#inexorably drawn

[tayasigerson]

Another one of our competitions

This was for the Inexorably Drawn ThanZag zine!

[lillypad-monopoly]

There's something about Etho spending the life series learning how to channel his natural loyalty and protectiveness into forming strong bonds with his teammates and Joel spending the life series learning that to form strong bonds with teammates you need to be loyal and you need to protect each other, and him forming his own proper teams only after allying with Etho in Double Life, and now Etho deciding that he needs to stop being so nice to everyone in order to win while Joel has finally realized it's the ties with others that make him the strongest and then immediately reached out to the man who taught him that and Etho trying to fight his own nature to be the wildcard and the survivor again but at the same time he doesn't know how to be that person anymore after Double Life and he wants to have what Gem and Joel have invited him into as his own team is falling apart because everyone is out for themselves.

[licorishh]

Literally who describes about their relationship with and the frustrating distance from another person "as though I were observing the starry sky from the bottom of a deep lake." Who compares the other person, infinitely complex yet also strangely comprehensible if you're willing to look past his seemingly cold exterior, to navigating through a rocky reef in the sea. Frickin' who does that. Who does that. Shaking you by the collar answer me. Answer me dangit

[fleshadept]

finally continuing my durge bg3 playthrough and i've decided to actually make a Character to roleplay this time. my first game i sort of just chose what i thought was right or what i thought would be interesting but now i'm coming up with Motivations for my character and it's a lot of fun actually

[cthoniccompanion]

it's been like two years but I'm still thinking about how good the romance is in hades game

[chameleonsallinvermillion]

I hate parties but when I have no choice, I do my best. I was doing my best tonight. I was smiling and being introduced to people and chatting and putting out plates and finding plasters for children with cut fingers and for some GODFORSAKEN REASON people kept wandering into the kitchen to hang out. Shoo! Out! We set up gazebos for you people! I don't want to chat to you! Do you think I'm in here doing the washing up by chance? I'm avoiding you! Go away!

[owlyjules]

Wisptober Day 31 : Ominous “The beat, beat, beat of immense wings follow you as you run scared through the ruins.  When you trip and fall, your eyes are inexorably drawn up the gnarled tree to the ominous figure staring down at you…”

She just wants you to be her date to the count Halloween party! Thats all she swear! HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE! Hope you all have the loveliest spookiest night!

[connorsui]

“ Irresistibly Drawn ”

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: Satoru is usually unfazed by the world around him, but now he finds himself obsessed with you, torn between playful teasing and a deepening affection.

Genre/warnings: fluff is so soft, light Jealousy on gojos part, playful banter ,unspoken feelings, pining, gojos six eyes are constantly looking at you with hearts all over

Note: suguru lowkey would be a good bf

w.c: 1.5K

It was a peculiar thing, the way Satoru Gojo found himself inexorably drawn to you. A man of unparalleled talent, charisma, and presence, he was rarely one to be captivated by anything that did not directly challenge him. Yet here he was, seated in his usual spot in the back of Yaga's class, his cerulean eyes drifting toward you like the moon tugs at the tide.

You sat just a few rows ahead, head slightly tilted in concentration, your brow furrowed as you absorbed Yaga’s lesson. For the life of him, Satoru couldn’t tell you what the class was about. Not because he couldn’t, but because it didn’t matter. Nothing in that moment mattered except the way you were lost in thought. He felt a strange satisfaction in knowing you were this focused on something, but all he could think about was how lovely you looked—how the sunlight spilling through the window softly illuminated the curve of your cheek, the strands of your hair that framed your face.

He leaned back in his chair, one long leg casually crossing over the other, as if utterly indifferent to the world. Yet beneath the veneer of laid-back carelessness was a growing restlessness, an unfamiliar tension that knotted in his chest. Why were his eyes always drawn to you? Why did it bother him when Suguru leaned in close to offer you help, his warm laugh filling the room as you fumbled through the training exercises?

Satoru had never considered himself jealous. Jealousy was a weakness, and he was anything but weak. But when Suguru’s hand had brushed yours that day, when he'd caught you mid-stumble with an effortless grace, a smile playing on his lips, Satoru’s jaw had tightened. His fists had clenched at his sides, the itch to intervene almost unbearable. He hadn’t, of course. That wasn’t his style. But the irritation simmered beneath his calm exterior, the feeling foreign and unwelcome. That even his own six eyes grew in irritation.

She wouldn't choose suguru over us would she?

He's a certified pretty boy on both ends of the spectrum losing to him would feel worse than anything we have dealt with

Not unless we get to her first

Are we seeing the exact same thing?

Her heart is increasing

Let's just play it safe…for now ..

That evening, he’d found himself sprawled on his dorm bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the scene in his mind. Why did it bother him so much? Why was it Suguru’s grin, your laughter, the brief contact of your hands that haunted him?

When Yaga had offhandedly commented on Satoru’s distraction during class—teasingly suggesting that someone had “taken up residence in his mind”—it was like a light had flickered on in the darkest corners of his consciousness. The realization hit him all at once, as sudden and unavoidable as a torrent breaking a dam. It wasn’t jealousy he felt.

It was something much worse. He was smitten.

Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive, the invincible prodigy, was utterly and hopelessly smitten with you. And it terrified him.

The next morning, he woke with a pounding heart, the memory of Yaga’s teasing and his own restless thoughts gnawing at him. He couldn’t sit still. He couldn’t think straight. Suguru’s knowing laughter had echoed in his ears after he’d confided in him, and though Satoru had laughed it off, the weight of it sat heavy in his chest. There was only one way to settle this.

So when he spotted you after class, your figure small and unassuming as you descended the steps, he found himself moving before he could think. His long strides carried him toward you, the steady thrum of his heart growing louder with each step. He felt like a fool. Satoru Gojo, who had never been nervous in his life, now felt his pulse racing, his stomach twisting with a kind of anticipation that was wholly unfamiliar.

When you finally came into view, your feet barely making a sound as you stepped lightly on the path, he stopped in his tracks. You looked up at him with those wide, curious eyes, a slight smile playing at your lips. It was the kind of smile that made something in him soften, that reminded him just how fragile this feeling was, how much power you unknowingly held over him.

“Satoru?” Your voice was gentle, laced with surprise, and it hung in the air between you both, soft like the afternoon breeze.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, words caught somewhere between his mind and lips. How could he, the one who always knew exactly what to say, find himself so completely undone in your presence?

What do we say?

Say something…

.. she's looking straight at us

For a brief moment, the idea of deflecting with one of his usual jokes crossed his mind—a laugh, a quip, something to brush this moment away. But the look in your eyes stopped him. There was a warmth, an openness, that seemed to unravel all of his carefully constructed bravado.

“I—” he began, hesitating, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t stop looking at you.”

The confession felt startlingly simple, but its weight settled in the air between you, thick with unspoken meaning. You blinked, taken aback for a heartbeat…

That's the best we can come up with?

We have done better than this ..

before a smile tugged at the corners of your lips—a knowing smile, one that made his heart stutter in his chest.

“Is that so?” you asked, a light laugh escaping your lips as you tilted your head at him. “And what exactly am I supposed to make of that? Do you actually mean it, Satoru, or is this just another one of your games?”

His smirk silently returned, the familiar glint of humor and charisma flashing in his eyes. “Oh, I mean it. I don’t throw around compliments unless they’re deserved. And trust me, you’ve been distracting me all day.”

Your smile deepened, but your voice carried a playful edge as you crossed your arms. “Distracting you, huh? Should I feel honored? Or is this just your way of telling me you’ve been spacing out instead of actually ”

“Heyyyy,” he leaned in ever so slightly, the mischievous grin never leaving his face, “can you blame me thoughhh? You’re a lot easier on the eyes than whatever there is going on. Honestly, I think you’ve made my life more bearable to deal with.”

You rolled your eyes, but your expression softened in amusement. “Is that all I am to you? Just a way to pass the time?”

“Not at all,” Satoru said, and for a moment, his voice lost some of its teasing lilt. “If you must know, I’ve been thinking about you—quite a bit, actually.” His gaze held yours for a moment longer, the humor in his tone giving way to something more genuine.

I can't read to her …

Well read harder?

Her heart is steady

And her eyes are so direct to us

..Is she teasing?

There was a pause before you spoke again, the playful spark still dancing in your eyes. “Well, since you’ve been so preoccupied with me, what are you going to do about it?”

He blinked, a bit caught off guard, but quickly recovered with a low chuckle, brushing a hand through his hair as he leaned back with that signature ease. “I was thinking of taking you out far with me …something to ease up our little life into something far more exciting..maybe some fun in the city?”

“Hmm,” you mused, feigning thoughtfulness. “And what makes you think I’d accept such an offer?”

Satoru grinned, the confidence returning full force as he straightened up. “Cmoonn you really going to say no to me?, your favorite? —letting go of such an offer as my wallet in your hands?”

You shook your head, laughing softly at his audacity, but there was a flicker of excitement in your smile. “Alright then, why don’t you meet me outside the tech’s gates later? And we’ll see if you can keep me as entertained in person as you claim.”

Satoru’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his features, but he quickly masked it with his usual bravado. “Wait, you mean today? ...Like, today today?”

You giggled, taking a step back, your laughter light as it filled the space between you. “Yes, today. If you really mean what you say, I’d love to see you try.”

This is working

How is this working?

Don't question it

He felt his heart skip, his usual mask slipping for a moment as something warmer, more real, surfaced beneath the swagger. “Then I guess I’ll have to bring my A-game. But don’t think I’ll let you win so easily. I’ve still got a reputation to uphold.”

You turned with a playful smile, your voice drifting back to him as you walked away. “Oh, don’t worry, Gojo. I’m expecting a challenge.”

He watched you leave, his grin widening as a thought flickered in his mind—perhaps, just this once, losing wouldn’t be so bad.

Listen I just want a smitten gojo who wants us internally ...mmhkay?

[fayes-fics]

Kinktober: Sex Pollen

Kinktober 2024 Masterpost

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, casual acquaintances to sudden lovers, sex pollen, rough consensual vaginal sex, biting, smidge of oral sex (f to m), multiple times with no refractory period, breeding kink, creampie.

Word Count: 2.7k (drabble hahah)

Author's Note: First of my Kinktober 2024 fics. Utter filth, but also with a tinge of future romantic possibilities. Not betaed. Enjoy! <3

“Welcome, everyone!” 

Sir Phillip Crane greets the room genially as you grab a refreshment not long after entering his soiree.

