#jasmin's dressing time

[sakurafigures]

♡ Jasmin (Jasmin's Dressing Time) - ABILU Design

[kangaroodle]

i got my bracelet from @osabishi-yama and it's completely perfect 😭 not only does it look beautiful, but the closure style is really easy for me to put the bracelet on one-handed !! i adore this bracelet it's so magical and prettyyyy

[babyboywilson]

if the beach is my favorite place, maybe blue is my new favorite color 💙🌊

[remitro]

feeling shrimp emotions about cbee again. sorry it will happen again

[nightingale-prompts]

The Nightingale Family-DC x DP prompt

(Shameless Addams family inspired prompt)

News travels fast in Gotham, especially in affluent circles. A new family has arrived in the city, old money at that. They had taken up residents in the old mansion overlooking the Historic Gotham Graveyard.

The Nightingales had a way of letting their presence be known. They were rarely seen in public. The eldest Jasmine Nightingale however had made waves working at the Gotham Asylum as a psychologist. She was often escorted by her younger brother Dan Nightingale. The public really started talking when Jazz was seen talking with Harley Quinn.

There were two children that lived in the Nightingale manor. They were elusive to say the least as the family didn't attend the parties of Gotham.

It wasn't until Damian Wayne got an invite from his classmate Danielle to visit their manor that someone saw the lives of Nightingales. This invite had been received after Damian carefully befriended the youngest Nightingale to investigate their connections.

That's how the Waynes ended up at a dinner party.

The manor was bleak to say the least and that's saying something in Gotham. The buildingbwas made from black stones and gargoyles perched on the roof. The garden was wilted and full of thrones that crept up the walls.

Bruce felt a sense of Deja vu as he approached the door and rang the bell. Tower bells rang out as the face of Jasmine Nightingale appeared. She was dressed in black dress pants and blazer. Her lips were painted to match. Her red hair had a striking white streak through it which had become a fashion trend since the family's arrival to girls wanting to seem mysterious.

"Good Evening. It is so nice to meet the infamous Waynes." She shook Bruce's hand. Behind her, the sounds of clanking metal was heard. "That is just my younger siblings playing. You don't you boys join while I talk to your father.

Despite only being a fresh-faced 20 year old Jazz carried herself like a confident adult. A certified genius in psychology who graduated early she also handled the inmates at the Asylum well enough that escapes are at an all time low.

"She's got it all" was what Harley said.

Bruce's admiration of the young lady was only matched by his suspicion. The house the Nightingales lived y had once belonged to the Al Ghouls. There was no telling yet if there was a connection.

He took a seat in the living room with Jazz tea already prepared. She poured two cups of black tea. Not black as in the type of tea but the color of the drink. Bruce cautiously sniffed the black liquid, it smelled earthy and acidic. Poison.

"Do you like it? I made it myself. I added the belladonna myself. It has a sweet taste so you don't need sugar. The kids have sweet tooths but we avoid added sugars. They love nightshade." She smiled drinking.

Bruce put the cup down. So they drink poison at a young age. They must be part of The League of Assassins. But why are they here?

"If you don't mind me asking. Why did you move to Gotham? Your parents-" Jazz put a hand up as she finished her cup.

"Mr. Wayne I'm sure you are no stranger to parents leaving before their time nor the concept that not all parents deserve children. Now I can't confirm or deny if that is the case for use but you can understand that it's a private matter." Jazz said sternly.

That wasn't an answer.

Upstairs Danny and Danielle played with Elle's new toys. Swords from Dan's trip to Portugal. He even sharpened them. They were currently tearing through the mansion.

Tim and Damian caught them while Danny had successfully pinned Elle to the ground.

"Dami! Help!" Elle yelled catching Danny off guard as Damian tackled Danny to the ground.

"Alright, alright. You can go next." Danny rolling Damian off him and passing him the sword. "Im taking a break."

Danny loved playing with his little sister but baby games are tiring.

"They let you play with swords," Tim exclaimed. This wasn't something he expected, sure it was normal for Damian but Damian is weird and was raised by assassins. Damian didn't do it for fun, it was training.

Damian and Danielle ran off while fencing.

"You must be one of the Waynes. Elle has been excited to have your brother over." Danny said politely if not a bit dismissive.

"Eh, yeah. Your sister said we should join you." Tim said a bit awkward. " You have another brother right?"

"Oh, yeah. He travels alot but he's relaxing right now. He's probably swimming." Danny shrugged.

Tim had heard of Danny. They went to the same school but Danny was part of a program that allowed him to come to school when he felt like it. The program is for young engineers who want to work for Wayne Industries. He mostly worked on small experimental projects. So far Danny's superconductor tech was revolutionary but impossible to replicate. Danny somehow managed to make a more effective coolant than anything they had created in the lab.

"You have a pool?" Tim knew that the mansion didn't have a pool.

"Of water? No." Danny shrugged but gave no further answer.

"I see, so what do you do?" Tim tried to sound normal like he was talking to his friends and not someone he was trying to probe.

"Anything, everything. I was going to recalibrate my telescope but I have a laser to test." Danny walked off expecting Tim to follow.

Testing was just cut a bunch of things in half. Tim got some great info on making an explosive ice canister and foam bombs. Tim made sure to get his number to hire him to make some gear for him.

The Nightingale kids were absolutely lawless. They destroyed everything in their path.

Elle had dragged Damian to her room to show off her toys. She used to travel with Dan until she started school. She picked up a bunch of items. Cult artifacts, shrunken heads, voodoo dolls, cursed puppets, knives, swords, and the homemade taxidermy Elle made from roadkill. She also had a pet dodo bird named Ernesto who had a bed next to her bed. Ernesto took a liking to Damian and sat on his head. The way he shows his affection

Soon enough Dan came upstairs to check on Elle and Danny.

"You kids, need to get ready for dinner. Sharpen your nails and teeth." He said before going back to the kitchen.

"What does that mean?" Damian asked.

"You don't sharpen your nails. Well good luck at dinner." Elle said bemused.

Dinner was...horrifying. Watching the family chat happily as they ripped apart the moving food as it came to life. Damian was actually excited as he skewered the cheese and broccoli casserole that screamed at him.

"Father, why can't we do this at our home?" He asked.

[usagii-bun]

𝐄𝐗𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑. jing yuan x fem foxian! reader (nsfw).

In which Jing Yuan, a man renowned for his unwavering control and discipline, finds that resolve unraveling in your presence — your every move, every glance, every touch igniting a fire within him he can no longer contain discovering an intoxicating solace in the sensual art of your dance, each sway of your hips pulling him deeper into an obsession he cannot, and will not, resist.

word count : 12k (12k words of edging)

warnings: explicit sexual content includes detailed descriptions of sexual acts (fingering, oral—f receiving, dry humping, thigh riding, implied future penetration), obssesed jing yuan, possessive jing yuan, slight power imbalance implied, erotic dancing/ adult entertainment , sensory overload, marking.

minors are NOT to read this story. If you are uncomfortable with detailed sexual content or themes of dominance and obsession, this is not the story for you. please proceed responsibly and at your own discretion.

DO NOT REUPLOUD OR CLAIM my work as yours. i have taken a lot of time to write this and it would be very disheartening to see someone claim something i took so long to write and craft.

anways, please do enjoy and leave a comment :3 reblogs, likes and follows are high appreciated

— usagii-bun <3

The moon hung high, casting a silvery glow over the quiet, cobblestone streets of Aurum Alley. It was a place where the night whispered its secrets, and the air, thick with the heavy scent of incense and mystery, carried tales only the privileged knew. Tucked away behind a discreet set of bamboo doors was the establishment—a brothel veiled in silence but brimming with the hum of indulgence. Even a general like Jing Yuan, weighed down by the armour of responsibility, found solace in the allure of its hidden embrace.

His feet moved almost of their own accord as he made his way to the entrance. Tired eyes, burdened by countless battles and endless politics, sought release in the only way he knew how—a brief escape from the turmoil of his mind. The soft click of his boots echoed, barely audible against the gentle wind that danced through the alley. And there, the door opened, not by his hand, but by a woman’s, poised and serene.

The Foxian lady who greeted him stood in the doorway like an ethereal figure, her beauty transcending time. Her skin was porcelain, her long, raven-black hair cascading down her back like a waterfall, framed by the glow of lanterns. Dressed in silk, her robes shimmered in shades of crimson and gold, the fabric clinging to her form in ways both graceful and alluring. She held herself with an air of elegance, her fox ears twitching lightly with every movement, her tail curling behind her in soft, languid strokes. She was an embodiment of allure, wrapped in silk and mysteries, every inch a vision of untold desires.

"Welcome, General Jing Yuan," she said, her voice smooth as velvet, respectful yet laden with something deeper, something more intoxicating. "Please, allow me to show you the wonders within."

With a graceful gesture, she led him inside, and Jing Yuan, caught in the captivating pull of her presence, followed. The atmosphere shifted the moment he stepped over the threshold. The entrance was bathed in the soft glow of lotus lanterns, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The scent of incense—jasmine, sandalwood, and something sweeter—hung thick in the air, enveloping his senses like a warm blanket, clouding his thoughts and easing the tightness in his chest. The walls were adorned with delicate scrolls, ancient calligraphy curling like the wind in a lover’s embrace, telling tales of forgotten empires and lost passion. Red and gold adorned every corner, the hues rich like blood and treasure, a royal reminder of the power that pulsed through these hidden chambers.

The floors beneath him were smooth stone, cool and polished, reflecting the shimmering silk curtains that hung like veils, concealing whatever lay beyond. The gentle swish of the fabric was like a soft caress, a whisper of something forbidden. There were flowers everywhere—tiger lilies, peonies, and chrysanthemums—arranged in intricate vases, their fragrant petals drifting lazily in the air, mixing with the incense to create a heady perfume that seemed to linger in his very breath.

As they moved deeper into the establishment, the general’s eyes took in the sight around him. Men and women, dressed in delicate silk robes of every colour imaginable, wandered freely, mingling with one another. The silk shimmered in the candlelight, revealing glimpses of soft skin and delicate features. Women draped themselves over men, while men held women in their arms with equal parts reverence and longing. The air was thick with the hum of quiet conversation, with laughter and sighs mingling in a sweet symphony that seemed to be playing just for those fortunate enough to be here.

"Come," the Foxian lady said softly, leading him up a staircase adorned with red and gold lanterns. "If you wish, you may enjoy performance privately upstairs."

Her eyes, sparkling like the night stars, hinted at something playful, something dangerous. Jing Yuan, ever the composed general, only nodded, his lips curling slightly at the invitation.

The night stretched out before you, the rhythmic beat of the music setting the pace for the dance that would soon unfold. Your heartbeat in time with the soft melody, the flickering candlelight reflecting off your skin as you prepared to enter the stage. The room below you were full of people—men, women, all draped in delicate silks, moving among each other in whispered conversations and soft laughter. The atmosphere was intoxicating, thick with the scent of incense and roses, the air so rich with desire it nearly hummed.

Tonight, you were not just a dancer; you were a vision, a creature of silk and allure, meant to captivate every gaze that fell upon you. You had practiced this for hours, days, months—the art of seduction through movement. As you slowly ascended onto the stage, the soft rustle of your costume, the shimmer of the golden jewellery adorning your body, set the tone for the entrancing spectacle to come. Your tail swayed behind you, brushing against the floor like a soft whisper, your ears twitching with the anticipation of the performance to come.

The room quieted, the hushed murmurs dying down as you took your first step into the spotlight. The soft glow of lotus lanterns, their flames flickering in the dim room, bathed you in an amber hue. Your body moved, fluid and graceful, as if the music itself was a part of you, guiding your every step. You could feel the eyes of the room on you—every gaze fixated; each breath held in anticipation of your every move.

From the elevated room above, General Jing Yuan watched. The scene below him was nothing new—he had seen these kinds of performances before—but this time, something was different. As you danced, his attention was drawn to you, like a moth to a flame. There was something in your movement that was unlike the others. The grace with which you moved, the way your body seemed to flow effortlessly with the music, drew him in. It wasn’t just your physical beauty, though you were undeniably stunning—every curve, every movement was perfection—but something deeper, something intangible. It was the essence you exuded—the confidence, the strength, the raw magnetism that seemed to pull him closer despite the distance between you.

Your movements were slow, deliberate. Your arms flowed through the air, a soft trace of elegance, while your hips swayed in time with the rhythm of the instruments, your skin glowing in the soft light. Each step you took was an invitation, each flick of your wrist a silent promise, each roll of your hips a beckoning. It was erotic without being crude, sensual without losing its grace. You were a goddess in motion, a creature born to captivate and beguile.

