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tteotlma · 12 days

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Blurred Lines & Bright Screens

— movie night shenanigans turn into almost-kisses.

(Wolverine/Reader) 2.3kw

a/n: i couldn’t find the right gif i was looking for — also i hope this makes sense ALSO i wanna write sm*t SO bad but all i can think abt rn is domestic/mutual pining/slow-burn HUGH JACKMAN

TW: mild sexual tension, implied violence, mentions of alcohol, snoring if u think it’s an ick.

Btw: i wrote this at work enjoy! also pls reblog so i can share my writing w more people !!!

"I'm so glad you finally agreed to watch this movie with me!" You exclaim, giddy as you set a giant bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. Settling onto the plush velvet sofa, you rest your back against the armrest and pull your knees up, watching Logan trudge into the room.

"Well, it's only 'cause you kept buggin' me about it," he mumbles. Nonetheless, he plops his thick frame onto the sofa, the weight of his body causing your sock-covered feet to slide under his thigh.

You tense a little, giving him a quick glance before turning to the TV. He doesn't say anything, so you leave your feet under his warmth. Silence falls as you flip through the streaming apps.

"Um," you speak up, trying to cut the one-sided tension. You're pretty sure Logan is unfazed, but you want to be wrong. You mumble to yourself, filling the silence for your own comfort.

The room goes dark as the movie starts, and you try to settle in. Grabbing a giant blanket, you drape it over your legs, the fabric pooling where you touch Logan. You hope he might grab the blanket too, but he doesn't.

You scoff at the embarrassment creeping up your throat and try to focus on the movie. As you open your mouth to comment, Logan cuts you off.

"You don't gotta do that," he grumbles.

Sinking further into your seat, you bring your legs a little closer and grab the popcorn, attempting to pay attention to the screen. It works pretty well until you feel Logan shift beside you, and suddenly all you can think about is him.

You and Logan have been "friends" for about a year now, but have known each other for three. It took you two years to befriend the guy. Granted, your first year at the school was spent interning with Storm, and you were as timid as a mouse, always hiding behind her - especially when Logan came around.

It wasn't until the end of your first year that Storm felt confident enough in your abilities to loosen the lead. She began letting you go on missions with other people. At first, you avoided missions involving Logan; he was still too intense at times, and your self-confidence wasn't as strong as Storm's faith in you. But after a few big missions, you began to grow into yourself, and your confidence skyrocketed.

Missions evolved from involving handfuls of students and professors to solo projects as things got more serious. Then came one particular mission where Charles and the team felt it best that Logan accompany you. You protested right up until you left.

"Y/n," Charles stared at you intently as you stood by the door, Logan's footsteps thudding around the corner. "It's not that we think you aren't capable. We need your full focus on decoding the encrypted system."

"And I can-" You feel yourself getting fussy, as childish as it sounds. Scott grabs you by the shoulders, cutting you off mid-sentence, shocking you.

"Listen, Y/n," he sighs. "As much as you hate it, you're one of us now. The information you're going after is too valuable to risk doing it on your own. We need you to be one hundred percent focused on that, because once Sebastian Shaw realizes we're trying to get into his system, he will rain hellfire on whoever gets in his way. Logan is the only one who can be of service to you right now, so please." His voice softens as he begs. You see the worry sewn into his eyebrows and look at Charles, who is staring right back at you.

You sighed, just as Logan walked up behind Charles.

"Okay," you give a tight smile, and Scott taps his knuckle against your chin, trying to cheer you up. You let out an airy laugh and shove his hand away.

"You'll be fine," he tousles your hair before turning to look at Logan, who's staring intently at you both. Logan doesn't say anything and begins walking out the door.

"Professor," he grumbles as his figure fades into the dark of the night. Charles watches Logan walk off, then turns to you with a smirk on his face.

"Don't worry, everything will work out as it's supposed to." He gives you a wink, leaving you confused about his meaning.

"Uh, alright," you say, giving him a small nod as you head out following Logan.

After that mission, you and Logan became an oddly almost inseparable pair, which you deem as "friendship" even if he doesn't agree. Although you weren't glued to the hip, Logan was almost never far behind, and neither were you. Over the past couple of months, though, your relationship with Logan has evolved into something... complicated. There's an undeniable closeness between you, but it's hard to define. Sometimes, it feels like you're the little sister he never had - he's protective, gruff, and occasionally teases you mercilessly. Other times, there's a crackling tension in the air that makes you wonder if there's something more.

Like the time you were reaching for a book in the library, and Logan came up behind you to help. His chest brushed against your back as he grabbed it, and when you turned, you found yourself trapped between him and the bookshelf. For a moment, neither of you moved, your eyes locked, hearts racing. The air felt charged, and you could've sworn you saw something flicker in his eyes before he stepped back. You whispered a shy "thanks," avoiding eye contact by pretending to wipe dust off the book jacket. Logan straightened up, muttering "No problem, kid," as he walked away.

Or the time you were bantering in the garage while he worked on his bike. What started as playful teasing about him being demanding turned into something more when you challenged his ability to intimidate you anymore. He stood up slowly, moving close until you were almost nose to nose, growling softly, "Wanna bet?" The tension was palpable until Scott's voice broke the moment.

Then there's how you've fallen into these little routines without even realizing. Like how Logan always saves you a seat at briefings, or how you automatically grab two beers when heading to the kitchen after a long day. Or especially when, on every second and fourth Sunday morning of the month, both you and Logan have brunch (that's right) at this one diner that you insisted was to die for. It wasn't until Beast commented on your "domestic routine" that you both seemed to realize how couple-like you'd become.

And who could forget those late-night talks? Like the time you wandered into the kitchen at 2 AM, plagued by mission nightmares, only to find Logan there. What started as a few words of comfort turned into hours of conversation, sharing fears and hopes. As dawn broke, Logan squeezed your hand and said, "You're stronger than you think, kid." The look in his eyes made your heart skip a beat.

Moments like that leave you wondering if there's something more brewing between you and Logan, something beyond the boundaries of friendship or family. But neither of you has been brave enough to cross that line... yet.

You've tried to convince yourself it's nothing more than a close friendship, possibly a mentorship even. But there are moments - fleeting and intense - that make you question everything. You're stuck in this limbo, too afraid to push for more, yet unable to ignore the possibility that there might be something deeper brewing between you and Logan.

A guttural roar rips through the air, startling you out of your focus. Your head snaps towards Logan as another snore cuts through the silence. You don't know whether to laugh or look adoringly at the giant man sitting beside you.

He's sunken deeper into the sofa than when the movie first started. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his head lolls to the side, chin resting uncomfortably on his chest. His arms and head rise and fall with each breath, obviously so far gone at this point. You feel heat creeping up the back of your neck as you watch the usually stone-faced and stoic man sleeping beside you.

He's clad in comfortable clothes: black sweatpants, a zip-up hoodie, and his usual wifebeater clinging to his skin underneath. Your eyes focus on the bare skin that peeks out between the fabric of his sweater and the sleeve of the tank top. His hair is tousled and fluffier than usual, the air conditioning giving you occasional whiffs of peppermint and eucalyptus — his signature shampoo. The scent is never overwhelming, rather a subtle reminder of his presence.

You find yourself studying his face, softer now in sleep than you've ever seen it. The perpetual furrow between his brows has smoothed out, and his lips are slightly parted. Another snore rumbles through him, and you can't help but smile. It's rare to see Logan so unguarded, so... human.

A part of you wants to wake him, to tease him about falling asleep during your favorite movie. But a larger part revels in this moment of vulnerability, this glimpse of Logan that so few get to see. You wonder what he'd do if you gently brushed that stray lock of hair from his forehead, or if you repositioned yourself so you were closer.

The movie plays on, forgotten, as you lose yourself in contemplation of the man beside you. You're hyper-aware of every point where your bodies touch: your leg against his thigh, your arm brushing his as you shift slightly. The warmth of his body seems to seep into yours, and you find yourself leaning closer, drawn in by his presence even in sleep.

It's in quiet moments like these that the line between friendship and something more blurs dangerously. You know you should look away, should focus on the movie, but you can't bring yourself to break this spell. Instead, you allow yourself this stolen moment, committing every detail to memory, all the while wondering if Logan ever has moments like this about you.

All of a sudden, Logan jolts and his head falls back against the headrest, another loud snore coming from his mouth and physically shaking your chest.

Alright, that's enough.

You shift closer to him while grabbing the pillow from behind your back and swing it towards his face. He instinctively grabs your wrist before you can make contact and pulls you in closer. He opens his eyes, staring at you threateningly as if asking "what the hell do you think you're doing," but when he realizes it's you, his gaze softens.

"What," he says, his voice deep with sleep. He unconsciously pulls you closer so your chest barely brushes against his shoulder.

"Get up, you're snoring and I can't hear the movie," you quip, trying not to let your voice falter - as if being this close to him had no effect on you whatsoever. Not like you were paying attention anyway. Logan sighs, lowering your hand from his face but not letting go of your wrist. Instead, he continues to hold it in his hand as he rests it on his stomach. Your hand tenses against the warmth of his body and - god, you hope he didn't feel that.

"Then turn it up louder," he says, closing his eyes and trying to make himself comfortable once again. You don't move. Instead, you... maybe... lean in closer? Logan doesn't notice.

"What, so you can yell at me for waking you up?" You give him a little nudge with your leg. "I don't think so."

Logan's eyes remain closed, but his grip on your wrist loosens, his thumb absently tracing circles on your skin. The gentle touch sends shivers up your arm.

"You woke me up anyway," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that you feel more than hear.

You try to steady your breathing, very aware of how close you are. "Well, someone had to save you from choking on your own snores."

His lips quirk up in a half-smile. "My hero," he says dryly, finally opening his eyes to look at you.

The intensity of his gaze catches you off guard. There's something there, something beyond his usual gruffness. Your breath hitches as his eyes roam your face, lingering on your lips before meeting your eyes again.

"Logan," you whisper, not sure what you're asking for.

He shifts slightly, turning his body towards you. Your knees dig deeper into his hip and thigh, and he still hasn't let go of your wrist. With his free hand, he reaches up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger on your cheek, and you instinctively lean into his touch.

"Yeah?" he responds, his voice rough and low.

The air between you feels charged, electric. You're hyper-aware of every point of contact between you - his hand on your face, his fingers around your wrist, your legs pressed together. Your heart is pounding so hard you're sure he can hear it.

Logan leans in, slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away. But you don't. You can't. You're frozen, caught between anticipation and disbelief. Is this really happening?

Just as his lips are about to brush yours, a loud explosion from the forgotten movie makes you both jump. The spell is broken. Logan pulls back, clearing his throat.

"We should, uh... finish the movie," he says, but he doesn't move away. His arm comes to rest on the back of the couch behind you, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him.

You nod, not trusting your voice. As you settle back to watch the film, you're hyper-aware of Logan beside you. The almost-kiss hangs in the air between you, unspoken but impossible to ignore. Every now and then, you catch him looking at you out of the corner of your eye, and you know that something has fundamentally shifted between you.

The movie plays on, but neither of you are really watching anymore. You're too busy wondering what might happen when the credits roll, and secretly hoping that maybe, just maybe, you'll get another chance to finish what you started.

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cherryl4na · 3 months

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ `"lamborghini miura and date nights pt. 1"

abstract || you and lando enjoy life outside of all the chaos that comes with him being 'The Ace'

fem!reader || fluff. steamy. mafia au. lamborghini miura. will be a pt. 2. heavily inspired by the suit at a mclaren event and the outfit at cannes. 3.6k words

Lando Norris’ penthouse is the epitome of luxury and power, a sanctuary high above the city’s restless heartbeat. The expansive living space is a testament to modern elegance, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the skyline, the city lights twinkling like distant stars.

When stepping out of the private elevator, you’re greeted by a foyer with polished marble floors, leading into an open-concept living area. The décor is a blend of classic and contemporary, with rich, dark wood paneling and sleek, minimalist furniture. A grand piano sits in one corner, its black lacquer finish reflecting the soft glow of the overhead designer lighting.

The lounge area is dominated by a large, plush sofa that faces a state-of-the-art entertainment system, and a glass coffee table holds an array of high-end spirits and crystal decanters. Original artworks adorn the walls, and a collection of rare books fills the built-in shelves, revealing Lando’s taste for the finer things in life.

The dining area features a long, ebony dining table surrounded by leather-upholstered chairs, perfect for hosting intimate gatherings or conducting discreet business meetings. Adjacent to it is a gourmet kitchen, fitted with professional-grade appliances and a sleek breakfast bar.

The penthouse also boasts a private gym, a spa-like bathroom with a Jacuzzi and a rain shower, and a walk-in wardrobe that houses an impressive collection of designer suits and racing memorabilia.

Lando’s personal quarters are a sanctuary within a sanctuary. The master bedroom is spacious, with a king-sized bed taking center stage, draped in the finest silk linens. A private balcony extends from the bedroom, offering a secluded spot to take in the breathtaking views or simply enjoy a moment of solitude.

Every detail in Lando’s penthouse speaks of a man who commands respect and enjoys his success, yet values privacy and comfort above all else. It’s a space that’s both a showpiece and a retreat, reflecting the complex character of ‘The Ace’ himself.

As of now, the evening had settled over the city like a velvet shroud, the skyline a jagged silhouette against the twilight sky. Inside the luxurious penthouse, Lando Norris watched you with an intensity that belied his calm exterior.