“I hope you have a wonderful evening. Feel free to wander anywhere you wish within the house and gardens. Except for the greenhouse, please. A very rare and unusual plant is blooming today, and it should not be approached.” He advises with a scholarly air and a waggle of a foreboding finger to the gathered people.

“Is it toxic?” Someone from within the crowd pipes up.

“Sort of,” he offers enigmatically. “Just avoid it, please.”

Well, that is just a red rag to the bull that is your curiosity, frankly. 

Being a young widow, you feel no need to partake in the usual social carousel this evening; merely catch up with those you care to see. Having done so a little while later, you do exactly as you’re not supposed to—wander through the lovely Crane country home until you find its attached greenhouse, opening the door as quietly as you can and slipping into its warm embrace.

You stroll the neat rows, admiring all manner of flora, the riot of colours and beguiling scents. Orchids, lilies, ferns… a dazzling array of tropical plants you have only read about or seen illustrations of in books until now. In fact, you are so absorbed in reading each neat little nameplate that you do not even register the greenhouse door opening.

“I should have known…” a resonant voice rings out with a wry chuckle.

It makes you jump and spin around.

There, down the other end of an aisle you have not yet explored, is one Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, renowned rake and most troublingly attractive acquaintance. Trust him to be the only other person willing to defy your host.

“Lady y/l/n… my fellow rule breaker,” he smirks, one eyebrow arched, his face a picture of alluring bemusement as he tips an imaginary hat at you with a quick bow.

“Lord Bridgerton…” you nod, your breath a little quickened as he moves towards you, and you to him, drawn inexorably.

Just as you reach each other, a large, resplendent plant to your left lures both of your attention. Its flower head is bulbous, vibrant yellow with purple veins that almost seem to pulsate.

“Well, that is quite something…” Antony remarks as you both twist to look at it, your shoulders touching. 

“Do you think this is the one Sir Crane warned everyone about?” you query, leaning in, swearing you can see the flower unfurling as you do.

“Has to be…” he trails off, also peering towards the specimen, just as drawn as you are by the fascinating sight.

You both inhale sharply as the petals peel back and the flower palpitates, emitting a large puff of yellow mist that is pungent. Before you can step back, you have inhaled the substance; it instantly tickles your nose, and you both sneeze in unison.

“This may be why he told us to stay away…” Anthony coughs, stumbling away a few paces.

“Most likely …” you wheeze, turning your back to him to sneeze again. 

Suddenly, you feel a spike of unbearable heat run through you that has you yearning to rip off your dress. There is the oddest heavy thumping in your ribcage that can only be your heart pounding wildly and, more worryingly, a sticky throbbing between your thighs—instantly aroused to an almost painful degree.

As if there is an invisible string between you, you and Anthony turn to look at each other, both looking bewildered. There’s an undeniable crackle in the air between you like you are out in a raging thunderstorm, and rather embarrassingly, you start to salivate. He looks utterly delicious in a way you cannot resist. And he is looking at you like you are a sumptuous meal, and he is a starved man.

Before you know it, you have taken large strides towards each other, and your bodies crash together, entirely without you meaning to. Your lips meet, and you are swept into a ferocious kiss, all tongue and heat, as your hands grasp tightly to the other.

This is not like you at all, but you are powerless to resist—something flicking off every switch of caution in you, making you reckless, impulsive, and aching with arousal. Your clit is swollen and distended, a need to be taken, fucked, primally coursing through you like an overpowering drug.

And it appears he is gripped with the same fever. You stumble around, bumping into benches as you wrestle with each other, pawing at clothes, kissing roughly, more animal than human. He crows triumphantly as he wrestles your dress up over your hips, one hand snaking up and ripping your undergarments to shreds just as you tumble to the flagstone floor together.

“Fuck me…” you gasp throatily, and it doesn't even sound like your voice.

You help him fight open the buttons on his trousers and then cry out as he yanks your legs apart and drives into you with one toe-curling rough thrust, growling as he does so, a wildness in his eye as he pulls out and plunges back into you, his hair curling around his forehead as he looms over you.

This is a man you barely know beyond a few exchanged pleasantries and mildly flirtatious looks. Now he is fucking into you so roughly the textured stone floor chafes your shoulder blades, your hands grabbing at his jacket, attempting to rip it off him, needing to feel, taste, bite his skin.

“Get naked, Bridgerton,” you grouse through gritted teeth even as your eyes roll, his cock large and punishing. So much more than your previous husband ever was. But then you are so copiously aroused it doesn't hurt; it just feels like heaven to be so utterly filled, the noises of him ploughing into you carnal and wet.

He fights off his clothes with your assistance, and you moan as your fingernails scrape down the ropey muscles of his back, pulling your legs up high and twining around him, your ballet slippers kneading his shapely bottom, encouraging his movements, begging for more.

Anthony curses under his breath and redoubles his efforts as he fights with the silk of your dress until it slips from your body, and he throws it asunder. He tears your stays and chemise roughly, the sound of the cotton ripping filling the air. But all you are is grateful, feeling so overheated and dewy. You push your pelvis into him, chasing each thrust, wanting him to be so deep inside it leaves a tattoo across your walls as they cling wonderfully to his veiny cock.

“Don't you dare stop,” you snarl, your nipples snagging deliciously in his chest hair, the solid slab of muscle underneath just the perfect amount of friction.

“Assertive…” he opines, but it's more respect than chastisement. 

Then there is no talking as you take from each other, greedily, your nail leaving marks on his spine, his hipbones no doubt leaving bruises on your inner thighs as he slams into you so hard you inch along the ground. And still, you beg for more, utterly possessed and ravenous. A hand worms between you, and one touch of the pad of his thumb on your pulsing clit and you are sent stratospheric, writhing under him, your cunt gripping his cock vice-like as he howls and you break, exploding with a white-hot heat you feel in every cell.  Dimly, you feel him pull out of you, your fluttering channel bereft as his warm seed spills over your belly, and he slumps heavily on top of you, panting harshly in your ear, his weight almost crushing you for a few moments before he rolls away, striking his shoulder against one of the long planter bench legs as he does.

“I do not make a habit of this sort of behaviour,” he pants, flopping his head to look at you, his expression earnest, almost at pains to point it out, on the verge of sheepish. “Despite what you may have heard.”

“I do believe whatever was in that flower responsible,” you venture, looking away to stare up at the glass ceiling above and the navy sky beyond it, confounded as you seem barely sated even though you have just had the most intense, almost violent orgasm you have ever experienced. 

“What on earth….” he is looking down the plane of his torso to his cock, standing proud again. “It can only be. As I am apparently in need again…”

That sentence alone has your cunt clenching, desperate for him to fill you again so much it aches.

“So am I,” you whisper, feeling out of control as you flip onto all-fours and crawl over him, your nose running the length of his body as you do so, from his ankle to mouth, stopping once to take his cock deep into your mouth, with a sucking draw, throbbing hot and viscous with the taste of your joint release. He whimpers as you release him and keep climbing until you line up your dripping pussy.

“Fuck me….” he pleads, sounding wrecked and debauched, a tremble in his being under you that is so damn beautiful. You could never deny him. 

Groaning loud and long, you plunge yourself down onto him, rocking deep. You curse in unison and immediately start to ride him with abandon, a sheen over both of you that has you scrambling for purchase, nails scraping down his chest, the feel of his cock so divine you bite your lip and slam onto him repeatedly, uncaring for how loud you are, singularly focussed on pleasure and appeasing this febrile, feral need. 

With every downstroke you take, he pushes his hips up off the floor, grunting with the effort, like he is trying to plant himself so far inside you he becomes a part of your body. You feel the opposite of fragile, unbreakable… wanting to push to a place where you are both bruised from the intensity, a want to throw yourself into a fire of sensation and burn from it. You know you will carry marks on your body from this savage coupling, and he from you—long, angry red streaks blooming down his abdomen where you have scraped his flesh, fingermarks on the flare of your hips where he grips you, your engorged clit mashing into his pubic bone with each pass you take.

It's such a frenzy that before you know it, you are climbing again, so far, so dizzyingly fast your chest hurts to heave the breathes you need, staring down at his handsome face contorted as he chases his high too, eyes screwed tightly shut, the tendons of his neck in sharp relief, a deep red flush over his skin. And then you are breaking again, this time more of a tidal wave that sweeps you off your feet, robbing you of any abilities except to sit speared upon him, clenching on his cock as he yells a warning, stars swimming before your eyes as you pull off just in time for an arc of his cum to coat your belly. Your whole body spasming, you fall away to one side, curling up, foetal, fighting for breaths. 

And yet, still, you know you are not done, and neither is he. Both possessed by something otherworldly, preternatural, not anything your right mind could override.

“What the hell is this?!” he laments, and he is looking at you beseechingly, a mien that you know is a mirror of your own.

“I have no idea, but please …” 

You don't even need to finish the sentence. A hand wraps around your ankle, the cold stone floor scraping your ribs as Anthony drags you to him, climbing over your back, pushing your legs apart unceremoniously with his knees as you lay face down, panting. His cock slides so deep you swear you can feel pressure from it under your ribs. His hands cover yours, fingers sinking between yours until you form joined fists on the floor, utterly pinned underneath his powerful body, wanting to be nowhere else. A need for him to fuck you so hard that you are permanently altered in some way. A thread of something that feels like insanity, questioning if this burning need will ever be met no matter how many times you come together.

He is not gentle, and you do not want him to be; a burn along your inner thighs at being pushed so wide open, his cock branding your inside, a tugging deep inside like a string between your hip as his harsh tips nudges your hilt with each stroke. His teeth are on the nape of your neck, more beast than man, and you encourage it, condone it, call out filthy words as you writhe under him, wanting everything he can give you. 

Sweat pours from your flushed bodies now, a thick fug in the air that smells of sex, lingering with the heady scent of florals in the humidity of the greenhouse. The glass, fogging around you, trickles of condensation from your harsh exhales. Over and over, he pounds into you, pain blooming in your kneecaps where they scrap the floor, but that discomfort just heightens your need. You bring one of your joined fists to your mouth and bite down onto his knuckles where they grip yours, and he howls, begs you to do it again, which you do, tasting his salty flesh, an odd metallic need on your tongue that wants to push it further and taste his blood, to mix with his sweat and cum that still lay heavy in your mouth. It's so primaeval and earthy, a drive to taste everything he is. 

This time, it's your fingers that slide between your legs to push you over the edge you seem to have been skating since he entered your body the first time—roughly rubbing yourself with your fingers until you are screaming and flailing under his harsh thrusts.