As you moved, your eyes flicked upwards, meeting his gaze for just a moment. It was a brief connection—one that he felt more than he could explain. His breath caught in his throat as your gaze locked with his, your eyes filled with an emotion that seemed to pull him in, deeper than he ever expected to go. The flicker of awareness between you made his chest tighten, and his pulse quickened. It was like you knew exactly what effect you were having on him, like you could feel his gaze following every step, every motion.

Your body twisted and arched as you danced, the silk of your costume brushing over your skin like a soft caress. The jewellery you wore—delicate chains, pearls, and golden rings—clinked softly with every movement, drawing attention to the curves of your body. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, intoxicating and heavy, as your tail swished behind you, swaying in perfect rhythm with your every move.

Jing Yuan, sitting in his private alcove, could barely tear his eyes away from you. He felt an inexplicable pull, a hunger that wasn’t just for your physical form, but for the energy you radiated. It was raw and untamed, a force he couldn’t quite explain, yet he felt it in every fibre of his being. His hands clenched at his sides as the tension built in his chest, a wave of heat spreading through him. His body reacted against his will, betraying him as he watched you.

You were no longer just a dancer. You were the embodiment of something else—something deeper, more primal. You were pulling him into a world he hadn’t known he was even willing to enter, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something—something he hadn’t felt in years. The weight of his responsibilities, his title, the endless wars and battles that had marked his life, seemed to fade into the background. They no longer mattered.

The music picked up, becoming more intense, the tempo quickening. Your movements followed suit, each step becoming more deliberate, more daring. The room was alive with the heat of desire, the air crackling with tension. Jing Yuan’s breath caught in his throat, your body undulating in a way that was both art and allure. You were making a show of it—of him—and for the first time in a long time, it was his turn to be caught.

The music slowed, and you took your final step, the dance reaching its end. Your body twisted, swayed, and your movements grew more subtle, teasing. As the final note of the music played, the room fell into a hushed silence. Jing Yuan remained frozen, captivated by your performance. His mind buzzed with a million thoughts, none of them clear, none of them rational. All he knew was that he needed to be closer to you, to taste whatever you were offering.

As the lights dimmed and the room came back to life with murmurs and applause, Jing Yuan finally found his voice. He leaned forward, his gaze never leaving you. “Can I… request her?” His words were barely above a whisper, filled with an urgency that surprised even him.

The Foxian lady, who had been watching with knowing eyes, nodded with a smile. "Of course, General Jing Yuan. She is yours for the evening."

The air inside the private alcove was thick with a sensual tension, the dim light casting soft shadows around the space. Jing Yuan sat back in a velvet-covered chair, his posture commanding yet relaxed. His mind was still reeling from the magnetic performance he'd witnessed, but now, as he sat alone in this private setting, the anticipation built again.

The door slid open, and the woman who had greeted him earlier entered, guiding you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. Jing Yuan could now get a better look of you, the lingerie delicately adorns your body, the jewels that were placed on you still twinkled and shimmered under the dull lighting. Your fox ears were perked, stiff with nerves, and your tail swayed ever so slightly behind you, betraying your inner restlessness.

Your gaze never met his. You kept your head low, your expression unreadable, as if you'd become a different person. This wasn’t the confident, playful woman who’d mesmerized him with her dance. This was someone subdued, cautious, and perhaps even a little fragile. Jing Yuan’s brow furrowed at the sight, and a pang of something unfamiliar stirred within him. There was an undeniable sadness at the change, a realization that you were a contradiction, both in the freedom you’d shown during your dance and the restraint you now carried.

The woman who led you whispered softly to you as she passed by, "Take care of the general." Her voice was gentle but firm, as if entrusting something delicate to your care. She gave Jing Yuan a final look, a knowing smile before exiting the room, leaving the two of you in silence.

You stood in front of him, head lowered, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. The air felt heavier now, the sense of being watched almost suffocating, yet you remained still, as though obeying some invisible rule.

Jing Yuan studied you for a moment, trying to piece together the shift in your demeanour. His mind, clouded with the memory of your dance, struggled to reconcile the two versions of you. His large, calloused fingers lifted from his side, brushing gently beneath your chin, his touch soft but insistent as he lifted your face to meet his.

"Why do you not make eye contact?" he asked, his voice low, his words smooth as they hung in the air. His gaze was intense, capturing you as he locked his eyes on yours. You could feel the weight of his stare, the depth of it, and it sent a flicker of something through you—surprise, confusion, maybe even fear.

You blinked rapidly, trying to avoid his gaze, but his touch lingered, a slight pressure against your chin. You quickly averted your eyes, your cheeks flushing at the intensity of his attention.

"It is not allowed," you murmured softly, the words barely escaping your lips. "I am not allowed to look at the customer unless... unless told to."

Jing Yuan’s expression softened, but his curiosity remained, his gaze never leaving you as you stood before him, silent and restrained. His fingers remained on your chin, though no longer pressing, just gently resting there. He tilted his head slightly, considering your words. He couldn't help but be intrigued by the contradiction you presented: the woman who captivated an entire room with her dance now so reserved, so obedient.

"You are allowed to look at me," he said, his voice almost playful, though the undertone of command was still present. "But for now, I will permit your discretion."

There was a quiet pause between you both, as you silently struggled with the unspoken tension that now swirled in the room. Jing Yuan leaned back, his large frame sinking into the chair as he relaxed, his eyes never leaving you. "Come, sit with me," he said, motioning to the empty seat beside him. "Let us share a drink."

His invitation hung in the air like a challenge, but it was delivered with a calm, measured tone. You hesitated for a moment, still unsure of how to act, still feeling the pressure of his gaze as he observed you carefully. Finally, you took a cautious step forward, your body moving with the grace of a fox, and sat at his side, careful not to brush too close against him.

The room was filled with the scent of incense and flowers, but the closeness between the two of you heightened the atmosphere, thickening the air. Jing Yuan poured two glasses of wine, his movements slow, deliberate. He handed one to you, his fingers brushing against yours, and for a brief moment, the touch felt more intimate than it should have.

"You have a beautiful presence," he said quietly, taking a sip of his own drink. "But I can see there is more to you than what you show. Tell me, what is it you desire, in a place like this?"

You remained silent, unsure of how to respond, but Jing Yuan didn’t rush you. His gaze held a quiet intensity, as if waiting for you to let down the walls you’d so carefully constructed around yourself. The tension between you both lingered, a palpable force, as your bodies sat close together yet distanced by invisible barriers. Your heartbeat faster, your breath shallow. This was new territory for both of you. And for Jing Yuan, it felt like the beginning of something far deeper than either of you had expected.

You shifted in your seat, thighs brushing together under the soft silk of your gown, the sensation sending a faint shiver through you. The air between you and Jing Yuan was thick, charged with an intensity you could neither name nor escape. His gaze was locked on you, and every question he asked felt like it was unravelling pieces of you.

"Why here?" he murmured, his voice smooth, like the finest silk. "A place like this—it doesn’t seem to match your spirit."

His words hung in the air, and you found yourself twisting the fabric of your gown again, seeking some kind of anchor. "It’s... complicated," you whispered, your eyes darting away from his. But the way he leaned closer—close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him—made it impossible to hide.

"Complicated," he echoed, his tone laced with curiosity, as though he wanted to peel back every layer of meaning behind your answer.

You glanced up at him, and your breath caught in your throat. His amber eyes glimmered in the dim light, soft but piercing, holding you captive in their gaze. And then, he leaned in further, the space between you shrinking until you could feel his presence, overwhelming and intoxicating.

The scent of him—clean and faintly spiced—mixed with the sweetness of the wine he sipped moments before. The aroma seemed to curl around you, tangling with your thoughts. His lips were so close now, and you couldn’t stop your gaze from flicking down to them.

"May I?" he asked, his voice a hushed murmur, and his eyes searched yours, waiting. It wasn’t a command, as you’d expect from a man like him, but a request, gentle yet brimming with restrained desire.

Your throat tightened, and you nodded slowly, words escaping you.

His hand came up, fingers grazing your cheek before curling under your chin, tilting your face toward his. The touch was warm, firm yet tender, sending sparks skittering along your skin. Slowly, achingly, he closed the distance.

When his lips met yours, the world fell away.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle brush of lips, testing, coaxing. But then, like a flame catching the wind, it deepened. His mouth moved against yours with a slow-burning passion, drawing you in, leaving no room for hesitation. You felt the firm press of his lips, the intoxicating heat of him, and your heart thundered in your chest.

His hand slid from your chin to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking the edge of your cheekbone. It was such a careful gesture, but the kiss was anything but. His tongue swept against the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you yielded, parting your lips for him.

When his tongue slid against yours, a low hum of pleasure escaped you, your hands clutching at the silken folds of your gown as if it could keep you grounded. He tasted of wine, rich and heady, and the faintest hint of something sweeter, something entirely him.

His other hand moved to your waist, fingers splaying across the delicate fabric that barely covered you. The pressure was light, a silent promise of what could come, and yet it was enough to make your pulse race, your body alight with sensations you couldn’t control.

You couldn’t help but respond, your hands tentatively brushing against his chest, feeling the solid strength beneath his robes. His lips moved with a practiced confidence, but there was something raw in the way he kissed you, like he was holding back a storm, giving you only a glimpse of the tempest that raged beneath.

When he finally pulled back, his lips hovered just a breath away, his forehead resting lightly against yours. Both of you were breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with his.

"You’re... mesmerizing," he murmured, his voice rough and low, as though the words had been dragged from somewhere deep within him.

You opened your eyes, and his gaze bore into yours, intense and unyielding. His thumb brushed against your swollen lips, and you could see the faint flush dusting his cheeks, a rare crack in his usual composure.

"I’ve wanted to do that," he admitted, his voice softer now, "since the moment I saw you."

Your heart raced, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the weight of his confession crashing over you like a wave. His touch lingered, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns against your skin, and you knew—this was only the beginning.

Jing Yuan’s hands were impossibly large, their warmth seeping through the sheer silk draped over your body as they slid down, slow and deliberate. His touch felt like a whispered promise, each fingertip tracing a path that left fire in its wake. You couldn’t help but shiver when his palms grazed the curve of your hips, his fingers splaying possessively over them as he was now on his knees between your thighs.

The silk clung to your skin like dew, yielding under his touch as his hands lingered, pressing into the plush softness of your thighs. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as though he wanted to savour every second, every inch of you that he claimed. His thumb stroked a languid circle against your skin, teasing the sensitive flesh just below the curve of your hip, and your breath hitched.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice a deep, velvety whisper that seemed to echo in the dim, scented air. His words held a teasing lilt, but his eyes were dark, heavy-lidded with something far deeper than amusement.

The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of silk and the faint crackle of a distant candle. His hands moved lower, trailing down the sides of your thighs as if he were sculpting you from memory. He paused, his fingers flexing slightly, almost reverently, before sprawling over the fullness of your legs. The pressure was firm but not harsh, his touch grounding you even as it left you breathless.

Jing Yuan’s head tilted, his silver hair catching the dim light like threads of moonlight spun through shadow. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over your skin, and his hands tightened their hold on you ever so slightly. The contrast of his strength and the tenderness in his touch made you feel both vulnerable and cherished, like a treasure he had no intention of letting slip away.

"You’re exquisite," he murmured, his voice soft yet weighted, as though the words carried a gravity only, he could understand. His thumbs traced upward, following the natural curve of your thighs, his hands mapping you with a deliberate slowness that felt like an exploration, a quiet devotion.

When his eyes flicked back to meet yours, his gaze was molten, heavy with desire yet tempered by something gentler, something that made your heart stutter in your chest. His hands stilled, settling like a question, a challenge, as if to ask how far you would let him go. And in that moment, you were weightless, caught in the intoxicating pull of him, the world beyond fading into nothingness.

Jing Yuan's fingers, warm and deliberate, slid down to the edge of your thigh highs, the lace soft under his touch. He let his fingertips dip beneath the delicate material, brushing against the bare skin beneath, sending shivers coursing through your body. The contrast of silk and skin was electrifying, his movements unhurried as though he had all the time in the world to explore.

Your breath hitched, and you gripped the silk of your gown, desperate for something to anchor yourself. The sensation of his hands so close, his strength tempered by the tender way he handled you, made your mind race. The General of the Luofu, a man revered for his authority and composure, was here, knelt before you, his hands on your thighs as though you were the centre of his universe.

His thumb traced lazy circles against your skin, the pressure both teasing and grounding. "You’re trembling again," he murmured, the teasing lilt of his voice sending a new wave of heat through you. His silver hair gleamed faintly in the soft, golden light, the contrast between his composed expression and the intimacy of his touch almost too much to bear.

