#blue and gold velvet curtains

[fvsm4x]

𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 (you) !

synopsis. Prince Satoru has just come of age, and it’s tradition in his kingdom for the crown prince to be presented with potential suitors. Despite his power and prestige, he’s lived a life of strict rules and sheltered isolation, knowing little about romance and even less about pleasure. His parents arrange for a tutor to guide him on how to properly fuck and pleasure a partner

+ warnings/content. Prince! Gojo S. + tutor fem! reader - satoru is a virgin and inexperienced - virginity lose - p in v - feral gojo a bit - royal au - gojo has a big dick - oral (fem. receiving) - fingering - size difference a bit - gojo is pussydrunk - shy/soft gojo

+ word count. 9.1k (Oppsie daisy)

a/n. This is prolly one of my favs works so I HOPE U LIKE IT

banner by unknown (tell me if u know from who it is!!)

The doors to Prince Satoru’s chambers loomed before you, tall and intricately carved, a testament to the wealth and grandeur of the palace. Your fingers hovered just above the handle, and you took a steadying breath, reminding yourself of the role you were about to step into. The position was an unusual one, to say the least—both highly honored and slightly scandalous, whispered about only behind closed doors and far from the ears of the public.

When the queen had summoned you, you’d expected to be given a task of courtly refinement—perhaps tutoring Prince Satoru in diplomacy or etiquette, something befitting his status. But the court had other plans. Prince Satoru was soon to come of age, and despite his immense power and status, he had led a remarkably sheltered life. Royal duty dictated that he was to be groomed for the throne, but there was more to kingship than formalities and court rituals. To make matters more complicated, it was tradition that the crown prince be well-versed in… more intimate knowledge.

And so, here you were—his tutor for this secret, delicate subject. The court deemed it crucial that Satoru gain a proper understanding of how to navigate romantic and physical intimacy, skills thought essential to his future rule. And though this education would be handled with the utmost discretion, the weight of it wasn’t lost on you. This was about more than teaching the young prince; it was about shaping the experiences that would prepare him for life, even if it meant starting with things he’d never before dared to touch

One of the royal guards gave you a nod, signaling that the prince awaited inside, and with that final reassurance, you pushed open the heavy doors.

The room was grand, adorned with tapestries of deep blue and golds, velvet curtains framing the windows to keep prying eyes out. Soft candlelight bathed the chamber, casting warm, flickering shadows that seemed to make the room feel smaller, more intimate. And there, in the midst of it all, stood Prince Satoru.

He looked as regal as ever, his white hair falling around his shoulders in soft waves that caught the light, yet his expression was tense, the lines of his jaw just slightly taut as he took in your arrival. He stood tall, shoulders straight, but there was a nervous energy about him, a flicker of uncertainty in his piercing blue eyes. For all his power, he was, in this moment, simply a young man facing something entirely foreign.

He looked almost hesitant, his fingers curling at his sides as he took a few tentative steps forward.

“Are you… the tutor?” he asked, his voice soft but clear.

You bowed, folding your hands in front of you. “Yes, Your Highness. I’m honored to serve you.”

He returned your bow with a slight nod, his gaze hesitant but unwavering. “Thank you for coming,” he replied, his voice quiet and just a little rough around the edges. After a pause, he continued, “And please— call me satoru.”

You blinked at him before replying,“of course, Satoru.“

He continued,“I understand you’re here to… teach me certain things

There was a vulnerability to his words, as if he were admitting some private, embarrassing truth, and you felt a flicker of sympathy. “Yes,” you said softly, taking a step closer. “I’m here to help you learn at your own pace. We don’t have to rush anything. It’s perfectly normal to have questions, and we can take things one step at a time.”

He let out a breath, and a faint, almost sheepish smile flickered across his lips. “That’s… good to know,” he murmured. “To be honest, I’m not sure where to begin. I’ve read about some of it—romance, intimacy—but it always seemed… different in stories. Simpler. Or maybe more dramatic.” He paused, then quickly added, “But I have no practical experience. I don’t even know what’s expected of me.”

Was he really that inexperienced?

It was hard for you to believe. Prince Satoru was strikingly attractive, with an air of confidence that most people would expect from someone well-versed in such matters. Yet here he was, seeming genuinely lost. You’d have guessed he at least knew the basics—how to start, how to read a moment. But the way he looked at you, the way his questions hovered in the air with such uncertainty, made it clear that he truly knew next to nothing.

You nodded, taking in his words. “That’s perfectly alright,“

Satoru’s gaze flicked away, almost as if embarrassed by his own curiosity. “It’s strange. I’m supposed to lead a kingdom, yet I feel so… out of place when it comes to this.” His eyes returned to yours, vulnerable but resolute. “It feels almost… childish, not knowing these things.”

You smiled gently. “It’s not childish at all, satoru. You’ve been raised in a very particular way, with rules and responsibilities that few can understand. Besides, being inexperienced doesn’t make you any less capable.”

He studied you closely, his intense blue eyes absorbing your words, as if testing their weight before trusting them. There was a softening in his expression, a subtle shift from wary curiosity to a quiet resolve. “I think I understand,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But… where do I start? What do I need to know?”

Slowly, you stepped closer, letting him feel your presence before you closed the distance entirely. Your hand hovered in the air, close enough for him to notice, but not so close as to assume his permission. “May I?” you asked, your tone gentle but firm, a reassurance that he was in control of every moment.

He seemed caught off guard, his gaze briefly dropping to your hand before meeting your eyes again. There was a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps a bit of nervous anticipation—but he nodded, his voice soft yet steady. “Of course.”

You reached forward, your fingers just grazing his hand, warm and slightly tense under your touch. Slowly, you guided his hand toward your waist, resting it there carefully. His fingers settled against you, his grip hesitant but steady. His hand was large, enveloping the curve of your waist, and the warmth of his skin seeped through the fabric, grounding both of you in this small, shared moment.

Satoru’s hand flexed, his fingers instinctively pressing into the soft give of your waist. His touch was cautious, like he was still testing the sensation, and you could feel him catch his breath. His eyes flickered down, watching his own hand as if seeing it in this position was almost surreal. Then his gaze lifted to yours, his expression a mix of awe and a little self-consciousness, like he was realizing just how new all of this felt to him.

For a moment, time seemed to still, the air thick with something unspoken. His fingers remained gently on your waist, his grip firm but careful. His eyes held yours, searching for something—maybe understanding, maybe comfort.

You felt the heat of his gaze as his eyes lingered on you, his expression searching, as if trying to find reassurance or perhaps permission. His attention felt heavy, intense, and you could feel your cheeks warming, a faint blush creeping over you. You forced yourself to brush it aside, focusing on him, on the quiet yet clear connection between you.

Drawing a breath, you leaned in, rising onto your toes until your face was just inches from his. Your eyes dropped to his lips, your gaze lingering there for just a second too long, and that seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. His eyes fluttered shut, and his fingers dug slightly into your waist, pulling you in closer with an unexpected urgency. Your breaths mingled in the narrow space between you before his lips met yours in a rush of movement.

The kiss was messy, uncoordinated, almost clumsy in its eagerness. His lips pressed hard against yours, his movements lacking the practiced finesse of experience but carrying a raw intensity that made up for it. He kissed you with an almost desperate enthusiasm, his lips parting messily against yours, the faint taste of his breath mingling with your own. There was a wetness to the kiss, his inexperience clear in the way he seemed to lose himself, following only instinct rather than skill. He kissed you with unabashed need, a little too much spit and an endearing awkwardness in the way his mouth moved against yours.

You could feel his inexperience, the way he struggled to find a rhythm, his lips and tongue a bit too eager, too messy. But there was a certain sweetness to it, a sincerity that made the kiss feel even more intimate. It was unrefined, almost childlike in its enthusiasm, yet it was deeply honest—a kiss from someone exploring a world he’d never known, trying to understand it one uncertain step at a time.

Slowly, you brought your hand up to his face, brushing your fingers along his jawline, gently guiding him to slow down. You felt his breathing hitch at the soft touch, and his lips stilled for a moment, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. His gaze held a mixture of surprise and something more vulnerable—a spark of uncertainty, as though he was asking if he was doing things right.

“You’re doing just fine,” you whispered, your words a gentle reassurance. You could see the tension ease from his expression, the smallest hint of relief softening his gaze. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and gave you a shy smile that felt so out of place on someone as commanding as him, yet so fitting in this moment.

With your guidance, he leaned in again, his movements now a bit more measured, a touch gentler. His lips met yours with newfound purpose, still a little messy, but now slower, as though savoring each second. This time, he lingered, allowing the kiss to unfold naturally, his lips brushing against yours with a sweet, unhurried warmth.

Your hands slid to rest on his shoulders, fingers tracing the lines of his frame, feeling the subtle tremor under his skin as he let himself fall into the moment. The kiss grew deeper, a quiet exploration, as though he were learning you, learning this intimacy he’d never experienced before. And in that moment, it felt like there was only the two of you—caught in this delicate exchange, each touch building a fragile new understanding.

After a long, breathless pause, he drew back, his expression softened yet still intense, eyes clouded with newfound desire. His lips, now slightly swollen from the kiss, parted as he looked at you, as if searching for something—permission, maybe, or reassurance. His hand remained at your waist, fingers tightening gently, grounding himself in the unfamiliar intimacy that had formed between you.

Without another word, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was harder, more confident than before, as though the hesitation had melted away. His hands slid down your waist, fingers tracing the shape of your body until they reached the back of your thighs. In one smooth movement, he lifted you, his strength evident as he held you firmly. A gasp escaped your lips, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms looping around his neck for support as he carried you with ease.

Your back met the cool, solid surface of the wall, and you felt a rush of heat at the sudden closeness, the way his body pressed against yours, anchoring you there. His hands, still beneath your thighs, slid upward slightly, fingers grazing the curve of your ass before giving it a small, tentative squeeze. The unexpected boldness of the touch sent a spark through you, and your breath hitched, a faint blush coloring your cheeks.

His lips found yours again, and he kissed you with a fervor that felt worlds away from the shyness he’d shown moments before. His mouth moved against yours with a raw intensity, devouring each kiss, leaving no space between you. You felt the heat radiating from him, the rhythm of his breaths growing heavier as he pressed himself closer, as though wanting to close any lingering distance between you.

The contrast was dizzying—just moments ago, he’d been so cautious, uncertain in every touch, every glance. And now here he was, holding you in his arms, his kisses almost desperate as if he’d found something he didn’t want to let go of. You clung to him, fingers tangling in his hair as you let yourself sink into the warmth of his embrace, the steady, grounding pressure of his hands keeping you anchored against him.

He kissed you with a fervor that left you breathless, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that seemed to grow with each passing second. His fingers tightened on your ass, his grip steady and possessive, pressing you more firmly against the wall as though he wanted to keep you there, close, unmovable. You could feel his heartbeat, fast and heavy, mirroring your own.

His mouth left yours only for a moment, his lips brushing along your jaw, trailing down to the curve of your neck. Each kiss was a mix of soft and hurried, as if he were savoring the taste of your skin but couldn’t quite hold back his growing desire. His breath was hot against your neck, and you felt a shiver run through you as his lips lingered there, taking his time to explore, to feel you.

The way he held you felt powerful yet tentative, as if he was discovering just what he could do, and it sent a thrill through you. You felt the tension in his hold, the slight tremble in his fingertips betraying a mix of nervous excitement and unrestrained want.

You whispered his name softly, and he stilled for a moment, lifting his head to look at you. His eyes, usually so confident and sharp, held a softness, a vulnerability that made your heart race. He seemed to study you, his gaze searching your face, as if he needed to see that you were still with him, still wanting this as much as he did.

“S’toru…” you murmured agaib, your voice barely a whisper, filled with all the unspoken reassurance and encouragement you could offer. He swallowed, his cheeks faintly flushed, and gave a small, hesitant smile, looking a little relieved, a little emboldened

With newfound determination, he pulled you closer, his lips capturing yours once more, this time slower, savoring the moment.

As Satoru’s kisses grew deeper and more assured, the intensity between you became undeniable, and you could feel his breathing growing heavier. His hands roamed along your thighs, fingers grazing over the fabric of your clothes, and each touch seemed to carry a little more heat, a little more urgency.

Then, suddenly, you felt it—a subtle but unmistakable pressure against your stomach. His hips had shifted closer in his fervor, and now you could feel him pressing against you, hard and undeniable. The realization made a shiver run through you, and you felt your own face flush, heart pounding at the sudden intimacy of it.

Satoru froze for a moment, as if only now aware of the way his body was reacting. His cheeks turned a deep shade of red, and he swallowed, his breath catching as he struggled to pull himself back, an awkward smile tugging at his lips.

“I… didn’t mean…” he stammered, clearly embarrassed, his gaze dropping as though he didn’t quite know how to handle his own reactions.

But before he could pull away, you brought a hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb gently along his skin, letting him know it was okay. “It’s alright,” you whispered, voice soft and reassuring. “Do what you please.“

He looked at you, relief mingling with something deeper, a flicker of excitement shining in his eyes. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours again, this time with a slower, more deliberate passion. As he deepened the kiss, his body pressed closer, and he stopped resisting the way his hips aligned with yours, letting himself feel the closeness without overthinking it.

Your hands slid over his shoulders, steadying yourself against him, feeling the strength in his frame as he held you, his body tense with barely restrained desire. The pressure against your stomach grew, a steady reminder of the effect you were having on him, and you could feel his hesitance melting away bit by bit. His kisses grew bolder, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you closer, as though he didn’t want any distance left between you.

,S‘toru” you whispered against his lips, voice breathy and soft, and he drew in a shaky breath, his eyes heavy-lidded, as though he was barely keeping himself grounded. He was fighting to stay in control, to process the new sensations flooding through him, but he could hardly hold back.

“Feels s‘ good…” he murmured, his voice a low, shaky whisper. Slowly, his hips moved, pressing into you, creating a delicious friction as his hardness rubbed against you, even through the layers of clothing. The movement was tentative but grew more confident with each slow thrust, his breath hitching as he sank deeper into the feeling. His lips found the side of your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses there, letting his lips map the curve of your skin.

A quiet whimper escaped you, unintentional yet undeniable, and he froze, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes, still filled with that raw need, softened slightly, as if wanting to make sure he hadn’t gone too far. But when he heard the faint, breathy sound again as his lips brushed over the same spot, he seemed to realize just how much his touch affected you. A flicker of excitement flashed in his gaze, and he leaned in, pressing his lips to your neck again, this time more deliberately, letting his tongue graze the sensitive skin.

You whimpered again, the sound slipping from your lips before you could stop it, and you brought a hand to your mouth, instinctively trying to muffle the sound. But he reached up, wrapping his fingers around your wrist, pulling your hand away with a gentle yet firm hold. His gaze held an intensity that made your heart skip.

“Wanna hear ‘em… your moans,” he muttered, his voice low, the words dripping with newfound confidence. He leaned in, his lips trailing back to your neck, and this time, his tongue traced slow, heated lines against your skin, savoring the way you shivered beneath his touch.

Each kiss, each brush of his lips, became bolder, more purposeful, as though he was learning exactly how to make you feel every single touch. His hips continued to press against you in slow, unhurried movements, creating a rhythm that sent sparks through your entire body.

His fingers, which had gripped your Thighs with a firm intensity, began to trail upward, brushing against the fabric of your shirt. With his breath warm against your skin, he paused, looking up at you for a moment, his gaze filled with a mix of excitement and curiosity.

His hand moved to the top button of your shirt, fingers slightly trembling as he hesitated. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching for any hint of uncertainty. When you gave him a soft nod, a silent reassurance, his face softened, and with that, he began to slowly undo the buttons, one by one, his gaze never leaving yours as though anchoring himself in the trust you shared.

His breath caught as he reached the last button, letting your shirt slip from your shoulders to pool at your feet.

His gaze dropped, and his eyes widened, filled with awe as he took in the sight of you. His hands, initially tentative, began to trace gentle patterns along your shoulders and collarbone, his touch warm and reverent. He seemed captivated, almost in disbelief, as his fingertips trailed downward, lingering at the curve of your breasts.

Satoru swallowed hard, his cheeks flushed as he looked up at you, his gaze both shy and filled with wonder. “You’re… so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, as if he feared speaking too loudly might shatter the moment. With a hesitant hand, he reached out, his palm gently covering the soft curve of your breast, his touch both tender and careful, as though you were something precious.

Leaning in, his lips brushed softly against your skin just above your heart, leaving a trail of warm, reverent kisses as he explored with growing confidence. His hand, which had rested at the curve of your breast, wandered over the full softness, squeezing with a tentative pressure that sent warmth flooding through you. His thumb and forefinger found your nipple, giving a small, instinctive pinch.

The sharp pleasure made you gasp, a moan slipping from your lips, but you couldn’t help flinching at the unexpected intensity. “Not ser‘ hard… they’re sensitive,” you murmured, gently pulling his hand back. He froze, meeting your gaze with an apologetic expression, his face flushed even deeper.

“ sorry..” he whispered, genuine remorse in his voice, but the look in his eyes was also filled with curiosity and need. Without a second thought, he lowered his head, bringing himself level with your chest, and his lips brushed over your sensitive skin in a soft, almost reverent kiss.

Satoru’s lips wrapped around your nipple, his warm mouth enveloping the sensitive peak. He kissed it softly, savoring the taste of your skin, his tongue flicking out to tease you gently. The sensation sent electric currents racing through you, and you gasped, arching into him, encouraging him to continue.

As he continued to explore, he paused for a moment, pulling back slightly to look up at you with wide, earnest eyes. “I’m really sorry for being too rough,” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine remorse.

Then, as if his apology extended beyond you and into your body, he turned his attention back to your nipple, planting a soft kiss on it. “You just look s‘ perfect,” he added, the words barely escaping his lips.

He resumed his gentle kisses, trailing his mouth over the delicate skin around your breast, still mindful of your sensitivity. Each kiss was filled with a newfound tenderness, as if he was not only trying to please you but also to make amends. “Please forgive me,” he whispered against your skin, his breath warm, brushing over you like a gentle caress.

With each delicate kiss, he continued to express his reverence, kissing your nipple again softly as though it were a cherished treasure. “I promise to be better,” he vowed, his gaze intent, as if making a sacred promise to both you and your body. He lavished attention on your breast, his lips trailing kisses that were sweet and reverent, the gentle pressure of his mouth a stark contrast to the earlier clumsiness.

You couldn’t help but giggle softly at his earnestness, feeling a warmth spread through you, not just from his touch but from his sincerity. “You’re doing just fine, you‘re just learning afterall.” you reassured him, your voice breathy and filled with affection.

His eyes lit up at your encouragement, and he dove back in, his lips returning to your nipple, kissing it with a newfound tenderness, allowing the moment to envelop you both.

from your breast to your collarbone and back again, savoring each reaction he drew from you. The warmth of his mouth sent shivers down your spine, igniting a desire that only grew stronger.

But suddenly, he pulled back, his eyes shimmering with a mixture of excitement and determination. He gently wrapped his arms around you once ahain, lifting you with surprising strength.

He carried you effortlessly across the room, your heart racing as you held onto him, feeling the strength in his arms. The thrill of being so close to him, both physically and emotionally, sent a rush of warmth through you. As he approached the bed, he leaned down, carefully laying you onto the soft mattress, his gaze never leaving yours.

Once he set you down, he paused for a moment, taking in the sight of you stretched out before him. His heart raced in response to the intimacy of the moment, his breath hitching as he drank you in. “You’re really beautiful,” he whispered again, as if he couldn’t help but marvel at you.

Satoru leaned over you, propping himself up on his forearms, his gaze filled with a mix of admiration and longing. His fingers brushed through your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear, and he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours.

He pressed his lips against yours again, kissing you deeply as if trying to convey all the emotions swirling within him. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, every dip, as if memorizing every detail of you. You felt his weight resting against you, warm and safe, and it filled you with a sense of comfort and exhilaration.

As the kiss deepened, his hands wandered, fingers tracing along your sides and down your arms, drawing you into the warmth of the moment. He seemed to lose himself in you, his kisses growing more passionate, yet still tender, as if he were balancing the thrill of desire with a profound respect for the connection you were building together.

Satoru pulled back slightly, his breathing uneven, and looked down at you with an expression that held a perfect blend of desire and vulnerability. His eyes softened, and a flicker of concern appeared as he took in your face. “Are… are you okay?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with an almost shy uncertainty. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.

Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness in his tone, and you nodded, feeling a warm sense of safety in his presence. “I’m fine,” you murmured softly, reaching up to brush a reassuring hand along his arm. “I should be asking you that.”

He nodded, his gaze briefly meeting yours before looking away, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “I’m… I’m okay,” he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper, almost as if he were still processing his own feelings. After a beat, he hesitated, then glanced back at you with a hint of nervous curiosity. “What should I do now?”

You sat up slightly, leaning forward so you could hold his gaze, though he quickly looked down, the blush deepening on his face. “Pull your clothes off,” you instructed softly, giving him a small, encouraging smile. “But leave your underwear on.”

Satoru’s eyes widened at your words, the blush spreading rapidly across his cheeks, almost as if he hadn’t quite expected the suggestion. “Yeah… okay,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of nerves and excitement as he reached for the hem of his shirt, hesitating only briefly before he began to lift it.

His hands trembled ever so slightly as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the toned lines of his chest and shoulders. His skin was warm, slightly flushed, and he kept his gaze averted, as if trying to gather the courage to keep going. He let the shirt fall to the floor, then took a deep breath before moving to undo his pants, casting a quick glance in your direction as if seeking reassurance.

When he saw your soft, encouraging expression, he continued, pushing his pants down and stepping out of them, leaving only his underwear as you’d requested. His movements were tentative, almost shy, but there was a certain determination in his actions that spoke of his trust in you.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you watched Satoru, your heart pounding in sync with his as he settled in beside you. His eyes lingered on you, filled with curiosity and an unmistakable nervousness, though he gave you a shy smile when you met his gaze.

With a reassuring nod, you began to reach down, fingers slipping to the waistband of your pants. His eyes followed your movements, captivated, as you slowly slid the fabric down your hips, exposing the soft skin of your legs. You kicked the pants aside, leaving you in only your underwear, mirroring him. His breath hitched as his gaze roamed over you, the admiration in his eyes unmistakable.

Now both in only your most vulnerable layers, you shifted back on the bed, motioning for him to come closer. Satoru followed, his movements tentative but filled with a certain eagerness, as though he was soaking in every detail of the moment.

He settled between your legs, his body hovering above yours as he propped himself up on his hands. His eyes were wide, sincere, holding a quiet wonder that made your heart flutter. He seemed to lose himself in the moment, drinking in the sight of you with a softness that was almost reverent.

You reached up, placing a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat racing beneath your fingertips. His breaths were shallow, matching yours in rhythm, and a slight shiver ran through him at your touch. “Just take it slow,” you whispered, your voice soft, reassuring, as you leaned in close enough that your breaths mingled, faces only inches apart. “We don’t have to rush.”

He nodded, swallowing as his gaze remained locked with yours. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with gratitude and awe. Tentatively, he brought his hand to your waist, his fingers brushing over your skin with a gentleness that spoke of both caution and growing confidence. His touch was almost feather-light, his fingertips tracing small circles as though memorizing each curve and dip. You felt his hand tighten slightly, pulling you closer, grounding himself in the warmth of your body against his.

You leaned up, closing the space between you to press a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger there as you savored the warmth of his skin. Satoru’s eyes fluttered closed, and he exhaled a shaky breath, leaning into your touch, almost as if he were melting under your care.

When you pulled back just slightly, he turned his head to face you, his expression filled with an intense, tender gaze. His eyes flickered down to your lips, and for a brief moment, he hesitated, his lips parted as if caught between nervousness and longing. Finally, he leaned in, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss that was both tender and exploratory, filled with a sweetness that made your heart race. He kissed you slowly, savoring every second, as though he wanted to remember this moment forever.

His hands began to wander from your waist to your hips, his fingers tracing along the curve where your underwear sat against your skin. He paused, his fingertips grazing along the line of fabric, hesitating, as if seeking permission. You could feel his hand trembling slightly, both from his excitement and his nerves, his fingers brushing over the skin just above the waistband before moving back down.