You stood before the full-length mirror, the soft fabric of your Versace dress cascading down in waves of midnight blue, a stark contrast to the elegance of your skin. The room was filled with the quiet rustle of silk and the subtle scent of vanilla from your perfume. It was a rare occasion, this dance of preparation, and Lando found himself captivated by the ritual.

He leaned casually against the mahogany door frame, arms crossed over his chest covered with a white Nordstrom silk shirt that has been left unbuttoned just slightly to exude enough sensuality but keeping it decent, his two usual gold chains around his thick, tan neck as his eyes followed your every move. There was something about the way you moved, the confidence in your gestures, that drew him in. It was a dance he had seen many perform but none with such genuine disregard for the world’s expectations.

“You don’t have to impress anyone,” Lando finally spoke, his voice a low rumble in the opulent room.

You met his gaze in the mirror, a small smile playing on your lips. “I’m not trying to impress,” you replied, your voice steady. “I’m trying to remember who I am beyond all this,” you gestured vaguely, encompassing the grandeur of the room and, by extension, the life you had found yourself entwined in.

Lando pushed off from the doorframe, his steps silent on the plush carpet as he approached. “And who are you exactly, in this world?” he asked, stopping just a breath away from you.

You turned to face him, the intensity of his gaze compelling you to answer with truth. “Someone who still believes in a bit of normality, even in a world as cynical as ours.”

His chuckle was soft, a sound that warmed you more than any embrace. “Then perhaps this will serve as a reminder,” Lando said, producing a small, black velvet box from his pocket.

He opened it to reveal a delicate gold chain, from which hung a pendant crafted in the shape of a lotus, its petals open as if reaching for the last rays of the sun. “The lotus blooms in the mud,” he murmured, his fingers deft as he clasped the necklace around your neck.

The lotus flower, revered across cultures and spiritual traditions, embodies profound symbolism and meaning. Emerging from muddy waters yet remaining unstained, it symbolizes purity of heart, mind, and spirit. Its ability to bloom immaculately amidst adversity speaks to resilience and strength, teaching us to persevere and flourish despite life's challenges.

It serves as a timeless metaphor for the human experience — a reminder that through adversity, purity, and spiritual growth, we can rise above the murky waters of life and blossom into our fullest potential.

You reached up to touch the pendant, its cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of his fingers still lingering on your skin. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, gratitude lacing your words. Lando stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours. “As are you,” he said, not as a compliment, but as a simple statement of fact.

With a smile that matched the warmth of his words, you followed Lando out of his luxurious penthouse. The evening air greeted you with a gentle breeze as you made your way towards the private garage, where a sleek, vintage Lamborghini Miura awaited. Its navy paint gleamed under the soft glow of the penthouse's exterior lights, exuding elegance and power in equal measure.

"You're driving this?" you asked, your voice a mixture of surprise and excitement, a smile slowly inching its way on your face.

Lando nodded, a playful glint in his eyes as he held open the passenger door for you. "Well, how else did you think we’d travel? I figured we could take a little drive before our reservation. Trust me, it'll be an experience you won't forget."

As you move to settle into the plush leather seat, Lando places a hand on your head to make sure it’s protected from the roof of the car. Heading around the car, Lando enters the driver side, and effortlessly starts the engine, causing the powerful rumble to fill the air around you. The car eased out of the garage with grace, navigating the city streets with the familiarity of a seasoned driver. The night enveloped you both, the city lights painting a canvas of twinkling stars overhead.

With each turn and straight away, the Lamborghini carried you through the cityscape, the wind whispering secrets as it tousled your hair. In the midst of this exhilarating journey, Lando's presence beside you remained a constant source of comfort and excitement, his occasional glance your way a silent promise of more adventures to come.

As you ventured further into the night, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the hum of the engine and the shared moments between you and Lando. In the soft glow of passing street lamps, you realized that this impromptu drive wasn't just about the destination—it was about the connection forged in the quiet moments between heartbeats, where each glance and smile spoke volumes about the budding romance in the air.

And as the Lamborghini carried you both towards an unknown horizon, you couldn't help but feel that this night was just the beginning of a journey filled with endless possibilities, where every twist of fate was waiting to be explored together.

With each mile that passed beneath the Lamborghini's wheels, the cityscape transformed into a mesmerizing blur of lights and shadows. Lando navigated the streets with effortless precision, occasionally stealing glances at you, his expression a mix of anticipation and contentment.

As the vibrant pulse of the city gradually gave way to quieter, tree-lined avenues, the Lamborghini slowed to a stop in front of a stately building adorned with ivy-covered walls and softly glowing lanterns. You looked up, realizing you had arrived at a charming and exclusive restaurant known for its exquisite cuisine and intimate ambiance.

Lando turned off the engine, and the sudden silence enveloped you like a comforting embrace. He stepped out of the car, swiftly coming around to open your door with a gentlemanly flourish. As you emerged, the cool evening air wrapped around you, carrying with it the tantalizing aroma of fine dining and the promise of a memorable evening ahead.

The entrance of the restaurant welcomed you with a warm glow from within, casting a soft halo around Lando as he extended his hand, inviting you to walk with him towards the door. You accepted graciously, feeling a flutter of excitement mingled with a touch of nervousness. This evening had already surpassed any expectations you might have had, and yet, you couldn't help but wonder what surprises lay in store.

Inside, the ambiance was elegant yet inviting, with soft music playing in the background and flickering candlelight casting a soft glow over linen-covered tables. The maître d' greeted you warmly, confirming your reservation and guiding you both to a secluded corner table with a breathtaking view of the city skyline.

As you settled into your seats, Lando's gaze met yours across the table, his eyes sparkling with a quiet intensity that mirrored your own emotions. The evening stretched out before you like an uncharted path, each moment unfolding with a delicate grace that seemed to deepen the connection between you.

Conversation flowed effortlessly between bites of exquisitely prepared dishes and sips of fine wine, punctuated by shared laughter and stolen glances that spoke volumes. In the intimate setting of the restaurant, surrounded by the soft murmur of other diners and the gentle hum of city life beyond the windows, it felt as though time had slowed to a perfect cadence, allowing you both to savor every fleeting second together.

And as the night progressed, you found yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions—excitement, attraction, and a growing sense of intimacy that seemed to bloom with each passing moment. Across the table, Lando's smile was a beacon of warmth, his presence a reassuring anchor in the sea of possibility that stretched out before you.

As dessert arrived, accompanied by a flourish of culinary artistry that mirrored the magic of the evening itself, you couldn't help but marvel at how a spontaneous drive in a Lamborghini had led to this moment of shared connection and undeniable chemistry between you and Lando.

The restaurant hummed with a subtle buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses, yet your attention was solely on the man sitting across from you. Lando, with his easy charm and magnetic presence, had swept you off your feet from the moment you met. His laughter was infectious, his stories captivating, and as the evening progressed, you found yourself drawn deeper into his orbit.

The evening had been filled with unexpected turns—a scenic drive through desert landscapes that stretched endlessly under a starlit sky, conversations that ranged from lighthearted banter to deeper musings about life and dreams. Each moment seemed to unfold effortlessly, as if fate had orchestrated this encounter.

And now, as dessert was served—a masterpiece of flavors and presentation—you felt a surge of anticipation mingled with a hint of nervous excitement. Lando caught your gaze, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of mischief and admiration. Without a word, he reached across the table, his hand finding yours with a gentle yet confident touch.

"Care to dance?" he murmured, his voice low and filled with a magnetic charm that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn't resist the invitation, nor did you want to. With a smile that matched his own, you nodded, allowing him to lead you onto the small, cleared space between tables where other diners watched with subtle curiosity.

As "Hola Senorita" by GIMS and Maluma began to play softly in the background, Lando pulled you close, his hand firm on your waist as he guided you in a slow, sensual sway to the seductive rhythm of the music. The heat of his body pressed against yours, sending a wave of electricity through every nerve ending.

In that intimate embrace, the world around you faded into a blur, leaving only the two of you moving together in perfect synchronization. His touch was both gentle and possessive, his gaze never leaving yours as if trying to convey a thousand unspoken words.

The sensual dance unfolded like a whispered promise of what could be—an unspoken acknowledgment of the undeniable chemistry that simmered beneath the surface. Each step, each turn spoke volumes of desire and connection, drawing you closer to Lando in ways words could never capture.

As the song neared its end, you found yourself breathless yet exhilarated, caught up in the intensity of the moment shared between you. Lando's lips curved into a tender smile as he guided you back to the table, where dessert awaited—a sweet ending to a night that had begun with a drive and culminated in a dance that resonated with the magic of newfound connection and possibility.

And deep down, beneath the surface of whispered promises and shared glances, you knew that this evening was only the beginning—a prelude to a story waiting to unfold, where each chapter would be written in the tender moments and stolen kisses that danced on the edge of tomorrow.

After settling the bill, not without a bit of banter over who pays, you both stepped out into the cool night air, the echoes of laughter and shared stories still resonating between you. The Lamborghini awaited, a sleek silhouette against the dimly lit street, its engine purring with restrained power.

"Where to now?" you asked, half in jest, half in earnest curiosity.

Lando grinned, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, "Anywhere but here."

With that, you slipped into the passenger seat with his help of course, the leather embracing you with its luxurious warmth. The engine roared to life, the city lights streaking past in a blur as you navigated the winding roads together. The night was young, and so were you, in this ephemeral moment where time seemed to slow down just for the two of you.

Conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving through dreams and aspirations, fears and triumphs, each revelation knitting your souls closer together. It was as if the universe conspired to create this perfect interlude, where nothing existed beyond the confines of the Lamborghini and the burgeoning connection between you.

As the city lights began to fade into the rearview mirror, you found yourselves on a quieter stretch of road, surrounded by a tapestry of stars overhead. The car slowed to a stop, and you both stepped out onto an overlook, the city sprawling below like a sea of twinkling lights.

Lando's eyes held yours, their intensity magnified by the intimacy of the moment. You could feel his heartbeat, steady and reassuring, echoing the rhythm of your own. The night draped around you like a velvet cloak, cocooning you in a world where only the two of you existed.

His hand found yours, fingers intertwining effortlessly as if they had always belonged together. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver of anticipation through you, a silent invitation to let go of any lingering doubts or hesitations.

Leaning closer, his breath mingled with yours, warm against your lips. The air crackled with unspoken words, each heartbeat resonating like a whispered promise of what could be. You could smell the subtle scent of his cologne, a comforting familiarity that grounded you in the present moment.

When his lips finally brushed against yours, it was like a symphony of emotions unfolding in slow motion. Soft yet insistent, his kiss spoke of desire tempered with tenderness, a delicate balance of passion and restraint. Time seemed to stretch and bend around you, the world narrowing down to the sensation of his lips moving against yours, tracing the contours of a connection that defied words.

His arms encircled you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The warmth of his embrace cocooned you in a sanctuary of shared vulnerability, where every touch and caress spoke volumes of unspoken longing and mutual understanding.

Under the canopy of stars, the Lamborghini Miura stood sentinel, bearing witness to a moment that transcended the mundane. The engine's purr became a backdrop to the symphony of your shared breaths, the quiet rustle of fabric as you leaned into each other, seeking solace and passion in equal measure.

As the kiss deepened, the world around you faded into insignificance. There was only the taste of him on your lips, the press of his body against yours, and the electric current that surged between you, binding your souls in a dance as ancient as time itself.

In that timeless embrace, you felt a surge of emotion swell within you—love in its purest form, unguarded and unfiltered. It was a declaration whispered in the language of touch and sensation, a silent vow that this connection was worth cherishing, nurturing, and exploring with every fiber of your being.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and exhilarated, Lando's eyes held a glimmer of unspoken promises yet to be fulfilled. His thumb gently brushed against your cheek, a tender gesture that spoke of reverence and devotion.

In the quiet aftermath, as you stood entwined under the stars, you knew that this night had forever altered the course of your story together. Each heartbeat echoed the cadence of a new beginning, where the chapters ahead would be written in the shared moments of vulnerability, passion, and the unwavering bond forged in the embrace of that unforgettable night.

Feeling the cool metal of the Lamborghini Miura against your back, you smiled as Lando drew you close, his touch tender yet commanding. His fingers traced a delicate path along your jawline, sending a thrill through you that echoed in the warm summer night around you.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both soft and consuming, a perfect blend of longing and urgency. You leaned into him, feeling the strength of his embrace against the smooth, cool surface of the car's hood beneath you. The night seemed to hold its breath as you lost yourself in the sensation of his lips moving against yours, the mingling of your breaths creating an intimate symphony.

His hands, strong yet gentle, explored your back with a reverence that made your heart race before finally reaching their destination. He grips the back of your plush thighs in a way that makes you feel weak all over. The hood of the car digs into you as he places you gently on it, moving to stand between your legs.

Making this moment as intimate as possible, his veiny hands move to grip your waist and pull you closer till there is absolutely no space between the two of you. Every touch, every caress deepened the connection between you, amplifying the heat that coursed through your veins. Time seemed to stand still as you savored each moment, each kiss a testament to the unspoken desire and passion that burned between you.

In that moment, surrounded by the soft night air and the distant murmur of the city, you were entwined in a dance of intimacy and yearning, where nothing else existed except the electricity of his soft lips against your own, his touch caressing you as if you’re made of glass.

As you both pull away from each other, the air between you thick with unspoken words and the promise of what the future might hold, Lando reaches out to gently stroke your cheek. His touch is warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine that have nothing to do with the cool night air.

"Let's head back," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with emotion, lips plumped up and red. You nod in agreement, feeling a sense of contentment settling over you like a soft blanket. Together, you gather yourselves and step back towards the waiting Lamborghini Miura.