Then, without warning, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your thigh. It was a feather-light kiss, soft yet searing, and it stole the breath from your lungs. The warmth of his mouth lingered, a silent claim that left your heart pounding.

Your mind spiralled, the weight of the moment crashing over you like a tidal wave. This was the General—the General—his broad shoulders and imposing presence now knelt before you in an image that burned itself into your memory. The sight of him, his head bent, his lips on your skin, was something you knew you’d never forget.

Your pulse quickened as his hand slid higher, his palm pressing into the softness of your thigh with a deliberate slowness that made your body hum with awareness. He tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes flicking upward to meet yours, his gaze heavy with something that made your heart stutter.

"You’re beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice low and rich, the words wrapping around you like silk. His fingers flexed against your skin, and you swallowed hard, feeling as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you. The scent of incense, the warmth of the dimly lit room, and the weight of his attention made it impossible to think of anything else.

Your breath hitched as his lips lingered against your skin, so close yet unbearably distant. A soft whimper escaped you, unbidden, the sound trembling on your lips. "General..." The word was barely a whisper, carried more by instinct than thought, but it was enough.

Jing Yuan’s golden eyes gleamed at the sound, a primal intensity overtaking his usual calm. That composed facade he wore so effortlessly cracked, revealing something raw and untamed beneath. His lips curved into a slow, almost predatory smile, and you felt the heat of his gaze burn against your skin.

He leaned closer, his broad shoulders dipping as his face moved towards your clothed pussy, the faintest warmth of his breath ghosting over the flimsy material of it. The sensation was maddening, a tantalising promise that made your thighs tense under his hold.

Your ears twitched uncontrollably, betraying your spiralling emotions. You tried to steady them, but they betrayed you with every sharp intake of breath. Your tail curled and flicked at the edges of the plush cushions beneath you, the movement erratic, mirroring the storm building in your chest.

Jing Yuan noticed everything—of course, he did. His gaze flicked to your twitching ears, and the corner of his mouth quirked, a dark satisfaction dancing in his eyes. His hands remained steady, sprawling over the plush of your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to ground you while still making your skin tingle.

"You’re so responsive," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air. "It’s captivating."

The warmth of his breath fanned over the delicate fabric again, sending a shiver racing up your spine. He paused, his lips so close yet maddeningly still, his eyes watching every tremble, every twitch, every unsteady exhale. You felt utterly laid bare beneath his gaze, a mixture of vulnerability and desire tangling in a way that left you breathless.

"Tell me,” he said softly, the words a mere whisper against the heat of your skin. "Do you always react this beautifully... or is it just for me?"

Your entire body felt as though it had been set alight, the heat rushing from your cheeks to the very tips of your ears as Jing Yuan's lips hovered ever so teasingly over your cunt. The blush that painted your skin deepened, spreading like wildfire, your hands clutching the silken material beneath you in an effort to steady yourself.

And then, his lips pressed softly against your pussy—through the delicate fabric that barely served as a barrier. The kiss was unhurried yet deliberate, and the sensation made you gasp, your heart leaping into your throat. Your thighs quivered slightly beneath his strong, steady grip as your body betrayed the flood of emotions overtaking you.

Jing Yuan closed his eyes, the scent of you filling his senses as though nothing else in the world existed. Sweet and heady, with a potency that made his mind spiral, it was unlike anything he had imagined—and oh, had he imagined. His fingers curled slightly against your skin as if grounding himself from the overwhelming allure.

The sweetness of it mingled with something darker, more intoxicating, and utterly unique to you. It was pungent but not overpowering—an earthy, sensual fragrance that clung to the air around you and pulled him deeper into the haze you created.

His breaths grew heavier, his mind clouding as the scent wrapped around him like an invisible tether, binding him to you in a way that felt both maddening and necessary.

"Addictive," he murmured, his voice low and rough, the single word almost swallowed by the quiet intimacy of the room. His lips brushed against you once more, this time lingering a second longer, his tongue darting out briefly to taste the fabric.

A groan rumbled deep in his chest, and his grip on your thighs tightened ever so slightly, his composure slipping as he inhaled deeply again, utterly consumed by the fragrance of you. His golden eyes, now darkened with something primal and insatiable, flickered up to meet yours—a blush still staining your cheeks, your wide-eyed gaze unsure and yet filled with undeniable need.

Jing Yuan's tongue pressed firmly yet gently against the thin fabric, a deliberate movement that sent shockwaves coursing through your body. The sensation was unlike anything you had ever felt, the warmth and softness of his mouth combining with the teasing pressure to ignite every nerve in your skin. Your toes curled instinctively, the sheer intensity of the moment leaving you breathless, as though the air itself had thickened.

His large hands, splayed across your trembling thighs, gripped you tighter, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh in a way that left you aching for more. The contrast of his strength against your vulnerability only heightened the whirlwind of sensations overtaking you. He groaned softly, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate through you, as if he too was succumbing to the weight of his desires.

Jing Yuan’s gaze lifted, drinking in every detail of you. The flush that coloured your cheeks, spreading down your neck and disappearing beneath the thin fabric of your gown. The way strands of your hair had fallen loose, framing your face like a delicate painting. The rise and fall of your chest as your breath quickened, each exhale shaky and unsteady.

He felt an unrelenting need to unravel you, to witness you laid bare, in every sense of the word. His hands moved slightly, his thumbs brushing slow circles against your skin, grounding you and driving you to the edge all at once.

His tongue pressed against the fabric again, this time with more insistence, and his lips followed with a lingering kiss. The heat of his breath seeped through, and it felt as though he was marking you with each touch, his presence imprinted on your very soul.

“Do you feel it?” he asked softly, his golden eyes locking onto yours as his hands squeezed your thighs again. “The way I want to devour you—piece by piece—until there’s nothing left of this composure we’re pretending to hold on to?”

Jing Yuan's grip on your thigh loosened as he let his hand slip away, only to settle firmly on your shoulder. The weight of his touch grounded you, but the intensity in his golden gaze sent your mind spiralling into chaos. His other hand moved with a deliberate slowness, two fingers brushing against the fabric that separated him from you, as though he were savouring the act of uncovering you.

He pushed the fabric aside, exposing your glistening skin beneath. The air felt cool against the heat of your pussy, and the juxtaposition made you shiver. Your scent—intoxicating, sweet, and unmistakably you—filled the space between you, strong and pungent in a way that made his breath hitch. His eyes could not leave the sight of your cunt, your clit throbbing, clear liquid oozing from between your glistening folds as he glances at your face, lips swollen and eyes teary – a sight that made his cock leak.

His eyes darkened, a glimmer of something primal flickering in their depths as he took you in. You were fluttering, every part of you trembling in anticipation, and it made his lips curl into a faint, knowing smile.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, yet laced with raw hunger.

His hand tightened slightly on thigh, grounding you further, while his gaze remained fixed on you as though you were the most captivating sight he had ever encountered. The vulnerability in the moment only seemed to embolden him, and the way his breath fanned against your exposed skin made your thighs tremble under his hold.

Jing Yuan's tongue pressed against your clit, lapping up the sweetness that spilled from you with a deliberate, unrelenting pace. The warmth of his mouth against such a sensitive part of you was overwhelming, sending jolts of pleasure rippling through your body. His eyes, golden and intense, never strayed from your face, watching every twitch of your expression, every blush that spread across your cheeks, and every soft whimper that escaped your lips.

A low hum of approval resonated from him, vibrating against your core as he worked, his large hands gripping your thighs firmly to hold you in place. Each stroke of his tongue was purposeful, slow at first, then more insistent, as though he were a man on the brink of starvation, and you were the feast he'd been denied for far too long.

Your fingers clawed at the leather couch beneath you, the cool material a stark contrast to the heat building inside you. Your hips bucked slightly against his face, but his strong grip kept you steady, his mouth never faltering.

"General..." you whimpered softly, the word barely audibles through the haze of sensation.

At that, his eyes gleamed with a feral satisfaction, something primal and wild flickering within them. He groaned softly, the sound muffled as he devoured you, his tongue exploring every inch with unyielding hunger. The sight of him—so composed, so regal—reduced to this raw, unrestrained desire sent your mind spinning, leaving you trembling under his touch.

Jing Yuan's tongue dragged deliberately against your slick folds, his pace torturous yet intoxicating. Without a word, two of his thick fingers slid down, pressing against your entrance before sinking into you without warning. The stretch was immediate, a mix of pleasure and intensity that tore a loud whimper from your lips. Your body arched into his touch, thighs trembling uncontrollably as your breath hitched.

"General... General..." The title fell from your lips in a broken chant, each syllable a prayer as your mind spiralled. Nothing else existed beyond the overwhelming sensations he wrought upon your body—his tongue flicking expertly up and down your slick heat, his lips closing around the sensitive bud that made your vision blur.

His fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made your entire body jolt. He pressed into it mercilessly, dragging a sob from your throat as your thighs quaked against his face. His other hand gripped your thigh tightly, holding you still as he worked with relentless precision.

The wet, obscene sounds of his tongue and fingers filled the air, mingling with your soft cries and whimpers. Your world narrowed to the molten heat pooling low in your belly, each flick of his tongue and curl of his fingers sending you closer to the edge.

He sucked on the swollen bundle of nerves, his tongue circling with maddening skill. You sobbed his name again, your thighs trembling, your body barely able to keep up with the intensity of his actions. Through the haze, you felt the curve of his lips against you—a smirk, as though he took pride in unravelling you completely.

Your vision blurred, tears threatening to spill as a tight knot in your stomach coiled and twisted unbearably. Each thrust of Jing Yuan's fingers pressed against that devastating spot inside you, sending shockwaves through your trembling frame. Your eyes rolled back, a broken cry escaping your lips as the tension snapped, pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave.

Your entire body quivered, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as the release tore through you, leaving you gasping and breathless. But Jing Yuan didn't stop. His fingers maintained their relentless rhythm, coaxing you through the aftershocks, prolonging every moment of your bliss.

You felt his warm tongue, soft yet firm, trailing along your folds as he licked up every drop of your release. His eyes, golden and piercing, never left your face. He seemed captivated by the way your lips parted, the flush painting your cheeks, the glazed look in your eyes.

"You're beautiful," he murmured softly, his voice thick with reverence and desire, the words vibrating against your sensitive skin as he placed a soft kiss against your fluttering clit. His gaze was heavy with pride and satisfaction, as though committing the sight of you undone to memory. He slowly moves up your body, Jing Yuan’s lips traced a delicate path up your neck, each soft kiss like a whispered secret against your skin. The air between you thickened with warmth, every subtle movement drawing you deeper into the moment. He paused just below your ear, his breath mingling with yours, before he reached out for the bottle of alcohol and took a slow, deliberate swig of the sweet alcohol. He placed the bottle down and he finally met your gaze, something unspoken passed between you.

With a gentle but firm pull, he lifted you, as if in a trance, and brought your lips to his. The kiss was tender at first, like a soft brush of silk, but then it deepened, becoming something slower, more languid. The sweet taste of the alcohol seeped into your mouth, dribbling out of the corner of your lip as you moaned when his tongue brushed against yours, the alcohol, sweet and intoxicating with the taste of your essences mingled between your tongues, each shared taste adding to the heat building between you. He tasted you and you tasted him, the kiss a slow, sensual exchange, each second stretching out as if the world outside ceased to exist.

You could feel the warmth of the alcohol in your veins, but it was nothing compared to the warmth that spread through your chest as his hands held you close, pulling you deeper into him. The kiss deepened, became more desperate, yet still slow—each movement deliberate, a beautiful rhythm of lips and tongue, a dance that belonged only to the two of you. Time seemed to stretch, the room fading away as you lost yourself in the sweetness of the moment, the alcohol, and the slow burn of his kiss.

Jing Yuan’s lips lingered against yours for a moment longer, his breath warm on your skin, before he slowly pulled away. His tongue tracing the bit of alcohol that dribbled out of your mouth, gaze intense and molten. The world seemed to pause for a heartbeat, leaving you suspended in the air between his touch and his gaze. Your heart pounded in your chest as you waited, uncertain of what he might do next, but instead of drawing you back into his embrace, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, the gentle gesture so tender it made your breath catch in your throat.

He pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, and in that moment, there was a strange, knowing calm about him. “Thank you for the... meal,” he said, his voice low, smooth, and unhurried, as though savouring the taste of the drink, you and the moment.

His words hung in the air, unexpected and enigmatic. The meal? You blinked, a flush creeping up your neck, your heart fluttering in confusion. Was that truly all he wanted from you? Was it just a fleeting moment, a passing indulgence?

Your gaze dropped to his chest, your eyes tracing the contours of his form—strong, unwavering. His shirt clung to him in a way that made you acutely aware of the man standing before you. And then, your gaze caught something—he was...