Satoru’s gaze was locked on yours, his eyes a mixture of wonder and nervousness as his hands continued their tentative exploration along the edge of your underwear. He seemed to be gathering courage, his fingers tracing gentle, almost reverent patterns across your skin. Your own hand covered his, a soft reminder, and you murmured, “You can take them off, y’know…”

He paused, visibly swallowing, his blush deepening. “Yes… yes, I know,” he replied, voice barely a whisper as he gathered the courage to slide the fabric down your hips. He moved slowly, carefully, as if savoring every second. When your underwear finally slipped from your legs, he let it fall from the bed, his gaze turning back to you with a new, unguarded vulnerability.

When he looked down, his gaze dipped between your legs as you spread them slightly, giving him space to take in the sight of you. He was visibly struck by the intimacy of the moment, a hint of awe flickering in his eyes, and you could feel the weight of his gaze, making you equally self-conscious and drawn to his quiet, genuine curiosity.

This wasn’t something you’d ever imagined doing, especially not as a tutor. The queen’s request had surprised you, and even as you’d agreed to guide him, you’d never anticipated how intense and meaningful this moment would feel. But with Satoru, there was a warmth and care that put you at ease—a softness in him that made you want to help him learn, to give him this experience.

Satoru’s breath was uneven as he drew his hands up your thighs, the warmth of his touch making your skin tingle. His thumbs moved slowly, pulling your legs apart just a little more, his touch almost reverent as he brushed his thumb against the delicate skin of your inner thigh. The sensation made you shiver, a small gasp escaping you.

His gaze never left yours as he brought his hands to your center, his fingers trembling slightly as he parted your folds with his thumbs, exposing your most sensitive area to the cool air. You let out a quiet gasp at the sensation, your breath catching as he focused on the glistening sight before him, his eyes filled with awe. He seemed mesmerized, watching the way your body reacted, the soft, pulsing invitation of your skin against his touch.

For a moment, he simply watched,

Satoru’s fingers trembled slightly as he held you open, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and uncertainty. His gaze flickered to yours, a question forming on his lips. “I… I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do next,” he admitted softly, his cheeks flushed, looking for guidance as he tried to understand how to please you.

You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his, your touch steadying him. “It’s okay,” you murmured, giving him a soft smile. “I can show you.”

He swallowed, nodding as he leaned in closer, visibly eager to learn. “Where should I start?” he asked, his voice low and sincere.

You held his gaze, feeling a sense of warmth at his openness. “See here?” you murmured, gently guiding his thumb to a small, sensitive spot at the apex of your folds. “This is the clit—it’s the most sensitive part, and it responds a lot to touch. You’ll want to start by focusing here.”

Satoru’s eyes lit with newfound understanding, his gaze turning to admiration as he looked down, processing your words carefully. His thumb brushed experimentally over the wet spot, his movements slow and cautious. You let out a soft, encouraging sigh, and he glanced up, his expression almost childlike in its intensity, clearly focused on learning how to make you feel good.

“So, you have to… prepare someone, right?” he asked, as if confirming his understanding. “Before anything else?”

You nodded, your voice soft. “Yes. You prepare a woman for… more,” you said, feeling a blush heat your cheeks. “Touching, kissing, and things like this—all of that helps get her ready, so it’s more comfortable. You have options, too. You could use your fingers, your mouth, or both… whatever feels natural for you.”

He seemed to absorb every word, nodding slowly, his brows furrowing with concentration. “I think I understand,” he murmured, his gaze flicking between your eyes and the sensitive spot he’d just discovered.

Satoru leaned in, his thumb brushing over your clit again, this time with more confidence, his movements gentle yet focused. You let out a soft sound, and he paused, eyes widening in wonder. He glanced up at you, a small, satisfied smile forming on his lips as he realized he’d done something right.

He leaned in, closer than before, pressing a slow, reverent kiss to your inner thigh, letting his lips linger, and you could feel the warmth of his breath as he explored with a gentle touch. You could tell he was savoring every new sensation, every slight shift and soft sigh. With each kiss, he grew bolder, moving closer to your core, his hands still steady on your thighs as he continued his careful approach.

Then, his lips brushed over your folds, his breath hitching as he pressed a lingering, almost worshipful kiss there. “So soft,” he murmured, sounding as if he were speaking more to himself than to you, awe evident in his voice. His mouth moved lower, placing another slow kiss before he began to taste you, his tongue moving hesitantly at first, as if familiarizing himself with each inch.

The first gentle stroke of his tongue made you gasp softly, and Satoru’s eyes flicked up, eager to see your reaction. Seeing the pleasure in your expression, he smiled, a slight, bashful grin, and leaned in further, letting his tongue explore with more confidence. The way he worked his mouth over you, savoring every taste, every sound you made, spoke to the intense curiosity and focus he was channeling into each motion.

“Fuck—” he whispered, his voice thick and slightly shaky, pulling back for a moment to catch his breath. His face was flushed, his pupils dilated as he looked at you with something close to worship. “Pussy’s s‘ sweet— tastes ser’ good,” he murmured, almost to himself, before diving back in with a new kind of hunger.

His tongue found your clit this time, pressing gently before giving it a soft, experimental bite that sent a shock of pleasure through you, making you arch into him. He continued, lapping at you with slow, broad strokes, as if he couldn’t get enough. His hands slid up, gripping your hips and pulling you even closer as he kissed and licked every inch, fully lost in the experience.

He seemed completely intoxicated by your taste, by the way your body responded to him. Each movement of his mouth became more confident, more eager, as he continued his relentless exploration, his tongue swirling around your clit before lapping at your entrance again, catching every bit of wetness as if it were precious. Satoru was utterly lost in you, pressing closer and moaning softly into your skin, entirely absorbed in the pleasure he was bringing you.

His hand slipped back to your thigh, gently squeezing as his mouth worked in perfect rhythm

Satoru’s grip on your thighs tightened as he became even more engrossed, his mouth moving over you with a hungry, eager rhythm. His eyes flickered up every so often, watching your reactions with an almost boyish awe as he learned exactly what made you gasp and arch into him. Each sound you made seemed to spur him on, fueling his growing confidence as his tongue moved with more purpose, more intent.

He let his tongue glide up from your entrance to your clit in slow, drawn-out strokes, savoring every taste, as though he couldn’t get enough. “Ser‘ good,” he murmured between breaths, his voice thick and heavy, almost reverent. “Can’t believe— fuck- how perfect ya taste.” His words were laced with genuine awe, and each syllable seemed to sink into you, heightening the warmth building deep in your core.

His lips wrapped around your clit then, and he sucked gently, sending waves of pleasure radiating through you. You gasped, fingers tangling in his soft hair, tugging him closer as your hips moved instinctively toward him, urging him deeper. Satoru moaned softly at the feeling of your hands in his hair, the vibrations of his voice against you only adding to the sensation.

“Just like that,” you whispered, your voice shaky as he continued, his enthusiasm and care blending into a perfect, overwhelming rhythm. He responded by doubling down, his lips pressing more firmly, his tongue flicking and circling, as if every movement were a way to learn how to make you feel even better.

As he continued, Satoru looked up at you again, his gaze dark with desire yet softened with admiration. “You taste like… everything I’ve ever wanted,” he mumbled against you, his voice muffled, but full of devotion. He leaned in once more, mouth covering you completely, tongue moving in long, slow strokes, savoring every drop and every reaction.

He became almost methodical, his mouth working in steady, purposeful motions, alternating between licking and gentle sucking, pulling quiet moans from your lips with every movement. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you steady as he continued his eager exploration, his mouth mapping every inch of you, each touch bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Finally, as his pace quickened and his movements became less restrained, you felt the growing heat build to a near breaking point. Your hips bucked against him, and he only gripped you tighter, pressing his mouth more firmly against you, tongue swirling and lips pressing as he pushed you right to the brink, lost in the need to give you everything he could.

Satoru’s eyes never left yours as he continued, his focus unwavering. Every gasp, every arch of your back seemed to spur him on, and as he watched you getting closer, a new determination filled his gaze. His hands slid up your inner thighs, his fingers brushing over your skin with a light touch before hesitating at your entrance. He glanced up, silently asking for permission, and at your encouraging nod, he took a deep breath, pressing a finger against your slick entrance.

Slowly, carefully, he pushed inside, his movements tentative as he watched your expression, making sure you were comfortable. His finger slid deeper, and he marveled at how warm and soft you felt, his gaze full of awe as he worked his finger gently, moving in time with the soft caresses of his mouth.

“Is… this okay?” he whispered, voice low and unsure, yet filled with genuine care. The gentle curve of his finger inside you was cautious, and when you let out a quiet moan in response, he seemed relieved, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Yes, s‘toru,” you murmured, voice thick with desire, encouraging him to continue.

Emboldened, he began moving his finger slowly, curling it inside you as he searched for the spots that made you shiver. His mouth returned to your clit, tongue flicking in gentle, deliberate strokes, the combination of his movements creating a steady, delicious rhythm. Each motion was measured, his focus absolute as he seemed to get lost in the feel of you around him, the way your body responded to every touch.

As he gained confidence, he added another finger, stretching you just slightly, his gaze still attentive, looking for any hint of discomfort. But when he saw only pleasure in your expression, his movements grew a little bolder. His fingers curved and pressed deeper, brushing that sensitive spot within you, sending a wave of pleasure through your body that had you clinging to his shoulders.

“God, pussy‘s s‘… perfect,” he breathed against you, his tone filled with reverence, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real. His fingers pumped steadily, his mouth following their rhythm, drawing out soft moans that seemed to intoxicate him further.

Each gentle thrust of his fingers, each flick of his tongue was filled with growing intensity, a desire that seemed to drive him to bring you closer and closer to release. His face, now completely flushed, showed a newfound hunger as he became entirely engrossed in every moan

Your body tensed as Satoru’s fingers curled inside you, pressing perfectly against that sensitive spot, his mouth still worshipping your clit with a relentless rhythm. The pleasure built rapidly, each movement of his fingers and every flick of his tongue intensifying the sensation until it became overwhelming.

Your breath hitched, and you felt yourself teetering right on the edge. “Satoru… I’m close…” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. He looked up at you, his eyes darkening with both determination and awe, as if he couldn’t believe he was the one bringing you to this point. Encouraged, he kept going, maintaining that steady pace, his fingers pumping and curling with just the right pressure, his mouth warm and relentless against your clit.

Your body arched, and the pleasure surged through you in a powerful wave. A gasp escaped your lips, turning into a cry of pure ecstasy as you reached your climax, your body trembling under his touch. Satoru didn’t stop, his fingers and mouth working you through every second, letting you ride out the pleasure fully, his gaze fixed on you, captivated by every reaction.

He slowed only as he felt your body begin to relax, his fingers gradually easing their rhythm until they finally stilled. His lips pressed one last, tender kiss against your clit before he withdrew his hand. You watched, breathless, as he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean, savoring every taste as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Pussy’s so sweet,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, a mix of awe and raw need thickening his tone. His pupils were blown wide, his face covered in the remnants of your release, and he made no effort to hide his pleasure, licking his lips, his tongue tracing over the faint glisten left on his chin. “Want more…” he breathed, voice low and desperate, as if even this closeness wasn’t enough to satisfy the pull he felt toward you.

With a shuddering breath, he shifted, his hands moving to his briefs, and without hesitation, he slid them off, tossing them somewhere off the bed. He wrapped a hand around himself, giving a few slow, steady strokes, his own arousal now fully bared before you.

You couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped your lips as you took him in. He was big—thicker and longer than you’d expected, his arousal flushed with a deep, heated pink at the tip, beads of precum already forming and trailing down along the pale, veined length. The sight alone made you clench in anticipation, a mix of nerves and longing swirling within you.

Satoru looked down at you, his cheeks and chest flushed, the intensity in his eyes making him look almost dazed, drunk on the need coursing through him. “Can’t… can’t wait any longer—” he murmured, a slight tremor in his voice. He leaned closer, his tip brushing against your clit in a teasing tap, smearing his precum around your entrance.

“Please,” he whispered, almost as if pleading. “Please… let me… I need to feel you. Need to be inside…”

You felt his desperation in every word, his restraint fraying with every second that passed. His gaze held yours, dark and pleading, and you gave him a soft nod, granting him the permission he so earnestly sought.

“Please…” he whispered again, positioning himself carefully, his gaze never leaving yours, even as he slowly began to press forward, inch by aching inch.

A shiver ran through Satoru as he began to sink into you, every inch he pressed forward met with a quiet gasp or soft sigh that only seemed to make him more desperate. He moved slowly, his gaze fixed on your face as if wanting to memorize every reaction. The stretch was intense, his thickness filling you in a way that had you curling your fingers into the sheets, and he took his time, his movements careful and deliberate as he entered you.

“God—” he whispered, a tremor in his voice as he tried to keep his control, his brows knitting together in concentration. His hands found your hips, gripping firmly but gently, anchoring himself as he slid further. He exhaled shakily, and his breathing turned ragged, his lips parting as he lost himself in the feeling. “Feels so good…*hic* better than I imagined—” he murmured, almost to himself, as if he couldn’t believe he was actually inside you.

As soon as Satoru pressed fully inside you, he froze, his whole body tensing as if he’d been struck by lightning. The heat, the way your walls clung to him, warm and tight, had his eyes fluttering shut, his head falling back in pure, unfiltered bliss. A deep groan escaped his lips, raw and needy, and he gripped your hips so tightly you could feel the tremor in his fingers.

“Fuck—” he choked out, his voice thick, barely coherent, as he tried to process the overwhelming sensation. His head dropped forward, gaze dazed, his pupils blown wide as he looked at you, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was feeling. “So… s’ fucking tight,” he muttered, almost in disbelief, his words catching as his hips gave an involuntary thrust. “God—you’re… clenching around me so perfectly—”

You felt his fingers digging into your hips as he rocked into you again, the motion instinctive, almost primal. His restraint shattered in an instant, and he began moving with a newfound hunger, his hips snapping against yours with an intensity that had his head spinning. Each thrust made his eyes flutter, his lips parting as he gasped for breath, his mind barely able to focus on anything but the sensation of you wrapped around him

He buried himself deeper, his pace turning relentless, desperate. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing over your skin as he panted, “Feel so fucking good, can’t—can’t stop…fuck!” He sounded wrecked, completely undone, his tone almost pleading as he kept moving, his rhythm wild and unrestrained.

Satoru’s eyes rolled back as he lost himself in the feeling, the pleasure flooding through him too intense to control. “Pussy’s so *hic* warm,” he slurred, his words muffled as his lips brushed over your skin, his hips pressing into you harder, needier, every sound you made only pushing him further. Each thrust felt deeper than the last, his breaths ragged, desperate as he surrendered completely, letting the sensation consume him.

Satoru’s movements became a frenzy, his hips snapping against yours with a desperation that was almost uncontrollable, his breathing erratic and voice reduced to hoarse groans. Every inch of you enveloped him in a warmth so tight that his composure shattered with each thrust, his hands gripping you as if afraid to let go.

“Fuck—can’t… can’t get enough,” he mumbled, his voice rough, eyes half-lidded as he stared down at you with a dazed, almost feral hunger. His mouth found yours, capturing your lips in a feverish kiss, messy and demanding, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he kissed you deeply. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath coming in heavy pants as he looked at you, captivated, overwhelmed.

Your moans and gasps only fueled him, every sound you made seeming to push him further over the edge. His hands roamed your body, fingers digging into your skin as he tried to pull you even closer, his thrusts rough but filled with raw need. “You feel… so fucking perfect,” he murmured, barely able to get the words out as his rhythm grew erratic, his hips moving instinctively as he chased the building pleasure that was consuming him.

Lost in the sensation, his pace faltered, his movements growing sloppier, more desperate. He pulled you tighter against him, his body shuddering with every thrust, his head falling to your shoulder as he let out a deep, broken groan, his voice strained and breathless.

“God… can’t… gonna come…soon” he whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of awe and helplessness as he felt himself teetering on the edge, holding on only by a thread as he lost himself completely in the warmth of you.

With each thrust, Satoru’s body trembled, his breath hitching as he felt himself nearing that precipice. The warmth enveloping him tightened further, the way your walls pulsed around him driving him wild. His movements grew more frantic, instinct taking over as he chased the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him.

“Please—please..” he gasped, desperation lacing his words as he quickened his pace, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room. He was lost, intoxicated by the feeling of being inside you, and it was as if everything else faded away. The world outside ceased to exist; it was just the two of you, tangled together in a whirlwind of passion.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, the heat pooling in your core intensifying with every movement. “S’toru… yes—yesss just like that,” you encouraged, your voice breathy as you matched his rhythm, pushing him closer to the edge. Your words seemed to ignite something primal within him, and he let out a deep, guttural growl, thrusting into you with abandon.

“Fuck—so good… you’re so good,” he gasped, his eyes rolling back again as he felt the pleasure building rapidly, tension coiling tightly in his belly. Every sound you made, every gasp and moan, drove him closer to madness. He could feel the pressure mounting, an almost unbearable intensity that threatened to consume him completely.

“I can’t hold back much longer,” he warned, his voice low and strained, nearly a whine as he fought against the overwhelming need to release. “I want to feel you—want you to feel me…”

With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you completely, his body shaking as he let go, pleasure crashing over him like a tidal wave. “Oh—fuck!” he cried out, his voice echoing with a mix of ecstasy and disbelief as he came, filling you with warmth. His body quaked with the intensity of his release, and in that moment, everything faded into pure bliss, leaving only the two of you tangled together, breathing heavily in the aftermath

As the waves of pleasure began to fade, Satoru’s breath came in uneven gasps, his eyes still glazed with the aftereffects of the ecstasy he’d just experienced. He looked down at you, the warmth of your bodies still mingling, and a sudden thought struck him—a spark of wild desire that seemed to take over his senses.

“Marry me,” he blurted out, the words tumbling out with an urgency that surprised even him.

Your eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard. “Wha—what?” you stammered, disbelief flickering across your face.

“I know it’s crazy since we just met, but… you’re just—so amazing, and I don’t wanna let you go! That was—” he hesitated, a dreamy look crossing his face as he recalled the sensations. “Your pussy’s s‘ good. I can’t just… I can’t just walk away from this. I don‘t want anyone else now..”

You let out a soft laugh, a mixture of incredulity and amusement bubbling up inside you at his unfiltered honesty. What is happening? you thought, still trying to process the whirlwind of events that had brought you here. “You don’t even know my name!” you exclaimed, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I don’t need to know,” he replied, leaning closer, his eyes half-lidded with that intoxicating mix of lust and affection. “I just know you’re incredible. It’s like—like fate or something. I want you to be mine, like— forever.”

His words, though impulsive, were laced with sincerity, and you could see the way his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, even as excitement radiated from him. This is insane, you thought, but there’s something so genuine about him. “You’re serious?” you asked, searching his eyes for any trace of jest, but the sincerity in his gaze was unmistakable.

“Dead serious,” he confirmed, his expression earnest but still slightly dazed, the effects of what had just transpired clearly clouding his thoughts. “I don’t want to waste any time… so, uh, what do you say?” His voice wavered slightly, betraying his nervousness despite the confident facade he tried to maintain.

Could this really be happening? you thought, your heart racing at the idea of such an impulsive commitment. You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest at his unexpected proposal. “Alright, let’s see where this goes, Prince,” you replied teasingly, excitement bubbling beneath the surface. “But you better be ready for more than just this.”

“Y-yeah! Totally!” he stuttered, his enthusiasm shining through the haze of lust. “I’m all in. Just… just tell me your name, and I promise to be the best husband ever.”

© fvsm4x : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

[killthemwithyourawesome]

Phoenix Dining Room Enclosed Mid-sized minimalist travertine floor and beige floor enclosed dining room photo with gray walls and no fireplace

[reilemon]

♥︎Amore Immortale♥︎ Ch. 1

Chapter Title ♥︎ Down The Rabbit Hole ♥︎ ch.2 𓂂 ch.3

♡︎ synopsis: A simple foraging trip takes an unexpected turn when you wake up in a mansion hidden deep in the forest. Now four captivating men are nursing you back to health, but their intentions—and identities—are a mystery.

♡︎ pairing: vampire!Xavier, vampire!Zayne, vampire!Rafayel, vampire!Sylus x fem!reader (separately and together)

♡︎ cw: depictions of head injury and fever

♡︎ tags: vampire au, slow burn (-ish), eventual romance, eventual smut, eventual polyamory

♡︎ word count: 4.3k

♡︎ a/n: the first chapter of the sixth and final story for kinktober 2024. I wanted to finish off kinktober with a gang bang, but I got carried away and now this is going to be a multi chapter story. I hope you'll like this one.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

"Poor little bunny." The blue eyed man coos as he find the source of the sudden loud noise - you. The clumsy human probably slipped and fell when the sky opened and heavy rainfall started. He carefully scoops you in his arms, with your head resting on his shoulder.

A small whine barely hits his ears and he catches the moment you briefly gain consciousness. He softly chuckles when he hears your silly question before passing out again. He ignores how a little of your blood is mixing with the rain on the fabric of his coat and starts walking away.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Your eyes flutter open, heavy and bleary. You adjust slowly to the dimness around you, the fireplace in front of your bed the only source of light. The ceiling looms high - a ceiling you don’t recognize. The walls are covered in wallpaper, worn and peeling in places. You don’t recognize that wallpaper either. The royal purple catches the dim firelight, a color you could never possibly afford.

You shift against the bed beneath you, the silk sheets cool and smooth against your skin. Over you is a heavy wool blanket, its weight like a comforting presence. A low groan escapes your lips as you rise and rest on your elbow. The room is beautiful, with expensive furniture, but there is this dormant energy to it.

You glance at the thick velvet curtains covering the window. The sliver peeking in the corner shows you a glimpse of the outside world. It’s nighttime, the downpour relentless, drops thrumming against the glass.  

‘The rain!’

You sit up abruptly, a sharp pang of pain zapping through your skull, making you wince and press your fingers to your temple. Your fingers try to rub the pain away as you lean on your other arm to rest. Right, the rain. After closing up the bookstore, you've gone to the forest to search for some mushrooms and sweet chestnuts. A hearty dinner and sweet dessert would be a great start of your two week long vacation. The last visitor commented how their elbow hurt which meant a thunderstorm is coming. You politely smiled and packed up their books. You should've listened to their elbow.

Now, staring around this unfamiliar room, unease twists in your stomach.

‘Where the hell am I?’

Right on cue, the door creaks open, and a tall, raven haired man steps into the room. He pauses in the doorway as his eyes meet yours.

“Hello,” he says, his voice smooth and deep. “How are you feeling?”

You swallow, his presence suddenly making you aware of the mess you must look. Embarrassment prickles your skin, and you rub your temple, trying to compose yourself, only to see his brows knit with concern.

“Um, I’ve been better,” you manage, forcing a chuckle. The grogginess in your voice doesn’t help the embarrassment. You smooth a hand over the blanket, feeling a little exposed. “Why am I here?”

“My friend found you,” he explains, “Out in the forest, just before the storm. You most likely slipped on the mud and hit your head.”

He nods towards your forehead, then reaches for a small, gold hand-mirror resting on the bedside table. The antique metal glints softly as he holds it, and you take it with a hesitant hand. As you lift it to inspect your reflection, you catch a small bruise just above your brow, the skin tender and slightly swollen. Considering the circumstances, you think, it could’ve been much worse.

The man, whose name you still haven’t learned, clears his throat. “I was the one who changed you into dry clothes,” he shifts in his seat, averting his gaze briefly before meeting your eyes again. “For that, I apologize. I wouldn’t have done it if there were any other choice.”

You shake your head with a small, reassuring smile. “It’s fine, really. If you hadn’t, I’d probably be shivering with pneumonia right now.”

His expression softens with relief. “I’m glad you understand. I would still like to listen to your lungs, Would you be comfortable with me examining you?” then he adds, “I’ve been in the medical field for quite some time, I assure you.”

Something about his demeanor, calm and controlled, makes him look trustworthy. And considering how thoroughly he must have tended to you—removing every speck of mud, leaving you dry and warm in a comfortable bed—it’s clear he has your wellbeing in mind. You nod. “Of course.”

He gives a curt nod and shifts closer to the bed. “You don’t need to do much, just sit as comfortably as you can,” he murmurs, the calm, low timbre of his voice steadies you. The shirt you wear—a loose button-up clearly meant for a man—hangs loosely over your shoulders, open at the collar. Suddenly, you feel the pulse of your own heartbeat, wondering if he might hear it already. His hand moves lightly over the fabric, as he leans closer, and then he places his ear gently against your chest, just above your heart.