The drive back to Lando's penthouse is quiet, the purr of the engine providing a soothing soundtrack to your thoughts. You steal glances at each other from time to time, exchanging small smiles that speak volumes about the bond you've forged this evening.

Arriving at the penthouse, Lando parks the car with practiced ease. He takes your hand as you both exit the vehicle, his touch reassuring and grounding. The night feels alive with possibilities as you step into the elevator, riding it up to his luxurious apartment high above the city.

Inside, the penthouse is a sanctuary of modern elegance and comfort. Lando leads you to a balcony overlooking the glittering skyline, where the city lights twinkle like stars in the night sky. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you close as you lean against the railing together.

"This night," he begins softly, his voice carrying a hint of wonder, "it feels like everything has changed, but at the same time, hasn’t."

You turn in his arms to face him, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his eyes. "It has," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "In the best possible way."

Lando smiles, a smile that reaches his eyes and fills you with warmth. "I'm glad," he says, leaning in to kiss you gently for the third time that night, as if sealing a promise made by the night itself.

And as you stand there, in each other's arms, the Lamborghini Miura waits below like a silent witness to the beginning of your love story — a story that started with a car, a journey, and two hearts finding their way to each other.

an || hey guys! i've had this in the works since early june and finally got around to semi finishing it. this will have a pt 2 and i apologize if it takes a while to come out. hope you enjoyed this and there will be more to come! and to my girls, you know who you are, i hope you loved this.

#f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #f1 drivers x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 7 months

Text

Private Dances [1]

Club!Blue Jones X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • ko-fi • request info • series masterlist •

A/N: A MASSIVE HUGE THANK YOU TO THE WONDERFUL, AMAZING, STUNNING @lonelyisamyw-0love for not just being one of the kindest and best people ever, but also for tipping me on ko-fi! Here is a little gift for you 💚

(Also, I'm so sorry this became more than one part.)

Warnings: overuse of italics, sub!Blue, choking, biting, a little blood, hand job, there's some power dynamics in here because reader is a dancer (but like Blue is getting his ass handed to him), swearing, badly proofread, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2680

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The Best Room in the House

The best course of action was to stay out of his way, really. That had been your plan so far at least.

Avoid his attention like Perseus circumvented Medusa’s glare. Keep your head down. Don’t make a fuss. Stay relatively quiet and blend into the background as much as possible.

Being a back up dancer helped. All you had to do was make sure you kept in time with the other girls, make sure the spotlight was firmly pointed on the star. And far, far away from you.

It had all been working out quite well. That was, of course, until tonight.

Someone always brought Blue a nightcap (well, morningcap) in the early hours of Sunday. When the club had just closed for business.

And that someone was always one of the dancers. Crystal did it most often, or Peach. Sometimes Trixie, or Songbird, or Sweetie Pie. They were the stars. They were the ones Blue wanted to… provide him with a service.

So how it somehow fell upon you was madness.

Peach and Trixie were otherwise engaged. Songbird was ill. Madam Gorski couldn’t find where the hell Sweetie Pie had disappeared off to after close (something you now wished you had thought of). And Crystal… well, she wasn’t in Blue’s good books at the moment.

You were pretty sure that you had just had the unfortunate luck of being the first person Gorski had set eyes on.

You knocked on Blue’s office door, resisting the urge to use your shoe and actually going to the effort of balancing the tray in one hand. On the tray was a bottle of expensive whiskey and a glass with those fancy chilled stones in it instead of ice cubes. Though, why go to all this effort escaped you. You were almost certain that it was just for show, and besides Blue had a drinks cabinet in his office.

You crept in slowly when he called out for you to enter. Half-heartedly hoping that maybe you could sneak in, leave the tray and get the hell out of there before he’d even realised you’d stepped inside.

Blue sat at his desk, a small frown on his face as he scribbled in a ledger. Presumably checking the day's takings.

That little spark of hope grew a fraction as he continued to ignore you as you walked quietly to the side table by the sofa and set the tray down, just as you’d been instructed to. Maybe sometimes he just wanted a drink. Maybe because you weren’t one of the stars you’d get out of here scot-free.

You pause for half a second, nervously watching Blue as he keeps writing before you turn and take a step towards the door.

“Sit.”

Fuck.

You turn, swallowing down the anxiousness that threatens to close your throat.

He’s still writing, staring intently at his papers. But he gestures when you don’t move straight away, pointing to the sofa but not looking up. “There.”

You sit down quickly, perching on the edge as if the soft blue velvet would transform into teeth at any moment.

He keeps working, the clock in the corner ticking away the seconds. You try to breathe steadily, to match your racing heartbeat to the gentle tick, tick, tick. It doesn’t work.

Blue sighs, an unimpressed look on his face before he glances up, his dark eyes boring into you.

The expression disappears instantly. Replaced with a subtle bemusement. A small smile pulls at the corners of his plush lips and he tilts his head to the side ever so slightly.

You look away quickly. Choosing to stare ahead and focus on the ornate clock.

Blue carefully puts his pen down and closes the ledger, you can see his movements out of the corner of your eye. The precision he purposefully injects into his actions as he savours the tension.

“You’re new.” He says offhandedly, but it’s clear he expects a response.

You shake your head, “No, erm, a few months.” Closer to six than two, but who was counting.

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow at you as he leans his elbows on the desk.

You nod.

“Huh,” he pauses for an unnecessary long time. “Strange, I would have thought I would have recognised you.”

“I’m, I’m just a back up dancer.” You shake your head, shrugging a little as you tuck your hands under your legs to hide their shaking.

“Now, now,” he tuts playfully, “back up dancers are important. It takes a lot of skill to work in a team like that.” He smiles, the expression viper like and poised to strike.

You nod and stay quiet.

Blue gets up slowly, just walking around to lean on his desk and crossing his arms. “Still… odd that Gorski didn’t recommend a pretty thing like you to me.”

You swallow. The back ups were solely handed by Madam Gorski, while she jointly oversaw the main dancers with Blue.

“I, erm, I don’t have the coordination.” You mutter. It’s a lie. And a bad one at that.

“Hmm.” Blue nods, seeming to consider your words for a moment. “You do any private dances?”

Private dances. What a fucking joke.

“Not… currently.” You say carefully. You try your best not to look directly at him, keep your gaze on the clock or the floor.

He lets your answer hang in the air for a moment. “Why?”

Fuck. “Madam Gorski said I’m not ready yet.” Not a complete lie. Not the whole truth either.

“Virgin?”

Your line of sight snaps up to him in surprise and you shake your head.

He smiles again at you. “You sure?”

You frown at the tease, despite how hard you’re trying to not provoke him. “Yeah.”

His expression widens into a grin. “Could’ve fooled me with how skittish you’re being.” He moves slowly, coming to sit down next to you. He leans against the sofa, placing his arm over the back. You can feel his body heat radiating off him, even though there is a sliver of space between you.

You swallow and say nothing, staring at the floor. Perhaps this would be so much easier if he wasn’t so upsettingly beautiful.

He tuts again playfully and lightly touches your jaw, sitting up as he turns you to face him. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?” He looks you over with a quiet examination, like he was evaluating a painting.

“I think I’ll call you Bunny,” he tests the nickname on his tongue and nods. “Yeah, that suits you, my little skittish Bunny.”

You frown, not liking the gleam in his eyes at all. But resist the urge to pull your face away from his hold.

He strokes your cheek absentmindedly, apparently not noticing your glare. “You know what you’re here for right?” He says softly, “what’s expected of you when you’re in my office?”

You nod. And he smiles.

“Sometimes it’s just a quick use of your mouth,” he runs his thumb over your bottom lip. “If I’m feeling tired or… satisfied with how the day’s gone.”

He pauses, waiting to gauge your reaction. But you school your face into neutrality. Part of you expect his annoyance at this, but instead, that glow in his eyes brightens.

“Sometimes I bend them over my desk until they’re a screaming, crying mess.” He runs the tip of his tongue over his lip. “Crystal likes that best, you should hear the sounds she makes, how she begs.” Despite the teasing nature of his tone, the word ‘Crystal’ still comes out harshly, barely veiled anger simmering just below the surface.

You keep your face calm, force yourself to breathe slowly and steadily.

“What’s this?” Blue chuckles, “either my little Bunny is scared stiff, or she’s trying to be defiant?”

Nothing, you give him nothing.

He grins wickedly, almost giggling with glee. He shifts closer, his thigh brushing against yours. “Oh, defiance now is it? My little Bunny thinks she can be brave?” He teases, leaning closer still and lightly pinching at your jaw. “Silly thing,” he whispers, pressing his lips against your throat and you shiver.

“I’ll make you beg.” He bites your neck, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to pull a yelp from your tongue.

He chuckles and something in your soul just snaps.

You move instinctively, not even thinking your actions through as you turn. The movement looks like you are going for a kiss, but instead, you sink your teeth into his bottom lip.

He yelps in surprise, his eyes going wide for a second. He flinches back, but is cut short by your hand around his throat.

There’s a bead of red on his lip when you pull back, bubbling up from the very centre until his tongue darts out and Blue groans, savering the iron spreading along his tastebuds.

You squeeze his neck ever so slightly, just boarding on the side of discomfort and Blue moans again. His eyes roll back for just a second before he quickly closes them. His breathing stutters and he gasps, mouth agape as he presses closer to you.

You swallow, your self-preservation seemingly coming back to you in an instant.

That move had been stupid, so, so stupid. But here Blue was… seemingly enjoying it? Submitting to you?

All the stories and warnings you’d heard, none of them ever mentioned Blue being anything but a sadist, a control freak who needed to have power over others.

He whines again when you squeeze a little tighter. His hand has dropped from your face to your forearm, stroking your skin softly with his thumb.

His eyes flutter open, hazy and desperate as he looks at you from under his lashes.

You can’t help but think he looks better like this. Sweeter.

Perhaps it’s panic, or just the need to not give up that fragment of power you have found, but you lean forward again, keeping your grip on his neck tight and kiss him.

His whimper is musical as your lips touch his, as your tongue pilages his mouth and forces his surrender. He starts to kiss back a little forcefully, pushing his chest into yours and you squeeze his neck hard as you bite down on his lip once more.

He yelps, eyes flying open as you pull back, his blood on your mouth.

You keep your hold on him tight, nearly suffocating and he doesn’t fight back, doesn’t resist just gasps and mutters a hushed, “sorry.”

The sincerity of it is puzzling. But it still sends a flush of heat to your stomach.

He’s breathing hard, looking at you with large doe eyes. A dusting of pink to his cheeks. He tries to keep still, practically shaking as you look him over, appraising him like cattle bound for the slaughter.

His cock presses painfully hard against his trousers. Your eyes linger on it for a moment, how it twitches under your gaze, how Blue’s breathing increases and his heartbeat flutters under your fingers.

Oh, this is such a bad idea. But you can’t stop yourself.

With your free left hand, you undo the first three buttons of his shirt and pull his tie just enough that it’s hanging loose and out of your way. Then you push him back by his neck, forcing his shoulder blades against the sofa.

He moves easily, following your command and letting out a little grunt of air as you squeeze a fraction tighter. He closes his eyes again as you kiss the nape of his neck and shoulder, just below where your fingers press. Moans loudly when your kisses turn into bites.

“I, ah, please!” His throat bobbs under you, his hips buck upwards uncontrollably, trying to chase a friction that isn’t there.

You growl, moving your mouth close to his ear, “shut the fuck up,” you bite a little harshly on his earlobe and can’t help the satisfaction that rages in you when he whines so prettily.

“S-sorry,” he breathes, eyes closed tightly, tears starting to build in the corners as the sensations start to bubble over and overwhelm his every thought.

He squirms under you as you continue to bite and suck at his neck, breaking and bruising the skin. You squeeze his neck tighter in warning every time he moves just a little too much.

Slowly, you inch your left hand down, the angle is a little awkward, but you manage it, and pop open his trouser button before unzipping his fly.

He whimpers again as the pressure on his cock eases, the sound turning into a high-pitched sigh as you take him in hand and pull him free of his underwear.

“Please, fuck, please, please,” he rocks his hips up, needing the warmth of your hand, needing you to touch him so, so badly.

But you let go the second he bucks and Blue sobs.

You squeeze his neck hard again and he shudders. “You’re such a little bitch, you know that? Can’t even fucking control yourself and I’ve barely done anything.” You hiss into his ear.

He moans. He knows he shouldn’t be enjoying this. Shouldn’t be rock hard and leaking and needing anything you’d give him. He should be taking. He should be in control. He should-

You squeeze the base of his cock and neck at the same time and all thoughts fly out of his head.

You let go of his dick and hold your hand up to his face. You slap him lightly when he keeps his eyes shut.

He whimpers in surprise.

“Spit.” You order.

For a second he stares at you in confusion, but panics the moment you frown and quickly spits into your palm.

“Again.”

He follows your command.

“Again.”

He swirls his tongue around his mouth, summoning as much salvia as he can in hopes of pleasing you.

You don’t praise him, but you don’t ask for more.

He whines as you take him roughly in your hand, pumping him hard and fast and not giving him a second to adjust to the sudden onslaught. His back arches, eyes fluttering closed for a second as he moans loudly, whimpering and biting at his bloody bottom lip.

Little breathless sighs of ‘please’, echo from his chest with every thrust.

You keep a firm hand on his neck as you work him over, hampering his movements and keeping him in place.