Your breath caught, and your eyes snapped back up to his, meeting his with a quiet intensity that made your pulse quicken. But he only smiled softly, almost like he understood the storm brewing within you, before gently reaching up to pat your head, a small, affectionate gesture that sent a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your hair, making your fox ears twitch involuntarily. The touch was so casual, yet somehow it deepened the flush that spread across your face, your heart racing at the intimacy of the moment. It was a small, almost teasing action, but it made you feel as though you were suddenly laid bare in front of him.

His smile softened, his eyes warm yet impossibly distant, as though he were saying goodbye without words. “I enjoyed your company,” he said, the weight of his words settling between you like an unspoken promise that felt both comforting and impossible to decipher. “I will be anticipating another dance soon, until than darling.” His voice smooth as honey, your face turning crimson at the word ‘darling’.

His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer, filled with a complexity you couldn't understand, before he turned and left the private area. The soft sound of his footsteps faded, but his presence remained, lingering in the air, as if he had never really left at all.

You stood there, the room suddenly feeling too large, too empty. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ The question echoed in your mind, drowning out the quiet hum of the space. He had seemed so... needy, as though there was something more. And yet, now he was gone, leaving you with nothing but his words and the warmth of his touch.

Why didn’t he want more? You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was left unfinished, the desire you felt mirrored in the air between you. Why had he stopped? Why hadn't he sought what you had both seemed to crave? It was as if your body had been aching for something deeper, and yet he had held back.

As the silence grew heavier, your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. The owner stepped inside; her voice sweet like honey but with an edge that sent a chill down your spine.

“You’re done for the night,” she said, her smile thin but knowing. “You can go home now.” Confusion clouded your thoughts. “But... I thought you only let me go after twelve?”

The owner’s smile grew, as though your question amused her. “I won’t be needing you until I call for you,” she replied, her tone light but filled with something more. A finality? You weren’t sure. The words left you unsettled, uncertain of what she truly meant.

She reached into her pocket and handed you something—a silky pouch. The weight of it felt strange in your hand. “Here’s your pay from the General,” she said, her voice dripping with a sort of satisfaction that you couldn't place. “You sure did make him happy.”

Your mind whirled. Made him happy? The words bounced in your skull, unanswered questions stirring within you like a storm. What had just happened? What had you been to him? The idea of him leaving with only that—just that—felt like a question mark lingering in the air. He had seemed so close, so wanting, and yet he left.

The thought of the lingering kiss, the sweet warmth of the alcohol shared between you both, made your chest ache. He had left with a soft smile, but you couldn't shake the sense of something unfinished, something unspoken. Had you misread the moment? As you looked down at the silky pouch, the weight of it felt more symbolic than ever. The pay was there, yes, but the ache, the unanswered longing in your chest—it was something deeper, something that the money couldn't soothe.

The owner’s grin widened as she stepped back, her eyes gleaming with that same knowing look. You were left with the pouch, your heart full of questions, but no answers.

Jing Yuan hadn’t been himself lately, and he knew it. No matter how many duties he fulfilled or how much paperwork he completed or the many sneaky naps he took, his thoughts consistently drifted back to you. He couldn’t erase the memory of your skin beneath his hands—soft and warm, the kind of touch that lingered even after parting. Nor could he forget the taste of you, intoxicating and sweet, or the way your body moved with such elegance and allure during your dances.

It had been nearly a month since Jing Yuan began seeking you out, yet with each encounter, his fascination deepened into an obsession. He couldn’t get enough of you—the way you moved, the sound of your voice, the way your presence filled the room and consumed his thoughts. After every performance, he would reward you in ways that left you trembling, his mouth devoutly working between your thighs, tongue lapping at every drop of your arousal as his fingers thrust deeply into your slick heat. Yet, he never allowed you to touch him, never let you return the favour. His pleasure came solely from your moans, the way your body responded to his touch, and the sight of your unravelling beneath him. He would grind against his own restraint, rutting against his pants, hard and aching, but never crossing the line. He wanted to wait for the perfect moment, the right time to claim you fully—a moment that would be as unforgettable as you were to him.

It wasn’t just your beauty that consumed him, though it had ensnared him first. It was the quiet calmness you exuded, a soft-spoken grace that contrasted so deeply with the fire of your movements. The way your tail swayed behind you, how your ears twitched in subtle reaction to the world around you—it was as if you were always caught between serenity and mischief. The thought of you was a constant hum in his mind, an ache he could not shake.

He found himself wandering the streets of the city more often now – much to Fu xuan dismissal, hoping to find distractions from you. Yet even his usual escapes held no relief. And today was no exception.

As he strolled through Aurum Alley, the faint clinking of porcelain caught his ear, drawing his attention to a small tea shop tucked into the corner. He stepped inside, the familiar scents of herbs and dried flowers wafting over him, soothing but unremarkable—until his eyes fell on you.

You were standing near the back, your head tilted slightly as you admired the display of teacups arranged on a low wooden shelf. The dim lantern light cast a golden glow over you, highlighting the soft fur of your ears and the elegant sweep of your tail swaying absently behind you. You were dressed in a delicate white dress, its

fabric light and airy, brushing against your knees with every movement. The dress was adorned with tiny floral embroidery, dainty and unassuming, much like the way you carried yourself.

Jing Yuan’s breath hitched. He hadn’t expected to see you here, not outside the confines of your world of silk and candlelight. Here, you looked softer, more natural, yet no less captivating. It was a sight that made his chest tighten, as if the universe had conspired to remind him that you were always just out of reach.

You seemed unaware of his presence, your attention wholly captured by a teacup you held delicately in your hands. It was a beautiful piece, adorned with intricate floral designs, vines curling around painted blossoms, the base glimmering faintly with gold. You turned it slowly in your fingers, your tail swishing with a faint, almost wistful rhythm.

The sight of you, so enraptured by something so simple, made his heart clench. And when you set the cup back down with a small, defeated sigh, it took all of his willpower not to close the distance between you immediately.

Instead, he lingered, watching as you hesitated, your fingers brushing against the rim of the cup one last time before you turned away. Jing Yuan didn’t need to guess why you’d left it behind—the soft downturn of your lips told him everything.

He stepped forward then, his presence a shadow that fell over you before his voice, low and smooth, broke the silence.

“Admiring something, are we?”

You startled, your ears twitching at the sound. Turning to face him, your eyes widened briefly before you quickly averted your gaze. “Oh, General,” you murmured, your hands clasping nervously in front of you. “I didn’t see you there.”

He allowed himself a small smile, though his golden eyes remained fixed on you. “It’s a charming shop, isn’t it? Something here seems to have caught your attention.”

You hesitated, glancing toward the shelf where the teacup sat. “It’s nothing,” you said softly, your voice tinged with embarrassment. “Just a pretty cup. I was… just admiring it.”

“Just admiring it?” Jing Yuan repeated, stepping closer, the faint scent of his cologne filling the space between you. “And yet, you look as though you’ve left a piece of your heart behind with it.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you shook your head. “It’s beautiful, but it’s not something I can…” You trailed off, gesturing vaguely, unwilling to say the words aloud.

Jing Yuan’s eyes flickered with something unreadable—part amusement, part something darker. “A beauty such as that shouldn’t be left behind,” he said, his voice dropping lower, softer, as though he were speaking to himself as much as to you. “Nor should one such as you.”

Before you could respond, he moved, his hand reaching out to lift the teacup from the shelf. With a smooth motion, he turned toward the shopkeeper, the transaction over before you could protest.

“General—”

“Consider it a gift,” he interrupted, his tone firm but kind as he handed the cup to you. His fingers brushed yours as you took it, the brief contact sending a jolt through you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, clutching the cup to your chest. Your tail swished nervously behind you; your ears flattened slightly as you avoided his gaze.

Jing Yuan watched you with a quiet intensity, his smile never faltering. Yet, beneath his calm exterior, his mind raced. Seeing you here, holding something he’d given you, made something primal stir within him. You were no longer just a fleeting obsession, no longer a memory confined to dimly lit nights. You were here, real and tangible, and he wasn’t sure he could ever let you go.

Jing Yuan couldn’t help himself. The moment you stepped outside the tea shop, clutching the intricately designed cup he had bought for you, he was already glancing back at the shelves. He ended up purchasing an assortment of things—fine tea leaves, a brewing set that complemented your cup, and even a small silk pouch embroidered with a motif. It wasn’t about the items themselves; it was the thought of you using them, of you remembering this moment, that drove his actions.

He exited the shop with a bag in hand, catching up to you with ease. The sun cast a warm glow on the cobblestone streets, and your figure seemed to glow in the light. Your white dress fluttered softly with each step, and your tail swayed gently behind you, a detail he couldn’t help but admire.

“You didn’t have to get more,” you said softly, glancing at the bag he carried.

He chuckled, his deep voice warm. “It’s no trouble at all. Tea is best enjoyed with care, wouldn’t you agree? Besides, you deserve nothing but the finest.”

Your cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink, and you glanced away, your ears twitching. “Thank you… General.”

“Jing Yuan,” he corrected smoothly, his golden eyes gleaming. “When it’s just us, there’s no need for formalities.”

You hesitated but nodded. “Thank you, Jing Yuan.”

As you walked together, he took the opportunity to get to know you better. It started with small questions—your favourite teas, if you frequented the shop often—but soon, the conversation deepened. He found out that you were passionate about dance, your eyes lighting up as you spoke about it, despite the soft-spoken nature of your words.

“It’s always been something I loved,” you admitted, your fingers brushing the edge of the teacup you still held. “But… the work I do now, it’s not exactly what I envisioned.”

“Oh?” he prompted, his gaze sharp but gentle, encouraging you to continue.

You hesitated, glancing at him briefly before looking back at the path ahead. “The dancing I do now… it’s to pay off my father’s debts. It’s… different from the dancing I dreamed of as a child.”

Jing Yuan’s jaw tightened, though his expression remained calm. The thought of you, someone so poised and graceful, burdened by another’s mistakes, ignited a protective streak within him. He didn’t press further, sensing you weren’t ready to elaborate, but the knowledge lingered in his mind like a seed waiting to take root.

When the time came for you to part ways, you stopped at a small intersection, turning to face him. Your hands clutched the teacup tightly, your expression shy but sincere. “Thank you again, Jing Yuan. For everything.”

His smile softened, and for a moment, his golden gaze held yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “I’ll see you later,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. You blinked, your cheeks heating up as you realised what he meant. You gave him a small, flustered nod before quickly excusing yourself, your tail swishing nervously as you hurried away.

Jing Yuan watched you go, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. He would see you later, of course, but not just as part of a crowd. No, when you danced tonight, it would be for him, and he would make sure you knew it.

The brothel exuded an even more sinful opulence. Red and gold fabrics draped like cascading rivers of silk from the high, arching ceilings. The air was thick with the intoxicating scent of sandalwood incense, mingling with the faint sweetness of lotus blossoms arranged in ornate porcelain vases. The walls were adorned with intricate scrolls of calligraphy, their elegant strokes illuminated by the flickering glow of countless candles. Every corner seemed steeped in temptation, every detail carefully crafted to blur the lines between reality and indulgence.

Jing Yuan sat alone in a private room; a sanctuary veiled by velvet curtains. The plush cushions beneath him did little to ease the tension coiled in his body. A lacquered tray before him held untouched tea and delicate fruit, but his golden gaze never wavered from the stage below. The brothel’s ambiance—a sultry blend of murmurs, soft music, and rustling silks—faded to nothing as you stepped into the spotlight.

Your presence commanded every eye in the room, but his was the only gaze you truly felt. You were a vision of raw, untamed allure. The outfit you wore left little to the imagination, sheer fabrics clinging to your every curve, your skin gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat under the dim, golden light. Crimson painted your lips, a bold invitation, while the smoky shadow around your eyes framed them like a weapon. Your tail swayed with each step, teasing, enticing, an extension of the sensual rhythm that seemed to pulse from your very being.

The music began, slow and sultry, and you moved with a deliberate grace, every step a calculated seduction. Your hips swayed in time with the haunting melody, and the way your hands glided over your body had the audience mesmerized. To him, however, it was something more—a torment, a fire that spread through his veins and pooled low in his stomach.

Jing Yuan’s usually serene expression was gone, replaced by a raw intensity that darkened his golden eyes. He leaned forward, his broad shoulders filling the dimly lit alcove as his focus narrowed solely on you. His fingers tightened on the armrest, his chest rising and falling in steady, heavy breaths. The soft sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, the subtle arch of your back, the sway of your hips—it was more than he could bear, yet he couldn’t look away.

The room disappeared for him; the murmured conversations, the soft laughter, the flickering candles—all of it was drowned out by you. Every slow, sensual turn, every flick of your tail, every teasing brush of your fingers across your skin seemed crafted solely for him.

