his bare feet made a soft noise on the floor.

“Good morning,” Habibah smiled as she applied perfume.

“I see you found the bathrooms.”

“Yes, after the show and our entanglement, I needed to freshen up.”

“I still have the bracelet you threw at me.”

“It’s yours,” she said, looking at the object. “With it, if you ever get bored and miss me, you can find me wherever I am and relive last night,” she winked playfully.

Seth clicked his tongue and looked at the accessory, feeling his stomach churn. The stones sparkled as much as she did in the sun.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Still, you should be prepared for when my mother sees you wearing something of mine,” she warned, stretching her neck to examine the marks he had left.

“Not much she can do,” he brushed off, placing a hand on his hip. “Are you heading to the caravan?”

“Yes, I need to let them know I’m okay and ready for tonight’s performance.”

“How long will you stay in the city?”

“Until the next full moon.”

They fell silent for a moment, and Seth crossed his arms, looking out the window at the clear sky.

“Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Habibah raised both eyebrows, admiring his chiseled face.

“During the night, don’t sleep in the caravan. Come here.”

“Every night?” she asked, surprised.

Seth nodded, and she blinked, perplexed, but then gave a quick affirmative gesture.

“I would love to, thank you.”

“I’ll go take a bath. Do as you wish in the temple.”

“Are problems included?” she asked mischievously, and he tilted his head.

“No.”

“But…”

“If so, I’ll punish you.”

“Somehow, that sounds very promising. Maybe you should give me a lesson,” she laughed, playful and seductive.

“I’ve just gotten up,” he said with a yawn, still feeling the remnants of the previous night. “We’ll catch up later.”

“Of course, I’ll make sure to say goodbye before I leave.”

As she watched his back, Habibah dropped any pretense and smiled slyly, knowing that the man was falling for her. He wasn’t different from any other human or deity, but Seth was undoubtedly the one she truly desired, and she would give him everything if he surrendered at her feet.

367 notes · View notes

moonselune · 7 months ago

Note

Could I please request headcanons or a Drabble for postgame Tailor!Astarion x reader? The worms are eating my brain I can’t stop thinking about him pinning dresses on his s/o with a measuring tape round his neck

The brain worms entered my head as well upon reading this

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Tailor!Astarion xf!reader | The Most Beautiful Mannequin

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion worked with a meticulous grace, his hands sure and steady as they roamed over your body, pinning fabric here and there. It was strange, to see him in this domestic light. Gone was the battle-hardened vampire spawn with his daggers and shortswords in hand, now replaced by a man who had found peace in the art of tailoring, his fingers just as deft with needle and thread as they’d been with blades.

The light of the afternoon sun spilled through the window of your shared home, bathing the room in a warm glow. You stood in front of the mirror, dressed in little more than the fabric he’d carefully draped over you, while Astarion worked around you like an artist with his masterpiece.

He was muttering something to himself, eyes narrowed in concentration as he adjusted the hem of the dress. A length of measuring tape hung around his neck, and a handful of pins were tucked between his lips, their metallic gleam catching the light. Every now and then, he’d pluck one from his mouth and secure a fold of fabric, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent a shiver up your spine.

“You know,” he said around the pins, his voice slightly muffled but still carrying that familiar, teasing lilt, “this would go much faster if you could stay still for even half a minute.”

“I’m trying,” you protested, though the soft laugh that followed betrayed your amusement. “It’s not easy when you keep poking me with pins.”

“Well, if you didn’t wriggle so much, my dear, I wouldn’t have to poke you,” he countered, raising an eyebrow as he removed the pins from his mouth and placed them on a nearby table. “Honestly, you’d think you’d never been fitted for a dress before.”

“Not by someone like you,” you murmured, letting your eyes linger on him for a moment. He wore a simple linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing the pale, smooth skin of his forearms, and there was a casual elegance to him that made your heart skip a beat.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he replied with a smirk, though you could see the faint flush that crept up his neck. “Now, arms up. I need to see how this falls.”

You obliged, lifting your arms as he instructed, and he stepped closer, his body brushing against yours as he adjusted the fabric over your shoulders. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, the gentle press of his fingers as they smoothed out a crease. His touch was so light, so careful, as if he was afraid that one wrong move might tear the delicate material—or perhaps tear you.