“Do not withdraw…” you bark, a craving to have his seed inside you, consequences be damned. It feels like that is the only thing that will break this spell you are under. As if this flower is demanding you be pollinated as much as it was calling out for with its release.

“I could not even if I wanted to…” he confesses breathily, his pace never wavering, one of his hands releasing yours to grab your hips again, a mounting you could not escape. With two last desperate thrusts, he stills, buried deep, a shudder up the length of his cock you can feel pressing your walls, and you are pulled over into ecstasy by it, milking him of everything he can give. You float away as you feel his release blossoming inside you, him pulling your hips high so none can escape. 

As you feel his weight bearing you down, the fever finally seems to break, both of you utterly spent and filthy, the dew on your body picking up specks of spoil from the floor shaken from the planters around you. You roll over under him, and your eyes meet contrite, but a mutual understanding there was nothing that either of you could do to prevent this.

“I have no regrets,” you admit, voicing what you can see behind his eyes, a new connection to him you can feel.

“Same,” he admits quietly, kissing your lips chastely, pitched to comfort and convey everything you feel. “I will stand by any consequences of this… experience,” he adds, a sincerity in his expression that makes you touch his cheek, moved by his gentlemanly chivalry.

“There was nothing either of us could do…” you soothe. “Let us see if there is anything before we worry of such things.”

He smiles and pulls you into his arms, “Agreed. In the meantime, I rather suspect we need to bathe,” he offers, gesturing to your dirty bodies as you share a giggle. “On my way in, I spied a lake. I am certain we can sneak there unseen…” he offers, nodding to a glass door at the far side of the greenhouse into the inky black gardens beyond.

As you both jump into the cooling water a few moments later, you feel the last of the bewitchment fading. Still, as your eyes meet in the glowing moonlight, you know on some fundamental level that a most unexpected adventure with this man is just beginning.

masterlist • wips • taglist (follow this blog to be tagged)

Anthony taglist Pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor @hanji-emo-blog @y0ur-favgerman @sya-skies

[lxndonorris]

Chocolate- Charles Leclerc

Y/N x Charles Leclerc Theme: Smutish, Teasing, light touching Charles is your best friend and you're joining him in Australia. However, Pierre pranks the two of you with some spicy chocolate x word count: 1930+ taglist: @game-set-canet mentions of Pierre :P requested by anon :) feel free to request in my askbox gif by me

The scorching Australian sun beats down on the bustling Melbourne Grand Prix Circuit, where the roar of Formula 1 engines fills the air. Among the throngs of racing enthusiasts, you stand nervously, your heart pounding with excitement. Charles, your best friend and Ferrari's star driver, invited you to spend the weekend with him at the track, a dream come true for any racing fan.

As you stand inside the Ferrari garage, Charles flashes you a mischievous grin. "Ready to cheer for me?" he asks, his eyes sparkling brightly. 

"Absolutely," you reply, barely able to contain a giggle. "I can't thank you enough for this opportunity, Charles." 

"That's what friends are for, right?" He says, running a hand across his chest to button up his racing suit, getting ready to jump into his race car.

He zooms out of the garage and onto the track, while you watch the screen with a mix of excitement and nervousness. To calm your nerves, you brought yourself some chocolate from Charles' motorhome. He told you he got them from Pierre earlier today, and both of you enjoyed a bar before this training session—it tastes so good.

As you wait for Charles to finish his last training session for the weekend, the anticipation bubbles within you, heightened by the thrill of the fast-paced racing world.

Clad in his Ferrari shirt and cap, you feel a strange sense of exhilaration coursing through your veins, mingling with the nervous excitement that pulses beneath the surface.

When Charles finally emerges from his car, his presence seems to command the entire paddock. His aura is magnetic, drawing you in with an irresistible force. In one swift motion, his helmet and balaclava come off, revealing a face flushed with exhilaration. 

He exchanges a few words with his mechanics, his focus on the training still evident in his demeanor. But then, as if drawn by an invisible force, his gaze finds yours.

His expression softens slightly as he runs a hand across his chest firmly, stroking himself through his racing suit. Charles licks his lips before turning his attention back to the conversation.

A tingling sensation erupts in your belly, sending shivers down your spine when he approaches you. As Charles closes the distance between you, palpable energy seems to radiate from him, his every movement infused with a magnetic charm that is impossible to resist. Time seems to slow down; everything around you is out of focus; just Charles remains the center of attention.

A confident swagger in his step, he exudes waves of effortless allure, seemingly pulling everyone's eyes on him. With casual grace, he runs a hand through his tousled hair, the strands falling back into place with practiced ease.

His touch lingers on his beard, his fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jawline before trailing down to his chest, where they linger for a moment longer.

You can't tear your gaze away, captivated by the sight of him and the way his features seem to be sculpted by the very hands of a divine artist. His confidence is intoxicating, drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

"How was I?" He asks, his words washing over you in a warm embrace. 

"Simply amazing." You smile as your skin heats up rapidly. Your face flushes with color, nearly as bright as your Ferrari shirt.

"Thank you; the car was so good." Charles remarks with a coy smile forming on his lips. "It felt amazing, like it let me do all that I wanted."

Despite your best efforts to concentrate, your attention keeps drifting, drawn inexorably to every nuance of his being. His lips move with fluid grace, forming each word with precision, and you can't help but be mesmerized by their subtle curve.

His beard, perfectly groomed yet with a hint of ruggedness, frames his jawline with an undeniable allure. As his fingers trail along it, you feel a surge of longing wash over you; the desire to reach out and touch the softness bristles alomst overwhelming.

But it is his hands that truly capture your attention—strong and calpable yet gentle in their touch. Every movement is deliberate, and each gesture imbued with a quiet confidence.

And then there are his eyes, pools of endless depth that seem to hold the entire universe within their gaze. They sparkle with warmth and mischief, drawing you in even closer.

Then, however, he leans in to whisper in your ear. "You look so good in that shirt," he breathes, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine. "Almost as good as me out there on track, huh?" 

You chuckle nervously, the air crackling with tension as you struggle to keep your composure. Charles' newfound flirtatiousness is both exhilarating and unnerving, stirring emotions within you that you had never dared to acknowledge.

His hands brush over yours before he separates himself, a knowing smirk forming on his lips as his eyes roam all over you again.

One of his mechanics calls him over, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Charles has been your friend for years now, and you can't deny the attraction you feel to this beautiful man, but this comes out of nowhere.

Later, you make your way back to his motorhome. The atmosphere grows increasingly charged, thick with unspoken desire. With each step, you find yourself drawn to Charles, unable to resist the magnetic pull that draws you closer together.

Inside his quarters, the air was heavy with anticipation, the silence punctuated only by the sound of your racing hearts. The scent of his cologne is all around you as Charles moves with fluid grace, his movements mesmerizing as he sheds his racing suit.

You watch, transfixed, as he lets the upper half of his suit hang down his waist, exposing his tight fireproofs that hug his form. Like a second skin, its fabric clings to his skin, and you can't help but admire the way they accentuate every contour of his muscular physique. Despite their attempt to conceal his strength, his powerful frame is unmistakable.

With causal ease, he flexes his arms, the fabric stretching taut against the bulging muscles beneath. You gasp silently as he stretches and moves, showing off his beautiful form.

But it is when he runs a hand over himself, stroking firmly along the curves of his chest and abdomen, that you find yourself unable to tear your gaze away. The sight is hypnotic, a tantalizing display of masculinity that leaves you breathless with desire.

Caught in the act of staring, you feel a blush creep into your cheeks as Charles' eyes meet yours. But instead of embarrassment, there is a playful twinkle in his gaze.

"Like what you see?" He winks, a mischievous grin quirking the corners of his lips as he teases you with a knowing look.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." You raise your hands slightly, but he doesn't mind you watching him.

"I don't know. I'm so horny right now." He lets out a low moan that gives you goosebumps. 

Unable to suppress the surge of desire that courses through your body, you close the distance to him, your hands trembling as they reach out to touch him.

His body is warm beneath your fingertips, eliciting a soft gasp as your boidies collide in a frenzy of longing. As your hands venture forth, a hesitant yet undeniable curiosity guiding its path, you feel warmth and a tingling sensation run through you. 

Charles stands before you, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath, the fabric of his fireproofs offering little resistance to the exploration that lies ahead.

With a tentative touch, you allow your fingers to trace the contours of his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath the thin barrier of fabric. Each ridge and curve elicits a soft gasp from you and an even softer yet guttural moan from him.

Charles breath hitches at the touch, his gaze locked with yours in a slient exchange of longing and desire. Emboldened by his response, you press your hand firmer against him, reveling in the sensation of his warmth seeping through his clothes.

His muscles ripple beneath your touch, a testament to the strength and athleticism that define him as a professional racing driver. And yet, beneath the surface, there is a vulnerability, a rawness, that speaks of the humanity within him.

"It feels so good," he growls, and places his hands on your waist, holding you close.

In the heat of the moment, you lean in, and your lips meet in a hungry kiss, the world around you fading into insignificance. But just as your passion reaches its zenith, a sudden sound shatters the intimacy of the moment.

Startled, you break apart, your gazes locking in shared disbelief as you turn to see Pierre standing behind you, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. His laughter echoes through the motorhome, mingling with the stunned silence that envelopes you.

"It looks like someone's been busy," Pierre teases, unable to contain his amusement.

Embarrassment floods through you, your cheeks burning as you struggle to find the words to explain the situation. But Charles simply chuckles, his arms wrapping around your waist in a protective gesture.

"Thanks for the chocolate, Pierre," Charles says with a wry grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Looks like they had quite the effect."

Confused, your gaze shifts between them, trying to make sense of the situation. Then, you notice him brandishing a box of chocolates with an impish grin. 

Pierre's grin widens, a twinkle of mischief dancing in his eyes. "My pleasure," he replies. "I must say, if I weren't taken, I'd be falling for either of you. You both look so good."

You can't help but giggle at his remarks, even though you're still slightly confused, as the warmth of embarrassment creeps into your cheeks.

"Oh, Pierre, you're naughty," Charles chimes in, his laughter joining yours. "But I suppose I can't argue with you there."

Pierre approaches you, the box of chocolates held out in offering. You accept it, and your eyes fall on it right away. 

"Spice up your life with our new aphrodisiac chocolate bars." You read to yourself and pout, "Really, Pierre?"

Pierre's hand lands on Charles' firm chest, a playful pat that elicits a low growl from him.