When your eyes lifted and met his, just for a moment, the tension snapped taut. That fleeting connection sent a visceral thrill through him, a silent challenge in the way you quickly looked away. His lips parted as though to speak, but no words came. The denial—the way you teased and withheld even your gaze—was maddening.

You spun again, your bold crimson lips parting as though whispering secrets to the air, your hands brushing over the curve of your waist. The sheer fabric clinging to your body teased him mercilessly, every contour revealed in the flickering candlelight. His golden gaze roamed over you hungrily, his breaths deep and deliberate as if trying to anchor himself against the storm of desire you had unleashed.

The sweat glistening on your thighs, the way your hair clung to your neck, the confident arch of your body—it was intoxicating. Jing Yuan could feel the heat rising

within him, his control slipping with every second. You were temptation incarnate, and he was utterly, completely ensnared.

Jing Yuan's hand moved to rest against his thigh, but the tension in his body betrayed the calm demeanour he fought to maintain. His fingers flexed, slowly drifting, palm pressing lightly against the growing ache beneath the rich fabric of his robes. The weight of his breath was deliberate, measured, but his chest rose and fell with an intensity that mirrored the fire coursing through him.

His gaze remained locked on you, unwavering, devouring. The way you moved-every sway of your hips, every arch of your back, every tantalizing flick of your tail-was an exquisite torment.

You were more than a dancer; you were an artist, painting desire across the room with your body as the brush and the music as your canvas. The strain in his muscles was palpable, his golden eyes darkening with an unspoken hunger. Yet even amidst his rising heat, there was admiration- appreciation for the elegance and mastery of your movements. The way your body told a story, the way your presence commanded the room, it was more than alluring; it was transcendent.

But the intensity of his desire could not be denied. The hardness beneath his robes grew, a throbbing reminder of the effect you had on him. His jaw tightened as his fingers pressed harder, a fleeting attempt at control. Every step you took, every glance you spared his way, only served to unravel the restraint he so desperately clung to. Jing Yuan's breath hitched, his usually steady composure unravelling. The beauty of your art left him enraptured, the sensuality of your dance leaving his mind clouded, his body heavy with need. You were a siren, and he was helpless against your call, a prisoner to the exquisite torment you inflicted upon him.

As your performance came to its crescendo, the room seemed to hold its breath. The music faded into the background, muffled by the pulse pounding in Jing Yuan’s ears. His hand twitched against his thigh, his entire body taut with unrestrained tension as you stepped down from the platform. Each movement you made was deliberate, a purposeful seduction that left his chest heaving, his golden eyes drinking in every detail of you.

And finally, you were upstairs in the room with him.

The space between you closed, and Jing Yuan felt his pulse quicken, a rare break in his usual calm demeanour. His fingers clenched briefly before releasing, as if bracing himself for the storm that was you. You stopped just shy of his seat, your eyes meeting his, bold and teasing, yet softened by something unreadable. The flick of your tail and the slight quirk of your lips only stoked the fire inside him further.

He didn’t wait.

Rising from his seat in one fluid motion, Jing Yuan closed the distance between you in a heartbeat. His large hands found your waist, pulling you to him with a fervour that left no room for hesitation. The moment his lips met yours, it was as though the world fell away. The kiss was urgent, demanding, and possessive. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was fire and hunger, consuming and overwhelming.

His lips pressed against yours like a man starved, tasting, exploring, memorizing every inch of you. One hand cupped the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, while the other splayed firmly across your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping across your lower lip before slipping inside to claim more of you.

The taste of you was intoxicating, a heady mix that made his restraint crumble. Every small sound you made—a whimper, a sigh—drove him further into madness. The way your soft hands gripped his robes, clutching at him like he was your anchor, only fuelled his need to devour you whole.

Jing Yuan’s mind raced; his thoughts consumed by you. The way you moved, the way you felt pressed against him, the way you yielded under his touch—it was all too much and yet not enough. His hold tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin, as if trying to etch the memory of this moment into his soul.

He wanted more.

No, he wanted everything.

The desire coursing through him wasn’t just lust—it was something far deeper, more consuming. He wanted to know every part of you, to uncover the layers of your soul as thoroughly as he wanted to explore your body. The thought of you with anyone else sent a possessive heat surging through him, and the idea of keeping you close, of having you as his, was a temptation too powerful to ignore.

He broke the kiss only when breathing became a necessity, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady himself. His breaths were ragged, his chest heaving, but his hands never left you, as though afraid you might vanish if he let go.

“You’re driving me mad,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. His golden eyes bore into yours, intense and filled with something that bordered on obsession. “Do you know what you do to me? How every moment I spend away from you feels like an eternity?”

You didn’t respond—not with words. Instead, your lips found his again, softer this time but no less heated, as though silently answering his unspoken question.

Jing Yuan’s grip softened, his thumb brushing along your jawline with a tenderness that contrasted the fervent need in his kiss. He pulled back just enough to study your face, his gaze tracing every feature as though committing it to memory.

“You have no idea what you mean to me,” he said, his voice quieter now but still laced with that same raw intensity. “But I’ll show you. One day, I’ll show you.”

The promise lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken, as he held you close, the room around you fading into nothingness. For now, in this moment, you were his entire world.

Jing Yuan's gaze darkened as his hands slipped to the hem of your lingerie top, his breath heavy, his movements deliberate. With a fluid motion, he pushed the delicate fabric up and off, revealing the soft curve of your breasts. His eyes lingered, golden and molten, as though the sight of you alone was enough to undo him completely.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, voice thick with reverence and desire.

Before you could reply, his lips descended, capturing one pert nipple between them, his tongue swirling feverishly. He suckled with an intensity that left no doubt of his hunger, his large hand cupping your other breast, kneading, and teasing. Every soft moan and gasp that escaped your lips only seemed to spur him on, his groans vibrating against your skin as he lavished attention upon you.

His kisses trailed down, wet and open-mouthed, over the curve of your stomach, lingering at your navel before he retraced his path back up. His lips found yours again, searing and demanding, his hands never leaving your body, holding you as if you were a treasure he refused to let go.

Without a word, Jing Yuan sank down into his chair, his strong form commanding even in the act of sitting. His hands gripped your waist, lifting you effortlessly to place you astride his thick thigh.

The moment your clothed pussy settled against him; his sharp inhale betrayed just how much he could feel. The thin fabric separating your body from his was soaked with your arousal, a warm, damp heat that sent a pulse of need through him.

"You’re already so wet for me," he rumbled, his voice a deep, velvety growl. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you to grind against his thigh. "Go on. Show me how much you want this."

The friction was delicious, the firmness of his thigh pressing against your most sensitive spot. Your hands clung to his broad shoulders for balance, your body moving instinctively to his rhythm.

Jing Yuan’s eyes never left you, his intense gaze locked on your face, drinking in every expression of pleasure. His lips quirked into a sinful smirk as he watched you lose yourself, your breath hitching, your movements growing more desperate.

"Good girl," he murmured, his words a heady mix of praise and possession. His fingers dug into your hips, guiding you faster, harder, his own breath growing heavier as he watched you unravel. "Let me see everything. Don’t hold back."

You trembled in his lap, your soft, perky nipples pebbled from the cool air and the intensity of his gaze. Jing Yuan’s large hands skimmed down your sides, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His golden eyes flicked lower, settling on the thin scrap of fabric that barely covered your most intimate place.

The sight made his breath hitch—a damp patch spreading across the delicate fabric, clinging to the shape of your pussy lips, leaving absolutely nothing to his imagination. The thin barrier split against the firm muscle of his thigh, framing you in a way that sent his thoughts spiralling.

Jing Yuan's jaw tightened, his head tilting back for a moment as he groaned low and deep. The image of your leaking cunt pulled taut around his thick cock flashed unbidden in his mind, the mere thought causing his grip on your plush hips to tighten.

"Not yet," he muttered under his breath, his voice rough, his restraint hanging by a thread. His arousal throbbed painfully beneath his robes, but he refused to let the tension break—refused to give in until he had you entirely, in the only way he could truly claim you.

His hands flexed against your flesh, fingers sinking into the soft curves as he guided you to move against his thigh again. His golden eyes burned with raw want, but there was something deeper there—something possessive, primal, and utterly consuming.

"You’ll have me, but not like this," he rasped, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath warm and heavy. "The only way I’ll give you my seed is when I’m inside you. Completely. Do you understand?"

The words sent a shiver through you, your body trembling even more as his intent settled over you like a tangible weight. You nodded, unable to form words, lost in the way his hands and his voice claimed every part of you.

Tears welled in your eyes as Jing Yuan’s strong hands gripped your hips, roughly guiding you against the firm muscle of his thigh. Each drag of your soaked core over the thick fabric sent shockwaves through your body, your clit throbbing with an ache so overwhelming it made your head spin. You clung to his broad shoulders, gasping for air, your cries a mix of pleasure and desperation.

Jing Yuan’s mouth found the delicate curve of your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before he sucked hard, determined to leave a mark—a vivid bloom that declared you his. The sting only heightened the sensations coursing through you, and your moans spurred him on, his movements growing fiercer, more relentless.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your skin, his deep voice sending a tremor down your spine. His golden eyes, darkened with unrestrained hunger, never left your face, drinking in every reaction, every sound, every shudder of your body.

Your back arched, a broken cry spilling from your lips as the tension in your core snapped. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as your release soaked through the flimsy fabric barely clinging on you. Jing Yuan’s large hand splayed across your lower back, holding you steady, his grip firm yet comforting as he guided you through your climax.

You collapsed against his chest, your body spent and trembling. Your underwear, a soaking mess as Jing Yuan’s arms enveloped you, his large hands moving gently now, one rubbing soothing circles along your back.

“There we go,” he murmured, his voice low and tender, a stark contrast to the possessive fire that had consumed him moments before. “I’ve got you.”

His lips brushed against your temple, the touch grounding you as you nestled into his embrace, your breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

Jing Yuan’s hand glided gently along the soft, velvety fur of your tail; his touch light yet deliberate. A small, breathless whine escaped your parted lips, your cheeks warming as you instinctively nuzzled into the solid warmth of his chest. His scent, calming yet intoxicating, filled your senses, easing the tension in your body while making your heart race.

“M-My tail... it’s sensitive, Jing Yuan,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, shy and muffled against him.

He paused, his golden eyes glinting with curiosity as a faint smirk curved his lips. “I see,” he replied simply, his tone smooth, holding an edge of playfulness. Instead of lingering, his hand shifted to rest on your back, his large palm moving in slow, soothing circles. Though his touch remained comforting, the knowing look in his gaze hinted that he had filed away this discovery for some other time.

All Jing Yuan wanted, with every fibre of his being, was to bury himself deep into the irresistible warmth of your slick, aching pussy, to lose himself entirely in the pleasure you could give him. But he could not—not yet. Not when he knew you deserved more than just raw passion. He wanted to show you his devotion; to prove he was a man worthy of claiming you fully.

His chest rose and fell with effort as he reined in the primal urges clawing at his restraint. The soft tremble of your body against his own pulled him back to the present, grounding him in the tender moment.

Jing Yuan’s large hand moved to thread gently through your hair, his fingers combing through the strands with a soothing rhythm. “You did so well,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. His other hand continued to rub light circles on your back, coaxing you to relax as your breathing slowly evened out.

When he finally pulled back slightly, his golden eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?” he asked, the question tender, yet filled with an underlying intensity that promised this was not a mere casual invitation.

The warmth of his gaze and the sincerity in his voice made your heart flutter. You blinked up at him, dazed and blushing, but managed a shy nod, your voice barely above a whisper as you replied, “I’d like that.”

His smile widened, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Good,” he murmured, already envisioning how he would make the evening one you would never forget.

Author’s Note:

Part 2 ? Dinner turns into a full-on session of raw fucking cause reader got her heat ? :3

reblogs, likes, comments, and follows are highly appreciated <3

also check out my masterlist if u are interested in any of my other works <3

[aemondtargaryengf]

hii! i hope you’re doing well!!

can i get a jace fic where she’s his younger sister and she’s just really dependent on him, and like follows his around and tried to stay w him while he’s really protective of her especially from the greens

pairings: protective!jace x valeryon(strong)!reader

warnings: not quite angst unless the last line. but the tension is there, fluff i suppose, romantic tension, canon typical incest. if anything else let me know, MAJOR SPOILER FOR FIRE & BLOOD/FUTURE HOTD

word count: 1.8k <3

masterlist

a/n: I am sorry i have been tardy with my promise but here is your much awaited request!!