He took a step back, scrutinizing his work with a critical eye, before making another adjustment, his fingers brushing against your waist.

“Much better,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “You know, I must say, you do make for quite the lovely mannequin.”

“Mannequin?” you repeated, giving him a mock glare. “I didn’t realize I’d been reduced to nothing more than a glorified coat hanger.”

“Well, if you could refrain from moving every other second, perhaps I could start seeing you as something more,” he teased, his lips quirking into that familiar, devilish grin. “But alas, you’re not making it easy, darling.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re adorable,” he shot back without missing a beat, stepping closer once more.

This time, his hands rested on your hips, his touch lingering, and you felt your heart skip a beat as he leaned in, his breath ghosting against your ear.

“Besides,” he murmured, “it’s not every day I get to play dress-up with the most beautiful person in all the realms.”

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his words, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling too widely.

“You’re incorrigible,” you muttered.

“And yet, you adore me,” he replied smugly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck before he pulled away to continue his work.

For a while, you stood there in comfortable silence, letting him work his magic. Every so often, you’d catch him stealing glances at you in the mirror, a soft, almost tender expression crossing his face before he quickly masked it with that practiced smirk. It was those moments that made your heart ache with affection, that reminded you just how much he’d changed, how far you’d both come since the days of endless battles and bloodshed.

“There,” he said finally, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “What do you think?”

You turned to look at yourself in the mirror, your breath catching in your throat. The dress was exquisite, the fabric hugging your body in all the right places, the cut and stitching flawless. It was a work of art, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly it suited you, as if it had been made for you—and in a way, it had.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed, turning to face him, your eyes shining with gratitude. “You’re amazing, Astarion.”

He shrugged, though you could see the pride in his eyes, the way his chest puffed out just a little.

“Well, I do try,” he said, though his voice was softer now, more genuine. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it,” you corrected, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “And I love you.”

He blinked, his eyes widening slightly before he let out a soft laugh, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Always so sentimental,” he teased, though there was no bite to his words, only warmth. “But for once, I suppose I’ll allow it.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips.

“Thank you,” you said, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “For everything.”

He hummed, a pleased sound rumbling in his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

“Anything for you, darling,” he murmured against your lips, his eyes shining with a love that made your heart feel like it might burst. “Anything at all.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Oh I actually adore Tailor!Astarion so much, and I hope you guys adore him too! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

220 notes · View notes

alannairis · 4 months ago

Text

Elevate Your Dining Experience with Velvet Color Table Linen Napkins!

Velvet Color Table Linen Napkins are the height of luxury, created to elevate any dining experience. Whether you're having a formal banquet, a corporate meeting, or a private supper, these premium dining napkins provide unparalleled sophistication and functionality. These Velvet texture napkins, made from high-quality 100% velvet polyester, combine durability with a soft, absorbent finish, making them suitable for both cocktail and luncheon napkins. Their hotel-quality napkin design ensures that they can withstand continuous use without losing their beautiful appearance. These banquet napkins and event table napkins are ideal for weddings, events, and fine dining places, adding an air of luxury to any environment. Available in a variety of 16 rich colors, they pair beautifully with any decor theme. Caring for these table napkins is effortless, thanks to their easy-to-clean and wrinkle-resistant fabric.

#Velvet table napkins #Velvet color napkins #Luxury dining napkins #Polyester table napkins #Dinner napkins USA #Banquet napkins #Velvet texture napkins #Luxurious table linen #Event table napkins #Hotel-quality napkins #Absorbent fabric napkins #Corporate gathering napkins #Cocktail napkins #Luncheon napkins #Table napkins care instructions

0 notes

presleyverse · 22 days ago

Text

Caring For Presley | Part 2 |

Part 1 here

tags: 1973 Elvis, nurse!reader, eventual smut, slow burn, flirting, angst, fluff, fighting/arguing, drug abuse, protective Elvis

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃ᝰ.ᐟ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

The car ride felt surreal, each mile passing faster than the last, as you made your way toward Graceland. The familiar streets of Memphis blurred outside the window, replaced by grand homes and stretches of green lawns. When the car turned onto Elvis Presley Boulevard, your heart skipped a beat. There it was, the iconic gates of Graceland.