"Aren't you just the heartthrob of the paddock?" He teases, his hand stroking Charles' chest a few times, before Charles nudges him with his elbow.

"You're unbelievable, Pierre," he says, shaking his head with a shy smile. 

Still feeling the effect of the chocolate coursing through his veins, Charles can't resist the urge to indulge in a bit of self-admiration. With a smirk, he strokes his own chest, his movements mirroring Pierre's teasing gestures.

Sensing the playful energy in the room, you join in on the fun, nudging Pierre playfully as well. 

He giggles in response, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he returns the gesture.

"I think I should leave you to it then." Pierre licks his lips. "You can keep the chocolate." He smirks and shrugs before leaving the motorhome.

As his laughter fades away and you are left alone once more, a comfortable silence settles between Charles and yourself.

Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice soft yet filled with sincerity. "You know, it felt good to hold you close like that," he admits, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of vulnerability.

You nod, feeling a warmth spreading through you at his words. "Yeah, it did." You agree, unable to suppress the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Aziraphale's favourite thing about Crowley and vice versa :) ❤ (video)

David: Michael, what do you think is Aziraphale's favourite thing about Crowley?

Michael: It's the fact that when we're acting...

David: Yeah

Michael: I can see myself in your eyes.

David: Oh, that's, yeah. That makes sense.

Michael: And I don't mean that in a deep philosophical sense. I can literally see myself. No, Crowley's favourite thing about Aziraphale, I think is probably the same thing that is the most annoying thing about Crowley for Aziraphale, which is his constant questioning, his constant rule breaking and bending the rules and not doing things by the book. And that really annoys him. But, over time, it's what has drawn him to Crowley, I think. What's Crowley's favourite thing about Aziraphale?

David: Funny you should ask. It's very - I'm going to give a very similar answer to you - it's the things that infuriate him and also draw him to him. It's his openness, it's his consistency, it's his kind heartedness, drives Crowley up the wall and yet, he is inexorably drawn to it.

[youaintnothinbuta]

This might be a little out there… but can I humbly request feyd rautha x reader where reader is a ward of the Harkonnens and has grown up with Feyd but his feelings have changed since they have gotten older and she catches him watching her while she’s naked in the bath 👀 and smut ensues 👀 kinda step sibling vibes if that makes sense

You most certainly can!! I love this idea, thank you for letting me run it up in my imagination 😋 sorry if it’s a bit short !!!

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” — feyd rautha x reader

Summary: see request

Pairing: feyd rautha x fem!reader

Word count: 1K

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, mature language, unprotected sex, sex in a bathtub (is that even a warning idk), probably typos you know meee

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You’d be lying if you said your days were filled with excitement, but being a ward for the Harkonnen’s, they were still rather exhausting. All day, from the moment you wake, you must be paying absolute attention to everything and everyone.

Finally, it was your time to unwind and get yourself ready for bed. The weight of your obligations lifted as you retreated to the sanctuary of your quarters. With a heavy exhale, you shed the layers of clothing that draped your frame.

Standing before the bath, you hesitated momentarily, savoring the anticipation of the forthcoming release. With deliberate movements, you lowered yourself into the welcoming embrace of the warm water. Instantly, you felt your muscles relax. You laid your head back gently against the tub, shutting your eyes, a small sigh escaping your lips again, however this one a sigh of content.

You reached for the washcloth that was draped over the edge of the tub. You dipped it into the warm water, allowing the fabric to soak up the soothing liquid before bringing it to your skin. Starting with gentle strokes, you traced the contours of your body. The sound of water dripping from the cloth, meeting the water you were sitting in echoed against the walls of the bathroom.

Once you were satisfied with your cleanliness, you allowed yourself to relax once again.

“I know you’re there, Feyd Rautha.” You said, your voice breaking the silence of the room. There was a pause, before his low chuckle shattered the stillness. He emerged from the shadows with the elegance of a predator stalking its prey. He approached you, wearing nothing but the thin black cloth that covered his groin.

“How’d you know it was me?” He asked, his voice, even huskier than usual, cut through the steam-filled air, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Leave, I’m bathing.” You insisted, your tone firm despite the flutter of nerves that danced in your belly. But Feyd was not deterred. He approached, his eyes alight with a hunger that could not be sated.

He hummed in response. “Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he remarked, reminding you that when you were children it wasn’t uncommon for you all to bathe together.

“Yes it is, I’m not a little girl anymore,” you countered.

“Believe me,” he growled, “I know.”

You looked up at him. At his body. Your eyes traced each outline of every defined muscle he had to offer. Your gaze lingered on him, drinking in every detail, until finally, it fell lower, drawn inexorably to the undeniable evidence of his erection straining against the thin fabric that barely concealed it. He let you gape at his body, enjoying it profusely.

Your entire body felt a chill, goosebumps covering your skin. He stepped into the bath, settling himself at the opposite end. He leaned towards you, and you could feel his breath against your damp skin as he spoke.

“I will be gentle with you. You will be so wet when I slide inside you.”

His words, the way they slipped past his lips, were meant to entice you. And they worked.

“Feyd,” you spoke his name quietly, breathily.

He took your arms in either of his hands, pulling your body over his. You settled yourself gently over him. He inhaled sharply at the feeling of the soft flesh of your pussy lips lightly touching the sensitive skin of his cock. His large hands found their way to your tits, squeezing them. Your nipples hardened under the caress of his thumbs. He kissed you, hungrily. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, seeking yours out. Your kiss became desperate, hurried, passionate. He bit down on your lip, causing you to moan into his mouth. You lifted yourself off him, letting his cock stand straight, then you slid down, impaling yourself on his thick shaft. He moved slowly, teasing you, until you were seated all the way to the hilt.

You felt so tight around him. He moved with incredible slowness, waiting for the feeling of your muscles to stop clenching around him, the sign that you were adjusted to him. He reached between your legs, finding your clit, rubbing it with firm strokes, making you moan. Finally feeling you relax around him, he began to thrust in and out of you, harder and faster, making you moan louder, squeeze your eyes shut. You dug your nails into the skin of his shoulders, drawing blood as you gripped him. He lifted your leg, letting your foot rest in his left hand as he was able to reach an ever deeper angle, his right hand still using his thumb on your clit. Cries fell from your lips as the water sloshed around you, smacking his chest and splashing your face.

“Look at me,” he commanded. When you opened your eyes, they landed on his, piercing you, holding you. That was all it took. With one final cry of his name, you came with such force, it caught him by surprise, making him lose placement on your clit, just long enough for his fingers to find it again, drawing every last drop of pleasure out of you as your orgasm wracked your body. He came inside of you, a primal grunt coming from his lips with every spurt of his hot cum shooting deep inside of you. He kissed your lips once more, shutting his eyes as he panted. You collapsed onto his chest, his strong arms wrapping around your back, providing you with some warmth. The water in the tub was cold now, but neither of you moved to get out, too content, exhausted and sated like this.

“We are not children anymore,” he snarled, “I have wanted you for some time now.”

“Na-Baron may have whatever he desires.” You whispered in his ear. He rested his hand on the back of your head, gently pressing your face to lie against the skin on his shoulder.

“Correct.” He whispered in reply.

[obsessedwhyyes]

Beneath the Blood and Starlight

Summary: Awoken from a nightmare, you seek a moment of reprieve down by the river, only to find your mysterious vampire companion - covered in blood. As you help him with his mess, you realise that perhaps there's more to his rakish, teasing façade: a vulnerability that you had not anticipated. A moment of intimacy ensues.

Rating: T Word Count: 3096 Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Content: Act 1, pre-romance, fluff, early bonding, non-sexual intimacy, flirting, feral cat Astarion. Warning: Starts with a nightmare sequence featuring depictions of ceremorphosis, in case that's an issue.

A/N: What was meant to be a cute, fluffy little drabble grew arms and legs and turned into several thousand words. I wanted to explore some non-sexual intimacy, in the context of Act 1 where everyone is still learning about each other, so here we have some typical Act 1 Astarion flirting, some banter, and some exploration of Astarion - the person, rather than the vampire spawn.

It was a night like any other.

The campfire warmed the faces of the merry band of travelling companions you had accrued throughout the course of your journey. The strangest bedfellows one could ever imagine, but amidst the chaos of your journey up to now, the sound of laughter was a joyous reprieve; a rare moment of peace.

Your gaze was drawn inexorably to Astarion who sat across from you. Firelight danced across his pale skin as you watched him, and he caught your eye then. A mischievous smile played at the corners of his mouth and your heart fluttered, just a little.

“Darling,” he purred, raising a finger to point to you, “you’re bleeding.”

You were?

Your hand reached for your face, feeling a slickness trickling from your nose. Strange. You hadn’t noticed any pain.

Suddenly, the firelight seemed too bright, the laughter too loud.

Something was wrong.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your body was wracked instead with a fit of coughs. You could not breathe.

You doubled over, and an ache spread throughout your jaw - a pain unlike anything you had ever experienced. Your innards felt ready to burst out of you.

“Are you alright?” Astarion’s voice was tinged with an uncharacteristic concern. Moving quickly to your side, his cool hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. But as your eyes met his, you recoiled in horror.

A mindflayer.

Where Astarion’s once beautiful face had been, you were greeted with orange eyes, burning with malice, sharp teeth like cut glass within a tentacled maw, and slickened, wet skin. Yet, his voice remained the same, teasing and rakish - a jarring contrast that set your heart pounding, limbs begging you to flee.

You tried to scream, but your jaw felt wrong. It cracked, a sickening sound that reverberated through your skull. The pain was excruciating, blinding. Something writhing and slick attempted to push its way out of your throat and you choked.

Astarion-Not-Astarion’s hand, still cool against your feverish skin, stroked your cheek almost tenderly. “That’s it,” he cooed, his voice a twisted parody of his usual flirtatious drawls, “embrace the change.”

You looked around wildly. All of your companions had transformed, their familiar faces replaced by disgusting, terrifying… No, beautiful, evolved, magnificent alien features.

“Change,” they chanted. “Change. Change…”

You bolted upright, a strangled gasp escaping your lips. Cold sweat drenched your skin as you wildly scanned your surroundings. The familiar sight of your tent came into focus.

Your heart pounded in your chest as realisation set in. A dream. It was a dream.

It was a night like any other.

And that was precisely the problem.

Sleep, you decided, was no longer an option.

There was a river in the woods nearby and you were in desperate need to cleanse yourself of the sweat which clung to your still shivering body. Or rather, you needed something, anything to distract yourself. And so, packing washcloths, you left the confines of your tent and snuck away into the woodlands.