The moment feels both entirely professional and so intimate. You tell yourself that this is completely normal, this is the usual routine. But he is not your doctor, and you can’t shun the butterflies you feel from having a handsome stranger resting his head on your chest. His hair, thick and dark, grazes your collarbone as he listens, his breath warm against your skin. Your heartbeat, which you’re certain must be thudding wildly beneath his ear, betrays you, a deep flush creeping up your cheeks as you try to steady yourself.

“Breathe in deeply for me,” his voice a soft murmur, his cheek brushing against you.

You comply, feeling his presence with every rise and fall of your chest. When he shifts, his head moves closer to your collarbone, the tickling brush of his hair sending a wave of goosebumps along your chest. You’re conscious of every small movement, every slight intake of his breath.

He shifts back a little, his hand grazing your shoulder as he adjusts to press his ear against your back. “One more time,” his tone is still composed, though you’re unsure if you catch a hint of restraint.

You breathe in, slowly, deeply, feeling the warmth of his palm on your shoulder. He holds still for a moment longer, listening intently. Then, he slowly pulls back, settling into his seat with a neutral expression.

“You do have a small fever,” he calmly states. “Although, there are no signs of anything serious.” He offers a faint, almost apologetic smile. “You should lie back down and rest.”

Your cheeks are warm, and not just from the fever. You nod and do as you’re told, sinking under the comforting weight of the blanket. The man briefly explains that you were unconscious for around two hours, and that your clothes are being washed.

You nod again, processing the details. “Thank you… that’s all very considerate of you.”

He offers you a faint smile. “It’s the least we could do.”

He rises from his seat and steps toward the door, his hand resting on the brass knob. “I need to check on my friend in the kitchen. There may be a fire to manage. And I’ll bring you some herbal tea.”

You chuckle. “Well, thank you, Dr…?”

A flicker of amusement lights his eyes as he opens the door, pausing for a moment. “Just call me Zayne.”

You tell him your name in return, and with that, he’s gone with the soft click of the door.

After Zayne leaves, the room slips into an almost eerie quiet. You prop yourself up against the plush pillows, trying to get comfortable despite the persistent ache in your muscles and the dull throb in your head. The room feels larger now that you’re alone. Every detail catches your attention—the thick velvet drapes, the intricate patterns on the worn wallpaper, the faint smell of stale air. You’d get up to investigate the room or try to figure out more about where exactly you are, but your body protests with every small movement. So you have to settle for gazing around the space instead, picking out details you hadn’t noticed before. The furniture is old but well-kept, the kind that belongs in a property far grander than any home you’ve ever been in. This place—it’s not like the humble cottages back in your village. No, this is different. Larger. More isolated. Somewhere far from the familiar streets you walk every day.

A shiver crawls down your spine at the thought of how far away you could be from your home. You’ve never ventured beyond the edge of the forest. You’ve heard stories about the other side. It was always whispered between older folk who’d lived through enough strange events to keep their superstitions alive. Vampires, werewolves, creatures of the night. They’d mention them, always in passing, as though acknowledging them would draw something out of the shadows.

At first, you’d dismissed it. What else could it be but old folklore? Some scary tales to spice up their lives, stories passed down from generation to generation. Something for them to talk about when the nights grew long and dark, to keep the children from misbehaving. Those creatures don’t exist. You were certain of that.

Or, at least, you had been.

You replay the events in your mind, trying to make sense of it all. Zayne said that his friend found you unconscious in the woods. They’d brought you here, tended to your injuries, and kept you warm. His behavior had been nothing but kind, gentlemanly even.

But then, why does your skin prickle as you think of him?

What if he is one of them? The pale complexion, the unnerving quiet, the way he’d moved with such elegant grace. And those eyes... there was something about the way he looked at you. Your pulse quickens. You try to reason with yourself—if this man, Zayne, were a vampire, wouldn’t he have done something by now? You were unconscious and vulnerable. He could have easily taken advantage of that moment, but he hadn’t. He’d taken care of you.

But what if... what if this is all part of some darker plan? You swallow hard, trying to silence the growing paranoia. What if they want to keep you here? What if, right now, they’re simply playing a long game, to coax you to be their little blood doll—

‘Stop.’ You force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to calm your spiraling thoughts. There’s no proof, no reason to believe that Zayne—or anyone else—is anything other than a human.

You glance toward the window. Your body feels like lead at the moment, but tomorrow you will probably be well enough to leave. The storm can’t go on forever.

A sharp knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts.

"Come in," you manage, your voice wavering just a little.

Zayne steps in, balancing a tray of a delicate ceramic tea set. The gentle clink of porcelain against porcelain brings comfort to your senses. Behind him, another figure slips into the room—a man with handsome, soft features. His tousled, blonde-gray hair looks like it would be soft to the touch. And his eyes, though shadowed by the dim lighting, have a dreamy quality, like someone lost in thought.

A faint smell of something burnt drifts into the room, cutting through the soothing scent of the herbal tea. You can’t help but frown a bit at the scent, but neither man acknowledges it. Zayne places the tray on the small bedside table, the teapot steaming. The air feels warmer now, not just from the tea.

The second man steps forward, offering you a polite nod, “Hello.” he says, his voice silky and mellow. “I’m Xavier, the one who found you.”

His soft smile makes your heart stir. It takes you a beat to find your voice to introduce yourself.

“Thank you… for, well, rescuing me,” you say with a shy smile.

Xavier gives a gentle shake of his head, his smile widening. “Why were you so deep into the forest with a storm on the way?” he asks, his tone feels almost like teasing.

You chuckle nervously as you feel the faintest flush of embarrassment creep up your cheeks. “I – Well, I wanted to gather some things for dinner,” you admit. “It’s my first real break from work, and I may have gotten a little too excited.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, as if he’s trying to fully take you in.

“You’re lucky he was done fishing at the time.” Zayne adds as he hands you a cup of tea. His fingers brush lightly against yours as you accept it, deepening the flush on your cheeks. You are lucky to be here. Even though you’re sitting in a room with two men who are strangers, they still have cared for you with such tenderness. You could feel their warmth in every gesture, in every word. It’s hard to hold onto fear when faced with such care. Even now, you can feel yourself relaxing, the tension in your shoulders unwinding.

You take a sip of tea slowly, trying to mask the strange tide of emotions flooding through you. You had been so afraid, so convinced of something dark lurking beneath the surface. But now, in this quiet moment, with the warm tea in your hands and their watchful eyes on you, you feel strangely safe.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The clock on the mantel ticks softly, the brass hands showing it’s almost 1 a.m. The fire burns low, casting a warm, flickering glow over the room. Your eyelids feel heavy now, the weight of exhaustion settling deep in your bones. You turn onto your side, pulling the duvet tighter, forming a cocoon around you. The warmth, the softness—everything lulls you closer to sleep. But your mind drifts, recalling the conversation with Xavier after he’d brought you dinner.

He’d placed the bed tray gently over your lap, making sure everything was within reach. Before he turned to leave, the sound of your voice stopped him.

“Did you manage to catch anything?” you asked, your voice quiet but curious.

Xavier had looked confused for a moment, then his face lit up with a soft smile. “I did. Fried a few, but Zayne didn’t let me serve it to you.” He chuckled. “Said he didn’t want you choking on a bone.”

You laughed too, the sound easing the leftover tension you’ve been holding. That explained the faint burnt smell that had lingered earlier, and why Zayne had to rush to the kitchen.

“And don’t worry,” he added. “I brought back your basket too. Everything’s intact.”

You were about to thank him, but then an image flashed in your mind—a fleeting memory of him, his hair wet and clinging to his face. The moment felt so vivid, so real, that it stopped you mid-thought. You stared at him, squinting slightly.

“What’s wrong?” His voice softened with concern, his brows furrowing.

You shook your head quickly, flustered for being caught staring. “Nothing… it’s just—did I say something to you?  When you found me?”

Xavier hesitated, his lips twitching as though trying to suppress a grin. He glanced to the side, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, but his eyes gave him away. “Oh no…” you said, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. “Was it something embarrassing?”

“No,” he replied, though the gleam in his eye said otherwise. “It was cute.” He paused, then looked back to you, “You opened your eyes for a moment, and asked me, ‘Are you my prince?’ Then you passed out again.”

Your heart practically leapt into your throat, your face instantly flushing. “Oh, that’s definitely embarrassing,” you groaned.

Xavier laughed then, his voice soothing. “Don’t worry, I’ve been called worse.”

And just as you wished for the shadows to come alive and swallow you, Zayne entered, saving you from further humiliation. He brought you a bowl filled with ice and a cloth. You thanked both of them, adding that you planned to leave in the morning.

Their faces changed for a heartbeat when you said that, though you didn’t miss it. It wasn’t worry exactly, more like hesitation, as though they weren’t entirely convinced you would be gone by morning. Or perhaps… that they didn’t want you to be.

That thought lingered now, swirling in your mind as your body sank deeper into the mattress. Their kindness, their calmness—they made you feel safe, soothed the fears that had gripped you earlier. Yet, there was something unspoken between the three of you.

A sigh escapes your lips. You can feel sleep creeping over you, warm and heavy, pulling you under. The memory of Xavier’s reassuring smile and Zayne’s attentive gaze lingers in your mind, their faces blurring at the edges as your thoughts dissolve into a haze.

They are both so kind. And so handsome.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

A low whine escapes your lips before you even open your eyes. The ache in your body is heavy and relentless. Every muscle protests as you shift, but you force your eyelids open. The room is warm, the fire crackling faintly in the hearth. Someone must’ve light it while you were still asleep.

‘I said I’d leave in the morning.’ You glance over at the clock—it’s 11 a.m. That’s not really morning, but it is time for you to leave. If only you felt better.

You wince as you slowly, painfully, push yourself out of bed. Your legs feel weak, your body sluggish, like you’re moving through water. Every movement sends a wave of soreness through your bones, but you grit your teeth and push through. You don’t want to linger here any longer than you have to.

Grumbling under your breath, you stagger toward the door, your feet barely shuffling across the hardwood. You’re still dressed in the warm clothes Zayne gave you, though they feel a little too big now. You’ll just ask for your things and be on your way. You’ll return their clothes once you fully recover.

Goosebumps spread all over your skin as you open the door, the chill air of the hallway shocking your senses. It is completely quiet, only the soft creak of the floorboards under your slippers breaking the silence. More doors sit along the hallway, likely bedrooms as well. You glance at them briefly, but you step towards the staircase ahead. The polished mahogany wood gleams faintly, and you internally groan at the thought of making it down the steps in your current state.

You’re about to take your first step when—

“Hey!”

The voice comes out of nowhere, stopping you in your tracks. You freeze, your heart jumping in your chest as footsteps echo from above, growing louder as they approach. Turning, you find yourself face-to-face with a man descending the stairs. He’s tall and moves with an almost feline grace. His hair is gorgeous - messy curls of muted violet and his eyes, an unusual blend of blue and pink, are sharp and full of curiosity. His plump lips are pulled in an amused smirk.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is teasing, though there’s a touch of disapproval in it. His arms cross over his chest, as he takes in your disheveled state.

You blink at him, still trying to shake off the fog in your head. “I - I need to leave.”

He narrows his eyes, looking you up and down. “You should stay in bed,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

He is right, you do feel like you’re about to collapse, yet you can’t help but notice how striking he is. His hair, his eyes, even the way he moves—it’s all captivating. But you force those thoughts away, shaking your head slightly. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

He uncrosses his arms, offering a small smile that’s both charming and a little smug. “Oh, right. I’m Rafayel.” His voice dips slightly, your name falling from his lips. “I’m staying here too. Zayne told me what happened.”

You blink again, taken aback by how easily he says your name. You hadn’t expected to meet another guest in the house. “Rafayel,” you repeat.

He nods, brushing a hand through his unruly curls. “Yeah. I took care of your clothes. They’re drying in my room,” he adds. “It’s still raining, though, so they might take a while.”

At his words, you pause and listen. Sure enough, you hear the soft, steady patter of rain against the windows. You’d been so focused on leaving that you hadn’t even thought to check the weather. ‘Of course it’s still raining.’ You sigh inwardly, frustration and weariness settling in your chest.

“What about Zayne and Xavier?” you ask, hoping to at least get some help from them.

Rafayel smirks, shaking his head. “They’re sleeping.”

You frown. “Sleeping?”

“Yup,” he says with a shrug, almost dismissive.

Your mind races. You know why you are up so late, but why are they still sleeping. Your mind is about to wander to that corner again, but you stop yourself. ‘They must’ve been exhausted from taking care of an injured stranger.’

Still, the unease lingers. Rafayel’s gaze flickers over you, his eyes softening slightly as if sensing your discomfort. “Look,” he says, his voice gentler now, “you really don’t look like you’re in any shape to leave. Why don’t you rest a bit longer?”

You hesitate, your body aching with every breath, the fatigue weighing you down with each second. He’s right. You’re not ready to leave yet.

Rafayel’s eyes hold yours for a moment. “You’re safe here,” he adds softly.

Just as Rafayel is about to steer you back toward the bedroom, another voice cuts through the air, deep and teasing, with a velvety edge that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Is that the lost kitten?”

You look down the stairs, and there he is. The man who appears next makes the very air around you seem heavier. He’s taller than the other men, with strikingly sharp features. His white hair is tousled yet elegant, and his eyes - a deep, mesmerizing wine-red, lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter.

Before you can even react, the man is standing right in front of you, his height towering over you. You can’t help but gawk, unable to stop yourself from tracing every detail of his sharp jawline, the way his lower lip looks so plump and soft.

Rafayel’s voice, sharp with annoyance, snaps you out of the trance. “You know her name, Sylus.”

But Sylus just smirks. He takes your hand, his fingers long and strong, enveloping yours completely. Your breath catches in your throat as the warmth from his touch sends heat rippling through your body. His hand is so much larger than yours, making you feel almost fragile in his grip.

“My name is Sylus. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Your name drips from his lips, and he bends forward and presses a tender kiss to the back of your hand. The sensation of his cool lips against your flushed skin sends tingles across your arm. You can’t help but blush under the attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rafayel roll his eyes, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “You’re shameless.” he mutters, though there’s a playful lilt to his voice.

Sylus simply laughs, a low, rich sound, before releasing your hand. With a light touch on your back, Rafayel guides you back toward the bedroom, his hand steady and firm against you. Sylus trails behind, watching with an amused expression.

When you’re back in the bedroom, Rafayel’s hands gently but insistently push you down by the shoulders, guiding you to sit back on the edge of the bed. “Seriously,” you protest, exasperated, “I feel better already! I don’t want to be a burden.”

Sylus leans lazily against the doorframe, his arms crossed, a smirk dancing on his lips as he watches the scene unfold. "You look much too cute to be any kind of burden, kitten," he says, his eyes fixed on you.

Before you can say anything else, Rafayel presses you back into the blankets, his firm but gentle insistence impossible to resist. As you sink back into the bed, Sylus pushes off from the door and approaches with an almost predatory grace. The teasing glint in his eyes fades slightly as he crouches beside the bed, his expression softening as his hand reaches out to press against your forehead. His touch is cool—no wonder, since the rest of the mansion is freezing—and the sensation sends a refreshing chill through your heated skin.

“You still have a fever.” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly against your temple.

Rafayel shakes his head, giving you a disapproving look. “See? You’re in no condition to leave. I’ll prepare you tea and breakfast.”

Your protests die on your lips as Sylus pulls away, his touch lingering on your skin. Both men turn around and leave before you can say anything else.

The door shuts softly behind them, leaving you alone once again. You sink deeper into the bed, your body heavy with exhaustion. Your thoughts swirl, still caught in the lingering effect of their presence. You turn on your side, facing the window, staring at the thick velvet curtains that block out the view of raindrops racing down the tall windows. As much as you want to leave, as much as you should leave, you know your body isn’t ready. The fever might not be severe, but it’s enough to weaken you. Slipping away now—especially into the woods with no clear path—feels like a death wish.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips. For now, the best option is to rest and regain your strength. You can’t deny how safe their presence makes you feel, even if you don’t fully understand why. Something about them pulls you in, something more than just their looks.

You close your eyes, letting the exhaustion pull you under.

[creatchie8]

The First Daughter

Summary: Hopelessly in love with the agent assigned to protect you, you devise a plan to reveal his true feelings

Pairing: Secret Service!Robert Floyd/First Daughter!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI! Oral (F receiving), alcohol consumption

A/N: I got obsessed watching the 2004 film, First Daughter, and took lots of inspo from that movie. I'd love to have him sworn to protect me ;) (Not proofread, I wrote this speedy fast)

Word Count: 3,500ish

The two of you had been playing eye tag the whole night. 

And with every sip of the red wine you took, the more bold you became. Your cheeks felt warm as the alcohol slowly made your body buzz with excitement, ankles wobbling just a bit on the dancefloor in your red-bottomed heels. The orchestra that was hired played absolutely magnificently, the music changing between jazz and waltz, filling the (already full) large ballroom. 

Marvelous gold chandeliers basked everything in a soft, warm glow. The regality of it all took you back in time, you imagine this is what it would look like if you were a princess in the 1920s. The paintings of your forefathers adorned the walls along with rich brown velvet curtains, a perfect contrast to the light walls and columns. 

It was the second New Years with your mother as President, the first with Agent Robert Floyd by your side. 

Robert was younger- mid thirties, some modest Navy man looking to change his career path when he got assigned to you after completing his training at the JJRTC in South Laurel, Maryland. He was incredibly unassuming, following you around quietly as you went about your day at Harvard or home. 

How you ended up here at your mother’s party in DC trying to get a reaction out of the man, you don’t know. Maybe you were delusional, somehow you had convinced yourself that he felt something for you (love or lust, you didn’t know). It was the man’s job for god sakes, to follow you around and make you feel safe. You were not special to him in any way. 

Within the last five months though, it felt like one of those steamy romance slow burn books you are always hearing about on social media. Lately, his gaze lingered longer than it should have when the two of you were in private. He opened up more, responding in detail when you would ask him questions about his life instead of the short one word answers he used to give before analyzing your surroundings again. 

His voice was soft when he spoke to you, his hand finding your lower back like it was his own personal polar star when the crowd around you thickened. It was like the longer he was assigned to you the more his shell melted. Robert of course had time away from you, even as your agent he must eat and sleep. But when he would return and replace whoever was watching you before, he would ask to be caught up on when he was away. 

No agent had ever had interest in you like that before. 

You were probably just incredibly horny, being the President’s daughter doesn't get you much action, or at least not the kind you want. And you knew it was bad to want Robert Floyd, but somehow that made you desire him even more. 

The dress you were wearing tonight may or may not have been picked out with your agent in mind. Floor length and velvety black, the soft fabric smooth against your middle. A neckline that was perfectly flattering of your chest, a simple necklace sitting on top of your collarbones delicately but also working to help draw eyes to your cleavage. Surely modest enough for the gathering but eye catching for sure. 

He was stationed near a pair of opened doors, pressed against the wall in a neat black and white tuxedo, a metal american flag pinned neatly on his left lapel. It was standard dress for every agent that was there, but to you Robert stood out as by far the most handsome one. Light brown hair combed perfectly to the side. His blue eyes scanned the crowd in a zig-zag motion, stuttering and stopping on you when you were in view, his unique glasses glinting in the light. 

The whole night you had been inching closer, using the excuse of mingling to hop from table to table (intermittently being taken to the dance floor by your father or some diplomat's son) and closer to his door. At one point you looked up from where you were leaning on a table, catching his eyes. 

A few times tonight that had already happened only for him to look away swiftly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he straightened his shoulders. But this time he held your gaze, almost defensively as his brows furrowed the tiniest bit. He probably assumed you would take one for the team and back down first this time. But that second glass of wine you were halfway done with was leaving you valiant, his determination causing the side of your mouth to tick up the tiniest bit. 

The muscles in his jaw twitched as he admitted a silent defeat, flicking his eyes elsewhere. 

Never a rude host, you turned your attention back to the guest you were chatting with, letting her finish her story before politely excusing yourself elsewhere. With your clutch in hand and your wine abandoned at the table, you set off to the open door. With this newfound confidence you strut (albeit somewhat off balance) like you had every intention in the world to just leave for the bathroom and come back with no ulterior motive. 

But you like to think Robert knew you like the back of his hand, watching him bring his right arm up, speaking into the microphone in his sleeve. An agent still had not relieved him as you passed by, eyes forward even though in your peripheral you noticed his head turn to you. 

It wasn't until your heels hit the magnificent marble staircase that you heard his footsteps following you, echoing through the hall. Your left hand grabbed the front of the dress, hiking it well above your ankles as you climbed the stairs. Shockingly, there was no one loitering in this part of the building. Passing by a grandfather clock on the opposite wall you squint to make out the thin arms, concluding that it was in fact, almost midnight. The smell of pine lingered outside the ballroom, drifting into almost nothing the further you got. 

You had already passed by two bathrooms as you led Robert on a wild goose chase through the building, trying to find the perfect spot. He was beyond patient with you, finally caught up and only a few short steps behind. 

When you finally found what room you were looking for, you stopped short, letting his muscular body bump into yours before spinning around. Robert looked mortified, already stuttering beginnings of apologies as you grabbed the lapels of his jacket, thumb accidentally turning the pin askew before pulling him into the empty room (with remarkable force you might add). 

In a whirlwind of moving bodies you suddenly found yourself back against the closed door, that same mortified look on his face as he stood there trapped in the room. In the shuffle you had dropped your clutch near your feet, the beaded satchel slumped against the dark mahogany floor. 

The room was simple, a pool table in the center and a few chairs nestled close to the unlit fireplace. There was a bookcase somewhere in the room, hidden by the veil of darkness. The moonlight showed through two good sized windows on the wall facing you, his back illuminated by the light. 

“I thought you needed to go to the bathroom.” He stated, clearly confused as his brows furrow. You could barely see his face and it might've been the alcohol but you were falling hard. 

“I changed my mind.” You crossed your arms, body heavy against the great door. 

“You wanted to play…” He turned towards the pool table then back to you, “pool?” His eyes continue to search the room, mapping out his surroundings like he always does. 

Huffing at his lack of interest in you, you get straight to the point, “Robert, do you think I’m attractive?” It comes out brattier than you intend and you close your mouth with an audible click.

“What?” His attention is back to you in an instant, eyes wide behind his glasses. 

“I asked, do you think I’m attractive?” Repeating yourself, biting your bottom lip hard at your own boldness. It takes a few seconds for him to respond to you, opening and closing his mouth a few times while he processes your question. 

“Y-You're incapacitated, please let me help you back downstairs.” He says calmly, but you can see right through it. The mask he is putting on causes you to roll your eyes dramatically. Robert steps forward, hands outstretched to presumably grab your shoulders so it's easier to guide you back to your parents. The action makes your stomach light up in excitement, your first reaction is pushing yourself off the door and away from his reach, further into the room. 

“I am anything but ‘incapacitated’. I’m tipsy.” You declare matter of factly, cheeks burning in the warm room. Now your back was to the window, your positions switched. 

“That still falls under the definition of incapacitated.” 

“I think you're attractive.” Your voice was suddenly much quieter, now toe to toe with a man visibly sweating bullets. “I've thought about it since I met you-” The sober part of you shuts your mouth, a nonsense love confession pushing against your teeth. He refused to respond, still as a statue sans his blue eyes tracing your face.

“Why were we playing eye tag from the moment the party started?” You press, determined to not back down until your question was answered. 

“My job is to look after you.” A very real explanation to your question. The opposite of what you want. 

“Is it your job to clench your teeth when I dance with other guys?” Just the mere mention of it has his upper lip twitching, and you know you've got your answer. You look up at him through mascaraed eyelashes, sweaty hands reaching up (surprisingly more shaky than you thought) to clutch at his black lapels. 

You would've thought he’d stop you, it would be easy in your impaired state to grab your wrists and haul you down to the party in a cloud of shame. But he watched as you focused on his pin, pinching it between your forefinger and thumb to adjust it.  

You don't process that he’s moved his hand up until he is brushing the hair out of your face that escaped your modest updo. His fingertips are gentle, and you begin to worry that this is the end before it has even begun, that he’s about to open his mouth and let you down easy. Pressing your hands firmly against his warm chest you weakly try to push back, the fear of rejection drenching your whole body.

He caught you unexpectedly by the shoulders, fingers wrapping around your bare upper biceps. Holding you close firmly, you gave up pushing away and dropped your arms to your side. Robert was searching your eyes before letting a long sigh out his nose. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that-” You close your eyes and tilt your head back to the ceiling, “I guess I am a little incapacitated.”  Placing emphasis on the word to lighten the mood, not wanting to look at him to save yourself from embarrassment. 