You could feel the weight of history in the air as you pulled up the driveway, the towering mansion rising before you. Jerry and Red escorted you out of the car, and you couldn’t help but stare at the mansion’s ornate façade, the place where legends had walked. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as the front door swung open.

And there he was—Elvis himself. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his smile wide, and his blue eyes shining with excitement. He wore a casual, navy-blue jacket and jeans, but to you, he looked every bit the king. “Well, look who finally showed up,” Elvis said, his voice rich and smooth as he took a few steps toward you. “I’ve been waitin’ for ya. Hope the ride wasn’t too bad.”

You managed a nervous laugh. “It was fine, Mr. Presley. I mean, Elvis. It’s just—” You stopped yourself, feeling a little embarrassed.

Elvis chuckled, stepping closer. “Don’t worry about it, sugar. You’ll get used to callin’ me Elvis. It’s gonna be a lot more comfortable around here.” He offered you his arm, and despite your anxiety, you found yourself taking it instinctively. “C’mon, I’ll show you around. You’re part of the family now, and we take care of our own.”

Elvis led you inside Graceland, his steps confident and casual as though this was just another day for him. You tried to take in the surroundings, but your focus kept returning to him—his presence, his charm, the way he moved with such ease through the massive, luxurious house, he gave you the toue of the house before leading you upstairs.

He stopped in front of a door, turning to you with a smile. "This is it," he said, pushing the door open. Your breath caught as you stepped inside. The room was spacious, decorated in soft, neutral tones, with an elegant bed draped in rich linens.

A vintage vanity sat against one wall, and the large windows let in the soft glow of the setting sun. You could see the sprawling gardens outside, a quiet retreat from the world beyond. "I wanted you to have a space where you can unwind," Elvis said, his voice softening. "Graceland’s big, but it’s home. You’ll have everything you need here, and more."

You glanced at him, overwhelmed by the kindness in his words. "Thank you, Elvis," you said quietly.

He nodded, his smile warm. "Anytime, darlin’. You’re family now." With that, he gave a small wave and walked out.

Later that night, the house had quieted down, the hum of activity fading as the evening wore on. You found yourself in the kitchen, nervously preparing the medication Elvis had been prescribed. You had gone over the instructions with the doctor earlier, but now that it was time to administer it, your hands were slightly shaky. You glanced at the clock—it was nearly 10 p.m.

The mansion was still and peaceful, the only sound being the soft rustling of the trees outside. You took a deep breath and made your way down the long hallway toward Elvis's room. When you knocked lightly on the door, there was a soft “Come in” from the other side.

You opened it slowly, finding him sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in a loose shirt and pajama pants, his hair tousled from the day. "Hey, darlin', how's it goin'?" Elvis asked, his voice low but warm as he looked up at you with a small smile.

"Just here to give you your medication," you replied, walking over to the nightstand where you placed the small pill bottle and the water glass.

He raised an eyebrow playfully, a familiar glint in his eyes. "A nurse and a personal assistant all in one, huh?"

You smiled softly, handing him the pills. "Only if you're good, Mr. Presley."

Elvis chuckled, taking the medication from your hand and swallowing it with a sip of water. "I’m always good, sugar," he teased, but there was a softness to his voice.

"Anything else you need tonight?" you asked, standing a little taller, trying to keep things professional. He leaned back against the pillows, looking at you with a slightly mischievous expression. "Well, I could use some company for a bit. It gets lonely around here sometimes."

You hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. "I can stay for a while." And as you pulled up a chair beside the bed, you found yourself feeling more at ease than you had since arriving.

You sat beside Elvis for a while, chatting softly about nothing in particular. He seemed more relaxed now, his usual energy giving way to a gentle calmness as the sleep medicine began to take effect. His eyes, usually so vibrant, started to droop, and his posture softened as he leaned back further against the pillows.

"Think I might be outta here soon," Elvis murmured, his voice growing drowsy, the words slurring just a little. He stretched one arm above his head, then let it fall back to his side, his fingers curling loosely around the sheets. You watched him closely, noting how his usual charm had given way to a more vulnerable side, the man behind the legend, letting his guard down.