To your surprise, he doesn’t even try to fight your hold at all. Let’s you press him further into the back of the sofa as your hand glides over his velvet soft skin.

Heat starts to tighten in his stomach, twist in the base of his cock and he sobs out in pleasure. “Please, I, please kiss me,” he whines so desperately, so needily as if he would fall apart if you refused him.

You move forward, keeping up your pace and squeezing his neck tightly as you press your lips to his.

He whimpers into your mouth, tears leaking down his cheeks and smudging his makeup. He grabs hold of your cheek hastily, but softly, stroking your skin as if you were made of fragile china.

His hips buck as he chases his high, licking into your mouth and kissing you for all he’s worth.

He comes with a sharp cry, spilling himself over his shirt and your hand.

You pump him slowly, enjoying his little after shocks and spaced out expression before you stop and pull your lips away from his, move your hand from his neck.

Blue breaths deeply, his head foggy and mind swimming. His thoughts don’t quite make sense, don’t fall into order the way he’s used to. He can’t remember when he’s come so hard.

Nerves sneak back into your stomach, twisting your intestines. You swallow and wipe his cum from your fingers and hand onto his thigh before you stand quickly, breathing hard.

You leave the room quickly before he can string a coherent thought together and head back to your room.

You ignore the roaring heat in your stomach and the ache between your legs.

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @romanarose @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho @pimosworld @melodygatesauthor @steven-grants-world @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @queerponcho @lunar-ghoulie @dumdaradumdaradum @plastichearts @silver-night-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

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#blue jones #sucker punch #blue jones x reader #x reader #blue jones x you #x you #blue jones x female reader #x female reader #blue jones x f!reader #x f!reader #blue jones x fem!reader #x fem!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #afab! Reader x blue jones #afab!reader

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valleydean · 3 months

Text

Chapter 8 [Read Here]

CHAMPION Part III of Heavyweight a deancas boxing au by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) read from the beginning | playlist | tip

SUMMARY: Brooklyn, 1933. Dean Winchester, the number one contender, trains to become the next Heavyweight Champion of the World, and this time he won't let anything get in his way. Title holder Castiel Novak has second thoughts about retiring, especially when someone from his past arrives in New York and asks for his help. Meanwhile, a new contender rises to fame and threatens to complicate both of Dean and Cas' ambitions - and their relationship.

CHAPTER PREVIEW:

Built only two years prior, the hotel was a tall, brick building on one of the busiest street corners downtown had to offer. A place for the wealthy and beautiful, it was definitely in a prime location. All around it, cars honked and live music blared from clubs to entice people inside. The streets were alive with lights and crowds—but Dean only had his sights set on getting inside.

He tossed his keys to the parking valet with stern instructions to not get a scratch on his car, and then stepped into a lobby that looked more like a social club’s library than a hotel. Art deco chandeliers lorded over the dark mahogany-paneled walls and plush velvet sofas where women drank and men smoked. Grand carpeted stairways led up to balconies adorned with golden statues. A man in a white suit was playing a grand piano, filling the space with song.

Dean charmed the girl at the front desk into giving him Cas’ room number instead of calling up, because he wanted his arrival time to be a surprise. Finally, he was in the gold-plated elevator, suitcase in hand, telling the attendant to take him up to the top floor—because of course that was where Cas would be.

The higher the elevator climbed, the dizzier Dean became with anticipation. He was practically bouncing on his toes while his eyes were fixed to the needle counting the floors—going up and up too slowly. He’d been on the road for days, but these last few moments before he reached Cas felt way longer. It was unbearable. Why the hell did Cas need to be so high up?

Finally, the elevator doors dinged open, and Dean was in the hallway before the attendant could even open his mouth to announce their arrival.

Cas’ room, when he found it, was halfway down the carpeted hall. Dean grinned and raised his hand to knock—but abruptly stopped himself. He probably looked like a harried mess. His breaths were coming out in staggered pants and he could feel sweat lining his forehead. No way that would be the first sight Cas got of him in two months.

Licking his lips to steady himself, Dean placed his leather luggage on the floor. He shook out, trying to expel the antsy energy coursing through him. And he breathed—in through his nose, out through his mouth—getting ahold of his excitement. He pressed down on his hair to make sure it wasn’t out of place. The last thing he did was tug on his jacket and tidy the collar of his shirt to make sure he looked good.

Feeling better about himself now, he raised his fist again and knocked twice. Putting on a high-pitched voice to mimic housekeeping, he called, “Turndown service.”

Inside, he heard movement. Dean’s heart thumped.

He put his elbow on the door jam and leaned into it, trying to appear casual and collected. But it felt awkward. It probably was awkward. Acting fast, he put his palm on the doorframe instead, and hooked his other hand around his hip. Just in time, too. The lock on the door clicked.

Finally, the door swung open—and there was Cas. His twinkling blue eyes and tousled dark hair, his white shirt straining around his muscular shoulders and chest. He had a breathtaking smile on his face. He said, voice soft, “Dean.”

“Heya, Cas.”

Dean chuckled, unable to keep it in. He scooped up his luggage and stepped inside, into Cas’ personal space. Cas turned toward him and let his hand slip off the door. It slammed closed, but Dean didn’t even hear it; by that point, he’d already dropped his bag on the floor and wrapped his arms around Cas’ middle. He squeezed tightly while they kissed like a couple of madmen.

#destiel #deancas #destieledit #deancasedit #destiel fic #deancas fic #dean winchester #deanwinchesteredit #deanedit #castiel #cas #castieledit #casedit #my writing #my post #heavyweight

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lysenfeu · 21 days

Text

Devil in the Details •Part 2•

Captain John Prices makes a desperate decision and takes a huge risk to try and resolve his grief.

Rating: Mature

Eventual John Price x Reader

850k words, Slow Burn, Drabble/Short Form Writing

CW: Dark themes, Mentions of death, Grief, Supernatural events, Occultism, Demons, Corruption

(Part 1)

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Price wastes no time, the moment he's home he lays the book out flat on his desk and studies the circle intently. His fingers trace over the black marks on the page, eyes poring over every splash of ink, no matter how small or smudged. Each line and symbol burning into his mind.

By the time he bothers to read the warning printed boldly beneath it, the words are meaningless. A hindrance only to someone who has something left to lose. It does nothing to quell his determination, this is no longer a choice he's making but an obligation. A duty he's been forced to accept by his own pride.

He gathers his supplies, the list is rather short but specific. Red chalk, a red candle, a small knife and a small red dish. He shoves his desk out of the way and rolls up the corner of the area rug, making room on the hardwood floor for his work.

He forces the small tremor out of his hands as he carefully marks out the symbols onto the floor with the chalk. There is no room for error in this, each stroke of the chalk must be exact. He must create the perfect replica of the sketch in the grimoire. He lights the candle and places a dab of hot, melted wax on each of the twelve star points. Careful not to disturb the chalk, he places the dish in the dead center of the circle. His nerves thrum in anticipation as he anxiously completes the last step, pricking the tip of his index finger with the knife, allowing a few drops of blood to splash down beneath him.

Finally, it's finished.

The circle crackles and hisses to life, the red outline illuminating itself as a cloud of smoke quickly rises from the centre.

He steps back, eyes wide with awe.

It worked.

~*~

It takes you a moment to recognize the tug behind your navel and the tickle at the back of your mind. It's been at least a decade or two since someone initiated your summoning ritual, you were starting to forget what it felt like. But now you can feel the magic pulling at you, beckoning to you through the newly forged connection. You let it carry you, twisting and turning your form through time and space as you have no choice but to answer the call.

Dark wisps of smoke curl out and flood the space before you as you rise from the centre of your circle. Small blue flames dance along the edges, lighting you with a flickering, dim glow as they spin and swirl in haphazard patterns.

As the haze slowly clears, you're able to take a better look at your surroundings. The room is a decent size, filled with dark wood furniture and leather accents. Small half-full bookshelves run along the wall, facing a large, well-worn leather sofa. An unusually tidy mahogany desk sits between them, shoved further back than usual based on the imprints left on the plush, wool area rug underneath. Not a single skull or a shred of velvet in the whole place.

Hm.

Not necessarily a worrisome sign, but odd nonetheless. The type who usually summon you tended to be more … overt in their interest in the occult, if not downright predictable. The kind of person who always used to break out the Ouija board at sleepovers and then grew up to spend too much time antiquing, looking for just the right candle holder. More crystals than sense, the lot of them.

You weren't especially fearsome, your abilities were far more subtle than most. You weren’t really suited for great acts of revenge or rampant bloodshed, anyone looking for an imposing or dreadful creature would be sorely disappointed with you. To be honest, you were more of a party trick. Your summoners really just wanted you to put on a show. So you would dazzle them with billowing pillars of brightly coloured smoke, making licks of fire dance before their eyes, a truly theatrical production. It was a simple routine: make a grand entrance, flash a little horn and tail, accept the offering, grant the favour, done.

Simple.

Quick.

Easy.

On the face of it at least.

Really though, that was the true fun of it.

They never suspected a thing.

With the smoke cleared, you take a moment and study the reason you're here, forcibly called to this time and place. A man stands before you, tense but still on the other side of your circle. He’s tall and broad, handsome in a rugged and weathered way. You note that he’s well-groomed in a utilitarian fashion, showing no hint of the usual flamboyance or flair you expect from your usual patrons. Interesting. Oh well.

Showtime.

“Tell me why I'm here, human.”

The man takes a deep breath before squaring his shoulders and meeting your eyes with a steady, even gaze.

“I need to make a deal.”

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(Part 3)

A/N: Surpriiiise! *You're* the demon ehehe 😈

#lysenfeu fics #captain john price #captain john price x reader #cod fanfic #john price x reader

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

Note

Omfg congrats on the 2222! I’m sure many more to come!

Alright , hear me out. This idea consumed my brain the entire weekend.

AU Stripper!Frankie

I know, kinda out of character for him, but I can’t help it.

I recently « stumble » upon Magic Men of Australia on tik tok and instantly my mind went to Frankie.

Reader could be at his show and he chose her to come up on stage … after that , you write what you want .

What do you think Cee ?

Sweet anon - I am saving the best for last! Ngl, I might have drooled several times while writing stripper!Frankie. I might also have blacked out when I first saw your ask, thank you for sending in this delicious request. I hope you enjoy this cheeky oneshot, because 1.4k does not count as a drabble 😂 This reminds me of my dearest LJ's @prolix-yuy SW!Frankie universe, do go read it if you haven't yet!

Frankie Morales x stripper AU

Fuck Yeah 2222 Sleepover micro drabble request | 1460 words (sorry) | warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, bachelorette party (mis)behaviour, mentions of food

Okay, this is definitely not your scene.

The said scene being a rowdy bachelorette party in an intimate, soundproofed room draped in plush dark velvet and deep-seated sofas, disco lights pulsing in time with the booming bass that shakes your bones.

And oh, and there’s a half-naked stripper gyrating to the music. Obviously.

Not that he doesn’t look good doing it. He absolutely does, and not in that chiselled, perfectly sculpted way you imagined all strippers would look like. He’s hot in a realistic way, if that makes sense - his arms are strong, his chest is broad and firm, but there’s just a touch of softness to his tummy that makes him human.

It’s been a long, long time since you’ve seen a naked man. Heck, who are you kidding, when was the last time you even saw a topless man?

But he might as well be completely starkers. The shorts he’s wearing are glorified panties, paper thin, and they do nothing to conceal the fact that he’s hung. You can see the whole business, front and back. For someone as well packed as he is between the legs, his behind is endearingly flat, but mercifully, it doesn’t seem to compromise his balance in any way.

The lean muscles in his arms flex and roll when he locks his hands behind his head, thighs bulging with corded muscle as he plants his feet, and then he thrusts - his bulge swinging heavily, defying gravity.

He’s got to be half-hard, at least. There’s no way he’s that big standing at ease, so to speak.

Of course, the girls are going wild. They’re screaming and hyperventilating, Cosmpolitans sloshing over manicured nails and staining their dresses as they throw dollar bills at him. He obliges, crawling onto the couch on all fours so that they can tuck the cash into the waistband of his shorts, copping a feel as they do.

Frankie doesn’t mind it. He plays along, grabbing the bride-to-be’s wrist after she smacks him on the ass, shoving her back into the couch before clambering over her. Getting onto his knees, he dances right in her face, grinning when she squeals and reaches around his waist to grab both his ass cheeks as he rolls his hips.

His eyes slide over to you, sitting a polite distance away as the other girls crowd around him, getting close and personal, not wanting to miss out on the action.

You, on the other hand, look like you’d rather be curled up in the far corner with a book and a warm drink. But he can tell that you’re trying your best, sipping away at your cocktail (with an endearing wince that you try to hide when you swallow), and bobbing to the music even though you’re clearly feeling out of place around your more outgoing friends.

Being the quiet one out of the guys, he gravitates towards your energy.

Frankie always makes sure all of his customers have a good time in his session and that no one is left out, but he also wants you to be comfortable. Quietening his hips, he hops off the couch, taking two steps towards you, watching as your eyes widen, as if you want to bolt.

One corner of his lips inching upwards, he unfurls his fingers towards you, and the smile widens when you fit your smaller hand in the heart of his palm with a shy one of your own. Pulling you gently onto your feet, he surprises you with a firm tug next, spinning you around with your back to his chest.

You smell sweet, like shampoo and soap. Not letting go of your hand, he puts his other one on your hip, and you instantly stiffen when your friends screech in excitement, obviously not used to being the centre of attention.