You were aware of everything on your body with your eyes closed. The tickle of your hair on your neck, the way your dress hugged your body, you could even feel the way your heels teetered on the hardwood. Worst of all, you felt his warm, calloused hands smoothing down your naked arms. 

Then you felt one of his hands leave your arm, trailing up and up to your neck and cradling the back of your skull. Robert pulled your head up but still you kept your eyes closed. 

“You don’t understand what you’re asking." A quiet waltz played from the floor below, accompanying his words that stung like rubbing alcohol in a cut. Your eyes snap open in an instant, rapidly blinking to clear them from the blurriness. You could barely think coherent thoughts between his hand still on the back of your neck and his painful words. 

“I do know what I’m asking-” You exclaimed defiantly, “and I’m not stupid-”

“I never said you were stupid.” He cut you off abruptly, his warm breath fanned across your face in short puffs. You clenched your fists by your sides, your body itchy with annoyance.

“Robert. I swear to god if you interrupt me aga-” 

And then he kissed you. And all you could do was rip yourself away from him in vexation, opening your mouth to hiss something at him about fucking interupting you again. 

As you stumbled back you realized something. He was looking back at you like you had sprouted a third ear, and the disbelief in his eyes made you want to go search for a mirror to see if you actually did. 

“Oh.” You touched your lips, desire starting a low buzz beneath your skin. He had kissed you. And it felt good. 

“Yeah.” Robert said, almost sheepishly. 

“Ohh-” Was all you could get out before he was on you again, his hands connecting with your waist while yours cupped his cheeks and jaw, pulling him closer. 

It was frantic and messy, you felt light headed by the lack of oxygen. Your lipgloss had smeared all over your lips and his, the soft vanilla flavor all you could taste when you licked into his open mouth. Warmth blossomed in your chest as his hands sank lower to cup your ass through your dress, his lips migrating from yours to your jaw, leaving a light trail of saliva in their path. 

Hands trailing up to rest against the nape of his neck, the short hair tickling your palms as you bit your bottom lip, stifling whines as his lips worked against the sensitive parts of your neck. It was too much yet not enough as his hands roamed over your body and yet managed to miss everywhere you needed him the most. 

“S-Stop teasing me.” You managed to pant out, a gasp leaving your kiss-swollen lips as Robert’s cold glasses pressed into your neck. You grab his hand from where it was resting under your breast, walking backwards blindly in search of the pool table. Your other arm was outstretched behind you, acting as a buffer in case you trip and fall. 

Robert stumbled along like an obedient dog, reaching up with his unoccupied hand to yank the earpiece from his ear so it just dangled from his button up collar. When your bum hit the pool table he lifted you up and set you upon the edge with no hesitation, making butterflies kick up in your stomach. You were still in awe over his strength that you didn't even realize he had delicately slipped your straps from your shoulders and his hands were behind your back, pinching your zipper.

“May I?” He asked softly, awaiting your response. He was absolutely gorgeous, the moonlight illuminated only one side of his face. His hair was tousled and his lips were red from the kisses. Fine lines carefully etched into his features, the only sign of his age. 

Your stomach flipped as you nodded, inhaling a deep breath through your nose as he invaded your space, slotting himself between your thighs. Robert looked over your shoulder and pressed a few soft kisses there as he carefully unzipped your dress. Your hands drifted up and grasped at his belt, the silver metal burning your fingertips with cold as you clumsily fought with it. 

His lips returned to your mouth as he slowly pulled the dress down over your breasts, urging your hands away from his now unzipped slacks and through the arm holes of your dress. Although the air was warm to your cheeks and back, it made goosebumps rise along your chest, nipples perking up as the top fell to your lap. 

You hardly noticed his lips leaving yours until you felt him push on your left shoulder, guiding you back so you were propped up on your elbows on the deep green baize. A protest died in your throat as his lips wrapped around a nipple, his warm tongue lapping at the stiff peak. A startled cry left your mouth as you felt his hand tweak your other nipple, pinching and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

You let your head drop back as his mouth switched to your other nipple, his fingers pinching the other. The black dress still was around your legs, thighs straining the fabric as you silently begged for him to touch your now aching core. You lifted up a heeled foot, pressing one of his thighs closer to your center.

Robert takes the hint, much to your relief and slips his hands down your body. You can feel every callous, every fingernail as he presses them into your soft skin and eventually grips his fists into the dress gathered near your knees. 

 You try to focus on the ceiling, which looked like it stretched miles above the both of you, crown molding decorating the edges and hand painted vines adorned the flat space between. 

Slowly, just as Robert lifts your knees up and over his shoulders and sinks to the ground, you lower yourself flat against the green, arms outstretched above your head.  

Your lower half was bare, save for the midnight black dress pooling around your waist. Robert’s breath huffed against your clothed core, drawing your attention back to him. 

“Fuck…” You hear him whisper hoarsely. And only then can you feel his fingers drawing your panties to the side, a sharp gust of cold air drifting over your dripping pussy. The praise heats your cheeks, a swell of shyness bubbles within your chest. The panties are placed over your core and Robert presses his face against the silky black fabric, startling you. 

You start to sit up on your elbows again, a moan caught in your throat as you watch him bury his nose and mouth in the damp silk, taking a deep inhale with his eyes closed. Savoring your smell as he mouths against you. It was tortuous, his blunt fingernails digging into the meat of your thighs. His cheeks are red, his groans vibrating against you as his glasses begin to fog. 

“Please, Robert. I can’t-” Is all you can get out before he is ripping your panties to the side and licking you whole. With that one motion your thighs are already quivering on either side of his head. His flush trails down to his neck, hiding under the tight collar of his button up. 

Your stomach tightens as the tip of his tongue circles your clit, sucking it into his mouth and savoring it like a piece of hard candy. With your mouth open, all you can do is stare with blurry eyes. Robert was consuming you like a man starved, his ministrations relaxing your muscles and turning you into jello before him. 

“Robert, I-” You begin, outstretching your arm to grasp at his hair.

“Hmmm?” He hums, his mouth still working against you, jaw clenching as you attempt to push him back. Robert looked up at you through long eyelashes, eyes glazed over as if he was the one getting the most pleasure out of it. 

“Please more- oh god do not stop.” You were not above begging. And thank god because that was all it took to convince him. At once he returned to your needy pussy, his right hand slipping from the top of your thigh to your juncture. His middle finger prodded at your entrance, slipping in with little resistance. 

Back arching, you drop down to rest fully on the soft baize. Gasping as he managed to press another finger in. They were big, stretching you. The sensation bites but is quickly soothed as he curls them, beckoning an orgasm out of your body. 

Your chest heaves as your body tightens, moaning nonsense as you get closer and closer. The man between your legs doubling his efforts as if you had told him you were almost there. 

And then your body snaps. It’s like submerging yourself in a warm bath, you cannot breathe, in fear you might drown in the water. But weightless nonetheless. 

He rises to his feet, and you are still boneless on the table. Pussy pulsing, only to be covered up again by your wet panties. The feeling is terribly uncomfortable, drawing a whine from your chest. 

Even more shockingly, you do not even get a moment to revel in the afterglow before he is pulling you up by your elbow.

“Hey! What are you doing?” You huff in half hearted annoyance as he is already pulling your straps up and attempting to zip your dress.

“It is almost midnight-” He finishes zipping up your dress, “I suggest we go celebrate it with your guests.” 

You blink and look up at him, reaching up and fixing his hair as a soft smile graces his features. Your cheeks heat as you remember the party downstairs, how only the two of you know that his face was between your legs just moments ago. 

“Y-Yes.” You clear your throat and adjust your straps, offering him your hand, “I suppose we should.”

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Fool's Gold

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x OFC (Melessa Tyrell) Warnings: Smut, mild angst, mentions of pregnancy. Word count: ~2.5k

Summary: Daemon returns from the Stepstones to a welcome he was not expecting. Part of the Perzys se Rūkla universe, but can be read as a standalone.

Author's note: Day two of Smuffmas - presents and praise kink. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

It had been three months since Daemon last set foot in King’s Landing. The Triarchy had been causing trouble in the Stepstones once again, and Corlys Velaryon’s fleet had begun to struggle to defend the ships requiring passage across the Narrow Sea. With trade between Westeros and the Free Cities slowing as a result, the Crown had been forced to intervene. Rhaenyra had dispatched her husband, Laenor, and his dragon, Seasmoke, to help his father’s cause, and Daemon had insisted upon accompanying him on the back of Caraxes, not trusting the King Consort to get the job done without the aid of him and his blood wyrm. 

Having burned the pirates’ forces to cinders and with the shipping lanes clear once more, Daemon had returned with haste to the capital, eager to be reunited with his wife after so many nights spent apart from her.

As Hand of the Queen, it would be proper for Daemon to report directly to his niece, to deliver the news of their victory, however, he has never been one for propriety. Melessa is his first priority, and if Laenor can tarry with his squires in the wake of the battle, with no sense of urgency, then he does not see why he should be held to a higher standard. 

The metallic clanking of his armour echoes off of the stone walls of Maegor’s Holdfast, as he advances towards the apartments he shares with Melessa and their son, Viserys. He holds his dragon shaped helm tucked beneath one arm, and carries a heavy linen sack in the other. A slight smirk tugs at the corners of his lips as he imagines the way Melessa’s delicate features will light up once she sees its contents.

Throwing open the heavy wooden doors, Daemon strides purposefully through the space, making his way towards the solar. Melessa is exactly where he expects her to be. He does not announce his presence straight away, taking a moment to appreciate her in silent contemplation.

She has had the chaise moved to sit by the balcony doors, which are both open, allowing a light breeze to rustle the gossamer fabric of the ivory coloured curtains and cool the room. She reclines upon the crimson velvet with her eyes closed, though he knows she is not asleep. The afternoon sunlight that filters through the windows shines upon her flaxen hair, making it look like spun gold. She has left it loose today, the soft waves falling almost to her waist, against the loose fitting green robe she wears, pinned closed with a golden rose brooch.

Daemon has always adored that, despite being married to a Targaryen prince, she has never forfeited the colours of House Tyrell. In his mind, it is her way of clinging to some of her youthful innocence, a reminder of why she had initially captured his attention.

His eyes fall upon the swell of her stomach, where her hands rest. She is bigger than when he left, of course she is. She had been three turns of the moon into her pregnancy when he had departed, barely noticeable. Another three had passed, and the evidence of their second child growing within her was now irrefutable. It makes his heart swell with pride and his pulse race with possessiveness.

Finally, Daemon clears his throat, and her eyes flutter open, her blue eyes widening in surprise as she sees him, struggling to rise into a sitting position as her hand cradles her distended belly.

“Don’t strain yourself, petal,” he tells her, placing his helmet down upon a side table and striding towards her. He sets the canvas bag down by the foot of the chaise, glad to be rid of its weight as its contents tinkle loudly against each other. 

She settles back against the plushness of the pillows. “You did not send word that you would be returning,” she says softly, as he leans down to press his lips tenderly to her forehead, before pulling back to stare affectionately at her, his calloused thumb stroking a lingering path along the peachy softness of her jawline.

Her eyes do not hold the joyful sparkle he so adores, instead she looks upon him with concern and apprehension, she visibly stiffens at his touch and he cannot understand why. Perhaps it is an unfortunate consequence of her being pregnant – he knows that being in such a condition takes a toll on women and their bodies.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he murmurs, kneeling down with difficulty under the cumbersome weight of his armour, resting his forehead gently against her abdomen. She moves her hands, placing them either side of her to give him space as he cradles her belly. “Rytsas, zaldrītsos,” he whispers to the babe that grows within, “rōvyktys issa.” Hello, little dragon. You are bigger.

“Have you been to see Rhaenyra?” She asks, her tone lacking the warmth and excitement that Daemon had been longing to hear.

“She can wait,” Daemon says, lifting his head to look at her.

“She will be cross with you,” Melessa tells him matter of factly.

He sighs, her coolness disquieting him. He stands, walking over to the settee in the corner of the room, and begins to unstrap his armour, placing each heavy piece upon the wooden surface, until he is left in only his breeches and undershirt. The relief of the burden upon his body is welcome, though the tension in the room serves as a further uninvited weight that he is keen to be rid of.

“I sense that you are also cross with me,” he says, finally turning to face her, eyeing her curiously as she stares off out of the open balcony doors, her hands idly stroking her belly.

She turns slowly back to look at him, her shoulders sagging as she sighs, and he sees a defeated tiredness within her features that he had not noticed before. Her mouth is downturned, there is a darkness beneath her eyes.

“Have you been to see Viserys?” She asks, looking listlessly at him.

“There will be time enough for his sticky hands and shrill voice later. I want to spend time with my wife,” he says exasperatedly, walking towards the small, round table that is positioned next to the chaise that Melessa rests upon. He lifts the pewter wine jug, giving the golden liquid inside a sniff – cloves, cinnamon and ginger invade his nostrils, making him grimace - spiced honey wine from Lannisport. Horrible swill that is far too weak for Daemon’s liking, but he supposes Melessa cannot stomach anything stronger due to her pregnancy. He pours himself a cup and takes a generous gulp, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he swallows thickly and sets the cup back down, before continuing; “the boy likely won’t even have realised I was gone.”

Melessa scowls, positioning herself to sit up straighter. “He is three, Daemon, of course he notices when you aren’t here!”

Daemon scoffs, growing irritated. He had climbed onto Caraxes’ back and flown straight here once the battle was won, it now seems it was hardly worth bothering, considering the frosty reception he’s received.

“I brought you gifts, both of you,” he argues, moving to the foot of the chaise and lifting the heavy canvas bag, “one for every day that I was gone, look–”

He begins to pull treasures from the bag; bracelets of solid gold, sapphire encrusted necklaces, silver chalices, each item crashes loudly against the flagstone floor as he drops it. Corlys had allowed his men to loot what was left of the Triarchy’s ships, and Daemon had ensured he took what he considered to be his fair share.

Melessa’s brow furrows further as she watches him, before she holds up a hand, halting his actions. “A few pretty baubles do not make up for your absence.”

“Then what would you have me do?!” He snarls, dropping the sack. It hits the floor with a mighty crash, as he stares at her wide eyed, his fragile patience worn down to the quick as his chest heaves with anger.

She doesn't even flinch at his outburst, and for the briefest of moments he wonders what happened to the timid little thing he had approached by the tapestries all those years ago. He supposes it would be foolish of him to marry a woman and not expect her to be influenced by his fire. His delicate Highgarden rose has grown a spine.

“You should not have gone!” she shouts back, leaning forward slightly, her face twisted in an anger that he has never seen in her before. Her eyes are so wide they border on wildness.

Her response shocks him into silence and he exhales heavily, bowing his head as he pinches the bridge of his nose. The anger has fizzled from the both of them as he comes to sit by her feet upon the chase, wrapping a hand around the shin of one of her outstretched legs through the silk fabric of her robe and stroking softly – a gesture intended to ground himself as much as it is to soothe her.

“I had to go,” he insists, “Rhaenyra commanded it.”

“She did not. She sent Laenor. You invited yourself along and she knew she could not refuse you. You left her without a Hand for three months, Daemon.”

Deep down, Daemon knows that Melessa is right, but he cannot bear to allow himself to admit that. He knows that the battle was won more swiftly because of his efforts, so he had done the right thing in going, whether he had been asked to or not. He watches as her hands rub slow circles over her stomach. Though her previous anger has left her, her expression is still sullen, a slight pout to her rosy lips.

“The battle would still be ongoing and the shipping lanes still blocked were it not for my presence,” he explains, “I did my duty as Hand by speeding things along.”

“You could have done your duty as Hand by staying here. Aemond rides the largest dragon in Westeros, Rhaenyra could have sent him if she felt that the Velaryons required further aid.”

Daemon feels his fingers squeeze reflexively upon Melessa’s leg and quickly draws his hand away, lest he unintentionally hurt her due to such a ridiculous suggestion. He laughs, though it is a bitter sound with no genuine humour, and he looks away, averting his gaze to the ceiling at the far corner of the room.

Melessa tuts, pushing at his thigh with the heel of her bare foot, to draw his attention back to her. “I know you feel that Alicent’s children are not trustworthy, but if Aemond harboured ill intent that he intended to act upon, he would have done so by now. He could burn us all in our beds, if he wanted to. If he was intent upon treachery then he would not wait for a war in the Stepstones to act upon it.”

“Why should I remain idle while that impulsive wretch plays the hero atop his dragon?” He mutters, grasping the foot she had nudged him with and placing it in his lap.

“Ah, and there it is,” she smiles triumphantly, a hint of playfulness in her voice, “you didn’t want to help, you wanted to fly to battle and glory.”

He purses his lips, rubbing his thumb up and down the delicate arch of her foot. “And what is the alternative? I remain here and grow soft as I sit on my arse around the small council table?”

“You could never grow soft,” she reassures him, her head tilting slightly in sympathetic understanding, “and you are needed here, I need you, your children need you.”

“It was not because I wished to be parted from you,” he tells her gently, his face softening as he moves closer to her on the chaise, reaching out to sink his fingers into the softness of her pale hair. The familiar scent of rosewater and almond oil envelopes him as he pulls her close, comforting him with the feeling of home, while also making his cock stir within his breeches.

“I have missed you,” she whispers, clutching at the fabric of his undershirt as she nuzzles her face into the scarred flesh of his neck.

“Even though you are cross with me?” He asks quietly, smirking as he feels her smile against his skin.

“I am cross because I want you here with me,” she responds, pulling away to look up at him through her lashes as her hands move downwards from his chest to his abdomen. “You do not need to fight wars and bring home treasures for me to think you are worthy, you already are.”

He watches intently, feeling himself rouse to life as she plucks open the lacings of his breaches.

“You are Daemon Targaryen,” she coos, leaning in once more to press a kiss to his neck, as she slips her hand inside the opening and wraps her fingers around his shaft, “blood of Old Valyria, closer to gods than men, you need not prove yourself to anyone.”

He groans, his head falling back as she begins to pump her hand, and he feels himself grow fully erect, fighting against the aching sensation that tempts him to buck his hips like an untamed beast.

She continues to stroke him from base to tip, before swiping her thumb across the head of him, using his arousal to help ease the glide of her hand upon him. “There is no one that I am prouder to call my husband, no one whose children I would rather carry. Just you. Only you.”

“Fuck!” he hisses, his fingers tightening in her hair, as he leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers as he begins to pant. He can feel the telltale pressure building at the base of his spine, knowing he will reach his end with embarrassing swiftness if she does not stop, yet he cannot bring himself to make her.

“I am so proud of you, and all you do for our family. It is why I cannot bear to be parted from you,” she whispers hotly against the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

His balls tighten, her words are his unravelling as warmth spreads throughout his body, causing his hips to jerk and his mind to go blank as he pulsates against the strokes of her palm, coating her fingers with his pearly spend, as his focus narrows upon the exquisite torture of the throbbing that overtakes him.

“Gods…” he utters breathlessly, once he is lucid again to speak. His lips part in disbelief as he watches her clean his release from her fingers with delicate kitten licks. “...I did not bring you back enough gifts.”

Chapter six || Series masterlist

[supercap2319]

"This is Doug." Ben clapped a hand on a nerdy boy with thick rimmed glasses wearing a blue and gold marching uniform. He had been one of the band members who played for Y/N and the others when they arrived. "He's going to help you with your class schedules and show you to your dorms. Speaking of which..."

Ben turned to Y/N. "Unfortunately, we didn't have another room for you, and since all the boys have a roommate, you'll be bunking with me for the time being."

Y/N wasn't sure who was more shocked. Him, his friends, or Audrey. Did Prince Hot Lips really just say a vk was moving into his bedroom? Oh, this was delicious. The cotton candy fool. Y/N had to suppress the smile that threatened to make its way towards his mouth.

"I'll see the rest of you later, okay? Y/N? If you would kindly follow me." Ben said. He walked upstairs, and Y/N followed him, trying to ignore the diry comment Mal made to Evie about Y/N sleeping with "Prince Benny-Boo."

Ben talked about the rich history of the boys' wing. How it was built and who built it. Y/N wasn't paying attention. All he could think about was how he couldn't wait to get his hands on Prince Ben. Not in that way, mind you. Just to mess with him and stuff. Make his life a living hell.

They walked down a hallway with only a door, and when Ben opened it up, the sight of the Prince's bedroom made him want to gag. The matching blue and gold velvet beds with soft white pillows and navy blue curtains fluttering gently in the fresh air breeze from an open window. There was also a blue and gold chaise chair and a giant flat screen TV with a walk-in closet and a bathroom.

"What do you think? I know the blue and gold are a bit on the nose, but I'm willing to redecorate." Ben said.

Y/N looked around the room. It was sickening. It was bright. And it made Y/N want to scream in delight. He didn't tell Ben that, though. He looked at the Prince. "You got anything against black?

Ben just chuckled.

[sirenpearldust]

Cherry

Pair: Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 2.443

Warnings: suggestive, reader is a dancer, stage name is cherry

The warm air enveloped him the moment he stepped inside, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside. 

He brushed the snow from his white hair with a quick motion, then shrugged off his black jacket, letting it hang heavily in his big hands.

The bar was sparsely occupied, the low murmur of business chatter filling the air. 

In a shadowed corner sat Sukuna with Choso. The two were deep in conversation, their heads inclined toward each other as they shared a drink and pointed on some papers. 

The establishment exuded an air of exclusivity and lavishness, clearly designed for the elite, like him. 

Black and gold accents dominated the space, from the sleek, polished surfaces to the intricate embellishments on the walls, radiating a sense of power and wealth.

He approached the bartender and ordered a Cherry Coke on ice, specifying exactly two ice cubes. 

The order carried a hidden message. It was his way of asking for her, Cherry, alone, for the next two hours. 

The bartender acknowledged the request with a subtle nod.

Gojo was utterly infatuated with Cherry, he could not be with any other women sin ce he had met her.His infatuation with her was undeniable, an obsession that had consumed him. 

 It was like she had enchanted him.

The bartender handed him his drink without a word, their silent understanding as familiar as the routine itself. 

Drink in hand, he followed the same path he took every Thursday, winding through the dimly lit corridors to see her - the one he couldn’t stay away from.

He took a slow sip of the coke, its sweetness a perfect mirror of her essence, a taste so familiar it felt like she lingered on his lips. 

Night after night, she haunted his dreams, she was someone he could never claim as his own. It wasn’t for lack of trying - he had pursued her relentlessly, but she remained just out of reach, a bittersweet longing.

He didn’t know her real name, nor had he ever seen her face. It was always concealed beneath a soft face cloth she used to keep her features hidden. The mystery only deepened his infatuation. 

Her anonymity was intoxicating.

The distance between them was unconquerable, and he knew, deep down, that she was never meant to be his. Yet, that knowledge did nothing to quell the fire in his heart - it only lit a flame with hopeless yearning.

In front of her door, dark red velvet curtains hung, their rich color contrasting against the gold pearl strings that framed the entrance. 

Upon entering the room, sultry music washed over him, its soft rhythm tugging at his senses. 

The room was dim, bathed in soft, muted red light, with the familiar scent of her prada paradoxe perfume lingering in the air. 

His eyes immediately found her, hanging on her pole. She hung there like a vision, her figure shrouded in a flowing black cloth.

He watched her for a while, the way she twisted and turned, the way her body moved so elegantly, fluid like water, she made it all seem so effortlessly.

After another graceful spin, her eyes met his - icy blue and piercing ones.

She held his gaze as she slid down the pole, the intensity between them palpable. 

Sweat glistened on her glitter shimmering skin, a single bead trailing down her neck before she wiped it away with the back of her hand. 

Her eyes smiled at him, teasing and knowing.

His eyes followed her like a predator, ready to pounce, his desire radiating from him like heat.

He settled himself on the plush velvet sofa, its softness enveloping him as he leaned back, swirling the drink lazily in his hand, before he took another sip. 

Just like the room, her body was adorned with lavishness.

Gold jewelry draped elegantly from her neck, down her chest around her waist, cascading down to accentuate her figure. 

Her shoes shimmered and the delicate bracelets on her wrists chimed softly with each step she took, their sound a hypnotic rhythm. 

Everything about this moment was expensive, the hours he had to pay for just to be near her. But to him, she was worth it - every second, every cost.

She walked towards him slowly before settling onto his lap, her body pressed against his with a warmth that sent a shiver through him. 

She slung her arms around his shoulders, her fingers tracing down his hard chest. 