His breathing had slowed, becoming deep and steady."Are you okay?" you asked, softly, unsure if he could hear you clearly.He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes fluttering shut. "Yeah... just... need some rest, darlin'. Been a long day..."

You smiled gently, standing up to adjust the covers around him. As you reached for the bedside lamp to turn it off, you heard him mumble again, his voice barely a whisper: "Thanks for bein' here..."

A lump formed in your throat, and you softly whispered, "You're welcome, Elvis." And with that, the room fell silent, save for his peaceful breathing as he drifted off to sleep.

You quietly stood up from the chair, careful not to disturb Elvis as he drifted into a deep sleep. You pulled the blankets up over him a little more, making sure he was comfortable, then quietly made your way to the door. The soft click of the door closing behind you seemed louder in the stillness of the hallway.

You took a deep breath, leaning against the door for a moment, and then started walking down the corridor. Jerry was standing at the end, leaning casually against the wall, his hands in his pockets. He looked up when he saw you approach.

"How’s he doing?" Jerry asked with a raised brow, his voice low.

"He’s asleep now," you replied, glancing back toward Elvis’s door. "But... why does he take so many medications? I mean, I get it for sleep, but..." You trailed off, unsure how to finish the question.

Jerry sighed, his expression turning slightly more serious. "The Colonel wants him to. Keeps him working, keeps him on schedule. Elvis has always had a lot on his plate, and the Colonel's been pushin' him to the limit for years."

You frowned, the weight of Jerry’s words hanging in the air. "But at what cost?"

He shrugged, the concern in his eyes softening. "Sometimes it’s hard to say, but it’s all part of the business."

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis the king #elvis presley x you #elvis smut #elvis the pelvis #70s elvis #elvis presley fic #elvis fanfic

72 notes · View notes

theambitiouswoman · 2 years ago

Text

Hygiene tips

Wash your hands thoroughly with soap and water for at least 20 seconds, especially before eating, after using the restroom, after coughing or sneezing, and after touching public surfaces.

Carry a hand sanitizer with you. Make sure the sanitizer contains at least 60% alcohol and rub it over your hands until dry.

When coughing or sneezing, cover your mouth and nose with a tissue or your elbow to prevent the spread of germs. Dispose of used tissues immediately.

Refrain from touching your eyes, nose, and mouth as much as possible, as these are entry points for germs into your body.

Take showers or baths regularly to keep your body clean and fresh. Use soap and water to thoroughly cleanse your body, paying attention to areas like armpits, feet, and groin.

Brush your teeth at least twice a day for two minutes each time, using fluoride toothpaste. Don't forget to clean your tongue, and replace your toothbrush every three to four months.

Keep your nails short and clean to prevent the buildup of dirt and bacteria. Use a nail brush to scrub under your nails regularly.

Regularly clean and disinfect frequently touched surfaces in your home, such as doorknobs, light switches, countertops, and electronics. Also, keep your living space well-ventilated.

Wash your clothes, bed linens, and towels regularly, following the manufacturer's instructions. Use the appropriate water temperature and detergent to ensure proper cleanliness.

Avoid sharing personal items like towels, razors, toothbrushes, or makeup.

Practice good food hygiene by washing fruits and vegetables thoroughly before consumption. Cook food to the appropriate temperature to kill harmful bacteria, and refrigerate leftovers promptly.

Keep your surroundings clean: Regularly clean and disinfect commonly touched surfaces such as doorknobs, light switches, phones, keyboards, and remote controls. This helps eliminate germs that may be present on these surfaces.

Maintain clean and healthy feet: Keep your feet clean and dry to prevent fungal infections. Wash your feet regularly, dry them thoroughly (especially between the toes), and wear clean socks and well-fitting shoes.

Ensure that the water you use for drinking, cooking, and personal hygiene is clean and safe. If necessary, use water filters or boil the water before use.

If possible, use a shower filter.

If you are sexually active, use barrier methods (such as condoms) to protect yourself from sexually transmitted infections. Get regular check-ups and screenings as recommended by healthcare professionals.

Take care of your mental well-being by managing stress, getting enough sleep, engaging in regular physical activity, and seeking support when needed. Good mental health is essential for overall well-being.