–

The sound of running water called to you, a moment of solace drawing nearer. Or so you thought, until a familiar figure came into view.

It was Astarion, sitting by the river's edge, moonlight gleaming across his pale… Bare skin.

Assuming you'd stumbled in on something you shouldn't have, you averted your gaze hastily, a blush crawling up your neck. “A-ah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude!”

“It's just my shirt, darling. No need for such modesty.” Astarion’s voice carried a hint of amusement, clearly privy to your embarrassment.

A moment passed as you attempted to recompose yourself. Looking up, he was indeed just shirtless. 

Thank the gods for that.

As you drew closer to him, you noticed the blood smeared across his face - evidence of a recent hunt.

Truth be told, he was a bit of a mess. Crimson streaks painted his cheeks and chin, with a particularly gruesome splatter across his left temple. Some of it had begun to dry, flaking at the edges. It was a stark, almost beautiful contrast against his pale skin - a reminder of the predator that lurked beneath his charming exterior.

You sat across from him, trying to ignore the way the moonlight played across his bare chest.

His lips curled into a smirk. “Out for a midnight stroll or were you just hoping to catch me in a compromising position?”

You rolled your eyes, though you were grateful for the familiar banter. You tried not to recall the events of your nightmare, the lingering tendrils of which still threatened to send you into a blinding panic. In a way, you were grateful to have stumbled across Astarion on your journey out here. As much as you told yourself otherwise, being alone was perhaps not what you needed right now.

“I just needed some fresh air,” you said, less than eager to give away the finer details of your predicament.

Your gaze fell on a needle and thread beside him, and a hole in his shirt draped across his lap.

“What happened?” You asked, nodding to his shirt, in a hasty attempt to change the subject.

“Ah, this? I was unfortunate enough to get tangled up with a particularly feral boar this evening. The little bastard didn't get very far though.”

Well, you thought to yourself, that explains the blood.

As he picked up the needle and resumed his repairs, long fingers moving with practised ease, you found yourself curious. “I didn't know you could sew.”

“I'm a man of many talents. I'd be happy to give you a… private demonstration, if you like.”

You sighed in mock exasperation. “Isn't it exhausting trying to talk your way into my trousers all the time?”

“Who says I was trying to talk my way into your trousers?” Astarion gleamed.

You fixed him with a doubtful look, eyebrow raised. In response, he reached into his pack which rested behind him, and pulled out a handkerchief, handing it to you. As you unfolded it, you gasped. Delicate florals, intricate patterns adorned the fabric, embroidered with a meticulous care and skill that you would have attributed to the tailors and seamstresses of Baldur's Gate’s Upper City. It was as if he had captured the essence of a moonlit garden, with silvery threads weaving a tapestry of nocturnal blooms and shadowy vines.

“Gods, Astarion. You made this?”

He nodded, a flicker of genuine pride crossing his features.

“It's beautiful,” you breathed as you ran your fingers across the stitches. “What a wonderful talent to have.”

Something shifted in Astarion’s expression - a flash of vulnerability quickly masked. 

“Yes, well, one must find ways to pass the time. Keep it, if you like,” Astarion continues, attempting to feign disinterest. The look in his eyes told a different story.

“Thank you,” you said. You meant it.

A moment of silence passed between you, punctuated by the gentle bubbles and burbles of the river as it flowed.

“I don't think I have any special talents of my own,” you mused, more to yourself than to him.

Astarion glanced up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, I'm sure you have some hidden talents. I'd be more than happy to help you explore them, if you like. In my tent, perhaps?”

You raised an eyebrow, holding his gaze.

Astarion grinned, unabashed. “That time, I was trying to talk my way into your trousers.”

You laughed then and gods, did it feel good to laugh on a night like this, even with the familiar feeling of heat rising to your cheeks. This dance between you - this constant push-and-pull - had become almost comforting in its familiarity. Of course, you had considered his offer - he had not exactly been subtle about his intentions with you. But you weren't quite ready to give in. Not yet, anyway.

Your laughter settled, and something in the mood shifted as Astarion turned his gaze from you to the river.

“Truth be told, Cazador didn't give us much beyond the clothes on our backs. I had to learn some things for myself.”

The admission hung heavy in the air. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, despite the venom that laced his voice at his former master’s name. 

“I'm sorry,” you said softly. Once again, you meant it.

He shrugged, forcing a lightness into his tone. “It’s not all bad. Using my hands to create something beautiful - it's a welcome distraction. It lets me feel… well, not good, but less terrible for a while.”

You nodded. You never knew quite what to say in these moments. Astarion had only recently begun to open up to you regarding his past, and each story drew forth a maelstrom of emotions from you. Sadness at the gods-awful role he was thrust into; guilt at not having been there for him sooner; anger, not only at Cazador, but at those who had the opportunity to save him but chose not to, as though his vampiric nature made him less worthy of the safety that all who live, crave. You could only imagine the feelings which raged like a tempest in him.

It was in moments like these that you had to admire just how brave he really was.

You were snapped out of your ruminations when Astarion finished his mending. You caught a glimpse of a sharp, pointed fang as he used it to cut the thread - an action which shouldn't have been as fascinating as it was.

He stood and slipped on his shirt.

“Well?” He asked, with a twirl and a flourish. “What do you think?”

“Perfect as always,” you replied, then paused. “Except for, well, the blood on your face.”

Astarion’s eyes widened in indignation. “And you're only mentioning this now?”

You shrugged, fighting back a grin. “I thought the feral look rather suited you.”

“You absolute freak,” he scoffed, but there was no real heat behind the words.

“I can help if you want.”

As you dug into your pack to procure a washcloth, your intentions clear, Astarion’s reaction was immediate and visceral. He recoiled as if you'd brandished a weapon, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Absolutely not.”

Pride and uncertainty marred his voice. You recognised the look in his eyes - the same wary glance of a feral cat, torn between the desire for help and the instinct to flee.

“Come on,” you coaxed, keeping your voice soft, even. “It's not like you can look in a mirror.”

You had hoped humour would de-escalate the situation.

It did not.

For a moment, anger flashed in his eyes - a cornered predator lashing out. But as he met your gaze, something in his expression shifted. The fury melted to uncertainty, then a flicker of longing so brief you almost missed it.

Astarion’s body language was a mess of contradictions. He leaned slightly towards you, as if drawn by an invisible thread, only to catch himself and pull back. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, but the words lacked his usual bite. “I don't need– I mean, I'm perfectly capable of–”

“If you don't need my help, that's okay. We don't have to do this if you don't want to.”

Astarion’s eyes darted between your face and the cloth, held loosely in your hand. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

“Why?” He asked.

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. Why are you helping me? Why care?

“Because I want to,” you answered simply.

Something in Astarion’s expression cracked then, a hairline fracture in his carefully constructed façade. He gave a jerky nod, not quite meeting your eyes.

“Well,” he said, his tone aiming for nonchalance but missing by a mile, “if you insist on playing nursemaid, who am I to stop you? Though I warn you, darling, caring for me can be a dangerous pastime.”

The words were pure Astarion - flirtatious, guarded, with a hint of threat. The words weren't quite acceptance, but they were close enough.

“I'll take my chances,” you teased softly, patting the ground beside you, prompting him to sit.

He complied with an obvious reluctance, perching on the edge of the riverbank as if the ground might swallow him whole.

As you wetted your washcloth in the river and moved closer to him - close enough to feel his cool breath on your skin - you notice him tense at the anticipation of your touch. His eyes were squeezed shut, face turned slightly away from you. But you were gentle as you placed the cloth to his cheek and began to wipe away the streaks of crimson from his face.

The sounds of the world around you dulled, faded to a murmur as you tended to him, as though the leaves had stilled their rustling and the river its gurgling. In this moment of suspended reality, your focus narrowed to Astarion’s face and the myriad of emotions playing across it.

His hesitation, his vulnerability - it struck you how monumental this simple act truly was. Here was a man - a vampire - who had known centuries of cruelty; who had learned to weaponise his charm and keep the world at arm’s length for his safety. And yet, he was allowing you to see him like this: uncertain, teetering at the edge of trust.

The weight of his concession settled over you like a blanket. Each micro-expression that flickered across his features told a story of internal struggle - the tightening of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his eyes squeezed shut as if bracing for pain that wouldn't come. It was a dance of contradictions; a battle between ingrained distrust and a longing for gentleness.

In this frozen moment, you realised that what you were offering wasn't just a clean face. It was acceptance, care, a touch unburdened by expectation or demand. And for Astarion, perhaps accepting it was an act of bravery greater than any he'd shown in battle.

With careful strokes, you cleaned the blood away from his cheek. You worked slowly, mindful of the tension in his jaw. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, he began to relax under your ministrations.

“Turn your head for me?” You asked, softly.

Astarion complied without a word, tilting his face to give you access to the other cheek. His eyes remained closed, but the furrow in his brow had softened.

You resumed your task, gently working your way across his features. A stubborn smear of dried blood at the corner of his mouth, another at the hollows of his cheekbones, droplets that had spattered at his forehead - all melted away before your eyes with each glide of the wet cloth, unveiling his pale skin.

As you worked, you found yourself studying him in a way you never had before. His elven features were a study in contrasts - ethereal beauty intertwined with the weathering of time and hardship. High cheekbones caught the moonlight, throwing delicate shadows across his face. His skin, where it wasn't marred by blood, was like polished alabaster, smooth and luminous.

As you gently moved to cleanse his temple, your fingertips brushed against a strand of his hair - silk curls spun from starlight.

Yet it was the imperfections that truly drew you in. Fine lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes, like a map of laughter and sorrow etched by the years. His brow, while regal, bore the weight of exhaustion, a testament to the burdens he carried.

There was something mesmerising in the juxtaposition - this timeless, otherworldly beauty marked by the unmistakable signs of an unlife born of hardships and losses yet unspoken between you. But each line, each weary shadow, only served to enhance a grace that time and pain could never fully erase.

Your hand paused, cloth hovering near his cheek, as you realised you'd been lost in studying him. In that moment, beneath the moon’s gentle gaze and the river’s whispered song, you saw not just the elf; the vampire; the mysterious travelling companion, but the man - beautiful, vulnerable, and utterly captivating.

Astarion’s eyes fluttered open, catching you in your reverie. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The air between you was filled with unspoken words and possibilities. 

It was… intimate.

“See something you like, darling?” Astarion’s voice was soft, lacking its usual sharp edge of sarcasm. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that made your breath catch.