He inhaled deeply, her scent intoxicating, and with a subtle nudge, his lips brushed against her neck as she shuddered.

She whispered softly against his lips, “Hello, love”.

“Hi.” 

He leaned back further, pulling her gently into his body, his hands finding her round hips as he caressed the soft, warm skin beneath his fingertips.

Her hands drifted from his chest, gliding up to his shoulders, where she began to massage them with a slow, deliberate pressure. As her fingers worked their magic, he couldn’t help but groan in relief, the tension melting away under her touch.

He tensed slightly, as if a thought had just crossed his mind. Then, with a soft whine, he murmured, “Why do you only work on Thursdays?” 

The question had been nagging at him for a while.

“Work and University,” she replied simply.

“You know I can take care of you.”

“Satoru, we’ve talked about this,” she said, her tone soft but firm. 

“Let me take care of you. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to like sexually, but please, just let me see you more than once a week.”

“Satoru,” she whispered, her fingers gently playing with his hair.

“I can’t,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. Silence followed for a few seconds before he spoke again.

“Are you actually allowed to keep the tips I give you?” he asked, his voice soft but insistent as his hands wandered down her back. She looked away, her body slightly tensed, as if the question had struck a nerve. 

Her silence spoke volumes.

“Look at me, please,” he murmured, his hand gently cupping her chin, guiding her face to meet his. As their eyes locked, there was a silent intensity between them, the air thick with unspoken emotions.

“I’m not allowed to keep everything,” she sighed in frustration, her eyes lowering as she spoke. “I still have to give them a cut.”

His lip darted out, licking his lips as his jaw clenched.

Then, a smile twisted on his face - one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

His baby blue eyes darkened, the playful glint replaced by something more intense, a silent promise that hinted at something far more dangerous beneath the surface.

“I’ll take care of that,” he said, his voice low and steady. 

“I gave you my number for a reason, text me when something like this happens again,” his tone left no room for argument.

“Satoru, they’ll fire me if you complain,” she said, her voice tinged with slight anger.

 “I might make them money, but I’m not one of their most precious dancers.” 

He grinned, the edge in his smile sharp and confident as he spoke. “So, you do have a reason to let me take care of you, then.” 

His words both a statement and a challenge, his gaze intense as he leaned in, making it clear he wasn’t just offering help - he was taking control of the situation. 

He liked seeing her in need of help, his damsel in distress.

She tried to pull away from him, but his grip on her hips tightened, pressing her firmly against him. His hold was gentle yet firm, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. 

“Don’t,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down her spine.

“I need this job and the money. I like you, but don’t make me regret that now.”

Her eyes held his, steady and resolute.

He liked the way she looked when she was angry at him - a different expression than he was used to. Even though her face was mostly hidden by the face cloth, he could see it in her eyes, the fiery defiance that stood in stark contrast to her usual sensual or kind demeanor.

It was a side of her he rarely saw, and it intrigued him, he wanted more.

“How much do you need?” he asked, his tone calm but direct.

“What?” she replied, caught off guard by the sudden question.

“I asked,” he repeated, his baby-blue eyes fixed on hers, “ how much do you need.”

“None of your business, Gojo,” she bit out, her tone sharp and laced with frustration. She was already fed up with the entire situation, her patience wearing thin.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing. 

“So, it’s Gojo now?” he asked, his hands wandered down her body, gripping her with a firm possessiveness before he pushed her gently, guiding her movements with a mix of control and desire.

She stopped him with a firm hand on his chest, pushing lightly as she met his gaze. 

“Stop,” she said, her voice steady and strong.

He released his grip, letting his hands fall next to their bodies. 

“Do you hate me, or is it just this?”

“Both,” she replied, her voice steady but laced with frustration. 

“You don’t respect me, and you use me.” Her words were sharp, cutting through the tension between them as she made her feelings clear, her gaze unwavering as she stood her ground.

“I’m not a toy, Gojo,” she said firmly, her voice cold but filled with conviction. She looked at him, her eyes not backing down, making it clear that she would not be treated as something less than human.

“While it is my job to entertain you, you’ve crossed multiple lines,” she continued, her voice steady but sharp. The weight of her words lingered in the air, a clear boundary being set as she faced him, unflinching.

“Why do you not accept my help?” he asked, his voice a mixture of confusion and frustration.

She closed her eyes in frustration, letting out a soft sigh. She needed to take control of the situation.

“Satoru,” she whispered, leaning forward while.

 “It’s not about that. I just like dancing.” She softly placed her hand over his eyes, closing them. 

He trusted her completely, his breath steady as he heard the soft rustling around them. 

Then, he felt her lips against his cheek, warm and gentle, followed by the delicate tickle of her hair against his skin.

His breath hitched as her kisses slowly drifted downward, pressing softly against his neck. Each gentle touch sent a shiver through him, the warmth of her lips against his skin making his pulse quicken. 

His hands rose next to her body, hovering but not touching. He whimpered, his voice shaky, “Can I please hold you?”

She nodded, giving him permission. His hands stayed gently on her waist, hesitant, as if afraid he might do something wrong again.

”I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. 

“I shouldn’t have pushed you. I swear I respect you, I just want to help you and get to know you for real.” 

His voice filled with genuine remorse, as if the weight of his actions was finally sinking in.

He was afraid, worried that he had pushed her too far when she got angry. While he liked the way she ordered him around, there was a part of him that still wanted her to talk to him, to open up. 

He feared she might not want to see him again. All he wanted was to make things right between them.

”Shh,” she whispered against his lips, her breath warm. He hesitated for a moment before he chased her lips, their kiss deepening as they moved together.

She moaned softly, and in an instant, he took her, laying her down on the couch. His body positioned between her legs, the weight of him just enough to keep her close, as her hand rested lightly on his eyes, a gesture of both his trust and surrender.

”Cherry, please,” he whispered, his voice thick with desperation. He didn’t know exactly what he was begging for, but the need for her was too much.

She stopped kissing him, her left hand gently resting on his chest as she pulled away slightly. 

“Satoru, we can’t go any further, I also need to cover my face before they might notice.” There was a sense of urgency in her voice, mixed with regret, as she reminded him and herself of the boundaries they had to maintain. She liked his lips on hers, the way he begged and yearned for her. It made her feel special, wanted.

He nodded, breathless, his voice low. “I’ll close my eyes. I won’t look, I promise.”

She laughed softly, knowing full well that he definitely would. He chuckled along with her, his flush red lips stretched into a smile.

There was a soft rustle before she removed her hand from his eyes. He opened them slowly, his gaze meeting hers. Her face was covered again, but even so, she looked so beautiful beneath him.

He plopped onto her, and she let out a frustrated huff before smacking him upside the head. “I told you to stop doing that!” she scolded, her voice a mix of irritation and amusement.

He winced, rubbing his head as he whined, “Ow, that hurt!” He couldn’t help the pout that formed on his lips as he glanced up at her, hoping for a little sympathy. But he knew they’ve had the same argument every time he did that, there was no use.

 “Don’t look at me like it ain’t your fault,” she said, pulling a blanket over them both. “You’re huge and heavy.”

As he tried to protest, she reached up and tugged his ear, scolding him lightly. 

“I told you to stop.” 

“Cherry,” he said, feigning offense, “that’s abuse!”

“You act like you don’t like it, you masochist.”

She smirked, gently playing with his hair again, knowing it would lull him to sleep. 

His eyes fluttered slightly, a contented sigh escaping him as he relaxed under her touch.

“Sleep, Satoru, you’ve had a long day,” she murmured softly.

Before she knew it, he was lightly snoring, his arms holding her body tight, afraid she would disappear.

The steady rhythm of his heart against her was calming, and she couldn’t help but smile, feeling the his warm body against hers as he drifted off to sleep.

Kissing his head she also closed her eyes.

Main Taglist: @bubybubsters @lilah-asteria

[theyareweird]

The Sakamaki Brothers' Bedrooms

Six vampire demon brothers live in the Sakamaki Household. Unfortunately, the Diabolik Lovers anime didn't showcase their individual bedrooms. However, the visual novel games featured each of the minimalistic rooms for fans to see.

1. Shu

Shu's room features a subtle yellow theme with touches of lime green. It makes sense he has a sofa in his room as the vampire loves to sleep on anything he can stretch out on. There's a sweater draped over Shu's desk chair and a cardigan laid out on the bed, showing his laziness toward putting his clothes away. He's the only one to seemingly have a desk as he was often forced to study as a child. Beyond the desk, Shu is the only brother to have a ceiling fan as he would require the room to be comfortably cool if he were to remain asleep.

2. Reiji

Having a formal and sophisticated style, Reiji's bedroom is the most extravagant. He has the most furniture with victorian dark blue décor in his room. It's the only bedroom that seamlessly flows along with the rest of the manor. The demon also makes the most use of his room by having large bookcases built into the walls with a curio cabinet containing delicate china in between. All the books are the result of attempting to gain his mother's attention as a child. Now, Reiji maintains his intellectual studies to assist in his role as the acting head of his siblings and the Sakamaki Household.

3. Ayato

Ayato has a simple red theme with the curtains and couches. He appears to have the most windows in his room with the addition of a large balcony. Ayato also seems to have the largest balcony attached to his room out of his brothers. However, he's the only vampire to use a real iron maiden as a bed. Of course, all the original spikes have been removed to avoid killing himself while he sleeps.

4. Kanato

Based on the dark circles under his eyes, Kanato appears to dislike sunlight the most. This is further proven by the balcony being shrouded with the thin interior curtain. Kanato's large, traditional four-pillar canopy bed purposely faces away from any direct source of light. The fireplace and the two candelabras on the mantle aren't lit. Finally, the one source of light in the room is a small chandelier with candlelight. Kanato has the most unique bedroom with a purple color scheme in addition to the nursery theme. Beyond his bed, he's the only demon to have a decorative ceiling and a portrait of his mother in his room.

5. Laito

Laito has an obvious and heavy green theme to the velvet furniture in his room. He's the only one to have a fully carpeted room rather than a wooden or marble floor with a rug of some kind. The demon is also the only person to have an entire wall decorated in draping velvety curtains. With the addition to the pot of flowers atop his fireplace mantle, it's clear Laito intended for his bedroom to feature his romantic side.

6. Subaru

Out of all the siblings, Subaru has the planest bedroom. What little furniture and décor he possesses is white. However, there are subtle touches of gold and silver. The only window Subaru has is to his little balcony. Beyond this, he's the only vampire to sleep in a sturdy coffin. This is likely due to the fact that the vampire has a violent temper. As such, he has a tendency to take his anger out on his environment and destroy his bedroom. Due to this, Subaru has little, simple furnishings to toss or flip over as a means to avoid smashing them. Instead, he mostly smashes the walls.

What do you think? Do you like the Sakamaki brothers' bedrooms and what they reveal about the characters? If not, why? Please share with me!

Requested: @nunezs-stuff

[goodomensafterdark]

Writers Guild Cock Fight

Art by woaini_ogelskerdig

Summary:

Crowley wants Aziraphale, but does Aziraphale want Crowley?

Moreover, Crowley has the hots for Aziraphale, hasn't ever had the hots before, and isn't even sure what "hots" are supposed to feel like. He can't even cuss properly because every sex-related cuss word just reminds him how fucking (see?) confused he is.

But there's help on the horizon -- in the form of one Greek demigod they just happened to rescue off the side of a mountain. Not that our ineffable idiots have the sense to ask for help. But they're getting it anyway.

Written by startledplatypus, find them on Reddit and AO3!

Word count: 16,049 words

Trigger/Content Warnings: Explicit; dubcon; sex pollen; anal sex; oral sex; masturbation; mild exhibitionism; naga sex; snake sex: Ancient Greece religion and lore

Excerpt:

Crawly woke up on a low couch covered in deep navy velvet studded with tiny gold stars. A matching neckroll pillow nuzzled his head. The air was warm but pleasant, scented with cinnamon and cassia and… myrrh.

F---

“OH, my God,” he heard from across the… room? Well, it was more cylindrical than that, with fluted columns around its circumference and a ceiling lurking somewhere above. Night-dark curtains of tassel-edged heavy damask hung between each pair of columns, masking whatever lay beyond. Tiny lanterns floated here and there, strobing saturated, shifting colors across what little he could see of the lush, carpeted floor.

The Greeks did not have carpet any more than they had soap.

“OH, my GOD,” he heard again. This time it sounded less surprised and more mortified. And more familiar.

It sounded like Aziraphale when he’d realized one of his “rare statuettes” was a dildo.

Crawly groaned. Quietly. This was not going well. He thought about calling out to the angel, but changed his mind when he looked down.

He was starkers. Even his sunglasses were gone. And he was very… male.

Something made a muffled sound from not nearly far enough away. Then there was a thump, a quavery curse which might have been that awful “f” word, and a rather desperate groan. And a cream-colored neckroll pillow with pale blue stitchwork came sailing toward the demon’s head.

Crawly, too busy considering the ramifications of this situation, failed to duck. The pillow flumphed into his face and fell onto the couch-bed. It was, of course, tartan.

Shit.

A feminine alto laugh echoed around the chamber. And something ssssed.

“What the FUCK,” a very Aziraphale voice shrilled… and all the lanterns flared, revealing a too-tall woman standing on a low, round, central marble platform with a long, sinuous snake coiling up her linen-draped legs, over her cloth-covered shoulders, and down her bare arms. Its great head lifted, amber eyes lazily opening.

“Ohhhh,” it said. “Guessssts.”

Read more on AO3!

Special thanks to!!!

For beta-reading: DoonaRose, harlotupdog, ckocek, Paperclip_Ninja, and blackjeans93

For snek-jucation: blackjeans93

For ao3 formatting help: cheeseplants, GaiasEyes, mrscakeishere, and polychrome

For ART!: woaini_ogelskerdig

[impala-dreamer]

Wonderstruck

A Magical Short Story

~ Attending a wedding alone is rarely fun. Add to it a bunch of people you don't know all hidden behind masks, things can get a little shaky. But sometimes, if you're lucky, magic can happen...~

Henry Cavill x F!Reader

3,160 Words

Warnings: Nothing but romance and magic and fluff and mystery!

A/N: Yes, it's me. No, I have not been kidnapped. This was written in part for my personal goal of branching out a bit, but moreover as a Valentine's gift for @mariekoukie6661 and @kittenofdoomage <3

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Her dress was sleek and as dark as midnight; her heels were high and deadly. Her lips dripped with crimson; a silver mask hid beautifully sad and strikingly painted eyes.

She kept to the edges of the ballroom, ducking behind round tables clad in expensive linens and gold inlaid china, skirting billowing gowns as they spun on the dancefloor. She slipped in and out of the shadows with a slowly emptying champagne glass pinched delicately between two fingers.

Despite her annoyance in being there, she could not deny the beauty of the night. The massive room was decorated in glamorous gold and pearl accents. Heavy velvet curtains hung over the windows on each wall, letting in a glimpse of the moonlit garden outside. The floors were marble that had been polished to perfection, and a warm candlelight glow illuminated the room.

It felt as if she’d stepped into a fairy tale.

A fairy tale about a sad girl watching the party from afar, alone but for the bubbles in her glass.

Which, sadly, were now gone.

Y/N sighed heavily and looked across the dancefloor at the long bar that stretched across the back wall of the ballroom. A hundred guests in suits and gowns, feathers and masks, twirled in front of her, blocking the path. Silently, she weighed the pain of entering the waltzing throng over going another moment without a healthy buzz in her head. She took a breath. She took a step.

Her heels clicked rhythmically as she laid her course for the bar. She kept her eyes on the goal, carefully maneuvering through the dancing couples, wondering if they’d all been to some class she hadn’t been invited to. All their steps seemed identical; all the women spun with the same flourish. She shook her head. Life should never be so choreographed.

After nearly tripping over a dragging tail of taffeta, Y/N finally made it to the bar and braced herself on the top. As she caught her breath, a deep but soft laugh hit her ear.

She turned toward the sound and spied a large man leaning on the bar a few feet away. He turned as she did, leaning one elbow on the bartop and kicking a long leg over the other. His tuxedo was immaculate and perfectly tailored; his shoes shined like the stones below. He wore a mask of black with silver adornment, and two crisp blue eyes scanned her form from beneath. She could feel them sneak down her body, lingering a bit in the deep curve of her waist and at the globe of her ass.

She cleared her throat, drawing his eyes up to hers.

“Something funny, Slick?” she asked, lips pursed in clear annoyance.

The man grinned. His lips were full and pink beneath a thin scruff of a beard.

“I liked your dance,” he said in reply.

She was startled by his accent - elegant and somehow too perfectly English, as if he were pretending to be from across the Atlantic. She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure him out.

It was nearly impossible. The masks were a problem.

Y/N rolled her eyes. She didn’t know why, but she felt that he needed to work a little harder to get her attention. Maybe she was bored, maybe the shock of his voice had her aflutter. Whatever it was, she turned up the sass.

“Yeah, well, I was a ballerina in a past life.”

Again, he laughed. A little louder, a little more enticing.

“I can see that. Prima ballerinas often trip over themselves and end up slamming into tables.”

She bit back a laugh and turned back to meet his gaze. “We take a special class for that.”

The man cocked his head towards her champagne flute. “And with an empty glass, no less.”

“What can I say, I’m very good at my job.”

Slowly, he pushed himself up from the bar and took a step closer. “May I buy you another?”

Her eyes slid up from his shoes to the loose, curly mop of black hair atop his head. He was tall and broad, and looked as solid as a statue. Her pulse quickened.

“I’m pretty sure it’s free,” she teased.

He stopped a foot from her side. “Still…” With a quick snap of his fingers, he called for the bartender and ordered them both another round.

“A dirty martini, Mr. Bond?” She smiled at his order.

“Shaken, not stirred,” he replied, lifting his glass.

His smile was as intoxicating as the golden liquid in her glass and butterflies swirled in her stomach.

Each took a sip, swallowing slowly with their eyes locked. The blue crashed over her and Y/N lost herself in the sparkle of his smiling gaze.

Worried that she was staring too hard, she tore herself away and let out a hard breath.

“So… how do you know the bride?” she asked, trying to pry his identity free.

He licked a drop of vodka from his lip. “I don’t.”

She laughed gently. “Wedding crasher, huh?” She leaned closer, dropped her voice to a whisper. “Don’t worry, I won’t turn you in.”

He moved in even closer. A warm scent pulsed off of him, flooding her senses with leather and vanilla and something she couldn’t place. Something spicy that made her mouth water so much she forgot that she was supposed to be playing hard to get.

“That’s kind of you,” he whispered. “I don’t think Charlie will press charges though.”

She smiled. “Ah, you’re on the groom’s side.”

“And you?”

His eyes fell to her lips and Y/N’s cheeks burned.

“I, uh… I work with Chloe, the- the bride.”

He nodded and took a sip of his drink. “Charlie and Chloe,” he said with a light laugh. “So many Cs.”

He was too cool, too confident yet sweet. She almost hated him.

“Who are you?” she asked, confused and irked. She had not come to the wedding to meet anyone, let alone a gorgeous, blue-eyed Brit, who may or may not actually be British.

Another slow sip guided her eyes back to his lips and she wondered if he tasted as good as he smelled.

“Henry,” he said softly.

She laughed. “Of course you are.”

“Why’s that funny?”

“Because of course your name is Henry. With your perfect accent and your sexy tuxedo…”

He stood up, suddenly towering over her, and tipped his head, eyes swiping over her again.

“And what about you? You’ve got to be called Celeste or Audrey or something classic and elegant.”

Y/N drained the rest of the champagne at the bottom of her glass and stood to face him properly. “Well, Prince Charming, why don’t you just call me Cinderella.”

Henry reached for her hand and she gave it jokingly.

His kiss was no joke, landing softly on her skin and making the rest of her shiver. She held her breath and nearly fainted when he looked up.

“Pleased to meet you, Cinderella.”

Her head swam a bit and she wondered if that was what swooning was.

“Charmed,” she said with a dreamy smile.

He held her gaze, swept a warm thumb over her knuckles. His touch was like fire and she wanted to run. Away from him or into his arms - she couldn’t decide. All she knew was that there was magic in the air and she could not seem to tear herself away from the mystery of his face. His eyes were tragically beautiful, as if she was lost at sea on a broken raft, thirsting and alone, but she had the comfort of the blue waves to keep her safe. She thought herself insane. He was just a man in a mask at a fancy wedding. Just a tall, impossibly fit, perfectly dressed man at a masquerade ball. A deliciously gorgeous man who smelled like drinking in front of a roaring fire in a cozy library filled with old books in some ancient castle in Scotland. A man who was still holding her hand and her gaze, stealing too many moments and breaths from her day.

Y/N shook herself and pulled her hand from his.

“I should… go…” She turned toward the room. She had to get away, had to free herself from the captivating stranger and return to ignoring her coworkers and the bride’s overly friendly family. “It was nice to meet you, Henry.”

His frown nearly cracked the earth beneath her feet.

“Don’t leave just yet,” he pleaded. “I… Well, I don’t really know anyone here and you’re…”

She looked back over her shoulder as he hesitated. “Yes?”

He blushed and sought comfort in his shoes. Such a beautiful sight: a strong, confident man instantly melting into shyness.

Blue eyes looked up. “Beautiful and enchanting and… I was hoping that we could dance.”

She nearly fell over, knocked out by his voice and charm. A quick breath steeled her nerves. “Sadly, I cannot.”

He stood up fully but somehow still seemed small. “Dance with me?”

“Dance at all,” she corrected.

He laughed. “Well, how about another drink and some conversation?”

With a sigh, Y/N looked back at the crowd, into the sea of indistinguishable masks and unfamiliar forms. Giving in, she nodded politely and spun around to the bar.

They ordered another round and took up residence at the end of the counter, half hidden in shadow, invisible to the other party-goers. Music soared above their heads but they could barely hear it, so engrossed in each other’s stories.

They spoke of simple things- movies they’d loved as children and that well-worn paperbacks were still tucked into their bookcases. She asked him about home and he talked about the London traffic and how he preferred to stay around the house on rainy days playing games on his PC. He poked her about work and she glossed over her job, insisting that they keep the conversation light and free from day-to-day struggles. They drank and laughed and fell even deeper into each other’s gaze.

It was strange to have a conversation with a stranger in a mask. She knew that he was handsome- his eyes were brilliant, his lips perfectly plump. His jaw was tight and his neck was thick. He was big and sturdy, yet gentle and bashful. Though most of his face was hidden, she knew he was perfect.

Perhaps a little too perfect.

But as the alcohol flowed and the night wore on, Y/N couldn’t find a reason anymore to run. The night had cast a spell around them and there was no escape. There was magic in the gilded accents around the room, in the symphony of violins that danced above their heads, in their true smiles and tentative touches.

Even if he wasn’t perfect, she thought, the moment was.

And the moment was suddenly broken.

A firm hand on her wrist dragged Y/N from her place at the bar and onto the dancefloor. The bride would not be ignored and refused to take no for an answer. Pained by the intrusion and the demand, Y/N reluctantly took Chloe’s hands and twirled her around. The skirt of the massive wedding dress billowed like a cloud around Chloe’s small frame and Y/N laughed as she was nearly caught up in the fabric.

Heart racing and smile wide, she turned back to Henry but was shocked to find his place empty. Their glasses sat abandoned on the bar and Prince Charming was nowhere to be found. She felt a tug in her chest and a dampness behind her eyes.

Before she could shrug it off as just a random encounter and push his blue eyes from her mind, a tap on the shoulder made her gasp.

She spun on the spot and found him there with a sweet smile and open arms.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, dipping into half a bow.

Excitement rushed through her and Y/N bit her lip. “I told you, I’m not a good dancer.”

Unwilling to let her back away, Henry scooped her up and held her close, one hand capturing hers and the other pressing gently into the small of her back. He leaned in and teased his lips at her ear.

“Then let me lead…”

His fingers pulsed against her back, guiding her to move against him. They turned a few times until she was dizzy in his arms, laughing as he whispered into her ear:

“Left… right… back… you’ve got it…”

His breath on her skin was like a gust of summer air, warm and delicious, flooding her body with calm.

“See? You’re not too bad at this.”

Y/N looked up into his eyes and felt the world fade away. They rose up together off of the dancefloor, floating gently above the other guests, impossibly alone in the crowd. She knew she was drunk, knew she’d pay for it in the morning, but she didn’t really care. She didn’t care that her friends were watching, probably whispering about the mysterious man she was dancing with. She didn’t care that she’d twice stepped on his toes or that there was no way she could hide the fact that being so close to him wasn’t turning her into a melted, lustful shell of what she usually was.