You liked it here. Laying in bed, reading a book of poems while your mother combed through your hair. Rhaenyra always had a soft spot for her only daughter, caving in and allowing every reasonable whim you had. “Mother” you speak slowly, putting the book down and holding it close to your chest. Rhaenyra stops her gentle movement, looking down at you with fondness, “yes my child”?

“Can we stay here in king’s landing for longer?” you ask, “I do not wish to leave grandsire’s side yet. The maesters do not bring news of improvement any longer and I fear….” You trail off not wanting to word it out loud. Rhaenyra knew of the gravity of her father’s health but she feared the wedge between her children and her half siblings will only give rise to new fights and arguments every day.

“You know we can’t my dove”, she pets your head affectionately, “who will look after Dragonstone with us gone?”

“Please”, you request sitting up and turning your back to face her, “I do not want to risk not being here when he passes away and miss my chance at a last good bye.” Even Rhaenyra couldn’t argue with your words. Your request comes from a place of adoration for your grandfather, he was quite fond of his elder granddaughter, but Rhaenyra also contemplated what can go wrong if she isn’t here for her father’s death. No matter the legitimacy of her being named heir to the throne, she is well aware of the whispers at court, the scheming of the hand and the queen. Aegon Targaryen cannot be king if she is here to take control of the situation.

“It’s settled then” Rhaenyra agrees after a beat of silence. “We shall stay here for as long as you desire.” A smile of gratitude makes its way on your face at your mother’s words and you are quick to embrace her “Thank you mother”. Rhaenyra chuckles, rubbing soothing circles on your back “Now rest my dove, it has been a hectic day.” She leans in to kiss your forehead “sweet dreams”.

You make your way beneath the sheets, head resting comfortably on the pillow “Farewell mother”. With one last look at you Rhaenyra steps out of the room. The door closes softly behind her, letting the dim glow from the candles lull you into sleep.

Morning arrives gently, with sunshine streaming through the windows casting a soft glow in your room. The ladies assigned for your care had let themselves in, rousing you from your sleep and ushering you to the bath to get ready for the day.

The baths at King’s Landing were more majestic than back home. You take your time soaking in the warm water with jasmine oil and rose petals, sighing in pleasure. It didn’t take long for you to get dressed with the help of the ladies and having your breakfast alone, opting for some calm in the morning knowing your brothers and uncles will inevitably destroy any sense of peace in the coming hours.

“I’d like to take a stroll through the keep, alone. Much has changed since I’ve been away.” The guard assigned for your duty only nods at your command as you make your way out of the room. The seven-pointed star glares at your face at every turn you make, a stark contrast to the regal décor the keep had in your childhood.

“Sister! Wait!” comes a voice from your right. You stop turning around only to be faced with a panting Jacaerys. “Brother” you greet with a slight smile “You are up early today” you tease. “I was looking for you” says Jacaerys, ignoring your teasing. “I was wondering if you were alright after last night’s events”.

You slightly wince at the memory of Jace throwing a punch at Aemond and Aegon and Luce starting a brawl of their own. Your cousin Baela even tried jumping only for you to grab her by the waist as you yelled for them to stop.

“I’m alright” you dismiss his worries. “It was just a graze”. Aemond’s elbow had hit you in the cheek causing you to yelp in pain. Aemond’s actions did stop midway not expecting you to be so near and get hurt but it only spurred Jace even more as he landed even stronger punches than before at his uncle’s jaw.

Jace gently reaches a hand up to caress your face. “Its good it didn’t bruise” he thumbs at your cheek, “I’d not let it go if that brute ruined your pretty face”. And there it was again. Jace always had a penchant for using certain choice of words which reddened your face.

“Jace” you warn, “Do not fall prey to our uncle’s provoking. You know both of them only say words to rile us up.” Jace let’s go off your face sighing “I can’t help it if they accuse us of…” Accuse us of what? The Truth?

The somber tone in his voice lets you know of his mood dropping. It was only the start of the day and you will be damned if you let your older brother sulk so early. “I’d like to accompany you to your training if that’s alright with you?” Nothing makes him happier than being able to show off his skills to his younger sister and you are well aware of that. Jace is quick to look at you with shining eyes and agrees to your request.

You follow after him as he excitedly tells you of a new method he learnt from Daemon, smiling at his words and nodding when you think its appropriate to let him know you are attentive. Jace liked having your sole attention on him. It was just you and him in the beginning. His mother told him that the first time he saw you when he was a boy of two, you had looked at him as if he hung the moon and the stars in the night sky. Your crying would only stop if your older brother was there to shush you with his toys. You were the happiest baby when in his presence, trailing behind him like a little duckling, a trait which you still carry. Nothing soothes your nerves like being near Jace.

You watch as Jace spars with a squire. A sheen of sweat on his forehead making him look godly in the late morning sun. “I do not think its fit for a lady to be here niece” comes a chilling voice from right behind you, closer than you’d like that voice to be. “Uncle” you greet, your eyes not wavering from Jace at all, “I think I can go wherever I’d like. The Red Keep is my home as well after all.” Aemond smirks at your reply. Out of all the strong bastards you were his favourite to toy with. The boys were quick to throw punches but the ability to sometimes make you unable to come with a witty response brought him immense satisfaction.

“Hmm” he hums, coming to stand by your side, a little too close for comfort, “I hope my elbow didn’t cause you any harm princess. It would be unfortunate to see your brown eyes blacken from my unintentional hit.” Brown eyes. He emphasized it. He is trying to make you take the bait again. And his backhanded words of comfort and presence did unnerve you more than you’d like to admit.

“If you wish to see how real men train perhaps you should watch me instead of your no good of a brother. He moves like a boy who was gifted a sword a day ago” Aemond whispers in your ear. His breath hitting your skin makes your skin crawl and you shiver in disgust, moving back and putting a distance between yourself. “No thank you” you decline politely. “I prefer my brother over all”. Aemond only gives a sly grin at that, “Even in your bed?” he mocks.

What was stopping you from slapping this bastard from even suggesting such nonsense. You grit your teeth in frustration, almost hitting him yourself when a protective arm wraps around your waist bringing you back into a sturdy chest. “Who my sister brings into her bed is none of your concern dearest uncle” Jace says cooly. “And I suggest you refrain from using certain phrases that will bring the honor of my sister into question” he raises his brows at Aemond challenging him. “I’d hate to dislocate your jaw over some misunderstanding, we are family after all.”

One thing Aemond had learned from the beginning was Jace will never lose a chance to be your protective guard dog. He could hit two birds with one stone by simply choosing to pick on you instead. Why rile up one Strong bastard when you can rile up two? “I’d like to see you try” Aemond grins leaning in to challenge your brother.

“Jace” you whisper, “Don’t.” Aemond chuckles at your warning. “Aww will poor Prince Jace listen to his sister like an obedient mutt?” Jace clenches his jaw at his statement. “He isn’t worth it Jace” you interlock your fingers with Jacaerys’s trying to tug him away. Once you are able to move him from his spot, you lead Jace away and turn to Aemond to give him a disgusting sneer “You’re pathetic.”

Aemond's grin widens, his eye gleaming with amusement as he watches you walk away, Jace's hand still in yours. "Run along, little dove," he calls out mockingly, but you don't look back.

As you and Jace walk through the courtyard, the tension slowly eases from his shoulders. "You shouldn't let him get to you," you whisper, glancing up at him with a reassuring smile. "He only seeks to provoke."

Jace nods, but his grip on your waist tightens protectively. "I won't let him hurt you," he promises, his voice low and determined. "Not ever." You squeeze his hand, drawing strength from his presence. "I know, Jace. I know." You kiss his cheek gently hoping to calm him “No one can hurt me with you breathing down my neck” you giggle trying to lighten the mood.

He rests his chin on top of your head. “I won’t let any harm come to you ever. No one can hurt you.” His arms squeeze around your waist.

You always felt restless without Jace, and nothing brought you more comfort than being in his arms. You never have to worry about being safe with your brother around.

But years later when you crumble at the sight of the body of Jacaerys Velaryon with an arrow through his neck, no one is prepared for the wail of anguish that leaves your throat at not having your Jacaerys beside you anymore.

[luveline]

You mentioned in one post that bombshell!reader was furious with the team for not helping Reid with his addiction (as she should be)…. Would you maybe write about her helping him thru withdrawal or thru the cravings that follow? Maybe subtly at first, then just making sure he knew he wasn’t alone? Just some tender moments where Spencer starts to realize she actually cares about him, even if he doesn’t believe her flirting yet.

-🌕

I love every single thing you write, even for fandoms I’m not even in. You’re amazing!!

thank you for requesting my sweetheart!!! I really hope this is what you wanted, love you <3 fem!reader

cw past drug abuse

“Hi, Spencer Reid.” 

You perch on the edge of his desk with no further introduction. You’ve changed perfumes, to his immediate recognition, the rich smell of your usual parfum swapped for a less consuming scent. He detects apple blossom, and rose, the smallest hint of jasmine, a contrast to your usual vanilla and peony. The human brain can remember 50,000 scents, and Spencer can remember all of yours. Or, he could. 

“You’re not saying hi anymore?” 

“Hi, Y/N.” 

“Hi. It’s nice to see you.” You put your hand on his. Spencer isn’t sure you’ve ever touched his hand before you took it at the hospital, he’s never really let you, but he doesn’t move away. A huge winding of tension between his shoulders begins to unspool. “It’s really nice to see you, babe. I’ve missed you tons and tons.” 

He looks up tentatively. “You have?” 

“I have. I haven’t really been invited, today. I’m just here to see you.” 

“Why?” Spencer asks. 

You tighten your fingers on his hand. “Missed you. Thought maybe we should, like…” And that’s unusual, for you to use filler words, Spencer doesn’t know what to think of it. “Well, I have something to say to you, and it’s going to either sound reassuring or ridiculous.” 

“Okay.” 

You give him a withering look. “Don’t make it any easier for me.” 

He laughs. The sound alone fosters your smile. “Sorry,” he says softly, “I doubt it’ll be ridiculous.” 

“Spencer Reid, we are friends. We are. But we never do anything outside of work, so I was thinking you could come over tonight and we’d make dinner and watch TV and stuff.” 

“And stuff.” 

“I’m a bit nervous,” you confess, looking down at your lap, then quickly back up into his face, “I’m worried you won’t want to.” 

You’re kind to avoid saying what he’s sure you’re thinking; you’re worried he won’t want to spend the night with you, and instead will look down the long barrel of a small needle. Or, he thinks that’s what you’re thinking. He does it to everyone. 

“What do you want to make for dinner?” he asks. 

“What are you enjoying lately?” 

“I… I don’t know. I’m not really eating.”

“Cereal?” 

“Yes,” he laughs. “Lots of cereal.” 

You tap the wheel of his chair with your heel. You’re dressed as though you aren’t working, wearing a sweet dark dress with a starched collar and baby sleeves, stockings, and a necklace at your neck that glows with a small white crystal. You look amazing. It never makes any sense to Spencer, why you’d taken an interest in him, and why you bother now. He knows he’s hard to care for. He knows he’s making it worse. 

You look up and down his face. You must see the purple half circles beneath his eyes, the crack at the corner of his mouth, the cut he can’t stop picking on his cheek. Every time it scabs, he opens it again. One second he’s sitting there and the next he’s got blood under his fingernail. 

“Hug?” you ask hopefully. 

He goes to stand. You move in too fast and wrap your arms around him, leg slotting between his, leaning over his shoulders with a distinct sense of protectiveness. You squeeze him, a little sigh escaping you that sounds loud so close to his ear. 

“How has it been this week?” you ask quietly. 

“It’s fine.” He cups your back in his arm carefully. The other wraps tight around the small of it. He soaks you up, scared you’re gonna pull away any second. 

“How are you feeling about it? Do you need any extra help?” 

He cringes. “No,” he says. “It’s really fine.” 

“When you texted me, about the cravings? What are they like today?” 

He wishes he could breathe in the smell of your perfume and your skin and tell you they’re all better now. It would make sense; there isn’t much in his life that hasn’t been made better by your attention. He’d struggle to do this without you. You’re his only friend who actually cared enough to say the problem out loud, but you’re just a woman, you can’t work the sort of magic necessary to kick this for him. 

“Spencer?” You pull away, nudging his cheek with the back of your finger. 

“They’re okay. I’m not gonna do anything.” 

“Good, honey. I’m proud of you. I know how hard this is.” 

He bites the inside of his lip, surprised at your caring. He shouldn’t be.

“What are you two whispering about?”

You and Spencer have different reactions to Emily’s sudden question. He flinches like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and you, still vaguely pissed with everyone for not telling you Spencer was struggling and not afraid to show it, keep your eyes trained on his face. 

“Nothing,” Spencer says. 