Hooking his chin on your shoulder, he sways you to the music, his hips snug against yours. He feels you inhale sharply when his breath skims your skin, the shiver that goes through you unmistakable. He revels in your reaction, far more real and intimate than your friends’ drunken wandering hands.

You slowly thaw in his arms, the tension easing out of your shoulders where the straps of your pretty dress sit, and he knows that you don’t mean to tease when the swell of your ass brushes his front, bolder as you move your hips to the beat.

When the song draws to a close far too soon, he turns you around, wrapping one arm around your waist to dip you backwards. You let go of his hand to grasp the back of his neck on reflex, and he takes the opportunity to glide one palm up the smooth expanse of your leg, before hitching it around his waist.

He sees more than hears the whimper that slips past your lips, and he may or may not be half-hard when he presses his hips between your thighs.

As your friends holler and wolf-whistle around you, he holds your gaze, not missing how your pupils blow wide in the flashing lights.

Then you duck your head, and he lets you go, the bride-to-be demanding his attention.

You happily fade into the background again, but he catches the way your knees buckle when you wobble on your heels back to the sofa.

You’re fucking adorable.

The guys are tallying the tips for the bookkeeper in the break room when Pope comes in with a phone in his hand. ‘Fish, one of your customers left this behind. Do you know whose it is?’

Tapping on the lock screen - he sucks in a breath when you appear, posing with a big golden retriever. Your face is turned up into the sun, eyes closed in mid-laugh as the dog licks you on your cheek.

With a grunt, Frankie gets on his feet, a dull ache in the small of his back, which always happens when he thrusts a bit too vigorously. Tucking the phone safely in his pocket, he grabs his jacket and strides out, not seeing the guys looking curiously after him as he tosses over his shoulder, ‘Send me her address, Pope, I’ll drop it off.’

You jump when your laptop wakes up with a shrill ringtone. Clicking the green button, your best friend’s voice comes through the speakers.

‘Hon, the strip club just called. You left your phone there.’

With a groan, your palm meets your forehead in a smack. ‘Oh shit, it always happens when I drink! Should I go pick it up, or -’

‘Don’t worry, I gave them your address.’

‘Wait, what? You gave them my address?’

‘Relax, they’re strippers, not serial killers.’

You shift your feet nervously. ‘Do you know who’s coming?’

‘The one who danced for us today, you lucky bitch.’

Your heart almost leaps out of your mouth as you panic. ‘What the - but I’ve taken off all my make up and I’m not wearing a bra, and I got fucking chili on the stove -’

Your doorbell rings, and you whisper, ‘Shit, he’s here!’

‘Say hi to the hottie for me, babe! Night!’

Padding on bare feet towards the door, you take a deep breath, and reach for the knob.

Warm brown eyes meet yours, but not before they dart over your wet hair and pyjamas. You cross your arms self-consciously, knowing that he must have caught a glimpse of your nipples under your thin sleep shirt.

He smiles, handing you the phone. ‘Glad I caught you before you went to bed.’

Jesus H. Christ. It really is a blessing that you didn’t know what he sounded like when he had his clothes off -

You barely manage to squeak, your cheeks heating up. ‘Thanks so much for bringing it by, it was so clumsy of me.’

He shrugs easily, his gray tshirt bunching with the movement. ‘Happens. You’ll be surprised what people leave behind.’

‘What?’ you prompt, curiosity piqued.

‘I don’t strip and tell,’ he winks. ‘I’m Frankie, by the way.’

A handshake seems redundant after your close encounter earlier, so you give him your name and a smile. You admit, ‘I almost didn’t recognize you.’

He taps the beak of his cap. ‘It’s the hat.’

‘I like you better with clothes on,’ you blurt out impulsively, the alcohol still running thick through your veins.

He chuckles. ‘You might be the only one.’

He glances over your shoulder, breathing in the smell of simmering beef mince and tomatoes. ‘Are you cooking chili?’

You bite your lip. ‘Guilty. Case of midnight munchies.’

‘It smells delicious,’ he compliments you, lingering by the doorway and making no move to leave.

Emboldened, you ask, ‘Do you want some? I made way too much, as usaul.’

He grins, and it goes straight to your head. ‘I’d love to.’

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #frankie morales oneshot #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales

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pearbunny · 11 months

Text

the bucket list ✘ [nine]

series masterlist | prev | next [ ❀ spotify playlist ]

summary: Fly to Korea. Check. Buy a bouquet of flowers for a stranger. Check. Have said stranger come along with you to accomplish your bucket list? Well that wasn’t on the list, but falling in love was.

pairing: han jisung x afab!reader

genre: 18+ [MDNI] strangers to lovers, non idol au, crack, mostly fluff, later chapters to include: angst, comfort, smut.

general warnings: tourist!mc, adult themes including but not limited to: suggestive content, nudity, cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of death in later chapters, overarching theme of mental health, eventual smut.

word count: 6k

chapter content: m/c and jisung are both in their own anxious thoughts, alcohol consumption, self-doubt, self-sabotaging, mentions of self-worth, explicit smut: oral (f receiving), clit play, breast play, praise kink, pet names (baby, good girl), unprotected sex (don't be dumb; be responsible), cream pie? screen shots: one.

author’s note: I'm honestly a little shy about this one, but also really happy because I feel like i pushed myself as a lil itty bitty author with it. Also, I decided to add the playlist I've made for this fic. It's all over the place; sorry lol. Last warning for minors or those uncomfortable, this chapter does contain smut.

The smell of coffee and books intermingle in the air while a soft jazz song plays over the shop’s speakers. When you asked Jisung if he wanted to do anything while in Busan this morning, he said he wanted to check this place out. It was a very Instagrammable spot, a coffee shop meet bookstore meet vinyl record store. Rows on rows of bookshelves were stocked with numerous books ranging from children’s learning books to historical memoirs. The shelves against the wall were mostly for display purposes, books arranged by the color of their covers versus their title, author, even genre.

Jisung is near the back, checking out the collection of vinyl records they have in store. He has a couple tucked under his arm that he brings over to the record player. He places the over ear headphones on and lets the music fill his ears as he closes his eyes and his fingers drum over the tops of stacked records.

You, however, are seated in a plush mustard yellow velvet sofa, giving the illusion of being deep into a book. You aren’t, though, and instead are lost in your own thoughts, eyes glazed over staring blankly at the opened page. As you replay the previous day’s events in your head, your knee subconsciously begins to bounce under the book you’re supposedly reading.

Why didn’t you kiss him?

The question has been on your mind ever since you got off the Ferris Wheel.

Despite your best efforts to act like everything was okay, Jisung could tell immediately that you felt anxious about something. He would try to make light hearted jokes, make goofy faces at you when you didn’t realize you were straight up staring at him, anything to get you out of your own mind.

Maybe it was just the way Jisung naturally was with people. Maybe he had just been so attuned to you and your moods and thoughts that he could just tell when something was off about you. Maybe you were being obvious.

Sometimes, when you were spacing off, you’d come back to Jisung looking at you with eyes wide with curiosity and concern. You’d feel a lingering touch on you when Jisung would guide you through small crowds. You’d feel him holding your hand for just a couple seconds longer than necessary whenever you reached out for him.

Even now, Jisung’s eyes would find their way back to you in that corner just to make sure you were still there. He takes the headphones off and places his collected records down by the player. He walks over to you and crouches down to sit on the back of his heels, grabbing your attention when he closes the book in your lap. “Come with me.”

You give him the most genuine smile you could muster, one that was toothless and didn’t reach your eyes, and toss the book aside to take his hands as he leads you back to the room with all the vinyl records. There’s a large wooden stand up tic-tac-toe structure in the middle of the room right under the skylight.

“You go first.” Jisung crouches down low to be closer to the wooden board game.

“Okay,” You grab one of the ‘X’ blocks and place it right in the middle of the three by three grid.

Jisung places his own wooden ‘O’ blocks in the bottom left corner. “That wasn’t hard, was it?”

You cock a quizzical brow at him, “What wasn’t hard?” You place your next piece right above your original piece, intending to win by placing your next piece on the bottom row, middle column.

“Making the first move,” He chuckles and eyes you for a moment before placing his piece top left. Jisung knows that your next piece will win the game.

You roll your eyes at his joke, scoffing playfully. You look at the board again, noticing that if you didn’t place your next piece between the O’s he placed on the first column, he would get a match. You completely forget your original plan and place your piece to block his match.

Jisung’s eyes widen at your move. He knows how competitive you are, so he figures you must be really worked up to mess that one up.

“Oh no, fuck!” You realize your mistake almost immediately. You bend down at the knees, feet flat on the ground as you tug on your hair, “I totally missed my chance to win!”

Jisung places a hand flat on your back, rubbing a soothing circle in a clockwise motion, “Hey, it’s okay. The game’s not over yet.”

You sigh heavily and watch him as he places his next wooden piece in the bottom row, center column next to his own piece and underneath your two x’s to block that match. If you hadn’t been so busy worrying about playing defensively, you would have been able to win.

Jisung has set you up again, but he can tell as your eyes scan the last column of the board that has all spaces free, he can tell you’re overthinking it.

Your overthinking leads you to your demise, but also Jisung’s when you choose to block again instead of win, placing your X on the bottom right.

Jisung places his piece defensively this time, choosing to tie instead of letting you win. “Stalemate.” He says with a shrug of his shoulders. He stands back up and holds his hand out to you.

You look up at him with eyes wide, almost pleading. “Again? Rematch?” You grab his hand as an aid up on your feet when he flashes you a lopsided smile.

Back in your hotel room, Jisung is sitting in front of the wall of windows, examining the new vinyl records he bought at the store while you sit on the table, looking at the backs of books you picked up, too. One self help book and another romance fiction book about a girl, a boy, and a satellite. These would be good reads on the plane ride back home.

You place them into your backpack and notice your old leather bound notebook. You take it out and open it to the page of The Bucket List. It had been a couple of days since you last looked at it. You grabbed a pen and crossed out ‘Send a Message in a Bottle,’ and ‘Ride a Ferris Wheel’. You look over the list and its items, wondering what else you’d be able to cross out.

You figured that this journal was forgotten by your mom, seeing that there were items on the list you knew for certain she had done. You knew for a fact your mom had ridden a Ferris Wheel, the most recent one you were able to cross out. You rode a small ferris wheel at one of those traveling fairs when you were younger with both your parents. ‘Go to a Drive-in Movie Theatre’ is also on the list, but you remember when your mom took both you and Robin out to the Drive-In when her favorite film was showing for its anniversary; stating that your dad was probably tired of watching it over and over again with her.

There were a couple of items that made you wonder how old your mom was when she made the list. Things like, ‘Sneak into a museum after hours’ and ‘Go Skinny Dipping’ make you think that your mother was maybe a teenager? Early 20s? You smile to yourself, recalling that your mother was always just a young free spirit.

“Jisung?” You call over to him.

He looks up from the third and final vinyl record he bought, turning his head to face you, “Hmm?”

You lean forward in your seat towards him, bringing your face nearly eye level with his. “Let’s do something on the list tonight.”

Jisung nods and places his new purchases on the table you were sitting at. “Well, of course. That’s what we’re here for, right?” He smiles and takes your notebook into his lap. “What were you thinking?”

“Maybe we could take a cooking class? I saw an advertisement for a couple's cooking classes on the way back from Lotte World.”

“Or,” Jisung brings the book up to his face, covering everything from his nose bridge down. He raises a brow at you, eyes peering over the pages, “We could Go Skinny Dipping.”

You and Jisung had found your way to the beach after eating and drinking at a local wing and beer eatery off the beach. The alcoholic buzz in your system is enough to feel like you’re floating. When you walk, your steps veer a little closer to him, when he says something mildly funny, you’d laugh a little louder than normal and playfully swat at his arm.

Jisung takes your tote bag from your arm and takes the blanket, spreading it out on the sand. You both take your shoes off, and stuff your socks in them to feel the soft and fine sand under your feet while you sit on the blanket. He slips his hoodie off of himself and holds it out for you to put it on, which you do, hugging the soft fabric close to you.

It’s pretty dark out, most of the light coming from the street and the restaurants and shops. You;re a little bit away from all of that as well as the crowded part of the beach. There weren't a lot of people around at all, just the cars passing by on the main road behind you.

You take a deep breath in and inhale the saltiness of the ocean breeze as you try to calm the fast thumping of your heart. It had taken you a lot of self-convincing to go along with the whole skinny dipping idea.

On one hand, you like Jisung.

You’ve kind of felt yourself gravitating towards him more so than in just a friendly manner. Just this afternoon when you picked up the blanket Jisung always kept in his car to bring to the beach, you checked your reflection in the mirror. You wore something very casual, a white loose button up, a black tank top and some loose linen tan trousers. Your hair was half up-half down, makeup minimal given the circumstances. Just a little bit of blush and gloss. All of this was because you admitted to yourself that you had feelings for a stranger you met on the street on your first day in Korea.

When you applied your blush, picked out your outfit, even when you combed your hair, you wondered, “Will Jisung think I’m trying too hard?”

Skinny Dipping would be a step forward in whatever was transpiring between you two. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you naked before.

On the other hand, you like Jisung.

It’s been years since your last relationship, years since your last anything. You’ve mainly been focused on getting up, going to work, eating, and showering for the better part of those last couple of years. You’ve made up countless excuses of why you couldn’t go out with Robin and the rest of your friends, whether that be to the bar or just on a small shopping day.

You just started getting your bearings straight on your life again and while you’ve definitely had fun the past week, catching feelings for a man on a whole different continent was not something you could have ever anticipated.