The music crescendoed and Y/N held her breath. Henry dipped his chin, blue eyes locked on her hers. The world slowed down, the seconds stretched on forever. She closed her eyes, savored his exhale against her lips. His hand slid gently up her back, fingers wove through her hair. She felt her legs grow weak, her stomach tensed, her heart skipped. He took a breath.

The band stopped short and Y/N startled as the crowd shited. The moment was gone, ripped away once more by the party swelling around them.

A rush of silk; the click of hundreds of heels. Cheers rose throughout the room as a giant cake was rolled out onto the dancefloor. It towered up to the ceiling with beautiful rows of white creme roses and pearls strategically placed to make the fondant glow in the warm light trickling down from the chandelier above.

As the guests closed in, Y/N was pulled out of Henry’s arms and her heart ached as he once again was out of her sight.

Black suits swarmed around her, heavy gowns brushed against her legs. Voices rang loud. Bodies closed in on all sides.

Breathless, she spun, searching for an exit, for a way to push through the throng.

A hand appeared and reached for her. She clasped his fingers and Henry raced toward the big doors to their left, pulling her free of the mob.

They tumbled out into the cool air and found relief as the doors closed behind them, blocking the music and the excitement, leaving them alone in the night.

The garden was dark but magically aglow with warm, golden light. Fairy lights twinkled around them, strung from bushes and topiaries, highlighting a stone path. Beyond, a labyrinth of tall evergreen waited for curious souls to venture inside, daring the branches to keep them from reaching the end.

Wonderstruck by the evening- the dramatic escape, the music, the champagne and Henry’s crystalline eyes- she stumbled. One single step turned her ankle and the deadly heels she never wore took her down.

Her gasp tore through the garden, but Henry was there to catch her fall. She swung in his strong arms and her fear turned to laughter.

“This is just absurd!” she said, steadying herself with a palm over his chest.

Henry was calm and stable, easily holding her upright. “What’s that?”

“I mean… You literally just swept me off of my feet.” She shook her head and with a blushing smile, pushed away. “This is getting silly.”

Away from his grasp, she teetered again and Henry took her hand before disaster could strike.

“Why don’t you sit down for a moment,” he suggested, nodding towards a stone bench not far away. “Those shoes are dangerous.”

“You have no idea.”

She let him help her to the bench and watched in awe as he fell to one knee. Like an actual Prince Charming, he took Cinderella’s ankle in his hands and gently ran his fingers over the thin strap holding the shoe in place.

“You’re not swollen,” he reported. “That’s good.”

When he looked up, concern fading from his eyes, she gave up trying to suppress the enchantment of the night and took a deep breath.

Hands cupped around his face, she leaned in and finally met his lips.

Startled but delighted, Henry pushed up to meet her, taking her once more in his strong arms and kissing her properly.

Tiny lights flickered in the breeze, soft music seeped out into the garden, and Prince Charming and Cinderella found each other in the dark. Lips hungry and hands wild; heat mixing between them like a budding fire.

When the clock struck twelve, it chimed loudly and they broke apart, laughing.

“Seems about right,” she joked, looking towards the wedding. “Party ends at midnight.”

Henry dragged a thick finger over her collarbone. “Does that mean you’ll turn into a pumpkin and disappear?”

She laughed softly. “I don’t know when the last time you read Cinderella was, but… no.”

He licked her taste from his lip. “So you don’t need to go then?”

Her smile fell. “I do…”

“You could stay…” He dipped his chin and looked up through the mask, blue eyes dark in the light. “We could… find a spot-”

Y/N shook her head and reached for his hand. “I can’t, I’m sorry. I have to be back in the city tomorrow for work.” She lifted his fingers to her lips and left him with a final kiss.

Henry sighed. “Pity.”

She nodded and gathered her strength to stand and do what she should have done hours ago- run. Except this time, she was certain she meant it to be into his arms. Only this time, she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry…”

Quickly, she turned, carefully stepping back onto the stone path and away from the mystery man with his intoxicating voice and perfectly engrossing kiss.

He stood and called to her, desperate for one more look at his Cinderella.

“Wait-”

She paused, hand on the big glass door, heart in her throat. “Yes?”

“Don’t I even get to know your real name?”

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “It’s Y/N.”

Henry bowed his head in thanks and when he came up, the mask came off, slowly revealing a face she’d only imagined in her dreams.

He blushed at her shocked stare and laughed gently.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

She sighed, blissful and lost in a dream that she prayed would last the rest of her life.

“You too…”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

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[themotherofblood]

Let’s Play Dress Up

Vampire!Rhaenyra x Reader x Vampire!Daemon

masterlist | Bloody Baby AU | Vampire AU

synopsis: Ms Blood Bag breaks a rule to play her little game, stumbles onto Rhaenyra’s midnight snack. Rhaenyra punishes Baby to prove to Daemon she isn’t soft with Baby

warnings: DARK! DUBCON (I think) NONCON (to be safe) blood, blood drinking, infantilism, mdlg vibes? mommy mink, sub space? pet play, spanking (paddle), clamps (nipples and clit), vibrators, exhibitionism? butt plugs and bondage. overstimulation!! degradation!! pussy spanks. heel worship. WlW,

A/N: what have I done 😨

Another day of digging through your closet, gowns of pinks, baby blues, sweetheart neck lines, halter tops, sparkly, tulle, high slits—high slit. You happily shuffled out of your sundress for the day, your getting ready playlist blaring through the ceiling speakers. The red dress hugged your body perfectly, the silk so cold it made your nipples perk up and rub against the fabric. You excitedly twirled, damn— you already imagined your best friend hooting at you once she saw you in this. You clicked a picture and sent it to her, nibbling at your thumb and smiling to yourself.

Makeup, because why not, you still had five hours before Rhaenyra made it home. Daemon had left for Braavos the night before, preparing for the charity gala for a deal well struck. You hummed along, rubbing moisturiser into your skin, you had hoped to put on some mascara, maybe a nice bold lip to match the dress— mostly since it would be easy to scrub off in the shower. It was only then you realised from all the lip glosses, oils and sticks. Not a single red, barely darker than a hot pink. You pouted, you knew this was Daemon’s doing, forever infantilising you to his perfect little girl. The frilly socks and the bowl of candy in your room.

You knew who did have beautiful red shades— Rhaenyra! You knew you weren’t supposed to be in their rooms when they weren’t home. Only having been inside the dark scarlet room twice, the night of the party and the second was when they showed you the cabinet full of dragon eggs. You sauntered over, your Versace pumps clicking against the marble floor as you walked across the corridor to the other end of the grand staircase. You rested your hand upon the gold handle for a moment, looking back to your rooms once more— they wouldn’t know — you pushed the handle open.

The strong scent of mahogany and vanilla filled your nostrils, you once more looked to your rooms and the the floor below through the trim railings to check for Mrs Stone before slowly closing the door behind, wincing at the gentle thud as it latched close. You turned, the thick maroon and sheer white curtains pulled, the only glow in the room came from the heated egg chambers. You happily trotted over, squatting down to admire them once more.

“Hello dragons.” You mused, petting the egg from the outside, finger dragging against the warm glass. “Will you hatch? Maybe one crack…” you spoke to the white egg with gold scales “no? Please?”

What pulled you from your adoration gleam upon the dragons was the quiet but very apparent whines echoing in the room. You looked around the living space, finding nothing as you stood in confusion and stood straight. Walking towards your left to Rhaenyra walk-in-closet. The moment you stepped in, the soft vanilla smell of her perfume became more apparent. Her closet far bigger than yours, shelves covered with glass doors and quaint vanity at the end of the room. The centre island filled with jewels, rubies, gold, a very distinct dark metal necklace with rubies laid on a plush velvet holder. Valyrian steel, just like Daemon and Rhaenyra’s signet rings.

You looked at the vanity, eyeing the perfect scarlet to match your skin tone and the dress. You pout your lips to swipe the colour across your lips before looking side to side, a little messy without lip liner but just to mess around? This would have to do, you wiped around the corners of your mouth before making sure everything was placed right back where the belong before leaving.

Again, you were graced with whimpers, you were sure they were there. You should have left, you knew you should have. However your curiosity are at your as you ventured further to their bedroom, and then it was. The source of the whimpers, a tied redheaded woman, heaving with the gag shoved in her mouth. Her hands chained to the brass ringlet mounted to the wall, the second she say you her shoulders slumped as she blinked her tears away. Then she gestured her head to the chains, you gulped - fuck, what the hell had you stumbled into - you walked forward bending to her eyes, worried for the poor thing.

You pulled the tape from her mouth, cries pouring through in relief. She had dried blood running down her neck, chipping against her skin. She sniffled her cries to try and halt them.

“Ho- how long have you been here.” She hiccuped, seeing a glimmer of hope for survival in you

“Two months…” you looked to her chapped lips “do you need water?”

She furiously nodded as you stood up, tiptoeing across to your room to not alert Mrs Stone as your grabbed your pink cup and sprinted back with your skirt hiked up.

You bent by her head again, holding the straw to her lips and letting her drink, her hair was in a messy braid, the stray hairs clinging to her skin and her skin ghostly pale. You pulled two tissues from the tissue box on the side table and wet it with the water from your cup. Gently rubbing away the dried blood.

“We have to leave!” She croaked “why haven’t you run?”

“Run? I live here now, with Daemon and Rhaenyra. This is my home.” You monotonically replied, still wiping away at the blood, your heart mildly thudding. Not for her, she shouldn’t be here.

She was in their room, chained by their bed. You weren’t even allowed in here. Your heart thud louder as you rubbed away “we can never leave.”

“No! You don’t understand, we can run…” she huffs “I counted steps and you— you know this place. Please! Untie me, we can go.” More tears fell from her eyes as she pleaded with you.

You looked back to the door before reaching for her cuffs, that heaviness in your chest returning as you unhooked the bonds for the ringlet and started pulling at the chains.

“What do you think you are doing?” Rhaenyra’s stern voice spoke up from behind you.

Your blood froze as you slowly turned to face, “uh- I— she,” your words began to fail you.

“Get away from her.” Rhaenyra commanded, pointing at the bed for you to go sit on the bed.

A hard glare fixated itself within the purple of her eyes as she swiftly tied up the red haired woman again.

“Was she letting you go, sweetie.” Rhaenyra asked the girl, petting away her hair and you frowned harder. You’re her sweetie. The girl nodded, making Rhaenyra tut before turning to you. Her eyebrows quirk, awaiting an explanation.

You looked at your fiddling finger on your lap, unable to muster up an answer as she came to hold up your jaw. She was disappointed, you could see it in her eyes.

“What was the rule?” Rhaenyra questioned, she should have known your curiosity would kill you soon. Mostly she was worried that you would be terrified of her now.

“Don’t go to your room.” You whispered, still trying to look away.

Hmm

“You just had to play dress up that badly, huh?” she stroked her thumb across your cheek. “Let’s play dress up then.”

You sat on your knees, moving your weight uncomfortably.

“Don’t be scared.” Rhaenyra had whispered, forcing your to look at her, your head went blank for a moment and then your heart wasn’t thudding as hard anymore

All you could here were the placated whimpers from the red-haired girl sitting on Rhaenyra’s lap as she fed on her. Not a drop of blood trickled down as she controlled the flow of the girl’s blood through the carotid. Jealously was burning at your throat as Rhaenyra took her time leisurely feeding on this girl, she only fed like that on you. You were all pouty, however you couldn’t look away if you knew what was best for you.

Rhaenyra had dressed you throughly, after ripping through your red gown, she had pushed a cabinet to open. Pulling out a red collar to wrap around you neck, she had cherry lubed your ass, pushing in a plush red kitten tail butt plug into your hole and then promptly pulling onto it to tease you. Clamps with kitten bells on them had been pinching on your nipples as she sucked them hard before sliding them on. Your horror was when she flicked her tongue against your clit just the way you liked it to have you squirming and then clamped the little bud over the hood. The kitten bell adding just enough weight for it to remain dangling in between your legs.

You wanted to call out to her, beg her to feed from you instead but you couldn’t. You focused so hard on the way her lips’s suckled around the girl’s skin. There were tears rolling down your red hot cheeks.

Rhaenyra pushed the girl off her, she was still conscious but too weak to break her fall as she laid flat with a thud.

“Come here kitty,” she motioned her fingers towards you. “Come to Mommy baby.”

You moved to stand but she stopped you, “Crawl to me.”

You placed your palms flat against the plush rug, crawling over to the space in between Rhaenyra’s legs without giving the barely moving girl’s body laid on the other side of the floor. The bells clamped to you jingled as you inched forward, longing to bury your head in between her thighs.

You stopped in between her thighs, glancing up at her through your lashes, your glossy red lips just begging to be kissed and bitten. You were about to rest your head on her thigh but she pushed you back with her heeled foot.

“Lick my heels, kitty.” she smiled, tapping her other foot on the ground.

You waited for a moment before bending down, your pink tongue poking out and licking a strip through the pencil-thin heel of her red-bottom shoes. You hummed, kissing the heel. Taking your sweet time to show her how sorry you were. She tapped your cheek with her other foot, letting you switch over and lick up the covered foot and then her heel.

Rhaenyra pulled you up by the hair, admiring the lengths you had gone to play your little dress up game before. The red bows in your hair would have Daemon feral and she knew the perfect way to coax her husband back home early. She reached down to pinch both your nipples as she pulled you up to your feet, you yelped, the sting radiating through your tits as you gave her the pouted lips once more.

She stood to push you down where she sat, taking a moment to admire the mess you were soon to be before flicking her middle onto your pouted lips, they wouldn’t work this time. The connectable cuffs laying idle around your wrists and ankles were just waiting to be used as Rhaenyra pulled you to the edge of the bed. You scent of gleaming cunt making her impatient as she hooked each of your ankles to your wrists, forcing you to keep your legs spread open.

“Now— you’ve been bad.” She began, shuffling down to pick up the forgotten flogger in her hands.

“I’m sorry Mommy.” You whimpered the second you saw her stroking through the ropes of the flogger.

“Ah- ah kitties don’t talk baby,” she tutted, reminding you of the plug situated in your asshole as she gently pulled on the plug to stroke the tail. “Use that dumb baby brain of yours and tell me, what do kitties do?”

The humiliations burned through your chest, more tears welling in your eyes but what other alternative did you have?

“Meow?” you asked, hoping to appease her enough to weasel your way out of this predicament.

“Good girl!” She praised before swatting the flogger sharp against your ass. Your help bringing her much joy.

“Let’s see—“ she rubbed the sore skin of your ass “Mommy will strike you ten times, and you will count? You can count kitty? Can’t you?”

You nodded your head, sniffling.

“Good, let’s begin then.”

The first hit landed against your ass, your body stiffened as you whimpered. “O-one.” You stammered.

Another immediate strike radiated through your rear, much harder—a penalty. You made mistake. “Kitties do not talk.” She reiterated.

“Meow.” You sobbed.

The lashes came one after the other, Rhaenyra had enough sympathy in her heart to soothe the sore flesh with her palm as she waited for you to mewl out your kitten count before striking harder than the one before. The last one, you screamed. Legs shuddering from the pain as your cried out the last count. Face covered in mascara tears and snot as you lamented the ache on your ass, the tips of the flogger curling bitterly around you curves to cover the expanse of your skin. Some cruelly being landed right onto your cunt, the fourth one making your squirt from the pain.

Rhaenyra sighed, dropping the flogger and reaching for her phone in her trouser pocket. The sight of your reddened, blue ass was sure to be a ticket home for Daemon.

“Look here baby, pose for mommy.” she cooed, the frame perfectly capturing your tear-soaked face, your sopping cunt and your bruised ass. Even the little red ribbons in your hair leaking from behind made it in, along with the tail hanging over the edge of your bed. Your swollen little clamped nub also waiting to say hello to Daddy. She smiled to herself as she sent the live picture to Daemon before tossing her phone to the armchair.

She was nowhere near done with breaking you apart just yet.

She pulled out a vibrator next, hoping to reward you for taking your spankings like a good little girl. She reached up to the bed to place a pillow under your back to angle you to her liking before shuffling behind you, pulling you snugly between her legs. She unhooked the cuffs, holding onto your ankles as she freed them. You whimpered feeling the cramps in your hips.

“Shhh—you are fine kitten, no more pain for you.” She cooed, letting your legs fall before hooking her calves around them to keep them spread open.

She reached for the oh so yearning bud next, the worst of it all. Toying with the little bell as you yipped and flinched, she gently pulled it off. Letting the bundle of nerves fill but blood again, the filling pain had you crying out. Trying to bury yourself in Rhaenyra hold as she consoled you.

“Oh baby, so swollen look.” She curred, letting the pads of her fingers gently graze over the peaking flesh before pushing the hood behind.

She turned on the vibrator, the setting low as she pressed against your clit. You squirmed against her hold but to no avail. She tapped the vibrator on your bud. You still mewled, rubbing your hips into the cool object.

Even in the throb of your ass and the one very evident in your clit, your first orgasm tore through you out of nowhere.

“That’s it, good girl!” Rhaenyra praised as she pressed down the vibrator hard, switching the setting up higher.

Just as the waves of the first one washed over, dread-filled in your belly as Rhaenyra didn’t pull away. You cried harder, the oversensitive tingle in your bud began to knock the air out of your lungs. Clawing at your insides as you cleaned harder around nothing, wanting to beg her to stop, please mommy, you tapped at her thigh but she wouldn’t budge.

Rhaenyra knew you would break, you would speak. She didn’t want to hurt you more for violating another rule, finding the only solution for this and sticking two fingers into your mouth. Using it to gag you as she stroked your slimy tongue, your soft lips curled around her fingers as your muffled wails indicated your next peak.

This time you gushed around the vibrator, screaming from the back of your mouth as Rhaenyra pulled out her fingers to push open your hood further, letting those cruel vibrations focus on your weeping clit. You thrashed, shaking your head as the wave toppled you down, eyes rolling to the back of your head, back arching away from Rhaenyra Your entire body stiffened as the warmth engulfed you once more.

Rhaenyra turned off the toy, dropping it on the bed next to her as she held you through your orgasm. The pads of her fingers rubbing through your folds gently and circling around your throbbing clit. You still sobbed in her arms, unable to speak, you looked up at her. Vision blurred from tears as you cried, Rhaenyra kissed your temple as she pulled off the nipple clamps.

You shrieked as she rubbed them, soothing the pebbled flesh with the cool pads of her thumbs. So bitterly pinched and hardened.

You wept, letting Rhaenyra scoop you up into her lap; your head immediately burying itself into her chest as you wailed, she was rocking you, like a child grazing their knee upon she was soothing you with the rubs on your back.

You look up at her, still hiccuping through your sobs. She knew what you wanted, tracing the trembling bottom lip as she laid a peck on it.

“You can speak, baby.” She purred, her eyes long softened at the broken figure of yours.

“I- I’m sorry Mommy.” You pule, then again hiding your face in her chest.

Rhaenyra might have sat there for hours, rocking your shaking frame in her hands, humming a Valyrian lullaby to soothe your aching.

“Do I not make Daddy and you happy anymore?” You weakly mused, your fingers toying with the gold chain on Rhaenyra’s neck.

She frowned looking down at you before nudging her nose against your forehead to make you look up at her.

“What makes you say that?”

“She gets to stay with you at night,” you referred to the red-haired girl “You like feeding on her.”

“Oh, baby.” she cooed in a sing-song voice “She is just a midnight snack,” Rhaenyra explained. “Just like the candy bags in your room.”

You were still pouting, satiated with the answer but unhappy. You could still see her wrist laying on the floor, you looked away.

There was a longing, you needed to be sure. You lifted your wrist to her lips, looking at her pleadingly.

“You want me to feed on you?” Rhaenyra tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, a burst of triumph flared in her chest. The reasons to compel you into feeding seemed to have been fading.

“Please, Mommy.” You mumbled, shuffling further into her hold.

Rhaenyra took hold of your wrist, just grazing the poking nerve with her fangs as her eyes darkened, the nerves yet again pooling around her eyes, a terrifying sight to most but not to you. She hummed before sinking her fangs into the flesh. Fine caviar amongst the pretenders, she groaned at the sweet coppery taste of your blood. Watching over you as you closed your eyes, dozing in a soft slumber dancing across your eyes.

Phew… here’s another Rhaenyra focused chapter. I’m sorry if this is a bit much compared to my usually vanilla smut (minus the incest)

I’m giggling thinking of Daemon loosing his find over the picture of tied up and weeping Ms Blood Bag

comments and reblogs are appreciated.

Let me know in the comment if you would like to be on the Taglist :)

Taglist (thank you omg 😭)

@fav-goddess @you-youuuu @funnybunnyxxx @evattude @avalyaaa @apollonshootafar

[raccoonfallsharder]

sunshine ☀︎ ⋆⁺☁︎⋆₊⊹ book one of kinktober 2024

kinktober 2024 | navigation | fanfiction 18+ only | no use of y/n | f!reader | 4 parts | word count: 37,320. read book one now ☀︎ ⋆⁺☁︎⋆₊⊹ [COMPLETE]

you take a stranger home for a night of celebration. why not? after all, it’s not like there will be any longterm ramifications. an expansion on day 15 of kinktober 2023.

CONTEXT: mcu-based, post-endgame, grumpy/sunshine vibes (obviously), “secret affair” (no cheating), workplace romance??, angst, comfort, relationship anxiety. sub reader/dom rocket. HEA of course.

☁︎⋆⁺☀︎ part one | dawn | wednesday, october 8.  a raccoon walks into a bar. KINKS/WARNINGS: public sex, spanking, pussy slapping, light praise/degradation, brief titplay/cunnilingus. use of "slut"/"fuckdoll" (affectionate).

☁︎⋆⁺☀︎ part two | merediem | thursday, october 10. after what was intended to be a one night stand, rocket & sunshine reader navigate the awkward aftermath of being new crewmates. oops. KINKS/WARNINGS: free-use negotiation, light dom/sub vibes, public sex, temperature play, light praise/degradation, inappropriate use of a coffee mug.

☁︎⋆⁺☀︎ part three | golden hour | wednesday, october 16. rocket steals all the warmth he can get before the sun inevitably sets. aka, last call. KINKS/WARNINGS: free-use, sex toys, edging, brief somnophilia, nipple-play, dom/sub vibes, pussy-claiming, sensation play, light dom/sub vibes, light praise/degradation, shower sex. 

☁︎⋆⁺☀︎ part four | vespers | saturday, october 19. a little hair of the raccoon who bit you (and other remedies for heartbreak). KINKS/WARNINGS: free-use, soft/pleasure dom vibes, somnophilia, praise kink, body worship, edging??, biting/marking.

excerpt below. also, for the record, i do realize the ship in the moodboard is the milano and not the benatar, but the benetar is apparently a fucken cryptid that i can't get a good shot of.

The sound system you slip between is cacophonous, but the space behind it seems muted. For a half-second you consider the mechanics of sound and how all of it seems to be pumping away from you, but then the stranger uses your body’s momentum to sling you around by your wrist. You stumble into the little alcove, tumbling against the gold-velvet curtain and the exposed brick behind you — steadied only when the stranger catches you firmly by the hips, claws pricking you right through the satin in a way that makes your thighs clench unexpectedly. Your breath catches at the strength of his palms. You hadn’t realized how strong he was when he’d been guiding you through the dancers and drunks — probably because you’d been so eager to follow — but the way he manages the imbalance of your body despite his low vantage point has your eyes widening as he crowds you back against the brick. Your shoulderblades and spine hit the rough surface bruisingly, and the wall scrapes against your skin, stinging. The stairs and the wall and the curtain — the back of the speakers — all muffle the noise of the club, but you’re still close enough to the stage that you can feel the music: thudding, thunderous — vibrating your collarbone and lungs. Elsewhere, too. The stranger stares up at you, eyes still flashing like dark grenadine and stoplights in the flakes of spinning light. He stands in the opening of the curtain and the staircase, and you can see the haze of people and glitter and sound behind him, spangled with the reflections off of cocktail glasses, and prisms of iolite and topaz and opal. You lift your right hand to press against the underside of the steps, and your left to brace against one of the load-bearing columns that hold up the loft. The brick must be gray, but it looks blue in this light, rough and scraping against your back. “You sure, doll?” He’s not yelling, but you can tell he has to raise his voice so you can hear him. You reply only by licking your lips and taking a breath to steady yourself, then dropping your hands to your sides. You curl your fingers into the tight, gleaming black satin of your dress, and inch it slowly up your thighs. You don’t take your eyes off his. He doesn’t look away either — not even as his hand reaches out, slow and tense. He pauses, and then taps his fingers lightly against your inner thigh. It’s meant to be a question, you think — but you oblige immediately, wiggling the skirt hem higher, widening your legs so he can slip in deeper between them. Closer. You can feel the warm, smooth calluses of his fingers and the prickle of his claws as they slide between your thighs, the side of his palm brushing against the gauzy-thin fabric over your cunt — thumb suddenly offering a single, deft stroke between your folds to nudge against your clothed clit. You jolt, every muscle suddenly locking, core turning absolutely molten — dripping right into the sheer panel of swiss-dot lace between your thighs.

read book one now ☀︎ ⋆⁺☁︎⋆₊⊹ kinktober 2024 | navigation | fanfiction masterlist

orange support/mdni banners and fairylight dividers by @/saradika-graphics | yellow flower dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[justwinginglife]

Destiny Written In The Stars

@imthecosmicbasball, I wrote this today for your birthday, I know that it's not your birthday anymore in your timezone, but IT IS STILL YOUR BIRTHDAY IN MY TIMEZONE SO HERE- HAPPY BIRTHDAY, THIS IS MY GIFT TO YOU.