You turn to her with a small smile. You still like her, Spencer knows. Secretly, he’s pleased you’re angry for him. It’s nice to have someone so obviously on his side. “We’re just deciding what to get for dinner.” 

“Oh, nice. Date night?” she teases. 

You press your cheek to his forehead. “Date night,” you agree, your hand unmissable where it bunches in his sweater near his heart. 

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC When You Are Suddenly Dating a Princess

This prompt is a variation of good!GIW AU (read here), but that's an excuse because I just wanted badass Jasmine Fenton and her good boy Jason Todd.

"Jason?"

The voice catches him off-guard. Not because he doesn't know it, no, quite on the opposite - he knows that voice very well, he's just heard it this morning when his beautiful girlfriend kissed him on the cheek and left for work.

It's just that he didn't expect to hear it at a closed auction full of magic artifacts, two states away from Gotham, and in a room full of rich-ass people from all around the world.

He turns around.

Jazz is looking at him with an expression of pleasant surprise, black off-shoulder silk dress with teal accents draping her figure all the way down to the floor - it's kind of reminiscent of Greek togas, with high waist and lots of folds on the skirt. It also makes his girlfriend look even taller than she is, which, Jason is fairly certain, was intentional.

She is also wearing a necklace on her neck, and just by one look at it, Jason knows that it costs at least five times more than the apartment they live in.

"Jazz?" He breathes out, astonished, but then catches himself and puts on a smile, "You look stunning." This is not the time to argue or ask questions; he is on a mission. And it's a time sensitive one, so no matter how curious he is, it can wait till later. They do live together, after all.

"Thank you," the girl smiles, and then briefly turns her head to a tall man in a very expensive dark blue suit standing beside her, "If you excuse me," she nods with an apologetic smile in the corner of her lips, and the man smiles back and takes a step away. Meanwhile, Jazz approaches Jason and casually places a hand on his elbow.

"Mind telling me what are you doing here?" She questions, and, wait, that was supposed to be his line! Jason blinks and shakes his head, snapping out of his stupor.

He can't exactly say, 'Constantine asked Batman for a favor because he knows the man is rich as fuck, so now Jason has to either buy or steal an ancient dagger for some bullshit magic ritual because he was the only one free tonight and John really needs that dagger and that ritual and Bruce owes him a favor, unfortunately'. Jazz doesn't know he is a vigilante/crime lord in redemption. She might suspect he is - that girl is perceptive on par with mind readers - but Jason never straightforwardly told her, and she never brought it up herself.

So, instead, he goes, "Sightseeing."

Jazz raises one eyebrow and pointedly looks around the dimly lit room full of magic users, rich collectors, socialites, and other shady individuals. Jason keeps smiling. Eventually, the redhead sighs and looks away, taking a step forward and guiding him through the auction at a leisurely pace.

"Looking for anything in particular?" She tries again, and Jason debates if he should answer her. On one hand, his head is buzzing with thousands of questions, starting with 'how did you even make it here when your shift at Arkham ended two hours ago' and finishing with 'to which group of shady individuals do you belong'. On the other hand, she clearly does belong here if her confident posture and outfit are taken into account.

And she is his girlfriend. Has been one for two years now. Maybe it's time to share some secrets.

"An obsidian knife with an owl on the handle," he finally says, and Jazz hums.

"A Tecpatl?" She clarifies, and Jason doesn't even feel that surprised by her sudden knowledge of Aztec culture. He nods. Jazz gives him a thoughtful glance, "And how important is it for you to have it?"

"To the point where I'm prepared to steal it if I have to," he laughs, but judging by the look on Jazz's face, she gets that he is only half-joking. She narrows her eyes at him:

"Is it for you, or for your, um, friends on the orbit?" She asks, briefly glancing up to the ceiling, and Jason feels very confused for a second there.

But then it hits him: she is talking about the Watchtower. She is implying the League.

Jason doesn't hold back a quiet curse, "Damn it, I should have hidden the guns better, shouldn't I?"

Jazz laughs softly, but it's a warm, affectionate laugh, "Well, yes, but you also shouldn't leave bloody bandages in the bathroom. And your helmet on the kitchen counter," she tells him, amusement lacing her voice, and Jason rubs his face with his free hand.

"Fuck," he mutters. And then, "Sorry."

Jazz waves her hand it the air, brushing his apology off, "Don't worry. I'm not in a place to blame you for having secrets, am I?" She muses, and, okay, fair. But before Jason can try to make her elaborate on the topic, she returns to her previous question, "So is it for a friend?"

The knife, right. Jason makes an annoyed face, scrunching his nose.

"Yeah. Bruce owes someone a favor, but he couldn't make it. Other stuff came up," he huffs. 'Other stuff' in question includes some off-world mission, so he really couldn't make it, but that doesn't make Jason any less mad about it.

"Let me guess, that 'someone' smells of cigarettes and liquor, has a British accent, and wears a trench coat," Jazz deadpans, and Jason stares at her with wide eyes.

"How- Are you sure you're not secretly a mind reader?" He asks. He knows for sure that Jazz doesn't have a meta-gene, but maybe she is a magic user? That would explain why and how she is even at the auction. Yet, the redhead laughs.

"No, sorry. Just met him a few times," she winces like she can smell the phantom smell of tobacco even when the mage is not here, "Can't say I like him, but asking someone to fetch him a Tecpatl seems like his style."

That only makes Jason even more inclined to believe his girlfriend is actually a magic user. But he doesn't get to ask because Jazz suddenly looks him in the face.

"Consider yourself in luck, by the way," she grins, "You won't have to steal it."

[part 2 ->]

[sakurafigures]

♡ Jasmin (Jasmin's Dressing Time) - ABILU Design

[wonderjanga]

Princess Marvel

Billy likes money. Of course, not to the extent of Ebenezer, but you know, he kinda needs it to survive. So, when a husband and wife go up to him and offer to pay them to show up to their daughter’s birthday party, who is here to refuse?

Daughter: “I wanted a princess, not a superhero!”

Dad: “We know honey, but we couldn’t find any princesses.”

Marvel: *does not want to miss that bag, so he does a little spell that magics a dress on him* “What are you talking about? I am a princess.”

Daughter: “No you’re not! You weren’t dressed like before!”

Marvel: “Yeah I was.”

Daughter: “No you weren’t!”

Marvel: “Yes, I was. Just accept the fact that I’m a princess. What’s so hard about that?”

Daughter: “You’re a man.”

Marvel: “I’m a manly princess”

Daughter: “Nuh uh.”

Marvel: “Yuh huh.”

Daughter: “Nuh uh.”

Marvel: “Yuh huh.”

Daughter: “Then prove it! Do something a princess would do.”

Marvel: “Like what?”

Daughter: “Talk to an animal!”

Marvel: “Oh uh…” * calls down a squirrel from a nearby tree it crawls into his hand* “Do a flip.”

Squirrel: *does a flip*

Daughter: *absolutely dumbfounded* “Woah…You really are a princess!”

Later…

Marvel and Kids: *all sitting at a little table, having a tea party. Compared to the table and the kids, Marvel is huge by the way*

Kid 1: “What’s your name, Miss Princess?”

Marvel: *sips from tiny teacup* “Princess Marvel.”

Daughter: “That’s lame. Your name is Princess Marie.”

Marvel: “No, it isn’t.”

Daughter: “Yeah it is!”

Marvel: “No, it isn’t.”

Daughter: “Yeah, it is!”

Marvel: “Okay, fine. It is.” *sips tea again* “Can I have another sugar cube for my tea?”

Daughter: “Yes you may.” *takes some tongs and puts one in Marvel’s tea*

Even More Later…

Kid 2: “Princess Marie?”

Marvel: “Yeah?”

Kid 2: “Do you have a pet?”

Marvel: “Uhm… I guess? There’s Tawny, but he isn’t really my pet. He’s my friend.”

Kid 3: “Who’s Tawny?”

Marvel: “A tiger.” *sips tea*

Kid 2: “Like Jasmine?” *sounds super excited*

Marvel: “Yeah, like her. This is Tawny.” *pulls a photo from his pocket dimension of him and Tawny*

Kid 3: “Why aren’t you wearing a dress here?”

Marvel: “Well, I’m not a princess all the time.”

Even More More Later…

Kid 4: “Do you have an evil stepmother?”

Marvel: “I have an evil uncle. Does that count?

Kid 4: “I think so.”

Kid 5: “Can you do magic?”

Marvel: “Yup.” *sips tea* “Want me to do something?”

Kid 5: “Yeah!”

Marvel: *snaps fingers and Kid 5’s hair turns pink* “Whablam.”

The kids ate that up and they all had wacky hair colors by the end of the party. Billy ended up getting chewed out by all their parents though so he changed their hair back to normal. Billy got two hundred dollars from this, so if he’s truly being honest, he doesn’t regret it in the slightest.

[beloveds-embrace]

Until the Last Loop: the Execution

(How many times must you repeat the same song and dance before the curtain falls?

poly mercenaries 141 x princess reader, time loop

The crowd screamed for your blood.

Their voices rolled over the courtyard like thunder- sharp, frenzied, and hungry, sharks smelling blood in the waters. You didn’t flinch. You had stopped flinching a long time ago. Instead, you stood on the scaffold with your wrists bound in rusted iron and your knees aching from where you’d been forced to kneel, a once-proud back bent into prostration.

The cold bites through the thin silk of your dress. You feel the rough wood splintering beneath your knees, the way the wind stings your skin, the weight of the executioner’s shadow looming above you.

You were not allowed the dignity of a white dress, or a veil or a blindfold. You never were.

The wood creaked beneath you as the executioner shifted, sharpening his blade against a whetstone. Sparks flew, bright and vengeful. You didn’t look at him. You didn’t look at the crowd either, for they were all familiar scenes- so much so you were sure that if you were to be given a canvas and paint, you would be able to redraw it all simply from memory.

Instead, your gaze wandered.

You let your eyes drift across the sea of faces twisted in hatred, searching for the one thing that hadn’t changed in all these lifetimes-

And there he was.

You spotted him near the back, the man in the crowd. As always, standing just close enough to see the platform clearly but far enough to remain unnoticed by the mob. Hooded, broad-shouldered, and still. He didn’t yell. He didn’t jeer.

He just watched. He always did. The same stance, the same gaze.

Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to look away. He had been there in every loop, always standing in that exact spot, and you had stopped trying to understand why. Whatever answer you might have once craved had been buried under exhaustion and bitter acceptance, and the defeating knowledge of not knowing where to even start searching for him.

The executioner finished sharpening his blade and stepped closer, his boots heavy against the wood. The crowd’s roar swelled as the official stepped forward and began to read the charges- words you had heard so many times they no longer felt real. Were they here, you wondered, listening to your crimes?

“Treason against the Crown.”

Your nails dug into your palms.

“Conspiracy to overthrow His Majesty.”

You exhaled slowly.

“Attempted regicide.”

The crowd erupted at that, like oil meeting water, and you wondered- not for the first time- if they even cared whether the charges were true. It didn’t matter. They just wanted someone to blame.

And you had always been an easy target.

The executioner raised the blade. The sun caught its edge, and for a brief moment, you saw your reflection- tired eyes, hollow cheeks, and lips pressed into something that could no longer be called a smile.

The crowd roared louder. The executioner took his stance.

You closed your eyes.

And the blade fell.

You wake with a gasp.

The silk sheets cling to your skin, damp with sweat. Your heart hammers against your ribs, a wild animal escaping the clutches of its predator, and for one wild moment, you’re sure you can still feel the blade at your neck, the bite of steel against soft, tender flesh-

But there’s no blood. No pain.

Just sunlight streaming through the tall windows, warm and golden, painting the room in the soft golds and reds of the afternoon.

You stare at the ceiling, swallowing against the bile rising in your throat. The air smells like jasmine and lavender. It always does.

You force yourself to sit up even when your muscles ache, and your wrists burn with phantom pain from where the shackles had been. There are no marks, but the memory lingers, haunting every little move you make.

How many times now?

You stopped counting after twenty. It didn’t matter. It never changed.

The knock at the door comes exactly when you expect it, after you had forced yourself to clean away the sweat rolling down your skin and sat at your settee, begging your heart to calm down.

“Your Highness?”

Your maid’s voice.

You already know what she’ll say, what expression she’ll wear when she steps inside. But you don’t move.

The door opens, and she enters with a bow, her hands folded neatly in front of her, expression detached and polite. And behind her, four men follow.

You don’t need to look to know who they are. They’ve been with you every life, always the same tune and dance.

He stands at the front, broad-shouldered and commanding, streaks of gray in his beard and sharp eyes that feel like knives. You meet his gaze, by now fully used to him and his presence. Price- John, he’d said you can call him either in your last few lives, when your spoilt attitude had been stripped off you with each death.