And that’s what’s holding you back. There’s a part of you that wants to protect yourself from everything that’s yet to come, but the other part tells you that you didn’t come to Korea just to play it safe.

Jisung has his feet in the sand, both legs bent at the knee in front of him, back curved slightly with his forearms resting on his knees. He observes you for a moment as you stare off into the dark ocean, lost in thought for however many times you’ve done so today; he’s not sure, he’s lost count.

As much as an overthinker you are, Jisung is just as much, but more-so on how other people perceive him. He hides it well behind a small ego well suited for a flirtatious bartender, but its only because of his people-pleasing tendencies. He feels confident when people seem to like him. It’s not him seeking attention – or maybe it is–, it’s him and his fear of letting people down.

Right now, he’s afraid he’s let you down.

He’s replaying everything he’s said and done in his head since you approached him on the street with a bouquet of sunflowers. Maybe he was coming off too strong, maybe you didn’t like him as much as he thought you did. He thinks, maybe that one night was just a fluke, in which if that were the case – Damn.

He fucked up.

But you were still here with him… You slowly stand up beside him, taking a few steps towards the ocean. You stretch your arms above your head, trying to shake off all the thoughts that have been running rampant in your mind. The cold breeze is enough to sober you up.

‘Go Skinny Dipping’, he repeats your words, the bucket list item, in his mind. He’s learned how daring yet indecisive you can be during the past week. He knows that sometimes, you need a little push.

Behind you, Jisung stands up, keeping his distance from you for now. He grabs the back of his shirt from over his shoulders and tugs the fabric over his head. He lets it fall onto the blanket, soundlessly. It’s not until you hear him unbuckling his belt do you get a hint of what he’s up to.

“Wh-what are you–”

“You can look, I don’t mind.” Jisung says it with a smirk on his lips. He knows you won’t.

He’s right, by the way, your head is firmly stuck staring at the ocean. Were you curious? Yes. Of course, but you couldn’t move.

Behind you, Jisung drops his pants and boxer briefs. He rubs his hands together, cold, but also mentally hyping himself up for the waters he was about to plunge himself into. “Gaja!” He runs past you, your eyes widening, and into the ocean. He lets out a low deep wail, goosebumps quickly forming on his skin.

Jisung submerges himself completely in the water, hands forming into fists. When he comes up, he turns towards you and flips his head back so his sopping wet hair stays out of his face. His hand runs over his face, wiping the salt water from his eyes. “Y/N! Come on in!”

Your face reddens watching him. The way the water was sliding down his body in the dark light causes you to subconsciously lick your lips. You cup your hand by your mouth, calling out to him. “How’s the water?”

Jisung brings his feet up off the sandy bottom, treading water while his arms stroke backwards. “Amazing! Not cold at all.” His voice carries over to you, loud, through chattering teeth.

You laugh and go back to the blanket in the sand. You slip Jisung’s zip up hoodie off of your shoulders, then turn back towards him. “Close your eyes Jisung!”

“They’re closed!”

You unbutton your oversized white dress shirt and let it fall on top of the hoodie. You look towards Jisung to see both his eyes open and shift your weight onto your right hip, sighing loudly and dramatically, your shoulders motioning up and down. “Han Jisung, turn around!”

He laughs from his chest and turns his body towards the horizon. “Yes ma’am.”

You eye his form for a moment longer than necessary, just to make sure he wasn’t going to turn around. You cross your arms over your torso and peel your black tank top over your head. You pull at the drawstring of your linen pants and let it fall to the ground. You step out of them and nudge it over to the rest of your clothes with your foot.

You rub at your arms, crossed over your torso, feeling the chill of the night breeze on your skin. You squeeze your arms firmly while you take a deep breath in. As you exhale, you calm your nerves and reach behind you to unclasp your bra and shrug it onto the ground. One arm quickly goes across your breasts and your free hand hooks a finger into the waistband of your underwear, bringing it under your hips and over your thighs to let it drop onto the blanket.

You slowly walk over to the shoreline, the water touching the tips of your toes. You shriek at the cold temperature and Jisung almost turns back in response. Instead, he calls out to you. “Are you okay?”

“You lied, the water is freezing.” As he laughs, you take a couple steps into the water and your teeth begin to chatter. “I’m coming over, don’t turn around!” Steadily, you walk deeper into the ocean until the water comes to mid-chest and you’re behind Jisung.

Your eyes fall on the tattoo on his back. It’s the first time you’re seeing it in its entirety. You’ve seen the top of it peeking over the back collar of his shirt, but other than that, you didn’t really know what it looked like. He spoke about it once when you were getting your own tattoo back on your second day in Korea. An abstract line.

Jisung’s back tenses as your fingers ghost over the design. You start at the middle of his shoulders and run your fingers down, his back straightening with the action. It’s not all solid black, if anything it looks like a trail of smoke, so there were grays in certain areas too. It curved in arbitrary angles and random angles, it made it look very organic and surely one of a kind.

“A friend told me once to keep going,” Jisung’s voice is deep and soft. It takes you by surprise and you retract your hand as if you were burned by it.

“To.. keep going?” You repeat after him, confused.

Jisung nods and hangs his head down low. He brings his hands out in front of him to restlessly play with the water. “To persevere.”

You nod once, though he can’t see you, and bring back your hand to the tattoo.

“He always told me that the path may not be straight, but it will lead you to the destination as long as you’re determined.” Jisung smiles solemnly and when you place your palm fully against his back reassuringly, he relaxes into your touch.

“Don’t look yet, please.” This is probably the fourth time you’ve said that, but you’re nervous regardless of the fact that he has seen every inch of you already. This was different though, you felt emotionally vulnerable, which in turn made you feel physically vulnerable, too. You reach for his hand and he gladly laces your fingers together. He rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand in the water as you stand next to him.

Your lips press together, trying to focus on your breathing to lower your heart rate. You swear you could hear it in your chest. You take a peek through the corner of your eyes to see if he was looking. Thankfully, he wasn’t. You swallow the lump in your throat. “The moon looks beautiful from here.”

Jisung snickers and you’re quick to nudge his arm with your shoulder. “You’re so cheesy.” When he doesn’t stop, you roll your eyes and elbow him again. “Okay, go ahead. Say it.”

“Not more beautiful than you,” He chuckles immediately and even though you knew the exact words that would come from his mouth and the exact way he ended up delivering the line, you blush all the way to the tips of your ears and down your neck.

“You must get so many tips bartending, you’re too smooth with it.” You scoff.

Jisung shrugs and frees his hand from yours, only to wrap his arm around you and bring you close. “I mean it.”

You chew on your bottom lip, the butterflies in your stomach doing somersaults again. This is exactly what you were afraid of.

You stare off into the horizon, where the sky meets the sea and let your mind start to race at all of the reasons why your stomach shouldn’t be doing flips, why your heart shouldn’t be skipping in beats, why you shouldn’t feel giddy whenever Han Jisung looks right into your eyes; into your soul.

Through your silence, Jisung senses your anxiety. He looks down at you from the corner of his eyes, still respecting the fact that you didn’t want him looking at you. When you don’t even notice him blatantly staring, he gets worried.

Screw this, he thinks to himself and he steps in front of you, blocking your sight of the horizon. You look down at yourself and he quickly takes your chin in his hand, tilting your head up to look at him. “What is going on in that head of yours, Y/N?”

“You can’t do that.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “Do what?”

“Do this whole thing, Jisung!” You shut your eyes tightly, both your hands grasping at his arm. You mean to push him away from you, but you can’t, you don’t want to, not really. “We can’t do this!”

Jisung shakes his head in disbelief. This whole time he’s let you set the pace. He’s let you make your own decisions, to leave it up to you to decide what you two were, but if he didn’t say what he wanted to now, he’d regret it. “But why? Why can’t we?!” His voice is a little more stern. He wants answers, he wants definitive answers.

“Jisung, this isn’t real.”

You weren’t making any sense to him. “What do you mean this isn’t real?.” He drops his hand from your chin to reach for your hand. He places his hand firmly on his chest. “I’m here and so are you, “ At this, he tightens his hold over your hand. “We’re both standing here, and maybe I’ve gotten everything wrong,” His brows are knit together further than before, hoping he could convey the emotions he had been feeling. “But for me, it’s real, Y/N.”

Your eyes shut and you fight the tears. You’re not sure if you’re crying because you’re happy that your feelings are reciprocated or if they’re from feeling so frustrated that Jisung just doesn’t understand why you two shouldn’t be having these feelings.

“What don’t you get?!” You raise your voice just slightly. You want to run, you want to hide, both of which are easier than what you’re doing, confronting your feelings head on.

Jisung sighs in frustration. He brings both of his hands to cup your face gently. He cranes his neck downward, placing his forehead against yours. “I don’t get why you can’t look at me. I don’t get why you’re dancing around the obvious attraction. I don’t get why –”

You jerk your head away, a bold action, and the words that come out of your mouth sting even yourself. “Jisung, you don’t want me. I’m fucked up.” Here the tears fall freely. You’re self sabotaging, you know it, but you have to try and push him away. He has to know. “I’m broken,” Your voice lowers and it’s a struggle for Jisung to hear you over the waves crashing around you both. “I’m not something you can fix.”

Jisung just scoffs at your feeble attempt to dissuade him. “You think I’m not broken?”

You stay quiet. It wasn’t fair of you to assume he didn't have his own problems and struggles.

Jisung strokes your hair, pushing a stray lock behind your ear. You lean into his touch, turning your head back towards him. He was so gentle to you, always so patient. It made all this so hard. "I’m not trying to fix you, Y/N. I’m not asking you to be perfect or even okay everyday. I’m just asking you to give us a shot. Why can’t we just try?”

You abruptly open your eyes. You scowl at him with a tear stained, but your hands over his are gentle. Your face and your words mean to push him away, but everything else in your being wants to pull him in. “Because – Because in one week, I will be back home, Jisung.”

Jisung closes his lids half way and he stares at your lips. “So why…” His voice trails off and he places his lips on your cheek bone. “Are we,” Another kiss on your cheek. “Wasting,” A kiss at the corner of your lips. “Our time?”

He pulls back and looks you in the eyes. You’re still glaring, but he searches for any single sign that you wanted this too.

The sign you give him is more than just a look.

You close your eyes and plant the tips of your toes in the sand as you lean up to cover your lips with his. Your hands travel upwards from his chest to snake around his neck, pulling him closer.

You want him. You need him.

You were so stupid for trying to deny this.

Jisung’s left hand leaves your face to steady you, sliding down your frame onto your hip. He brings you closer, sharing that need and want you feel. His nails dig into your hip as you pull him closer. He pulls his lips away from yours, peppering your jawline with kisses.

Neither you nor Jisung know how you got back into your hotel room. It was a blur. You ran and grabbed your clothes and covered yourself with the blanket while Jisung hurriedly put on his pants and belt and his hoodie.

There wasn’t a moment you lost physical contact. At street corners, he held you against him. In the elevator, he leaned against the wall, you between his legs as he tenderly kissed and nipped at your lips.

“What happens when I go back home?” You whispered.

“We’ll worry about that when we get there.” He reassured you.

He has you pressed against your hotel room door, face buried in the crook of your neck when your hands roam his body to look for the key to the door.

“Key,” You manage out while he continues to suck at the tender area where your neck and shoulder meet. Jisung reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and hands his wallet to you.

You laugh at his inability to do it himself and take his wallet, finding the hotel room key. You turn around to slide the door key into the reader and Jisung once again holds you flush against him.

His arousal is extremely evident and you can’t open the door quicker.

Through the door, you toss your clothes aside and the blanket drops from your body. You work quickly to take Jisung’s hoodie back off before he crouches low to lift you easily by your thighs. Your lips latch hungrily onto his, battling for dominance within the kiss. Each suck, each bite, you return, even as your back hits the plush mattress.

Jisung litters your face with kisses, trailing down your neck and collarbone. His hand squeezes at your left breast as his mouth takes in your right before he leaves both to continue his kisses down your stomach. He places himself between your legs, kneeling on the floor. He tosses one leg of yours over his shoulder and kisses your wet pussy over your underwear.

You whimper in response and your hands automatically find his head. You want to keep him there until the knot in your abdomen comes undone. It’s like he knows what you’re thinking when he hooks your panties in one of his fingers and moves them to the side, flattening his tongue against your wet heat.

You let out a quivery exhale through your lips, tugging at Jisung’s damp hair.

Jisung closes his eyes and focuses his attention on your clit, sucking the hardened nub and pinning your hips down when you attempt to buck up at him. Your hold on his hair is so tight that when he momentarily takes himself off of you, his head tilts backwards. At that moment, he looks at your face and notices your tightly closed eyes.

Your eyes flutter open to see him staring at you. The blush on your face deepens the longer he’s hovering over you, just admiring your face and your reactions. Jisung climbs on top of you, placing a kiss on your forehead. That alone sends shivers down your spine.

There’s a moment between the two of you, no words spoken. Just a look exchanged that is worth more than words can express. You lean up and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. He kisses you back with just as much passion and when you pull away, you’re both breathless. HIs hand cradles your jaw and neck gently, thumb running across your swollen pink lips. On instinct, you bite your bottom lip and Jisung smiles in return.

He leans back on his knees on the bed, tugging your panties off in the process. Jisung steps off the bed, aiming to grab a condom, but you sit up and grab his wrist firmly, tugging him back towards you. You look up at him on your knees and slowly shake your head.