Sleep with aloe vera on your face to help with scars and acne.

Massage your body with oils and lotions after shower or before bed.

Eat greek yogurt to help fix PH balance, acne and odor in your private area.

Wear cotton based underwear.

Do not treat your body like a trashcan.

To smell good during the day:

Regular bathing helps remove sweat, dirt, and odor-causing bacteria from your body.

Apply antiperspirant or deodorant to clean, dry underarms to control sweat and odor.

You can also use baking soda and lemon to get rid of under arm odor.

Put on freshly laundered clothes each day. Clean clothing helps prevent the buildup of odor-causing bacteria and keeps you smelling fresh.

When choosing clothes, opt for natural fibers like cotton or linen, which allow air to circulate and help wick away moisture from your body. Avoid synthetic materials that can trap sweat and lead to unpleasant odors.

Brush your teeth at least twice a day, floss daily, and use mouthwash to maintain fresh breath. Don't forget to clean your tongue as well.

Apply a pleasant fragrance, such as perfume or cologne, sparingly. Avoid excessive application, as it can be overwhelming to others. Focus on pulse points like the wrists, neck, or behind the ears.

Keep your feet clean and dry to prevent foot odor. Wash your feet daily, dry them thoroughly (especially between the toes), and wear clean socks and well-ventilated shoes.

Regularly brush your tongue, as it can harbor bacteria and contribute to bad breath. Visit your dentist regularly for check-ups and cleanings.

Drink plenty of water throughout the day to flush out toxins from your body. Staying hydrated can help prevent the buildup of odors.

Certain foods, such as garlic, onions, and spicy dishes, can contribute to body odor. Pay attention to your diet and make choices that minimize strong odors if you are concerned about smelling good.

Keep a small travel-sized deodorant, wet wipes, or refreshing body spray with you to freshen up during the day, especially in hot or humid weather.

Ensure your clothes, towels, and bed linens are washed regularly. Use a detergent with a fresh scent to keep them smelling clean.

Spray perfume on your brush or use natural oils that are safe for your hair.

Wipe front to back to avoid infections. Use toilet paper then wipes.

moisturize your skin.

When washing your hair, make sure you are using products that clean your hair without drying it out.

Keep feminine wipes with you.

#hygiene tips #healthy living #health and wellness #womens health #womens health and fitness #personal hygiene #level up journey #levelupjourney #clean aesthetic #clean girl #glow up tips #glow up #high value woman #self care #beauty tips #health tips #healthy lifestyle

2K notes · View notes

kinkyniragi · 2 months ago

Text

His whore – Chapter 2

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Genre: Smut 18+

Word count: 1k

Summary: You have just started your job as a receptionist in a gentlemen's establishment when Thomas Shelby walks in and wants to use your services. In the blink of an eye, he dismisses both the counter and Lily, the brothel girl, leaving you alone with him in the finest suite the house has to offer.

CN: Forced alcohol consumption, power play, degradation, dubious consent with Stockholm syndrome vibes. Please note that this is all just fantasy. Things that happen in my stories should always be consensual. Take care.

Author’s note: After writing a lot of smut for Niragi from Alice in Borderland, I’m now diving into the world of Cillian Murphy. Feel free to leave comments and share my story if you enjoy it—I truly appreciate every bit of motivation to keep writing. Also, I’m not a native speaker, so if you spot any creative grammar choices…call them artistic liberties, ok?

***

When Thomas Shelby says you’re a whore, then you are one.

***

<<Chapter 1

The suite—Mr. Shelby instructed you to choose the best in the house—is dimly lit, the air carrying the scent of freshly laundered linens and aged leather. The glow of a single chandelier casts long shadows on the gold-trimmed wallpaper with a playful pattern of flowers and small hummingbirds. Whoever chose these wallpapers—they had a sense of humor.

The chaise lounge near the fireplace looks like the perfect spot to lose yourself in a good book. The scent of leather must be coming from it—practical, easy to clean. No, things far different from literature are indulged here, you think with a hint of cynicism.

The heavy curtains are drawn, allowing only a faint glow from the gaslit streets to seep through the gaps.

It’s a room made for secrecy—for desires played out behind locked doors.