You smiled softly, resuming your gentle ministrations.

“Just making sure I didn't miss any spots.”

You weren't quite ready to voice the thoughts swirling in your mind.

A comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by rippling sounds of water as you periodically dipped your washcloth in the river to wring it out.

As you shifted to clean the last traces of blood, you finally looked up again to meet Astarion’s gaze fully.

“There,” you said, “I knew there was a handsome man somewhere under all that filth.”

Astarion’s lips quirked into a smile - not his usual smirk, but something softer.

“Well, I suppose I should thank you for your… attentions,” he murmured.

The moment stretched between you, fragile and charged with possibility. For a heartbeat, you thought he might lean in; might close the distance between you. But the moment passed, leaving behind a mix of relief and something that felt dangerously close to disappointment.

You cleared your throat, breaking the spell.

“We should probably head back to camp,” you suggested, your voice steadier than you felt.

Astarion nodded, rising to his feet with his usual grace. As you gathered your things, you felt his eyes on you, thoughtful and considering.

“You know,” he said as you started back through the woods, “I think you might have one hidden talent.”

You glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow in question.

His smile was enigmatic, tinged with something you couldn't quite name.

“You have a remarkable ability to surprise me. And that… that is no small feat.”

As you made your way back to camp, the weight of your nightmare felt lighter. And if you walked a little closer to Astarion than strictly necessary, well, that was just to avoid tripping in the dark. Nothing more.

It was a night like any other and yet, as you settled back into your bedroll, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between you and Astarion. A new understanding, perhaps, or the first trembling notes of a melody yet to be fully composed. Whatever it was, it sang you to sleep, keeping the nightmares at bay just this once.

No Pressure Tag List: @roguishcat @silverfangmarks @sparrowbard

Masterlist can be found here.

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞

gangleader!sukuna x reader, modern au

tags: possessive & obsessive sukuna, choking, lowkey stalking translations: piccola - little one/baby notes: listen to "salvatore" by lana del rey wc: 1.7k

In the dimly lit underbelly of the city, where shadows whispered secrets and alleys told tales of violence, there existed a figure feared and revered in equal measure: Sukuna Ryomen, the enigmatic leader of the most dangerous gang. His name struck terror into the hearts of those who dared oppose him, while his charisma drew countless souls into his fold.

Sukuna was a man who commanded respect without uttering a word. His mere presence exuded power, his icy gaze capable of silencing even the boldest of adversaries. With a network spanning the city's underworld, he held dominion over illicit trades, clandestine operations, and the very pulse of criminal activity.

Yet, amidst the chaos and the conquests, there was one enigma that eluded Sukuna’s grasp: a woman whose allure ignited a fire within him. You, a mysterious beauty with a spirit as untamed as the flames dancing in the night. You moved with a grace that defied the chaos around you, a silent tempest in the midst of the storm.

From the moment Sukuna laid eyes on you, he knew you were unlike any other. You were not bound by the rules of his world, nor swayed by the promises of power and wealth. Instead, you remained an enigmatic force, unyielding and unattainable.

Driven by an insatiable desire, Sukuna sought to possess you, to unravel the mysteries that shrouded your existence. He offered you riches beyond measure, a throne by his side where you could rule the underworld together. Yet, each offer was met with a gentle refusal, as you remained steadfast in your independence.

Frustration festered within Sukuna's heart, a tempest of emotions that threatened to consume him whole. He was a man accustomed to getting what he desired, yet you remained beyond his reach, a tantalizing mirage in the desert of his ambitions.

Despite his best efforts to suppress the yearning that gnawed at his soul, Sukuna found himself inexorably drawn to you, like a moth to the flame. He watched from the shadows as you moved through the city, a silent guardian cloaked in mystery.

In the depths of the night, when the city slumbered and dreams took flight, Sukuna found himself haunted by visions of your captivating gaze. You were the one anomaly in his meticulously crafted world, the one puzzle he could not solve.

And so, amidst the chaos and the conquests, Sukuna Ryomen, a formidable leader, found himself ensnared by the one thing he could not possess: the heart of a woman who danced beyond his reach, a forbidden desire that burned brighter than any flame in the darkness.

In the depths of his lavish office, Sukuna sat with unwavering determination, his gaze fixed on the phone before him. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, a molten rage that threatened to erupt at any moment. With a swift motion, he seized the device, his fingers dancing across the screen with a commanding presence.

"Where are you, piccola?" he typed, each word a declaration of his unwavering dominance. "You cannot hide from me forever. I will find you, and when I do, you will answer to me."

There was no room for hesitation in Sukuna's messages, no trace of the desperation that had once plagued him. Instead, his words dripped with authority, each message a demand for her submission.

"Do not test my patience" he continued, his tone brooking no defiance. "You belong to me, and you will come to me willingly. There is no escape from my grasp."

With each message sent, Sukuna's resolve hardened, his determination driving him forward with unrelenting force. He would not be denied what was rightfully his, not by anyone, especially not by a woman who dared to defy him.

"Tell me where you are," he commanded, "I will not ask again."

But still, there was no response, no sign of surrender. Anger flared within Sukuna's chest, a wildfire of fury that threatened to consume him whole.

"If you think you can hide from me, you are sorely mistaken," his words a warning laced with venom. "I will tear this world apart to find you, and when I do, you will regret ever crossing me, piccola."

With a final message sent, Sukuna leaned back in his chair, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. He would not rest until you were in his grasp, until you bowed before him in submission. For in Sukuna Ryomen's world, there was no room for defiance, only dominance and control. And he would have it all, no matter the cost.

As Sukuna's fingers hovered over the screen, poised to send yet another commanding message, the door to his office swung open with a forceful creak. In strode one of his most trusted lieutenants, a figure cloaked in shadows and whispers, bearing news that ignited a spark of hope within Sukuna’s hardened heart.

"Boss," the subordinate – Toji – began, his voice low and deferential, "we've received word. She... she's in Miami."

The words hung heavy in the air, a tantalizing promise of victory amidst the tumultuous storm of Sukuna's emotions. Without a moment's hesitation, he rose from his seat, his movements swift and decisive.

"Prepare the jet," he commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "We leave immediately."

There was a sense of urgency in Sukuna’s tone, a hunger that burned brighter with each passing second. Miami beckoned like a siren's call, its neon-lit – ruby, blue and green, neon too – streets promising the chance to reclaim what was rightfully his.

As his subordinates scrambled to fulfill his orders, Sukuna's mind raced with thoughts of the woman who had eluded him for far too long. He could almost taste the sweet victory that lay within his grasp, the moment when you would finally bend to his will.

With a steely resolve and a heart set ablaze with determination, Sukuna embarked on his journey to Miami, a man possessed by a singular purpose: to capture the one who dared to defy him and to assert his dominance once and for all.

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting its golden rays upon the pristine sands of the Miami beach. Among the throngs of sun-seekers, Sukuna strode with purpose, his eyes scanning the shoreline with a predatory intensity. And there, amidst the azure waves and the gentle sway of palm trees, he spotted you.

You laid upon the sand, a vision of beauty that stole the breath from Sukuna's lungs. Clad in a bikini that left little to the imagination, you exuded an aura of confidence that only served to fuel his desire. Your bronzed skin glowed beneath the sun's warm embrace, your tousled hair cascading like silk upon the sand.

With measured steps, Sukuna approached, his gaze never wavering from the woman who had haunted his every thought. He stood before you now, a towering figure clad in shadows and sinew, his presence commanding the attention of all who dared to gaze upon him.

"Piccola," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "You cannot hide from me forever."

There was a flicker of defiance in your eyes, a spark that ignited the flames of desire within Sukuna's chest. But he would not be deterred, not by your beauty nor by your resolve. He had come too far, fought too hard, to let you slip through his fingers once again.

"You belong to me," he declared, his words laced with a possessiveness that bordered on obsession. "And now, you will come with me."

But you remained unmoved, your gaze steady as you met his with a defiance that stirred something primal within him. You were a challenge, a tantalizing puzzle that begged to be solved, and Sukuna was more than willing to rise to the occasion.

“I was working on my tan, boss.”

"Working on your tan," he repeated, his voice betraying none of the turmoil raging within him. "In Miami, of all places."

There was a subtle tension in the air, a silent battle of wills as you and Sukuna locked gazes. Your defiance sparked a flicker of admiration within him, even as it fueled the flames of his frustration.

"Indeed," you replied, your tone cool and composed. "Is there a problem with that?"

Sukuna's jaw clenched, a silent testament to the storm of emotions swirling beneath his stoic facade. He had come too far, searched too long, to be met with such casual indifference.

"No problem," he finally replied, his voice a low growl. "But I must insist that you accompany me. We have unfinished business, you and I."

Your lips curved into a sardonic smile, a glimmer of amusement dancing in your eyes. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, boss. I have many businesses, all of them quite finished."

Sukuna's patience wore thin, his frustration bubbling to the surface like molten lava. He had pursued you across oceans and continents, faced down countless adversaries in his quest to claim you as his own. And yet, she remained as elusive as ever, a tantalizing enigma that refused to be solved.

"Enough games, piccola," he snapped, his tone cutting through the air like a knife. "You cannot hide from me forever. Sooner or later, you will bend to my will."

The tension crackled between you like electricity as Sukuna's hand shot out, seizing you by the throat with a force that bordered on violence. His grip was firm, unyielding, a silent declaration of dominance that sent a shiver down your spine.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still as you stood locked in a primal embrace, your gazes locked in a fierce battle of wills. But beneath the surface, a different kind of energy simmered—a raw, unbridled desire that pulsed between you like a current of electricity.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as Sukuna's grip tightened, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin like branding marks. And yet, there was no fear in your eyes, only a smoldering heat that mirrored his own.

With a low growl, Sukuna leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear with a tantalizing promise. "You cannot resist me, piccola," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "You were made for me, and you know it."

A shudder ran through your body as you felt the heat of Sukunas breath against your skin, your pulse racing with a heady mixture of fear and excitement. You knew that you were as drawn to him as he was to you—a dangerous truth that sent a thrill coursing through your veins.

“You will always belong to me.”