Shooting stars streaked across the night sky, trailing shades of gold and white through the long expanse of velvet blue. Spectators gaped as they bore witness to this beauty, mesmerized by the marvel of the cosmos. The young and old alike bestowed their wishes upon each passing star, melding their hopes and dreams to grains of stardust. 

You weren’t paying attention. You were rewatching Kaiju No. 8- AGAIN. Correction- you were watching Hoshina’s scenes again. 

As your eyes traced his figure, as you murmured his lines back to him (you had them all memorized at this point), you made a silent wish that he could be real, that he could be yours, that he could be here. 

So the stars glimmered bright and Hoshina fell through the screen. 

Landed right in your lap.

For all your boisterous talk to all your friends about what you’d do if he ever came to life, you suddenly found yourself silent, found yourself shocked, found yourself shy. So when he quickly pulled himself off of you, your words of protest died on your lips before ever reaching his ears. 

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He asked earnestly, hands hovering over you with concern. He’d just been ripped from everything he’d ever known and he was asking how you were. God, you loved this man.

“I-I’m f-fine.” You squeaked out. You cleared your throat and tried again. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

He took a moment to survey his surroundings. “I’m… I’m not sure what I am. Or where I am.”

You bit your lip. “Japan. You’re in Japan. Just not… not your Japan.”

His brows furrowed. “Not… my Japan?”

You nodded slowly, uncertain of how to properly explain all of this to him when you had barely grasped the situation yourself. 

He hesitated before finally tugging the curtains open and peering through your bedroom window. He inhaled sharply at the sight before him. The sight that was both familiar and alien, all at once. 

You joined him at the window, eager to provide some sort of support, but while he was taking note of every missing landmark, of every difference between your world and his, you couldn’t help but be entranced by the stars that were still blazing their way across the sky. As you watched each one with awe, the thought occurred that maybe you’d wished him into existence. There was no other explanation. You’d wished and he’d appeared.

“So in your… your Japan. Are there Kaiju? I mean, I don’t see any Defense Force Bases, I don’t see any soldiers patrolling the streets.”

You shook your head and he exhaled. 

“No Kaiju. No Defense Force. Am I… do I even… should I be here?”

You shook your head again, slowly.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Alright. So I don’t exist in this world. Why am I here? How am I here?”

You coughed and raised a hand. “That would be my fault. I’m sorry.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking you up and down. “You don’t really seem like an all-knowing, all-powerful sorcerer who could summon me through time and space.” A smile tugged at the edge of his lips. 

You laughed at that. “I’m not. Just a girl. With a crush.” You suddenly felt the need to avert your gaze and you fidgeted with your fingers as you waited for his response.

He blinked. “I’m sorry, how is that related to this?”

“I may have…” You cleared your throat awkwardly, “Wished you here? Because I’m… in love with you?” Your ears tinged red at the sudden confession. 

You’d always known you loved him but it sounded strange to admit it now. You knew everything about the guy but you barely knew the guy. He must’ve thought it bizarre to be receiving a confession from a girl he’d never met before, who was now claiming to know and love him intimately.

But as shocked as he was, he still listened respectfully as you explained to him the peculiar situation you both found yourselves in, and when you finished, when your hands shook to the point of needing to shove them in your pockets to hide your nerves, he took them in his and held them until the shaking eased. 

“Y-you know, if you keep being sweet to me, I’m never going to stop loving you,” You joked, but you were only half kidding. 

He grinned. “Ahh, a beautiful, all-knowing, all-powerful sorcerer is never going to stop being in love with me? Doesn’t sound too bad.”

You blushed, eager to change the topic. “So what’ll you do? I mean, will you look for a way back?”

He paused to think for a moment before he finally shrugged. “Well, I’ve got no leads for now, so I may as well enjoy my time with my number one admirer.” He winked and your heart almost stopped. 

“Soshiro, you can’t just do things like that, you’ll give me a heart attack,” You whined as the heat buried itself deeper into your cheeks.

His eyes widened. “Did you just… did you just call me Soshiro??”

Your eyes shot to the ground, drilling a mental hole through the carpet as though you were imagining yourself up an escape route. “S-sorry! Sorry. I’m just so used to… I just, that’s just what I call you.” You shrunk as you spoke, wishing your shirt could just swallow you whole.

He laughed awkwardly. “Well I uh… I guess you… I guess you could call me that. If you’re, if you’re already calling me that, I don’t want to impose. And we are… we are kinda roommates now. So I guess you can call me Soshiro.”

You shook your head quickly. “Absolutely not, we barely know each other, it’s not right, I don’t want to disrespect you, I’ll just call you Hoshina.”

He laughed again, this time the sound was soft and reassuring. “Well you seem to know everything about me already, that just means I need to catch up and get to know everything about you. So call me Soshiro and let me earn your name.”

So you laid on the floor together, trading favorite foods and favorite songs, debating favorite books and favorite authors, confessing dreams and confessing fears, all through the night, until your friendship made its way into the daylight, with the sun marking a new day and the start of something special. 

Still abuzz with adrenaline, the two of you dismissed any notions of sleep, and you decided to take a tour of the town together. You indulged his every whim and soon you found yourself ducking in and out of shops you’d never frequented, stuffing yourself full of food you’d never tried, and enjoying every moment of life like you’d never lived before. Somehow, in all the years you’d been in this neighborhood, it’d never felt like home until he was right beside you, until he was racing bikes with you down the street, until he was daring you to chug your fresh coffee, until he was nudging you into a river for a “quick swim,” until he was laughing on the ground at your feet and brightening up your day with his smile. 

You hoped he’d stay. 

And then, after exploring every inch of the town to his satisfaction, when you finally dragged your exhausted selves back to your apartment, when you offered him the bed, planning to sleep on the couch, when he sleepily mumbled something about “a one bed trope” and pulled you into bed with him before passing out, you begged to any god who would listen that you could keep him. Then you fell asleep in his arms. 

When you woke up with his arms still tight around you, like he’d needed you his whole life, like he hadn’t got one proper night of sleep without you by his side, like you were his whole reason for living, you prayed to the gods again. Please let him be mine. Please.

When you spent yet another evening in his arms, yet another morning waking up to his smile, another day by his side, another night wrapped around him, when your every night became his, when your every day became his, when you could memorize the way he flipped eggs to make you breakfast, when you knew his favorite song to sing in the shower, you thanked the gods. 

Some days, you’d test your luck and ask if he was still planning on going back. He’d say “Yeah, yeah, I’m working on it, I’m working on it,” and then he’d grin at you and go back to drawing up your bath, or go back to massaging your shoulders, or go back to looking up rings, to looking up houses, and you’d love him more than you did the day before or the day before that.

And when he murmured his confessions of his love to you over and over again, when he loved you more than he did the day before, or the day before that, you thought to yourself that maybe the stars weren’t shooting aimlessly into the sky that night you’d both met- maybe they were aligning, maybe they were finding each other, maybe they were right where they were supposed to be, maybe you were right where you were supposed to be, maybe this was destiny.

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

***Author's note: YES I know it's OOC for him to stay, in actuality, he probably would've found some way to get back home, I KNOW he got his duty, I know he wouldn't leave Mina high and dry like that when she is depending on him, but I choose to be delulu and I choose to use the excuse that it is someone's birthday and I can write whatever the heck I want for said person's birthday (let's be real, I prob would've written it this way anyway, birthday or no birthday but it's FINE)***

[sunlightmurdock]

Operation Apollo | 2.5 | Jake Seresin x reader

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Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, manipulation, sucky parents

…

Five year olds rarely understand politics. The weaving webs of deceit — all for the greater good — it quite simply doesn’t match up to the daily right from wrong lessons that they’re receiving. It never made sense to you back then. But, five year olds also rarely understand chess, and yet, you did.

Sitting in your father’s study whilst he was still governor of that teeny tiny state, in that small seeming house that you barely remember these days, brows furrowed and lips pursed as he asked you if you understood the move you had just made.

Being quick to adapt was always one of your strong suits. Your daddy hadn’t wanted to play dress up and tea parties like the other girls’. So, you had learned to play chess. In tow, you had learned to understand politics. Each move had a consequence and so, had to be carefully thought out, just like in chess.

You sit now, in a different office, feeling very much just as small, and think of the three moves in which you have ruined Jake’s life. Truthfully, when you had kissed him for that first time on the couch a few months ago, you hadn’t been thinking of where it would land him. You had thought about it before that, toying with the idea of having him do something to get him fired.

But, when it had come down to it, all that you’d really wanted was for him to be around all of the time. He had been so kind to you that night, and you had wanted that feeling to last forever.

That had been the first move, it hadn’t been definite — there was still room for recovery back then. With the other two, it’s more difficult to distinguish. Had the option for redemption disappeared when you had come crawling into his bed that first night in Texas, or had it still been there until you had let him tell you that he loved you?

Either way, it’s long gone now.

Worst of all, the last thing you had told Jake was that you hated him.

He stands six feet to your right now, and there’s not a single thing that you could do or say that could fix the things that you’ve done to each other. Your father, sitting suited and powerful behind that big desk, is going to make sure of that.

Sitting here, yourself and Allen on the couch. Your mother, opposite with the press secretary to her right and your father’s lawyer, Owen, on her left. When he had called this meeting, demanding everyone to be dressed and prepared, you had known that your time with Jake was over.

Now, the second of his careers is in tatters and this time, there’s no coming back from it. There’s no amount of time that can heal the damage that you’ve done to Jake’s life, your father can make sure of that. The leading candidate is a friend of your father’s from law school — his power is going to extend far beyond the expiry date on his title as president.

Brushed velvet, freshly cleaned but not for this occasion, navy blue under your fingertips. Baited breath, shoulders tense, colours faded, you pick at the upholstery to keep from crying.

“You have to think of the family right now, Princess,” He’s still reclined back in that chair, those white walls and heavy gold curtains behind his head. It looks fantastic in pictures, the white, gold and blue of the office, that’s why he had picked it. “This isn’t the kind of publicity we want on our names as we leave office.”

Mid-morning — such a strange time for the end to occur. It doesn’t seem right. You’re far from done fighting.

“The only mark on our name right now is that six people died at an event in your honor less than two weeks ago.” You bite. Standing at the back, his arms folded in front of his waist, a muscle in Jake’s jaw ticks. He wants to butt in and tell you to just stop talking, but he can’t. Speaking is just going to make things worse.

“I know you aren’t stupid, so do us all a favour and stop acting like you are,” Your father’s voice hardens, growing more stern as he leans forwards, hands clasped together. It’s all very formal. The security, the suits, the tone. “You know what a scandal like this can do. You’ll ruin your life before you’ve even had an opportunity to live it.”

Jake’s teeth press into his tongue until his mouth is all copper-tasting and numb. It’s interesting. Maybe if he had gone to college, he’d know the word for it — the talent that your father has for passing on the blame. It’s your life at the risk, it’s your fault. Jake can’t help but wonder what exactly it is that does manage to fall under the scope of your father’s personal responsibility.

More recently, it’s been feeling like that has kind of already happened. The question has always been at the back of your mind. How anyone expects you to move on from this, to live a normal life after everything you’ve been through. Back in highschool, you’d joked about one day sharing your memoirs. How terrifyingly suffocating it had been to grow up in the shadow of the White House.

“I will not let you throw away every opportunity that I’ve given you.” The ‘for him’ isn’t a necessary addition; Jake isn’t good enough, he’s not the right kind and he never would have been. He went to Naval Academy right out of highschool and has only set foot on an Ivy League campus once in his life. Even in the right circumstances, your parents never would have accepted him.

Your mother shakes her head, picking anxiously at her nails from the couch opposite you. Her glare has been searing through you since she had sit down. That jagged, red, puffy scar peeking out from under her sweater. Her crutches at the side of the couch.

“I can’t believe that you could even be this selfish,” She speaks up finally. You know that she has been wanting to for a while. Briefly, you glance to your right and you meet Jake’s gaze. Then, you look back to her. “You’ve completely disregarded everything that this family stands for, you’ve made fools of your father and I — and for what? — Was this to punish us for something? — Have we truly been such awful parents?”

Biting your tongue, you just stare back at her. It’s hard to decide which would be more childish: to fold your arms over your chest and outright refuse to answer, or to finally scream like you’ve been wanting to. Your arms cross calmly, you inhale and keep her gaze.

Jake turns his attention towards the floor. Allen looks across at the younger agent, taking his time to study him. In all of his years with you, he knew that something like this would happen eventually. The way you used to taunt those poor sons of bitches until they broke and quit or got reassigned. Not one of them had ever given into your teasing, but Allen knew that it was going to happen.

He hadn’t, however, ever thought that he would feel bad for the guy who fell for it. In his heart, he feels that Jake isn’t a bad guy. Different time, different circumstances, maybe things could have been different between the two of you. It’s a little late for that kind of wishful thinking now, that decisions already been made. It’s why Allen got called down here at the ass-crack of dawn to sit in on this meeting.

Jake’s out. Everyone in this room knows it already.

“Jake goes back to his home, you go back to yours and start grad school as we had planned,” It’s clearly not a suggestion, and it’s a better offer than Manny had been expecting. Your father’s gaze hardens as he looks towards Jake, “You’ll both sign a non-disclosure agreement, we’ll forget that this little indiscretion ever happened.”

“No.”

Jake swallows, curling his hands into fists and uncurling them again, willing you to just stop talking— just this once. His heart throbs at the sadness in your voice. He’s glad, now, that you let him fall asleep still holding you last night.

“I’m not signing anything, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Your other option is that we pursue criminal charges.” Owen speaks up finally. A weedy little redhead that your father has known for decades. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and straightens out his suit. He looks across at Jake, who doesn’t seem too bothered by that.

Manny slowly inhales, his fingertips brushing the cotton of his pants as he braces himself for what comes next. No one else seems quite as prepared for it as the three men who know you the best.

“Were you dropped on your head as a child or something?” Voice raised, nostrils flared, taking a step forwards like you’re just about ready to vault over that nice little coffee table separating you from the lawyer. “Criminal charges? — For what?”

Allen reaches out and rests his hand against your knee, like it will do something to keep you tethered down to that blue, velvet couch.

Owen’s mouth curls up, an amused snarl as he leans forwards and reaches into his expensive, embossed book bag and pulls a manual from it. It lands unceremoniously on the coffee table before you, spinning so that the words are facing you. Professionalism within the workforce handbook. Homeland Security Fiscal Year 2021 to Congress.

“I think it might be beneficial for you to familiarize yourself with this book, Miss.” He sneers.

Jake has been saying since he arrived that Allen’s too slow to still be in the service. All of his suspicions are confirmed as you lurch forwards, fingers curling around the book before Allen has even clocked the way that your expression has changed. Jake closes his eyes, exhaling slowly as the book sends Owen’s fragile, wire frames clattering to the floor.

“Fuck you.” All of those years of training, all of those expensive schools — everything that your mother has done to turn you into a well-mannered young lady, shattering faster than those cheap lenses in those wire-framed glasses. Jake’s lips quirk at the corners, just slightly, as he looks past you to study your father. There’s a look of almost confusion on his face. He doesn’t recognize you.

Four different people call you by your name at once. Your parents, Allen, and then Jake. An argument could be made that it’s the difference in Jake’s tone that makes you look to him first. Everyone else is shocked, appalled by your behavior. Jake’s uncharacteristically calm in a way that makes your heart throb.

Short hair, clean-shaven, every freckle and frown line painfully familiar. He’s standing close enough that you could reach him in a few small steps. Jake gives you a soft nod, a barely-there ghost of a smile.

“It’s alright.”

“Don’t you dare—“ Your mother’s on her feet in an instant, rounding towards him with her eyes wide.

Jake still hasn’t moved an inch from where he had been told to stand at the beginning of this whole circus. He’s calm as he looks towards your mother. Calmer than he thought he would be in the event of this happening.

“You won’t press charges,” You look towards your father. He quirks a brow at you. “If you want to keep this quiet, you won’t press charges.”

“Either we keep this civil, and you sign the agreement — or you’ll leave me with no other choice.”

There’s a moment’s pause. Briefly, Jake thinks you’re about to find another projectile to launch across the room. Matthew interjects before you get a chance to make this worse.

“We’ll give you two a moment to discuss.” Matthew decides. You don’t dare to look away from him, your glare burning into him as he clears the room for you.

Jake waits until all the doors are shut before he moves, turning you silently to face him and wrapping his arms tightly around your middle.

“I can — I’ll fix this,” You mumble into his shoulder, fingers curling into the jacket of his suit. Jake squeezes you closer to him. “You can’t leave.”

“A few more months and then this is all over,” Jake whispers, breathing in your smell, pressing his lips softly to your neck. “You’re out, I’m out. Just a few months, and we’ll figure something out.”

A quick shake of your head and you tug yourself closer to him. “Please don’t leave me here.”

“Look at me,” His palms hug your cheeks, keeping your attention on him. His eyes look especially green when he wears black. “You’re going to listen to Manny, and you’re going to be good for a couple of months, and then we’ll figure this whole mess out. Alright?”

“No,” You breathe out, voice trembling. “Fuck, this is all your fault.”

“My fault?”

It’s difficult. Knowing that this moment is fleeting, not wanting to spend it arguing, but just reeling with this anger that makes you want to rip down those heavy, gold curtains and set them on fucking fire.

You’re still holding on to Jake, hands curled around his shoulders, vice-like. He presses his lips once, gently, to your temple, then closes his eyes.

“If you hadn’t lied to me, if you hadn’t just listened to that fucking asshole then we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“I know, I know,” Jake whispers, squeezing you tighter against him, resting his chin against the top of your head. His palm smooths along your spine. “We’re going to sign the NDA, you’re going to go back to school. I’ll figure something out — once you’re out of office, I’ll come back.”

“I can’t go back to that house if you’re not there,” You mumble into his shoulder, hot and cold at the same time, on the verge of tearing up or screaming your lungs out at the end of every syllable. “What if something happens again?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Jake doesn’t know that for sure. He doesn’t know how this began, or how it’ll end. He knows that the safest place for you is by his side. He lies to you anyway. “You just listen to everything Manny says and you’ll be fine.”

Swallowing, the only thing that your brain can conjure is his name. Lips trembling, you give a small shake of your head, “Jake…”

“I love you, and I’ll see you in a little bit, alright?” Jake squeezes at your biceps, trying to meet your gaze until finally you give in and look at him. Your throat squeezes in protest, trying to bring forth another sob. You can’t keep crying. It’s all you’ve done for days. “Just promise me that you aren’t going to do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

The silence that follows makes Jake sigh. He knots his brows together sternly. “Promise me.”

“I don’t want you to go.” You say quietly.

“I don’t want to either, but it’s going to take the heat off of both of us — I’m not leaving here if you’re going to put yourself in danger to get back at your father.” Jake frowns at you.

“I promise.” You mutter finally.

“Alright,” Jake nods slowly, smoothing his hands along your arms. He takes his time in looking you over before he finally cups your jaw and tilts your head back. “I love you.”

You’re still furious. With him, with them, with this whole fucking situation. Most of all, with your powerlessness to it. But, you love Jake. You press your face into his chest and murmur it begrudgingly.

Jake glances towards the door and knows that you’re probably being listened to. His hand curls gently around the nape of your neck as he tugs you back from his chest and presses his lips to yours. He can still taste the salt on your lips from this morning’s tears.

He has half of a story about how this morning had played out — snippets of details that Manny had been able to give him. It was going to happen sooner or later. You still won’t sleep, you’re restless and agitated — you don’t trust anyone around you. He wishes that he didn’t have to leave now.

Reluctant to let you go, Jake squeezes your hand softly and walks over to the closed file on the desk with his name on it. He nudges it open with his index finger, lips quirking immediately at what’s before him.

It’s a screencap of a security tape. From a few months ago, when you’d gotten shitfaced and he had thrown you over his shoulder to take you to your room. Followed by a picture of him leaving your room hours later, the time stamps circled. On the next page, there’s a screencap from a security tape again. This time it’s from your house. The balcony between your room and his. Jake sitting on his chair, you sitting with your foot on the seat between his legs and a big grin on your face — just slightly, your underwear is visible between your parted legs.

Admittedly, Jake’s pleased that this is as scandalous as it gets. The mustn’t have dug too deep — he knows that they could have found much more if they had.

Swiftly, he turns back to you and wraps his arms loosely around your hips. “I’m not sorry for us. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Promise me.” You squeak out, throat dry and tight.

“I promise.” Jake confirms, pressing his lips to your temple once more, then nudging your jaw back so that he can kiss your lips. Confirming his suspicions that they had been being listened to, the door opens. He takes his time in withdrawing from you, letting the security see that he had been holding you.

It’s tough. Biting your tongue as Jake’s given an already drawn up agreement and a pen, as he signs away these past few months. He leaves first, heading back to collect his things with two details tailing him. You won’t see him again before he leaves, they’ll make sure of that.

Then, your parents, Owen, the other staff — they watch intently as you’re given your own agreement and the same pen. You lean forwards and study the page, taking your time to go through every word. You’ve signed these before. Hell, some of the parties you had been to with other politicians’ kids had these to sign at the door before you were allowed entry. This is different.

You’ve never felt the urge to break every clause on the page before in the same way that you do today. Scrawling your signature on the dotted line, it feels like you’re just about signing away the right to say his name. To think of his smile.

Glancing up briefly, the ink isn’t even dry, and there’s something on your father’s face that makes your gut tense up. He changes his face immediately, gracing you with something that resembles sympathy.

It lingers on your mind, that expression, as you turn to study the relief on your mother’s face. For her, this problem is solved — you’ll stay away from Jake, you’ll be with someone that she likes instead. For your father, it’s something evidently different. Equally pleasing.

Once the ink has dried, you’re certain now more than ever. His reason for hiring Jake, one person, rather than expanding your team from the beginning — calling you to and from D.C. like a lapdog — the secrecy and arms’ length relationship. Not only did he know about the danger you were in, he knew from the beginning that these plots were more than just displeased voters.

He sits back in his seat as you squint your eyes at him from across the room. Jake’s gone, in a couple of weeks, he’ll take the hit as a mole — this will all blow over. Maybe if your father had spent a little more time playing tea parties with you instead of chess, he’d have a better insight into the way your mind really works.

The room empties slowly, people filtering out — security staff sticking to you like glue. You don’t mind their presence one bit. Shoes tapping delicately across those hardwood floors, you lean forwards and rest your palms on the desk.

Matthew raises his eyebrows at you expectantly.

Lowering your voice to an almost whisper, loud enough for it to remain undoubtedly sincere, you speak finally. His own eyes, down to the very flecks of lighter colour, staring right back at him. Playing his very own game of bullshit. “I know what you did. I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

…

Operation Apollo Tag List

@alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox @desert-fern @fuckyeahhangman @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @someinsanefangirl @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter @shawnsblue @itsmytimetoodream

[lilbabypanda-blog2]

Two sides of a Gem (part8)

Aventurine x (stoneheart)reader

Part7

I'm posting 2 parts today since it's new year♡

Happy new year to everyone ♡♡

______________________________________

The boutique was a sprawling dreamscape of luxury. Shelves glimmered with golden accents, and mannequins showcased flowing coats and shimmering scarves. Dreamlike light filtered from ornate lamps, casting a warm glow over the store.