“You ain’t so bad, princess. Not a hoity-toity piece of work.”

Slowly, the others trickle in after him.

The mask hides most of his face, but you don’t need to see it to know what’s underneath is Ghost. He watches you the way a predator watches its prey- calm, patient, and ready to strike, but you know that later, he will ever so slightly warm up to you.

“I don’t know what to do… I haven’t done anything! You have to believe me!”

“I know. But you’ll catch a cold if you stay out any longer, princess.”

Soap smiles when he steps inside, easy and disarming, but you see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand rests near the dagger at his hip. That same dagger has saved you before, but not always. In some lives, he is not there with you when you get ambushed- you were such a hard thing to get along with before- and yet in other lives…

“Wee lass, tell me where ye’re goin’, and I’ll protect ye always, aye?”

Quiet, steady, and sharp, like a hawk out for hunting. Gaz’s eyes sweep the room, cataloging every detail before they land on you and he nods towards you. Polite, always polite, even when you’d been like a hissy, feral cat towards him in times. Gentle when you’d been a quiet, reserved version of yourself.

“…will you stay with me? Just tonight? Please, Gaz… I feel lonely.”

“Course, princess. You don’t have to ask.”

You exhale slowly.

They’re different from the crowd, from the nobles and commoners of the kingdom. Always have been, always will be. They don’t look at you with hatred, even if they have their own misconceptions of you. But they’re still here, still close, in this life and before and next and that makes them special to you.

And this time, you… don’t have the energy to keep yourself away from them.

Price steps forward first, always the leader.

“Princess,” he says, and there’s something heavy in the way he says it. Like it means more than just a title. Or maybe less; mercenaries care little for royalty beyond what they can offer them. “We’re here to protect you.”

You almost laugh. Hired by king for no knight wanted to work for you, the shameful stain no one wanted to acknowledge or favor too much.

Instead, you turn your head and stare out the window, heart still pounding against your ribs.

“You’re wasting your time.”

You expect them to leave, even if you shouldn’t. Most people do when you push them away. Though you told yourself you won’t keep yourself away from them, you also truly want to just exist quietly, unperceived, until the inevitable hour arrives and you return back to this point.

But Price doesn’t listen to you, unsurprisingly. You can see your maid scoff about his nonchalant manner out of the corner of your eye.

“We’ll see about that, Your Highness.” He says, unbothered by your attitude.

And when you finally look at him again, his eyes are lingering on you- steady and sharp.

And thus, the loop starts anew.

Part Two

Masterlist

[noxcheshire]

Back at it again with my Danny is mom coded au’s, but this time it’s because of Clockwork that he suddenly has a whole ass teenage kid.

Clockwork had been bored or maybe he was playing a game against an opponent, or even lost a bet, whatever it was, he stepped in right as Jason was searching for his biological mother.

The DNA that would have registered itself as one Sheila Haywood, confirming Jason’s mother, glitched a terrible green across the screens of the batcomputer.

In those few moments of chaos Jason’s heart beat rapidly as he tried to figure out why the computer wasn’t working, wondering if his only chance to find his mom — his blood mom — would never find success.

Then as suddenly as things went wrong the DNA settled and pinged.

Jason watched, his chest tight, as one Danny C. Works, formerly Danny Fenton appeared onto the big screen.

Danny looked a lot like Jason, short cut black hair more straight than the subtle curls of Jason’s own; deep blue eyes, tired in a way that spoke of long days and nights, but with a warm happiness that made the familiar smile — the one Jason would see on himself every time he looked into the mirror — even more striking.

Jason didn’t linger too long on the male identifying gender, nor the fact his mom leaned more towards a masculine name or clothing.

There were plenty of male to female, and female to male leaning individuals that lived in Crime Alley. He had seen it enough to not even bat an eye at it, even now. After all, in Gotham you minded your business least you find yourself in business you can’t leave.

On a different monitor information of Danny C. Works piled for Jason to quickly browse through.

Danny was a senior engineer, no intimate relationships, and with no close connections to family outside of the tentative calls from Jasmine Fenton.

Danny was estranged from Jack and Madeline Fenton, a falling out that had occurred just a little before Danny’s high school graduation. If Jason calculated it correctly that would have been — around the season Jason himself would have been born.

Okay, so no grandparents then but I might have a maybe aunt. Jason scrolled further and stilled.

Twin toddlers: Dante and Danielle Works.

Jason had baby siblings.

He doesn’t let the sting of younger siblings consume him, doesn’t allow the whispering thoughts of why he had been given up when his younger siblings had been kept and so very obviously loved.

Jason took deep breathes, he didn’t have time to linger here. He had a family to get to, and a family he would get to.

It took almost all night to reach, the starlight night sky slowly and surely fading into cloudy wine as the sun rose, but Jason made it.

And when the door opened to his hesitant but firm knock, Jason was unable to speak. His mom — dad, maybe? Did they want to be mom or dad? — stood in the doorway, brows furrowed in confusion.

It was when Danny spoke his vigilante name did Jason only just realize that he was still dressed to the nine’s in his Robin costume.

[emacrow]

Alfred's day off came as he went for a visit that cause suspicious in the batfam.

Alfred was looking rather energetic and enthusiastic as he was fixing himself up in the mirror, cleaning any lint and dust on his casual clothes.

The batfam has been noticing he is getting more excited that he even made everyone's favorite lunch in record time as today was one of alfred rarest day off.

Tim on the other hand is thinking that alfred might be dating someone, because he saw alfred bring light blue letters that had a soft jasmine smell.

Bruce believes Tim finally lost his marble because when does alfred had the time to date around.?

Until Dick mentioned that even old people get lonely and tend to matchmake in the form of letters like the good old days..

Which right now the batfam and Bruce leading them are currently spying on Alfred far enough where they think he wouldn't noticed them stalk- observating him.

Alfred was picking up a couple of presents, one that had plants, another had old Techno theme, one with birds, a fire theme one and a space theme present that he loaded his car with along with a stuffie bear.

Steph thinks that he could be visiting relatives at that point..?

While Bruce was remaining quiet with a calculating glint in his eyes.

They follow alfred all the ways to the one of the barely remaining clean parks, where a another young man sat with a orange hair little girl in a light greenish blue dress, a sleeping baby girl in a bassinet on a picnic blanket with a purple clock theme pattern, as he watches 4 toddlers playing and squealing around a oddly colored puppy.

Two toddlers look like a bait-adoptable bait even if both has stripes of white in their hair and one had red eyes, one toddler had blonde hair with the tips being black with purple eyes and a lightest greenish skin tone, and the remaining toddler was Egyptian African American looking with how he playing with a odd toy phone that look Egyptian theme before being dragged along to play by the green dog snatching his toy phone.

Alfred brought the presents along sitting down with the now seemingly much older man..

Jason seemed to noticed that nobody else is noticing that that guy holding the clock like staff is literally shifting from young, to adolescent, to young adult, and elderly man beside himself when he voiced his concerns.

They weren't close enough to hear what the two were saying, but the little girl with the orange hair was speaking mostly before looking up with tearful green teal eyes at alfred who went to comfort the girl.

[multific]

Quiet Comfort

Emperor Geta x Reader

Summary: After a long day, your husband returns to your arms. 

You watched the shadows dance on the walls of your chambers, the fire crackling softly as you got more and more sleepy. 

The room filled with the faint aroma of jasmine from the garden beyond your window. 

You had spent the evening waiting, knowing it would be late when Geta finally returned. 

But you were determined to wait for your husband.

He had spent the entire day in council, discussing matters of the empire with senators and advisors, it was a rather exhausting affair that always left him drained. Given how his brother's illness didn't allow him to even properly think at times. Which meant all of the pressure and responsibility shifted.

All eyes were on Geta.

At last, the heavy door creaked open, and Geta stepped inside. 

His golden dress gleamed in the firelight, and his expression was one of weariness. 

Yet when his eyes found yours, a flicker of relief softened his features along with a smile.

“Long day?” you asked gently, rising from your seat. You already knew the answer.

He gave a tired nod and closed the door behind him. 

“Too long,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You crossed the room to meet him, placing a hand on his arm. “Come, sit by the fire. You need to rest.” you spent the day attending to your duties as Empress. But now, you had to be a wife.

For a moment, he didn’t move his mind was filled he feared it might spill. Then, he allowed you to lead him to the cushioned bench by the hearth. He sat down heavily, the weight of the day still evident in his posture.

“Did the council reach a decision?” you asked, pouring him a cup of wine.

He accepted the cup with a sigh and took a long sip. 

“Barely. They argue over everything, even matters as simple as grain distribution. Sometimes, I wonder if they enjoy the sound of their own voices more than finding solutions.”

"And your brother?" you asked rather fearfully.

But as Geta looked at you, his eyes said it all. 

"Not a good day for him, unfortunately. But the senators drained me too much, I wanted to kill all of them."

You smiled softly, taking a seat beside him. 

“You always manage to keep your composure, though. That’s what makes you a good leader.”

He took another sip of the wine before setting the cup down. 

“Only because I have you to return to,” he said quietly. “You… ground me. Remind me of what truly matters.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you reached out to brush a strand of hair from his face. 

“And you remind me of the strength it takes to lead. I may not sit on council, but I see how much you care for your people.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and he leaned into your touch. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Luckily, you don’t have to find out,” you teased him with a smile.

Geta chuckled softly with a nod. 

He shifted, laying down on the bench and resting his head on your lap. You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the tension slowly leave his body. For a while, neither of you spoke, happy to simply be in each other’s presence.

As the fire crackled and the night continued, Geta closed his eyes, his breathing growing slow and steady as he fell asleep. 

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Rest now, My Love,” you whispered. “Tomorrow will be easier.”

And in that quiet moment, with the empire’s burdens left outside the door, all that was left was the love you shared.

And it was more than enough.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[kaylasficrecs]

remus lupin recs

by tired hands | au, one shot, fluff | @luveline

"it's gonna hurt" | drabble, smut | @ddejavvu

it's time to go | series | @godlessandwrecked

rude due to the upcoming full moon | imagine, flangst | @moonstruckme

you frustrate me incredibly, sweetheart | imagine, fluff | @sincerelyyycece

make eye contact when talking | au, imagine, fluff | @bruisedboys

poor bunny | one shot, flangst | @robynlilyblack

red | one shot, flangst | @jamespottersdaisy

alive and true | imagine, flangst | @nincompoopydoo

scars | imagine, fluff | @crimsntwlip

back to december | imagine, flangst | @ur-local-anti-hero

three simple words | imagine, fluff | @acciotwinz

never his | one shot, trifecta | @weasleykisses

kisses | imagine, fluff | @sssiriusly

we fell in love in december | drabble, fluff | @remusluvr

nothing but the necklace | imagine, fluff | @reysdriver

heart shaped | imagine, fluff | @luveline

names in phones | au, drabble, fluff | @ddejavvu

sunday roast | drabble, fluff | @reysdriver

new discoveries | au, imagine, fluff | @amourane

hates her outfit | drabble, fluff | @inkdrinkerworld

the way i see you | one shot, fluff | @g1rld1ary

talk too much | au, imagine, fluff | @inkdrinkerworld

clandestine | drabble, fluff | @spncvr

long and stressful morning | drabble, fluff (slight angst) | @madwcman

rubbing your back | imagine, fluff | @daenysx

fix it | imagine, flangst | @wingedhallows

dress shopping | drabble, suggestive fluff | @ddejavvu

over the influence | imagine, fluff | @bruisedboys

kiss me really nicely | imagine, fluff | @in-between-thighs

no i like you | imagine, fluff | @moonstruckme

scott street | imagine, angsty flangst | @spncvr

routine | imagine, flangst | @sp1rit-realm

"you are the one person i care for..." | imagine, soft fluff | @hello-everyfandom

terrified | imagine, flangst | @inkdrinkerworld

blood quill | imagine, flangst, comfort | @jasmines-library

with migraine!reader | drabble, fluff | @remushrts

gives you your first kiss | imagine, fluff | @luveline

with all due respect | imagine, flangst | @writesowhatnext

potter!reader | series | @mallowsweetmiri

chocolate-coated hearts | au, imagine, fluff | @sun-kissy

after the storm | one shot, flangst | @pretentious-blonde

it's nice to have a friend | one shot, flangst | @jamespottersdaisy

sweet nothing | one shot, flangst | @jamespottersdaisy

super blue moon | imagine, flangst | @ellecdc

yours | one shot, flangst | @pretentious-blonde

mouse | one shot, fluff | @siriuslovebot

sweetness | imagine, fluff | @pretentious-blonde

casually domestically dominant | imagine, fluff | @luveline

james's neighbor | imagine, fluff | @moonstruckme