[lazersanpsd]

"Thanatos would never speak of this, but it is clear, to me. Whence came the bond they share? My thought is that the Master's son must be the god of blood; of life. Thus, they are inexorably drawn."

just some thanatos and zagreus fanart 💐 happy (late) valentine's day

[bloodreinasbathwater]

Jacked Up Love

part 2

Jack Hughes X Best Friend! Reader

(Brothers Best Friend AU)

a.n: I have been debating whether to add some spice to this but after not seeing it fit my ending yet, it will be in part 4 or 5 instead. this one feels a little short but it's getting the story going until we have our final confrontation. I hope you guys enjoy and please message me if you have any questions or want to be added to the tag list. <3

warnings: flirting, not proofread, fuckboy jack, kissing, cursing, mentions of cheating?

masterlist link

Summary: Hurt and angry, Y/N avoids Jack for most of the night until he confronts her as the party winds down. Just as things are heating up between Y/N and Jack, Lee walks in on Y/N and Jack in an intimate moment.

word count - 4341

...

Jack chuckled as he observed Quinn and his dad bickering good-naturedly over the stove. Quinn kept trying to slather more sauce onto the ribs, much to Jim's exasperation.

"No, no, you're doing it all wrong!" Jim complained, attempting to wrestle the basting brush from Quinn's hand. "You're supposed to let the meat speak for itself, not drown it in that sugary nonsense."

Quinn rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, live a little! Everyone knows the secret to killer ribs is in the sauce dad."

Their playful argument carried across the large house, drawing amused glances from the other partygoers. Jack shook his head, grinning at their antics. He loved these laid-back gatherings in the winter, where everyone could just kick back and enjoy each other's company.

Turning his attention back to Lee, Jack tried to focus on their conversation about the latest Cardinals game. "...and did you see that pass in the third period?" Lee was saying excitedly, his hands waving animatedly as he recounted the highlights of the game. "I thought for sure they were going to score off that turnover."

Luke nodded, taking a swig of his beer. "Yeah, man, that was a close call. But the goalie really stepped up his game tonight. Those saves were unreal."

They continued to chat, their voices rising and falling with the ebb and flow of their enthusiasm. He tried to focus on the words, but a familiar laugh rang out, causing his heart to skip a beat. Jack's attention drifted from Lee's animated play-by-play of the game, his gaze inexorably drawn to where you stood by the dessert table with your girlfriends.

You were laughing at something Mia had said, your eyes sparkling with mirth. Jack watched, transfixed, as you tipped your head back, exposing the smooth column of your throat. Time seemed to slow as he took in the sight of you, the rest of the party fading into the background.

Lee, oblivious to Jack's distraction, continued chattering on about batting averages and on-base percentages. But Jack was only half-listening, his attention continually drawn back to you. "Hey, Jack! Did you catch that insane goal in overtime?"

Jack merely hummed noncommittally, his tone casual. "Yeah, yeah, I saw that. Pretty sick shot."

His gaze traced the curve of your smile, the fullness of your lips. An ache blossomed in his chest, a longing so acute it stole his breath. What would it feel like, he wondered, to have those lips pressed against his own? To trail his fingers along the silken expanse of your skin, to hear you sigh his name in the darkness?

In a trance, Jack's eyes roamed over you, drinking in every detail. The way your dress clung to your curves, the faint smell of your perfume on the jacket he had offered you outside, which of course you had given back covered in your smell. You were a masterpiece, a work of art come to life.

God, you were beautiful.

And then, as if sensing the weight of his stare, you turned. Your eyes met his across the flickering flames, and the world ground to a halt. In that suspended moment, Jack felt a jolt of electricity coursing through his veins, a pull towards you that was almost gravitational.

Your lips curved into a soft, secret smile, and Jack's heart stuttered in his chest. That smile held a thousand unspoken promises, a wealth of possibility that both terrified and thrilled him. He knew he should look away, knew he was treading on dangerous ground. But he was powerless to resist the magnetic allure of your gaze, the siren song of your presence.

Did you have any idea what you did to him? How much he wanted to pull you into his arms, consequences be damned?

He took a swig of his beer, trying to calm the riot of emotions swirling inside him. This was getting out of hand. He needed to get a grip on himself before he did something stupid.

Like confess his feelings for you, the one girl who was absolutely, completely off-limits...

Shaking his head, Jack forced himself to focus on Lee's words, determined to push all thoughts of you from his mind. At least for now.

But deep down, he knew it was futile. Because when it came to you, resistance had always been impossible. And maybe, just maybe... that was starting to feel more thrilling than frightening.

"Right? I thought the puck was going to bounce right off the crossbar, but nope - top shelf, baby!" Lee nodded, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around him.

…

"No, but seriously," Ava said, her face deadpan, "I think I'm going to start a GoFundMe for my boss's fashion sense. It's a tragedy, really. The man needs an intervention."

Sophie snorted. "What, you mean the 'middle-aged dad on vacation' look isn't working for him?"

"Please," you chimed in, grinning, "I've seen actual dads on vacation with better style. He's more like... a cross between a used car salesman and a cruise ship entertainer."

Mia nearly choked on her drink. "Oh my god, I can't unsee it now. The tacky Hawaiian shirts, the ill-fitting khakis..."

"Don't forget the socks with sandals!" Ava added, shuddering dramatically.

You all burst into laughter, the absurdity of the image too much to handle. Your shoulders shook with mirth, tears of hilarity pricking at the corners of your eyes. But then, gradually, you became aware of a prickling sensation on the back of your neck. The unmistakable feeling of being watched, the stare burning into your skin like a physical caress.

Still giggling, you scanned the crowd of faces, trying to catch the culprit. Your gaze flitted from person to person - Uncle Joe by the cooler, Quinn and Jim still arguing over the grill, a group of Lee's friends from college - but no one seemed to be paying you any attention.

Until your eyes locked with a pair of striking blue ones.

Jack.

The laughter died on your lips as your breath caught in your throat. He was staring at you intensely. The old, faded baseball cap perched backwards on his head did little to tame his unruly dark hair, and the worn grey hoodie he wore strained against the muscles of his chest and shoulders.

Your heart stuttered in your chest as you drank him in, heat rising unbidden to your cheeks. In that suspended moment, it was as if everyone else simply fell away, leaving only you and Jack, connected by some invisible, unbreakable thread.

But then Lee came into view, saying something to Jack with an easygoing grin. The spell was broken as quickly as it had been cast, uncertainty flooding in to fill the void.

Swallowing hard, you tore your gaze away, only to find Mia watching you with a knowing smirk. Her green eyes sparkled with barely contained laughter, and you knew you'd been caught red-handed.

"Shut up," you muttered, feeling your face flame even hotter.

Mia held up her hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I didn't say anything! But seriously, Y/N, when are you going to put that poor boy out of his misery and jump his bones already?"

"Mia!" you hissed, mortified. "It's not... I can't... he's Lee's best friend!"

Sophie rolled her eyes. "So? That doesn't mean you two can't get your freak on. Just think of how hot the sneaking around would be..."

You buried your face in your hands, torn between laughter and abject horror. "I hate you all. You're the worst friends ever."

Ava slung an arm around your shoulders, grinning. "Nah, you love us. And you know we've got your back, no matter what. Even if 'what' is climbing that tall, dark, and broody tree over there like it's your job."

Despite your embarrassment, you couldn't help but dissolve into giggles once more, your heart feeling lighter than it had all evening.

…

You snuggled deeper into the cozy embrace of the blanket, content to simply bask in the company of your friends. Ava, Mia, and Sophie had settled into the chairs around you, the conversation flowing as easily as the alcohol.

As the minutes ticked by, you found yourself growing increasingly drowsy, the events of the day finally catching up to you. Your eyelids grew heavy, and you had to fight to keep them open. Dimly, you registered Quinn hopping off rib duty, his arm slung around his girlfriend's shoulders as they made their way to the other living room, easily getting swept into his mothers conversation.

A moment later, Lee and Luke disappeared upstairs, their good-natured trash talk about the upcoming NHL game fading as the door swung shut behind them. Suddenly, feeling restless, you stood up - only to sway on your feet, the blanket flopping back down onto the love seat.

The world tilted alarmingly, and for a dizzying second, you were certain you were about to face-plant right into new glass table Ellen had bought.

quick as a flash, strong hands gripped your arms, steadying you. Before you could process what was happening, you found yourself being tugged down onto a solid, warm lap.

"Hi, Mini," Jack's deep, honeyed voice rumbled in your ear, sending a shiver racing down your spine that had nothing to do with the chill in the air. Your heart leapt into your throat, a giddy thrill coursing through you at his close proximity. This was the closest you'd been to him all night, and the heat of his body seemed to seep into your very bones.

Tipping your head back, you met his gaze, a slow smile spreading across your face. There was just something about Jack, something that never failed to bring a grin to your lips and a flutter to your pulse.

Whatever it was, you knew you were hopelessly entangled in his web, caught in a pull that only seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.

"Hi yourself," you murmured, your voice coming out breathier than you'd intended. "You come here often?"

Jack's lips quirked, his arms tightening around your waist. "Well, you know me. I never could resist a damsel in distress."

You laughed, swatting at his chest. "My hero. Whatever would I do without you?"

His expression softened, something tender and unguarded flickering in his gaze. "Guess you'll never have to find out, huh?"

Your breath caught at the unspoken promise in his words, the implications hanging heavy in the scant space between you. Suddenly, the air felt charged, electric, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

Awareness prickled over your skin as you stared up at him, your senses hyperattuned to every flex of his fingers on your hip, every hitch in his breathing. The rest of the world seemed to recede, fading into insignificance until there was only this - the crackle of the fire, the pounding of your heart, and the magnetic pull of Jack's eyes on yours.

It would be so easy, you thought hazily, to just lean in and close the distance between you. To finally, finally discover if his lips were as soft as they looked, if he tasted as good as you'd always imagined...

But then a burst of raucous laughter from across the yard shattered the spell, jolting you back to reality. You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks as you realized just how close you'd been to kissing your brother's best friend - in full view of everyone, no less.

Clearing your throat, you started to pull away, only for Jack's arms to tighten around you. "Hey," he said softly, his voice low and intimate. "Where do you think you're going?"

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. "I... I should probably go check on Lee upstairs. He gets super sensitive over chel, you know that." It was a flimsy excuse, and from the knowing glint in Jack's eyes, he wasn't buying it for a second. But he loosened his hold, nonetheless, letting you slide off his lap on unsteady legs.

"Hurry back," he murmured, his gaze hot and heavy on your skin. "I'll be waiting."

And as you stumbled away, your pulse racing and your mind awhirl, you couldn't help but wonder...

What the hell had you just gotten yourself into?

You knew you needed to be more careful, needed to keep a tighter rein on your reactions to Jack. The last thing you wanted was for Lee to catch on to the tangle of feelings knotting in your chest.