At its heart stands a grand four-poster bed, its dark wooden frame solid and unyielding. You can’t help but recall the stories Lily and the other girls have told. Everything that has happened here before and will happen in the future… and now, whether you like it or not, you are part of it.

Mr. Shelby is behind you before you can think too much about it, his hands brushing your waist just as he begins to unbutton your blouse. He acknowledges your tension with a quiet, malicious laugh.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know how this works,” he whispers, letting your blouse slide to the floor.

Your breath hitches as his fingers almost casually find their way into your bra, accompanied by passionate kisses on your neck. His touches are surprisingly gentle and yet determined—like he enjoys seeing how long you’ll hold your composure.

No matter how hot he makes you, you can't shake the knowledge that you're about to become intimate with a cold-blooded criminal. Mr. Shelby picks up on your doubts, halting his intent to take you with unrelenting passion. He seems kind of annoyed when he pushes you roughly onto the chaise longue. You don't know if the cold leather or his look is responsible for the goosebumps all over your body.

“You look like a frightened little thing,” he hisses with a hint of anger, studying your face. So you were right with your feeling. “That’s no way to enjoy a night like this”, he continues, as if he were lecturing a little schoolgirl.

He walks towards an ornate side table where a decanter of fine whiskey and a pair of crystal glasses await. Without a word, he pours the amber liquid, the soft clink of glass against glass cutting through the thick silence. One drink is nudged toward you, an unspoken expectation hanging between you.

Your disapproving look speaks volumes.

“Drink,” he breaks the silence, voice smooth but edged with something firmer beneath. “It’ll help.”

You remain hesitant but quickly realize how pointless it is. His face is just inches away, his simmering impatience is palpable. His fingers brush the rim of his own glass before he lifts it to his lips, taking a deliberate sip. Then he nods toward yours again, followed by another glance at your untouched glass.

Reluctantly, you bring the glass to your lips, letting the sharp liquid burn its way down your throat. You can't help but cough at the alcohol’s intensity. Suddenly, Mr. Shelby, with almost boyish mischief, snatches your glass and tilts it against your mouth in one swift motion. You try in vain to wipe your lips with the back of your hand as some of the liquor escapes, trailing down your chin. Mr. Shelby has already turned away—to pour you another.

He hands you the glass again, now filled to the brim. “Go on. It’s just a drink. I’d rather you soften up on your own, but I won’t have you sitting there like a startled doe all night.”

You’ve barely eaten all evening—just a few peanuts you were meant to serve generously to guests, so they’d drink more. The burn lingers in your throat, and you can already tell how quickly this will go to your head. Hopefully, you'll stop him before he pours enough down your throat to leave you completely senseless. Or maybe that would be the better outcome. You’re not sure. So, you try to focus on keeping your composure and take another sip.

Mr. Shelby runs a hand through his hair as he watches you satisfied, then shrugs off his jacket, tossing it aside like none of this is a question, like he already knows the answer. Without hesitation, he moves to your skirt, undoing it with practiced ease. Before you know it, you're standing in nothing but your panties and thigh-high stockings. His gaze sweeps over your bare, vulnerable body, strict and assessing, and for a fleeting moment, you worry you might disappoint him —the man who has decided by force you’ll have to join his dirty pleasures. You feel a little silly and try to shove the thought aside.

You notice that he takes his time undressing you. You had pegged him for one of those impatient "Bend over and lift your skirt" types that Lily and the other girls always talk about. But you were wrong.

You glance up at him.

He smiles.

You feel relieved in a strange way.

"Now that’s how I like my little whore." He raises his glass in approval.

You take the gesture and drink again. The whiskey is starting to cloud your senses. Then, he begins unbuttoning his perfectly ironed shirt. His body is toned but not overly muscular, and the ink on his skin surprises you. You wouldn’t have expected him to have tattoos.

You are undeniably drawn to him. How much you wish this were a normal encounter—one where the tension between you, the not knowing what comes next, would leave a pleasant shiver in its wake because you could say no.

Instead, all you can do is hope that it will feel good, that he won’t hurt you. A foolish hope, considering who stands before you.

Chapter 3>>

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby smut #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #cillian x reader #cillian fanfic #cillian fic #cillian x fem!reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby smut

90 notes · View notes