Jisung raises a brow, not quite fully understanding, but when your fingers glide over the buckle of his belt, undoing it followed by his zipper, he can’t help but to watch you through half lidded eyes.

His pants drop to the floor with the clang of his belt. You lay back down, head on the bed’s pillow. Jisung crawls after you like a moth attracted to a flame. Jisung dips his head down to place another kiss against your lips.

You reach a hand between your bodies and grasp at his hard length, catching Jisung by surprise. He inhales sharply through his nose, body tensing over you. You smile coyly and stroke him once, twice, and the way his face contorts: eyes shut tightly, brows knit together, his lips slightly parted; you understand just why Jisung likes to watch you.

You can feel him growing harder in your palm, vein throbbing against your thumb. He buries his head in your neck, his forearms on either side of you bearing most of his weight. “Fuck,” He chokes out, hot breath against your shoulder.

“Me?” You ask with a playful tone.

Jisung chuckles and pulls himself back up to take a look at you. “Please.”

You let go of his hard and swollen cock as he positions himself between your legs, thighs coated with your arousal. He runs the tip against your folds and you tremble with anticipation while he steels himself for what’s to come. He presses his hips forward, the head of his dick pushes past your folds and into the warmth of your pussy.

The feeling is so euphoric. You can feel him enter you, stretching you out with every inch he pushes deeper. His breath is shaky against your lips, his face right above yours as the both of you watch each other’s expressions of pure ecstasy.

“Fuck,” you hiss when he bottoms out.

Jisung reaches for your open palm by your head and you’re quick to interlock your fingers together. “Good girl,” He whispers. You squeeze his hand, signaling for him to move. He does, moving his hips back and forth slowly against you. Your eyes roll back, the feeling almost too much to handle. You can’t believe how good it feels. The pace he sets is steady, thrusts deep, your chest bouncing with the rhythm of his hips. “So good, so pretty,” He says between grunts.

He’s determined to hear you moan and you’re determined to keep quiet. He pulls his hips back and thrusts into you hard and deep. Deep enough that it causes your mouth to drop open. The next thrust makes you moan. Every thrust after that is backed with a sense of purpose: to make you moan over and over again.

Your breathing is erratic now, your chest heaving up and down visibly. You lock your ankles around Jisung’s waist, pulling him closer. You need him closer. He pulls out of you and tears prick at your eyes. “Ji, why?”

A chuckle rumbles from his chest.

You pout at him and you bet you look real pathetic, eyes watery from just the lack of him inside you, but Jisung doesn’t see that at all; you’re beautiful. He turns you on your side and positions himself behind you and slips back in. “Ooo,” You say through grit teeth, enjoying the new angle.

His arms wrap tightly around you, pulling you close to his body. The new position was intimate, especially with your back pressed against his chest, one of his hands tenderly at your neck. His hips snap into you over and over again and your mouth hangs open. Jisung takes the opportunity to place his two fingers into your mouth, just testing the waters there. Immediately, you close your lips and suck on his digits.

You’re not sure why – you were never this adventurous with your past partners –, but that specific action coupled with the new deeper angle made your walls squeeze around him. He takes his fingers out of your mouth with a pop, rocking into you faster.

“Jisung,” His name spills from your mouth and your head rolls back against him, grabbing onto his arm across your torso.

He knows you're close. He can tell.

Jisung unwraps an arm from around you and hoists your leg up high in the ditch of his elbow, spreading you open wider.

“Ji– Fuck. ” You curse, so close to unraveling.

“That’s my girl,” By this point, he’s picked up on how you subconsciously squeeze around him whenever he praises you, “Come with me, baby. Just a little more.”

You fight the urge to shut your eyes and he tugs at the back of your hair to angle your head towards him. You look behind you to him from the corner of your eyes. Jisung nods, his expression an exact mirror of your own.

Hair messy. Eyes glazed over in neediness and pleasure. Lips dry and swollen from kisses and open mouth panting.

The next words that come out of your mouth surprise Jisung, “Cum in me.”

“Are you sure?” “Ye–”

He pulls out almost all the way and thrusts – no, pounds into you. He does this over and over again until he’s close, you’re trying your best to hold out for him. With one final thrust, you see stars, body feeling like it's floating as he finishes inside of you, warm cum painting your walls.

Jisung stays sheathed inside of you while the room is filled with heavy panting, the both of you trying to catch your breath. Jisung places a tender kiss against your shoulder. You look back at him and offer him a sleepy smile. “Jisung, you can stop sleeping on the floor.”

He laughs behind you and pulls you close against him, draping his arms around your waist.

When you wake up, you find yourself covered in the white hotel sheets, the sun coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warm against your skin. The heat rises to your face when you recall last night. A huge smile finds its way onto your lips even recalling the 'request' you asked of him. Good thing your best friend convinced you to go on the pill three years ago.

You look around, trying to find where Jisung went off to. It takes you a moment for your eyes to adjust, but when you do, you find Jisung out on the balcony.

You reach for your phone on the floor and snap a picture, wanting to remember the man you met in Korea forever. Scrolling through the apps on your phone, you bite on your lower lip in hesitation but decide to post it anyway.

ending author’s notes: Here's that huge step I was talking about last ending a/n. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!

taglist

@burningchaosdeer, @bat-shark-repellant , @jisunglyricist , @captivq , @lixiel0ver , @channieandhisgoonsquad , @dalamjisung , @laylasbunbunny , @beanebabyy , @leyknowsbin , @vixensss , @hyunfilms , @cutiespaghetti , @hanjisunginc , @kubuwu , @raehawthorne , @leeknowyah , @lifeissteph

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sebsxphia · 1 year

Text

bambi. | dream a little dream of me.

rhett abbott x little!reader.

￫ description: rhett spends the evening winding down with his bambi. based off this drabble here.

￫ word count: 2.4K.

￫ c/w: age regression. other than that, fluff, fluff, fluff.

￫ a/n: i understand this is niche, therefore if you’re on my taglist, i completely understand if you don’t read this! | woodland creatures | agere masterlist | main masterlist |

If it was any other Friday night, you and Rhett would be found down at the Handsome Gambler or sinking down a couple beers on your sofa and watching a corny action film from the eighties and debating weather Rhett could pull off that stunt or not. But tonight was different.

The week had been gruelling for you both, with heavy workloads and exhausting physical labour on your ranch for five days straight. There were still bits and pieces to do over the weekend, but you both always tried your best to get most of the work done during the week so your weekends could be spent lazing around with each other in a heap of bedsheets and day-old clothes. Understandably so, you were exhausted and you let yourself float in that familiar and fuzzy headspace.

Rhett could gauge that you were feeling really tiny within your age regression and he set up everything appropriately. Your living room floor had been coated in soft blankets for you to sit on and he had surrounded you with an array of plush cushions and pillows. He knew when you were feeling small within your age, your limbs would get floppier alongside it and Rhett had baby-proofed your surroundings.

The coffee table was pulled up to the sofa in your living room and you were comfortably sat between both. Colouring books aged three years and up had been put to the side and Rhett opted for a stack of coloured paper and pencils for you to scribble whatever your little mind would see. Alongside the scribbles you were deeply focused on, there were toys scattered across the table.

There were baby building block toys, that you would put in the matching shaped holes. There were plastic farm and zoo animals that Rhett ensured were big enough and had no rough edges. Your gathering of Sylvanian Families was placed neatly together and your beloved toy horse that he fixed up was placed at the corner of the table, with a compromise from Rhett.

“‘m sorry, Bambi, I don’t wan’ these little creatures' tiny furniture to get lost ‘nd I don’t wan’ Peach gettin’ any more ouchies, okay?”

You happily complied with the comfort of having your beloved, velvet creatures nearby.

You were snuggly sat in your baby grow that was patterned in delicate and detailed drawings of woodland creatures, including tiny baby fawns. Your pacifier clip that was attached to your romper was decorated in cartoon illustrations of cowboys. The pacifier itself was resting lopsided in your mouth and decorated with cartoon animals. Occasionally in between your drawing, you opted for your Giraffe-shaped chew toy that was layered with different textures.

Off to the side of the living room was the kitchen where Rhett was cleaning up the last of the pots and pans from your comforting and warm meal of macaroni cheese. He had never made macaroni cheese before he met you, but with love and patience, you taught him how and by now he knew the recipe like the back of his hand. He always had the ingredients in your home, ready to create the meal when you needed it most.

Unknown to you, Rhett was watching you cautiously from the kitchen as he dried up the remains of the pots and pans from your dinner. He had baby-proofed your surroundings and there were no real harmful elements around you, but he understood that your headspace was no older than one and he worried.

He took on the role of your caregiver high and mighty on his shoulders. He would protect you to the ends of the earth and the trust you put into him was something he didn’t take for granted lightly. Watching the way the cogs turned behind your eyes and how your body physically de-tensed in his hold as you regressed, was something he would always hold dear and close to his heart. The feeling of cradling you gently as you let yourself become vulnerable in his arms was something truly special. It was an unbreakable and undeniable bond, and he was devoted to you.

From the kitchen, he watched the way your tongue poked outwards from the corner of your pacifier as you concentrated feverishly on your drawing in front of you. Your hand came upwards towards your eyes curled in a tight fist. You rubbed at your eyes haphazardly, in an attempt to stifle an exhausted yawn on this Friday night. Rhett smiled knowingly to himself and turned his back momentarily to place the last of the cook pots in the cupboard and tuck the dishcloth on the rack of the oven.

As he opened the cupboard, he retrieved your milk bottle, strawberry milkshake powder and your milk of preference from the fridge, and placed them all in line on the kitchen countertop. When he turned back around to face you in the living room, another attempted stifled yawn was futile.

The exhausted yawn took over your body whole and you scrunched your eyes shut tight, the pencil in your hand almost going limp against the colored paper. When you came to, Rhett let out a chuckle quietly to himself and made his way over to you. He was gentle on his feet as he padded across the floorboards to your bundle of plush cushions and pillows.

“Hey, Bambi,” He soothed out in a low and quiet tone. As he steadily placed himself down next to you on the cushioned floor, you gave him a sleepy yet gleaming smile from behind your pacifier. “How y’ gettin’ on?”

Rhett knew that within your tiny headspace right now, for you to be nonverbal was normal. You gave him a gleeful verbalized hum, acknowledging his presence and question, still letting your hand scrawl on the paper with your pencil.

He tucked himself next to you and drew his broad arm around your back. You fell into his chest and side almost instantly, positioning yourself against his familiar warmth. His hand came up to the side of your head and he scratched his fingertips soothingly on your scalp, helping you regulate with his touch and subconsciously soothing you into that sleepy state. He knew it was nearly time for bedtime and he would be gently winding you down with his touches and quiet voice. His other hand stretched out and his nimble fingers pointed at the coloured paper. He let out a quiet gasp.

“Bambi!” A hushed exclamation, “Did you draw this?” You nodded vigorously, the ring on your pacifier knocking against itself. “Baby, it’s beautiful. My little one is s’ talented.” He tickled at the side of your ear with his other hand and you let out a giggle.

You tapped the pencil on the paper at the scrawl of a shape and let out a squeal, before turning to meet his eyes. Rhett clocked it instantly.

“That’s me?”

You squealed again and let out a single, “Dada!”

“Where’s Bambi? Can you point them out to Dada?” You tapped at the paper to another shape and he hummed approvingly, a prideful smile twisting on his lips.

Rhett pointed to the last scrawled-out set of shapes and colours, and he watched how your eyes drifted to the corner of the table where your beloved toy horse he had fixed up was sitting.

“Is that, Peach?”

You nodded again and mumbled out from behind your pacifier, “Tu’ day.”

Rhett let out a silent, “Ah!” and a rumbled chuckle, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest. His hand was now cradling your head against him and you wrapped your whole body into his. He put the pieces together and he knew you were referring back to the Tuesday just passed. It was an almost alarming hot day that came from nowhere and you took the evening to ride out on his horse to the wildflower fields, far, far off from your home. He remembered how after you both made your way back home, you were both tuckered out, but you smiled to yourself and told Rhett with a loving and whole look in your eyes, “I needed that. Thank you, Cowboy.”

He was silently touched beyond words that you would remember that day and that you treasured it so fondly that you would draw it, even within your tiny headspace.

“Bambi was s’ sleepy after that horse ride with Daddy, weren’t you?” He craned his face down to take in your sleepy eyes and the way your eyelids were struggling to stay open. The knuckle of his index finger came up and gently brushed against your nose and he still watched with adorning eyes how your nose twitched slightly.

You gave him a small nod and completely succumbed to his grasping hold, burying your face into the crook of his neck and latching your arms around his neck. Rhett read how your body was melting against his, how your muscles relaxed and your breathing was starting to even out, getting slower and slower with each passing second.

“Alright, little one. I think it’s time we get y’all ready for bedtime.”

There were occasions when at these words from your caregiver's mouth you would protest and plead to stay up for just one more hour, but your body had completely succumbed to the exhaustion. You weren’t putting up a fight anymore. You just wanted to sleep, curled into your Daddy’s chest.

Rhett waited for a beat and at your silent admission, he let his arms drop to your legs, scoop you up and hoist you to his hip as he stood. He took you into the kitchen where he placed you down gently on the wooden chair seated at the kitchen table. You let out a protesting whine as his comforting warmth left your body, your face contorting into a frown and a small pout behind your pacifier. Your hands reached out as fast as they could and you held onto the cuffs of Rhett’s plaid shirt, tugging on them to not let him take a step further.