…

You managed to tear yourself away from the magnetic pull of Jack's presence, mumbling some excuse to your friends about needing to use the bathroom. But instead of heading inside, you found yourself climbing the stairs, drawn by the muffled shouts and laughter emanating from Lee's bedroom.

As you reached the top of the landing, the sounds of aggressive button-mashing and colorful trash talk grew louder, bringing a smile to your face. Some things never changed.

Pushing open the door, you were greeted by the sight of Lee and Luke sprawled out on the floor, controllers in hand, their eyes glued to the giant TV screen. They were in the middle of an intense NHL match, their players zipping across the virtual ice in a blur of motion.

"No, no, no!" Lee yelled, his face scrunched up in concentration as he mashed the buttons frantically. "Don't let him get past you, you idiot!"

Luke cackled, his fingers flying over his own controller. "Too late, bro! That's what you get for picking such a weak-ass team."

Lee let out a growl of frustration as Luke's player scored a goal, the tinny sound of a horn blaring from the speakers. "Lucky shot," he grumbled, elbowing his friend in the ribs. "I'll get you back for that."

"Bring it on, loser," Luke taunted, his grin wide and shit-eating. "I could beat you with one hand tied behind my back."

You leaned against the doorframe, shaking your head in amusement as you watched them bicker and shove at each other like overgrown children. It was moments like these that made you forget all about the stresses and uncertainties of adulthood, transporting you back to simpler times.

"Having fun, boys?" you asked, your voice cutting through their competitive banter.

Two heads swiveled in your direction, identical expressions of surprise on their faces. "Oh, hey, Y/N," Lee said, his annoyance melting into an easy smile. "Didn't see you there."

"Yeah, we were just schooling each other in the art of hockey," Luke chimed in, puffing out his chest. "Wanna see me kick your brother's ass?"

You snorted, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into the room. "As much as I'd love to witness that thrashing, I actually came up to see if you guys wanted any snacks. Though from the looks of it, you've already got enough beef to feed a small army."

Lee rolled his eyes, chucking a pillow at your head which you deftly dodged. "Har har, very funny. But yeah, some snacks would be awesome. I'm starving."

"When are you not starving?" you teased, ruffling his hair affectionately. "I swear, you're like a human garbage disposal."

"Hey, I'm a growing boy!" Lee protested, swatting your hand away. "I need my sustenance."

Luke snickered, ducking as Lee tried to smack him with a controller. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that, buddy. I think you stopped growing in the eighth grade."

As the two dissolved into another round of good-natured ribbing, you couldn't help but laugh, your heart swelling with fondness for these ridiculous, wonderful boys.

They might drive you crazy sometimes, but moments like these? Where you could just relax and joke around, forgetting about all the complications and uncertainties of the real world?

They were priceless.

So you settled yourself on the bed, content to watch Lee and Luke battle it out on the digital ice, their laughter and trash talk washing over you like a balm.

And for a little while, at least, you let yourself forget about the heat of Jack's gaze, the confusion swirling in your heart.

…

you headed back downstairs, the warmth of your impromptu hangout session with Lee and Luke still buzzing pleasantly under your skin, you couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of resolve.

So what if you had some complicated, confusing feelings for Jack? So what if his mere presence sent your pulse racing and your thoughts spiraling into dangerous, uncharted territory? At the end of the day, he was like a brother to you - and that was something you couldn't afford to lose.

Squaring your shoulders, you stepped down into the living room, determined to put some distance between yourself and the magnetic pull of Jack's orbit. You'd just grab another drink, maybe chat with your friends for a bit, and then make some excuse about needing to head home early. Easy peasy.

Ava, Mia, and Sophie were huddled together, their heads bent close as they whispered furiously to each other. The easy laughter and playful banter from earlier had vanished, replaced by a tense, almost electric undercurrent that set your nerves on edge.

"Hey guys," you said cautiously, sinking down into your seat. "What's going on?"

Three pairs of eyes snapped to your face, wide and startled, like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

"Oh, Y/N! We were just..." Mia trailed off, shooting a panicked look at the other two.

Sophie jumped in, her voice a little too bright, a little too brittle. "We were just talking about... boys. You know, the usual."

But there was something off about her tone, something strained and artificial that set your internal alarms blaring. You'd known these girls long enough to tell when they were hiding something - and right now? They were definitely hiding something.

"Cut the crap, Soph," you said, your gaze flicking between the three of them. "I know you guys better than that. Seriously, what's up? You're starting to freak me out."

"Y/N, we need to talk. It's about Jack."

Your stomach dropped, a cold, creeping dread slithering up your spine at the mention of his name, but you tried to play it cool. "What about him?"

Mia and Sophie exchanged a loaded glance, she nodded encouragingly, their faces grim as Mia spoke up, her voice low and conspiratorial. "We overheard him talking to Luke earlier, and... well, he said some things. About you."

Your mind raced, a thousand possibilities whirling through your head. What could she possibly mean? A cold sense of dread trickled down your spine. "What kind of things?"

Sophie bit her lip, looking uncomfortable. "He was laughing about how easy it was to string you along, how you were just another notch in his bedpost. He even said..." She paused, as if gathering her courage. "He said he had a bet going with his teammates to see how fast he could get you into bed."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs. It couldn't be true. Jack wouldn't... he couldn't...not after tonight.

But even as you tried to deny it, doubt began to creep in, insidious and corrosive. All those moments between you - the stolen glances, the lingering touches, the whispered promises - had they all been a lie? A cruel game played by a master manipulator?

Anger surged through you, hot and bitter, mingling with the sharp sting of betrayal. How could you have been so stupid, so naive?

"I... I need some air," you mumbled, stumbling to your feet and away from the concerned gazes of your friends.

you wove your way through the crowd of laughing, chattering partygoers, a sudden commotion near the edge of the yard caught your attention. Frowning, you craned your neck, trying to get a better look - only for your heart to plummet straight into your stomach.

There, surrounded by his friends near the Christmas tree, was Jack - and he wasn't alone. A tall, stunning brunette was glued to his side, their arms pressed flush against each other as she leaned into him, whispering something in his ear.

For a moment, you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stare as a tidal wave of emotions crashed over you. Hurt, betrayal, and a searing, white-hot jealousy that took your breath away with its intensity.

You watched, frozen, as Jack threw his head back and laughed at something the girl said, throwing his arm over her shoulder. They looked so comfortable together, so natural - like they'd done this a thousand times before.

And just like that, the fragile bubble of denial you'd been clinging to burst, the illusion shattering like glass at your feet.

You were such a fool.

Of course Jack didn't have feelings for you. Of course he saw you as nothing more than his best friend's kid sister, a silly little girl with a hopeless crush. How could you have ever thought otherwise?

For the rest of the night, you did your best to avoid Jack, always keeping him in your peripheral vision but never letting him get too close. Every time you caught a glimpse of his tousled hair or heard the rumble of his deep laugh, your heart clenched painfully, a fresh wave of humiliation washing over you.

But as the party began to wind down and guests started to trickle out, you found yourself cornered by the one person you'd been desperately trying to evade.

"Y/N." Jack's voice was low and urgent as he caught your elbow, spinning you around to face him.

"Nothing," you managed to choke out, your voice cracking traitorously. "I'm fine. I just... I need to go."

But even as you tried to pull away, Jack's grip on your arm tightened, his fingers digging into your skin with a desperate sort of urgency. "Wait, please. Just talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

You yanked your arm from his grasp, glaring up at him with all the fury and hurt you could muster. "I have nothing to say to you, Jack."

His brow furrowed, confusion etched across his unfairly handsome features. "What's going on? You've been avoiding me all night. Did I... did I do something wrong?"

"Why do you care?" you spat, the words bitter and acidic on your tongue. "Shouldn't you be getting back to your girlfriend over there?" Jack blinked, a flicker of confusion passing over his stupidly handsome face. A harsh, bitter laugh tore from your throat. "Don't play dumb, Jack. I know all about your little bet. About how I'm just another checkmark to you."

Jack's eyes widened, shock and disbelief warring on his face. "What? Y/N, that's insane. I would never... who told you that?"

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest like a shield. "Does it matter? The point is, I know the truth now. I know what kind of guy you really are."

He took a step closer, crowding into your personal space, his gaze locked on yours with an intensity that stole your breath. "The truth? The truth is that I'm crazy about you, Y/N. I have been for years." Your heart stuttered in your chest, a traitorous flutter of hope sparking to life. "That girl... she's just a friend. I swear. There's nothing going on between us," he insisted, his voice low and fervent.

One hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that made you ache. "I could never lie to you, Y/N. You're... you're everything to me."

You wanted to believe him. God, how you wanted to believe him. But the seeds of doubt had already taken root, twisting your thoughts into knots.

"I don't... I can't..." you whispered, hating the way your voice shook.

Jack's other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against the solid warmth of his body. "Then let me prove it to you," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "Let me show you how much you mean to me."

And then his mouth was on yours, fierce and desperate and achingly perfect, his kiss searing away every last shred of resistance. You melted into him, a broken moan rising in your throat as his tongue swept over yours, claiming and possessing and branding you as his own.

The kiss was electric, a live wire igniting every nerve ending in your body until you felt like you might burst into flames right then and there. His hands slid into your hair, his fingers tangling in the silky strands as he angled your head, deepening the kiss until you were drowning in him, lost to everything but the heat of his touch and the sweet, dark bliss of his mouth on yours.

"It's you, Y/N," he rasped, his voice low and raw with emotion. "It's always been you." 😉

just as you were losing yourself completely in his embrace, a familiar voice cut through the haze of desire, shattering the intimate bubble you'd created. "Where's Y/N?" Lee called out, his footsteps echoing on the stairs.

You and Jack froze, your lips still locked together, your bodies intertwined. What were you doing? Making out with your brother's best friend, in the middle of a party, where anyone could see you...

Jack sensed your sudden tension, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with arousal, but there was a softness there too, a tenderness that made your heart ache.

"Shit," you muttered. Your mind raced, frantically searching for an excuse, any excuse. "I… I'll just tell him I was in the bathroom or we were just talking," you whispered, straightening your clothes with shaking hands.

"Hey," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair back from your face. "It's okay. We don't have to hide."

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. "But Lee... what if he..."

"What if I what?" Lee's voice was closer now, just on the other side of the door.

Your heart lodged in your throat, fear and guilt and a desperate, wild hope all tangling together in your chest. This was it. The moment of truth. Once Lee walked through that door, there would be no going back.

...

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