March zipped between racks like a whirlwind, holding up clothing pieces that ranged from chic to outright absurd. “Y/N! Look at this scarf—wait, no, this jacket—wait, this hat! Oh no, we need a cart!”

Y/N followed calmly behind her, hands lightly folded in front of her, a serene smile on her face. Her eyes occasionally flickered over the other patrons, sharp and observant despite her outward cheer.

The Trailblazer, meanwhile, had wandered off to a section with feathered hats and coats so heavily sequined they could probably double as emergency reflectors.

Y/N paused, letting her eyes wander over an intricately embroidered coat, her gloved hand reaching out to feel the fabric—

Clink!

Another hand reached for the exact same coat at the exact same time.

“Oh? Well, this is awkward.”

The smooth, unmistakable voice made Y/N’s gaze lift sharply. Aventurine stood across from her, his mismatched magenta and cyan eyes glinting with amusement. His usual confident smirk played across his lips as he tilted his head slightly.

Y/N’s polite smile remained firmly in place. “Aventurine. Funny seeing you here.”

March peeked out from behind a clothing rack, her blue eyes narrowing the second she spotted him. “Oh, you again? Are you stalking us or something?”

Aventurine raised both hands in mock surrender. “Stalking? Friend, I would never. I simply have excellent taste in boutiques—and apparently in coats.”

March crossed her arms. “Oh sure, because this is totally a coincidence.”

Y/N placed a gloved hand gently on March’s shoulder, her voice calm and warm. “March, it’s fine. Accidents happen.” She turned back to Aventurine, her smile unfaltering. “Right, Aventurine?”

Aventurine’s grin widened slightly. “Absolutely, friend. Nothing but coincidence and shared good taste.”

“Hmm,” March muttered, clearly unconvinced.

From somewhere behind a velvet curtain, the Trailblazer emerged dramatically, wearing what could only be described as a feathered catastrophe. Bright pink and neon green feathers stuck out from the shoulders of a sequined blazer, paired with mismatched checkered pants and a fedora that had… antlers attached.

March gasped. “Trailblazer, no!”

Aventurine raised an amused eyebrow, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Well, friend, I must admit… that’s certainly a bold fashion statement.”

The Trailblazer turned to Aventurine, their eyes bright with mischief. “You think so? You should try it!”

March’s eyes went wide. “Oh no, no, no. Don’t—”

But it was too late. The Trailblazer was already pulling Aventurine toward the racks, shoving a bizarre blazer into his hands and adding a feathered hat to the mix.

Y/N watched, her lips twitching as she struggled to contain a laugh.

“Now wait a minute, friends,” Aventurine began, his usual smooth demeanor faltering slightly as Trailblazer shoved him into a changing room. “I’m more of a classic look kind of guy—”

The curtain was pulled shut with dramatic flair.

March crossed her arms, looking far too pleased with herself. “Serves him right. If he’s gonna follow us around like a suspicious weirdo, he can suffer.”

Y/N chuckled lightly, her hand covering her mouth. “This might actually be worth waiting for.”

Moments later, the curtain was pulled back. Aventurine stepped out, his usual confidence fighting for dominance over his clear discomfort.

He was wearing a neon-purple blazer with glittering gold trim, paired with a wildly patterned scarf and a floppy hat with dangling tassels.

March froze, her jaw dropping. The Trailblazer gave a slow clap. “Magnificent.”

Aventurine adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, his expression flat despite the absurd outfit. “Well, friends… how do I look?”

Y/N bit her lip to stop herself from laughing outright. “You… wear it well, Aventurine.”

March couldn’t hold back. She doubled over with laughter. “You look like a space magician!”

Aventurine sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is… character-building, I suppose.”

Trailblazer gave him a thumbs-up. “Style is about confidence, Aventurine!”

The boutique clerk appeared nearby, holding a selection of even more outrageous accessories. “Would sir care for matching boots and gloves?”

Aventurine’s eye twitched. “I think I’ll pass, friend.”

Y/N finally spoke up, her voice warm but firm. “Alright, let’s not torment Aventurine too much. He’s already been a good sport about this.”

March wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “Fine, fine. But I’m never forgetting this moment.”

Aventurine smirked slightly, his usual confidence returning as he removed the feathered hat and blazer. “Don’t worry, friend. I’m nothing if not memorable.”

Y/N watched him carefully as he returned the clothing to the rack, her smile soft but her eyes sharp with quiet calculation.

“Come on, let’s check out and head to the next stop,” Y/N said, gesturing for the group to follow.

As they headed toward the counter, Aventurine fell into step beside Y/N, his voice dropping just slightly. “You know, friend… you’re quite different from the rest of your crew.”

Y/N glanced at him, her smile unwavering. “We all have our roles to play, Aventurine.”

He chuckled softly. “Oh, I’m well aware.”

March called from ahead, waving a bundle of accessories in the air. “Y/N! Hurry up, we need your fancy credit card again!”

Y/N sighed with a mock look of defeat. “comming"

Aventurine’s sly grin returned. “seems like your their personal ATM”

The group laughed as they made their way to the counter, leaving behind a boutique clerk still trying to process the sight of Aventurine in a neon blazer.

___________

The Golden Hour’s glow bathed the luxurious shopping district in hues of amber and gold as Y/N, March, and the Trailblazer weaved their way through the crowd, shopping bags piling up in March’s arms like trophies from a victorious campaign.

“Alright!” March spun on her heel, nearly smacking Trailblazer with a bag. “One boutique conquered, a thousand more to go! Next stop: That one!”

Trailblazer squinted at the glowing neon sign. “March… that’s a pet accessory store.”

March froze, her finger still pointing. “…Okay, but hear me out: tiny hats for tiny animals.”

Y/N laughed softly behind her hand while Trailblazer exchanged a look with her. Before anyone could respond, Trailblazer bolted towards something shiny in the corner of an alley.

“Wait—No! Not again!” March groaned.

Y/N and March turned the corner to find Trailblazer halfway inside a trash can, rummaging around with intense focus.

A familiar voice chuckled behind them. “Is… this normal behavior for your crew, friend?”

Aventurine strolled up casually, his usual charming smirk in place and his mismatched eyes glinting under the golden lights.

Y/N’s smile didn’t waver as she glanced over her shoulder. “Surprisingly, yes. You’d be amazed at what they’ve found before. Ancient relics, lost jewelry… once, half a sandwich.”

Trailblazer popped out of the trash can, holding up a squeaky toy shaped like a star. It let out an embarrassing squeak when squeezed.

Aventurine deadpanned, “Truly, the definition of excellence.”

March dragged the Trailblazer away by the arm. “Okay, treasure hunter, let’s keep going before someone calls security.”

As the group moved into another boutique, a luxurious clothing store lined with velvet and satin, Y/N lingered for a moment before Aventurine stepped beside her, hands in his pockets.

“So, friend,” Aventurine said smoothly, his voice like silk. “Are you the responsible one in this merry little group, or just better at hiding your chaos?”

Y/N’s lips curled into a sweet smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Before Aventurine could respond, March’s voice rang out from inside the store. “Guys! Look at this outfit—wait, Trailblazer! That’s not a scarf, it’s a curtain!”

Trailblazer emerged wearing an outfit pieced together from mismatched garments: a glittering jacket, overly frilly cravat, and a feathered hat perched sideways on their head.

Aventurine actually paused, raising an eyebrow. “Is… is this a statement piece? Should I be taking notes?”

“Actually—yes!” March piped up. “Aventurine, you should totally try something ridiculous. You’d look amazing in… this!”

She grabbed an absurdly sequined blazer with feathered cuffs and tossed it at him. Aventurine caught it effortlessly, holding it up like it might bite him.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “Go on, Aventurine. Show us your best fashion walk.”

Aventurine smirked but shrugged off his coat and actually put the blazer on. He turned dramatically, one hand on his hip and the other gesturing towards the sky.

“Do I dazzle you, friends?” he asked theatrically.

March was on the floor laughing, Trailblazer clapped awkwardly, and Y/N covered her mouth with her hand, stifling her giggles.

“You’re… surprisingly good at this,” Y/N managed between laughs.

“Gambling isn’t my only talent, friend.” Aventurine smirked as he slipped the blazer off and returned to his usual polished attire.

____________

After several more chaotic shops and Y/N insisting on paying for everyone (much to March’s exaggerated protests), they eventually found themselves at an elegant outdoor café.

The faint glow of golden lanterns illuminated the outdoor café, their light dancing across the velvet tablecloth and the array of colorful desserts scattered across porcelain plates. The hum of distant music and laughter painted a dreamlike atmosphere, blending seamlessly with the faint golden mist hanging in the air.

March and the Trailblazer were absorbed in devouring a decadent strawberry tart, leaving Y/N and Aventurine seated a little apart from them at the edge of the terrace.

Aventurine leaned back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, his mismatched eyes glinting with faint amusement. "So, friend, when exactly do you plan to venture deeper into this gilded illusion? Or are you planning on just enjoying pastries and window shopping for eternity?"

Y/N smirked lightly as she stirred her tea, the spoon clinking softly against the porcelain cup. "Would you like me to take you along on such a perilous journey, Aventurine? I’m not entirely sure you’re… equipped for the rugged demands of exploration."

Aventurine raised a brow, clearly amused. "You wound me, friend. What exactly about me screams 'unfit' for adventure?"

Y/N’s eyes drifted down his tailored coat, the perfectly pressed seams, the golden cufflinks, and the gleaming shine of his boots. She tilted her head. "Oh, I don’t know… maybe it’s the fact that you look like you stepped out of a luxury fashion catalog. Do you even own something… practical?"

Aventurine placed a hand dramatically over his chest, feigning offense. "I’ll have you know, these boots are extremely comfortable. And they’re waterproof—in case of unexpected puddles, you see."

Y/N chuckled softly, taking a sip of her tea. "Yes, because puddles are the biggest threat in the layers of a chaotic dreamscape."

Aventurine leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the table, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly in curiosity. "And yet, despite my supposed impracticality, you’re still considering me as a travel companion. Why is that, friend?"

Y/N matched his gaze, her smile steady but her eyes sharp. "Because, Aventurine… while your suit might not be ideal for hiking through dream debris, your mind is sharp, and your tongue even sharper. I might just need someone like you when the layers start twisting reality into something unrecognizable."

Aventurine’s smirk softened ever so slightly, his eyes briefly flickering with something thoughtful before he quickly masked it with a playful grin. "Ah, so you do trust me a little. Careful, friend—you’re starting to sound fond of me."

Y/N leaned back in her chair, tilting her head. "Fond? That’s a strong word. Let’s just say… I find you useful."

Aventurine placed a hand over his heart again, dramatically tilting his head back. "Reduced to mere utility. How tragic."

Y/N laughed softly, but her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. Despite his theatrical charm and carefree demeanor, she could tell Aventurine was always observing, always analyzing. His mask was impressive—but not impenetrable.

A comfortable silence fell between them for a moment, the faint sounds of March squabbling with the Trailblazer over a crème brûlée filling the space.

Finally, Aventurine broke the silence, his voice lower this time. "You know, friend… if you do decide to take me along, you won’t regret it. I’m… resourceful, in more ways than one."

Y/N raised a brow, her smirk returning. "I’ll keep that in mind. But tell me, Aventurine, why are you so eager to explore deeper layers? I thought you preferred your comforts—fine drinks, velvet chairs, and high-stakes poker tables."

Aventurine’s smirk didn’t falter, but something flickered in his mismatched eyes—something sharp and calculating. "Oh, friend… sometimes, the greatest treasures aren’t found on velvet tables, but buried deep where most people are too afraid to look."

Y/N held his gaze, her smile faint but knowing. "Well then, let’s hope you’re not afraid of getting your fancy boots dirty."

Aventurine chuckled lightly, leaning back once again and raising his glass in a mock toast. "To future endeavors, friend. May they be profitable… and entertaining."

Y/N lifted her teacup in return, her smile bright and unreadable. "To profitable endeavors."

Before either of them could add more, March’s voice rang out across the table. “Y/N! Aventurine! Look at this!”

The Trailblazer was holding two spoons like drumsticks, lightly tapping on their empty dessert plate as March stood behind them, holding what appeared to be an entire cake.

Y/N blinked. “March… did you buy an entire cake?”

March grinned, her eyes sparkling. “Technically, no. They gave it to me because I said we’d finish it in ten minutes!”

Aventurine raised an eyebrow. “Friend, that sounds less like a gift and more like a challenge.”

March gasped dramatically. “It’s both!”

Y/N shook her head, laughing softly. “Alright, alright. Let’s not cause too much of a scene.”

As March began divvying up the cake, Aventurine leaned slightly towards Y/N, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

“You have interesting companions, friend. But I must admit… you stand out among them.”

Y/N glanced at him briefly, her expression unreadable before her smile softened. “Careful, Aventurine. You might start sounding genuine.”

He chuckled under his breath, and for a moment, they were just two people enjoying the calm before an inevitable storm.

[littlest-w01f]

In the Shadows

Azriel x Dancer!OC (Mohini)

AZRIEL MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: He's watching her, and has been since he first came to Dawn Court for business, the ethereal dancer that struck in the hearts of not only her people but all of Prythian with every performance

Cw: Stalker!Az

part one

The halls of the most popular Dawn Theatre were bustling with the audience, fae of all kinds trying to get inside, it had been a week of busy days for the theatre, everyone wanting a glimpse of the ethereal beauty that was Mohini, the dancer who's portraits had been handing all over the court, even fae from other Courts were present, not wanting a miss a chance to see her dance. Among the crowd, was Thesan, the High Lord of Dawn, with him stood Aizen, his lover, and the High Lord and Lady of Night, Rhysand and Feyre, with their little Heir, Nyx.

As the doors finally opened, the crowd surged forward, their excitement palpable as they rushed into the grand auditorium. The air was thick with anticipation, each fae eager to lay eyes upon the enchanting Mohini, whose talent had captured the hearts of so many. While Thesan and Aizen led their guests to one of the private boxes on top of the audience.

The theatre's opulent interior gleamed under the soft glow of luminescent orbs suspended from the vaulted ceiling. Velvet curtains in rich jewel tones framed the stage, while ornate golden railings encircled the seating areas. A hush fell over the audience as they took their places, the whispers dying down like embers smothered by ash.

As the lights dimmed and the last fae found their seats, a profound silence enveloped the grand auditorium. The only sound was the faint rustling of silken gowns and the soft hum of anticipation building in the chests of the assembled fae. On the stage, a solitary figure emerged from the shadows, her presence commanding attention without uttering a word.

Mohini, the dancer extraordinaire, stood poised at centre stage. Her form was a vision of elegance, clad in a gown of iridescent blues, pinks and greens. Delicate tendrils of silver embroidery danced across the fabric, catching the light and weaving an ethereal aura around her. Her raven hair cascaded down her back in a glossy braid, adorned with gold, a few loose strands framing her heart-shaped face.

"By the stars," Feyre breathed, her eyes wide with awe as she gazed upon the mesmerizing sight before them, despite the background dancers, Mohini held everyone's focus. Beside Feyre, Rhysand nodded approvingly, talking with his mate in their heads, his hand resting on the small of her back. Little Nyx craned his neck, his eyes shining with childlike wonder at the magnificent display unfolding onstage.

Thesan smiled enigmatically, his gaze never leaving Mohini's form. "There are rumors that she possesses magic beyond our comprehension, a gift granted by the Mother herself with how enchanting her display is." His fingers curled imperceptibly around Aizen's own.

Mohini moved with grace, each step, each breath was measured to perfection, her heavy gown moving in sync, she had her feet in a wrap, to make sure they wouldn't swell with all the dancing she did. Each subtle shift of her weight, each delicate arch of her foot, spoke volumes about the mastery of her artistry. The intricate choreography wove through tales both ancient and modern, each tale told through the language of dance.

The rhythm of the music dictated the tempo of her performance, yet there was something more - a pulse of energy that seemed to emanate from within her. It was as though she were a vessel for the very essence of dance itself, channeling the spirits of those who came before her and giving voice to the hopes and dreams of those watching.

With every movement, Mohini seemed to defy gravity itself. Her steps were precise and deliberate, yet there was an underlying rhythm that spoke of ancient dances performed beneath the faerie lights. The delicate fabric of her gown flowed around her like liquid light, accentuating the curves of her body without ever being overtly revealing.

She began to spin, her arms extended outward like wings, her head tilted back in silent prayer to whatever deity had gifted her with such extraordinary grace. Each revolution brought a new pattern to life within the folds of her dress, the intricate embroidery shimmering like a constellation against the black velvet backdrop of the stage.

Then, suddenly, the tempo quickened, and the rhythm of the music became more complex. Mohini responded in kind, her steps now intricate and precise, each footfall a delicate dance of power and precision. Her dress swayed and fluttered, mirroring the fluidity of her movements. As the performance progressed, Mohini introduced new elements - spins, leaps, twirls - each more breathtaking than the last. The crowd watched, enraptured, their breaths caught in their throats.

A low murmur rippled through the audience as they watched her, spellbound by her artistry. Even those who'd seen her perform countless times before found themselves captivated anew by the sheer mastery of her craft.

Each partner she danced with, felt the same electrifying thrill course through them, as if they were the sole object of her affection, as if the current male she was dancing with, the two of them were the only people that existed, her eyes still always seeming to look past them, as if lost in another world entirely. Her movements were a whirlwind of energy and emotion, yet there was something distant about her, almost untouchable.

As the music reached its crescendo, Mohini's movements became more frenetic, her body a blur of color and motion. She leapt and twirled, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground as she traversed the stage with breathtaking agility. The audience held their collective breath, scarcely daring to blink lest they miss a single moment of her sublime performance.

Suddenly, Mohini froze mid-leap, her body arched in a pose that defied fae physiology. For a single, agonizing heartbeat, she felt suspended in the air, her gown billowing out around her like a light halo. Then, with a graceful flick of her wrists, she descended back to the lands, straightening back up. The auditorium erupted into thunderous applause, fae rising to their feet as they cheered and whistled their appreciation.

Mohini stood, her chest heaving with heavy breaths, she then took a deep bow. As Mohini bowed deeply, acknowledging the overwhelming ovation, even from her dancers, the applause only intensified. Flowers showered down from the balconies above, petals drifting gently onto the stage like confetti. As the ovation died down, she made her way backstage with a poise that suggested she was used to such adulation.

When she reached back, she looked curiously at the bouquet of Night Blooms, and a note in the flowers, it wasn't special to find flowers or gifts from her admirers, but most people didn't sneak into her private rooms in the theaters to send these gifts.

With a puzzled expression, Mohini unfolded the note and read its contents. The handwriting was neat and elegant, but the words were cryptic, causing a frown to crease her brow.

"Your dance tonight was exquisite, sweet thing"

The sender remained anonymous, which wasn't unusual, nevertheless, something about this particular message stirred a sense of unease within her. It was far too personal, too intimate for someone she hadn't met.

Mohini frowned slightly as she read the note again, a strange mix of flattery and unease swirling within her. It was unusual for someone to slip past her guards undetected, let alone gain access to her private chambers. She glanced around warily, half-expecting some mysterious figure to materialize from the shadows. She was sure her mind was just playing tricks on her when she noted something move in the darkness.

She didn't have time to ponder over the secret note as she was supposed to be outside, taking the people who took time out of their day to see her. Her fans awaited, eager for a glimpse of the legendary dancer. With a deep breath, she composed herself and stepped back out onto the stage, a warm smile on her lips.

As she descended the stairs, a sea of faces turned towards her, eyes shining with admiration and gratitude. Mohini waved graciously, her hands fluttering like butterflies as she acknowledged the enthusiastic crowd. She paused to engage with her public.

Mohini's radiant smile and effortless charm worked their usual magic on the audience, many of whom had traveled great distances simply to catch a glimpse of her. She signed scrolls and parchments, and accepted tokens of appreciation with gracious humility. Despite the weariness etched on her features, her spirit remained bright and unflagging, a true testament to her dedication to her craft and her people.

She had met the High Lords and Lady as well as the little heir they had brought, she didn't mention the flowers but the Night Blooms made sense from the Lord and Lady of Night, even if it was weird either of them would call her "sweet thing". She was respectful throughout the meeting as Thesan, her High Lord kept reminding her there was no need for strict formalities.

As the evening drew to a close, Mohini bid farewell to her fans with heartfelt thanks, promising to return soon with more performances to delight and inspire them. With a final wave, she retreated to her private quarters, her mind already turning to the next show, the next challenge. But first, she would need to unravel the mystery of the cryptic note, and perhaps, uncover the identity of the elusive admirer who had managed to breach her defences so effortlessly.

Azriel Shadowsinger watched intently as Mohini removed her elaborate jewellery piece by piece, placing them carefully on a silver tray. Her fingers were nimble and practised, betraying years of experience handling precious stones and delicate ornaments. Next came the intricate hairpins, each one seemingly more beautiful than the last, until her dark tresses fell freely around her shoulders, cascading down to her waist.

For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it might feel like to run his fingers through those locks, to explore the gentle contours of her body with his hands.

Finally, she approached a large mirror, peeling off layer after layer of makeup, revealing the natural beauty beneath. There was an intimacy to the act that was both fascinating and strangely arousing to watch. Azriel found himself transfixed, unable to tear his gaze away from the captivating image before him.

He had followed his High Lord and Lady to Dawn, not because he didn't trust Thesan's genuine offer to his High Lady who had wanted to watch Mohini after she had heard of her from someone in the Rainbow but rather because he had seen her before, he was drawn to her, unable to keep the thought of her away from him.

Azriel silently watched her step behind a dressing screen to remove her clothing, her silhouette was shadowed against the white screen, giving him a straight view of her curves.

Azriel watched as her form from behind the dressing screen, her skin glowing under the soft moonlight streaming through the window. He could make out the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the smooth expanse of her stomach. His pulse quickened as he imagined the warmth of her skin, the softness of her flesh. He knew he should turn away, that he had no right to invade her privacy in this manner, but he was helpless to resist the allure of the vision before him.

His heart pounded in his chest as he watched her, mesmerized by the sight of her naked form bathed in the ethereal glow of the moonlight, his shadows were all over the room, just as crazed as him. He swallowed hard, his throat dry as he stared at her, drinking in every detail. He could see the rise and fall of her chest, the gentle sway of her hips, the soft curve of her thighs. His arousal grew with each passing second, fueled by the forbidden nature of his actions.

She slipped on a pair of casual clothes, reaching her dresser to pack some of her important things up, he watched her eyes go over the flowers he had gotten her. Azriel's breath hitched as he saw her eyes linger on the flowers, his heart pounding in his chest. He wondered what she was thinking, whether she suspected anything, or if she was oblivious to his presence. He watched her closely, his gaze never leaving her, fascinated by her every movement. He couldn't help but admire her grace, her elegance, her sheer beauty.

His heart and shadows all almost sang as she picked the flowers up to take them with her. Azriel felt a surge of excitement coursing through his veins as he watched her pick up the flowers. His heart hammered against his ribs, echoing the rhythm of his pulse. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to hold her, but he held back, knowing that now was not the time, not the place. Instead, he remained hidden in the shadows, watching her with a hunger that bordered on obsession.

For now, he would simply follow her home, to keep her safe through her journey of course, a few weeks ago, he had seen a few drunken males trying to follow her home, he could hear what they were whispering to each other about her, the things they wanted to do to her, and he had felt anger burning in him way hotter than any he had ever felt, and he for a moment had thought of digging truth-teller so far up their spine no amount of medicine or magic would make their legs work again. Instead of that, he had done the more sensible thing, he had left them bloody and beaten on the side of the street.

Azriel felt a rush of protective instinct flood through him as he recalled the incident with the drunken males. The thought of anyone harming her filled him with a primal rage, making him yearn to assert his dominance, to claim her as his own.

As Mohini made her way through the winding streets of Dawn, Azriel melted into the shadows, his form becoming one with the darkness itself. He moved silently, his footsteps barely audible even to his own ears, always staying just out of sight yet close enough to intervene if needed. His keen senses were attuned to every sound, every movement, alert for any signs of danger.

The night air was cool against his skin, carrying with it the distant sounds of revelry and the sweet scent of night-blooming flowers. Above, the stars glittered like diamonds strewn across a velvet sky, casting a faint luminescence over the city below. Yet, none of these details captured Azriel's attention as much as the female walking ahead of him did.

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @minnieoo}

{Azriel Taglist- @fxckmiup @annamariereads16 @saltedcoffeescotch @satorusemepls @fieldofdaisiies}