He cooed at you and took your hands in his, squeezing them tightly and placing two kisses on the backs of them. “It’s alright, Bambi. Daddy’s right here. M’ not leavin’ your side. I’m just gon’ make you a bottle, okay?”

You gave him another verbalized hum in agreement to acknowledge what he had said and you tentatively let go of his calloused hands. You attempted to watch what Rhett was doing with big eyes, but your eyelids were drooping at every blink. The milk was poured into the pot and left to warm slowly on the stove.

At this point, Rhett came back (which was only two steps away from the oven, but it felt like miles) and lifted you, sat himself down on the kitchen chair and brought you to sit in his lap. You resumed your previous position of wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into the crook of his neck. You inhaled his familiar and comforting scent of cedar wood and leather, and Rhett’s hands placed on your back felt your ribs expand and then let out of any tension you had.

Gently he began to rock you against his chest and in his arms. All that could be heard was the crackling whoosh! of the gas on the stove and quietly in your ear, Rhett’s low voice, humming a lullaby.

“Stars shinin’ bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper, I love you. Birds singin’ ‘n the sycamore trees, dream a little dream ‘f me.”

He continued for another two verses of the lullaby, his drawl getting lower as he went on before his head picked up and he heard the bubbling foam of the milk rise to the top of the pot. Slowly, and without causing too much disturbance to your nearly asleep frame, he untucked you from himself, placed you back on the kitchen chair and drew together your bottle. It was a combination of milk and a little dusting of strawberry milkshake powder.

With an instinct from yourself, as Rhett came back over to your side, you slipped off the kitchen chair and outstretched your hands to him. He carefully and gently hoisted you to his hip and carried you back to the living room, with the warm bottle in his hand.

“Alright, little one, let's get you cosy against Dada, yeah?” Rhett hummed as he placed himself down on the sofa. He propped himself up in the corner at the end and sat you in between his thighs with your head resting on his upright chest. One hand still held the bottle for you and the other reached for the television remote on the sofas arm. The television had already been quietly playing in the background for the entire evening and he switched it on to an episode of, ‘In the Night Garden’ before you could blink.

Rhett brought the bottle to you and began feeding you, with it still held in his hand. From this angle, he could ensure your safety and could carefully hold the bottle to not let you drink down too much too quickly, or wipe your chin briefly with his thumb. His spare hand was soothingly rubbing your arm, with his fingertips ghosting over your arm hair and tickling you gently. As you parted from your bottle in parts, he would return to running his fingers through your hair and scratching firmly enough on your scalp to regulate your sleepy-induced state. Occasionally he would dip down and place fluttering kisses on your temples, murmuring quiet words of praise against your warm flesh.

The sweet taste of the milk was dancing on your tastebuds and as your eyes were focused on the television in front of you, they were struggling immensely to stay open for more than five seconds.

Rhett clocked the remaining droplets left in your bottle and gently lowered it down, to not get the droplets caught in your throat and tickle you with a horrible cough. Instinctively, he knew this would signify the end to you, but he waited for you to confirm this before pulling the bottle away entirely.

“Fin’, Dada.” You murmured out with sleep lacing your words.

Very few words had been spoken by yourself this evening, but Rhett took this as your sleepy admission. The bottle was placed to the side and he brought you in closer to his chest. His nimble fingers found your pacifier in quick time and placed it between your lips. Another flurry of kisses was placed to your temple and as your breathing evened out to a slower pace, you felt the low rumble of Rhett’s chest underneath you as he spoke the last words you remember that night.

“Atta’, Bambi. Close your eyes, little one. Daddy’s got you.”

taglist: @beachbabey @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @unmistakablyunknown @iloveprettyboysblog @wkndwlff @flames-thebitch @randomfandomgirl96 @kmc1989

tagging those who may be interested: @sunblchdfly @lewmagoo @bradshawsbitch @peachystenbrough @becks-things @mangokitkats

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littlest-w01f · 1 month

Text

King and Queens

Rhysand + Rheana (See Rheana here)

For @officialrhysandweek

Rhysand week 2024 Masterlist

Day 6: Worlds Axis

Summary: Rhysand and Rheana discover their true heritage that their paternal family buried deep down

Cw: None

Rhysand and Rheana had managed to clean up everything of their parents and sister, kept what mattered to them, and begrudgingly gave away everything else.

The pair carefully packed away items that held sentimental value - paintings, letters, trinkets, and keepsakes. They even found time to preserve memories they shared together, such as recipes for meals cooked by their mother and little crafts their sister did, they would always joke about how she couldn't stick to one, handmade cards created by their father during the rare moments of his love for their mother. Every memento was handled with care and placed securely within boxes marked with their names.

Only one last thing remained, It was a large estate filled with rooms upon rooms of treasures accumulated over generations, something their father had yet to tell them about, Rheana had learned about it in a letter under her parents' bed. It would take days just to go through all of it. Yet, they knew they couldn't keep every single item, some things were simply too valuable or too cumbersome for two young adults to maintain alone.

"What do we do with this?" Rhysand asked, walking through the halls of one of the biggest mansions they had ever seen, surprise filled both the siblings.

As she turned a corner, Rheana's footsteps echoed off the marble floors, not polished in quite a while, the air thick with the scent of old books and wood. She gazed around at the opulent furnishings, gold leaf adorning every surface, crystal chandeliers unlit, covered in cobwebs, and walls lined with tapestries depicting fantastical creatures.

"This," she said, running a hand along the carved armrest of a plush velvet sofa, "is beyond anything our family has ever owned. How did our grandparents acquire such wealth?"

Rhysand joined her, his eyes scanning the room with a mix of awe and trepidation. He'd never seen so much grandeur in one place before. It felt overwhelming, like trying to drink from an aggressive waterfall.

"I don't know," he admitted, "but whatever happened, we can't possibly keep all of this."

Rheana noted an old trunk in the corner of the main halls, with a curious expression, she moved to it, her arm muscles flexed while prying the lock open with her bare hands, inside it were old books, brown and yellow in pages, bound by old leather that was falling apart.

Rhysand walked up behind her, "What is it, sister?"

"Old journals... From... Our ancestors." Rheana said.

Rhysand peered over Rheana's shoulder as she gently opened one of the dusty books. The pages crackled as they turned, revealing handwritten notes in elegant script, accompanied by intricate illustrations of various lands and peoples.

"These look ancient," Rhysand remarked, tracing a finger over a faded map depicting the Night Court's territory centuries ago. "Our ancestors must have been quite the explorers."

Rheana nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration as she scanned the text. "It seems they documented their travels, trade agreements, and interactions with other courts and kingdoms. There's also mention of powerful artifacts and magical beings they encountered along the way."

She paused, her eyes widening as she read further. "Wait, look at this entry from Grandmother Eira. It speaks of a legendary sword, said to grant immense power to its wielder."

The words caused both siblings to exchange glances, filled with intrigue and curiosity. They were no strangers to magic or mythical weapons, having grown up in a world populated by immortal faeries and creatures of all kinds, but this sounded particularly extraordinary.

"There's no record of such a weapon in our family history," Rheana said, flipping through more pages. "Perhaps it was lost or forgotten over time."

"But why would our grandmother make note of it?" Rhysand wondered aloud, leaning closer to examine the delicate handwriting. "Unless she knew someone who possessed it or sought it out herself."

The notion sparked an idea in Rheana's mind. "Maybe there's a clue here about how to find it, or who might still have it today."

As dusk settled over the estate, Rheana and Rhysand continued to pore over the journals, searching for any clues that could lead them to the mysterious weapon. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows across the aged parchment, heightening the suspense of their hunt.

Eventually, Rhysand came across another intriguing passage written by Great-Grandmother Azrae, who, according to the texts had been known for her wisdom and strategic prowess. It seemed she had spent years searching for the elusive blade, visiting various temples, ruins, and hidden sanctums throughout Faerie.

"She must've been obsessed with finding it," Rhysand murmured, reading aloud from the journal. "But none of these places sound familiar to me."

"Because these places aren't from Night Court... They're from Hybern..." Rheana whispered, feeling dread, their grandmother and great-grandmother were living in Hybern. They had been all their lives. "I've seen this lake on the maps." Rhysand flipped through the pages, to the maps that now didn't look like the Night court in the slightest, "Our family... They lived there... But how?"

As the gravity of the situation sank in, the siblings fell silent, their gazes glued to the faded ink scrawled across the ancient parchment. They realized they weren't merely dealing with the legacy of two deceased parents or their beloved sister but an entire dynasty rooted deeply in the world of Fae politics and conflict.

"This changes everything," Rhysand finally broke the silence, his voice laced with uncertainty yet determination. "We can't ignore the possibility that whatever secrets our grandparents kept were intertwined with Hybern... Their... Our family."

"We need to keep looking," Rheana replied sternly, her mind racing with questions about her ancestry she hadn't pondered until now. It made sense, the dreading knowledge that a part of their ancestry was connected with Hybern, the daemati abilities their grandmother showed, what their father showed, what they showed. No Fae in Prythian had those abilities, because it wasn't from Prythian, but from the line of kings that ruled Hybern, it was power frequent in their world. She flipped the pages, "Here, look..." She whispered, catching something in one of the pages, it stated how their grandmother had found her mate in a Night Court heir, she turned more pages, "This must be when she fell in love with grandfather... She was pregnant with father in less than 3 years... That's almost unheard of, no one concieves this early."

Rhysand leaned in closer as Rheana pointed to the entries detailing their grandmother's life, his heart pounding with anticipation. Each word, each stroke of the quill, painted a picture of a woman caught between worlds, torn between loyalty to her birthright and love for a man from a rival land.

He felt a shiver run down his spine as he realized the depth of his own connection to Hybern, not just through his parents but through his very own bloodline. The weight of that knowledge settled heavily upon him, a burden he wasn't sure he was prepared to carry.

"What does it say?" Rhysand asked softly, his voice tinged with reverence for the woman whose legacy now entwined their own destinies.

Rheana's eyes widened as she read further, her breath hitching. "It says… No..."

"No what?" Rhysand asked urgently, noticing the shock and horror etched onto his sister's face.

"Father was... We are..." Rheana shut the book. There was so much they didn't know about their families, what made them as powerful as they were, but their grandmother being from Hybern, they were probably related to the king distantly and their grandfather being the descendant of the most powerful Lordd of their time, they were bound to be powerful. It was their destiny. "We never really learned where our grandmother came from... She was next in line... She gave up the crown to be with grandfather."

Rhysand stared at Rheana, his mind reeling from the implications of her words. Their family tree, once thought to be relatively simple, had suddenly branched out into a tangled web of royal lineage and ancient rivalries. The pieces began to fall into place - their parents' untimely deaths, the whispers of dark magic, the sheer power that radiated from within the walls of the Night Court estate.

Rhysand looked at the house they were in with a different light, trying to find answers to the new questions that emerged, avoiding the easiest answer that was waving at his face, refusing their relation to Hybern, and the magic they showed.

{General Taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith}

{Rhysand Taglist - @yeonalie}

{RhysandWeek Taglist - @andreperez11}

#rhysandweek2024 #flames and darkness #oc rheana #rhysand #high lord rhysand #pro rhysand #acotar #rhysand acotar #rhysand fanfiction #acotar series #acosf #acomaf #rhysand fanfic #acowar #rhys acotar #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand fluff #rhysand x oc

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doryyaaa · 7 months

Note

Hii may I request a short fic of Kazuya x Fem reader on a date but Kazuya’s ideal date is showing off his massive shoe collection

It’s date night with Kazuya, and he’s brought you up to his office for a special surprise. The room is huge, decorated with dark wood and gold accents, plush leather sofas and glossy statues. You find no signs of any surprise, however, until Kazuya presses a button and the wall behind his desk slides wide open with a hiss.

“Woah.” Standing by the entrance, you gape at the sheer size of Kazuya’s walk-in closet, filled from floor to ceiling. There are sneakers of every kind, rare collectibles and limited runs from top brands all over the globe.

Kazuya snickers. “Well? Hurry up and get in there. Plenty more to see.”

You absolutely cannot believe this man. You follow him down the long corridor, and the tiny smirk never leaves his face. Few things ever made Kazuya this pleased, but he’s shown you yet another side of himself, a privilege granted to none other.

“So,” you ask nonchalantly, “how many pairs do you own, exactly?”

“Take a guess.”

“One thousand?”

Kazuya laughs again, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Not even close,” he says, and leads you to an elevator off the side. It carries you up to another floor filled with even more sneakers, glowing from the shelves in pristine condition. Kazuya herds you around like an excited puppy, tugging your hand or clutching your waist whenever you fall behind.

“Hey, can I try this on?” You point to a custom pair behind a glass case.

“Foolish woman.” Kazuya huffs. “That’s the wrong size.” He goes to pick a different pair—pink diamond-encrusted, the latest designer model that’s not even on the market yet. It’s gorgeous, and it’s obvious he had it made just for you. Under the chandelier lights, the diamonds shine bright at his hand. Even under his three-piece suit, his chiseled figure cuts a godlike image.

“Aw, babe! You shouldn’t have.” You give a cheeky grin, then Kazuya plants you onto a velvet chair, leaning down close enough that your lips brush ever so slightly. He drops the shoes in your lap and whispers his command.

“Now try that on.”

Kazuya pulls back with his own teasing grin, knowing full well you wanted to close that small distance between you. He sits in the chair across you and beckons with a challenge.

“Well, are you going to show me or not? Don’t keep me waiting,” Kazuya says.

And oh, you’re going to enjoy this as much as he will.

#tekken #kazuya mishima #x reader #kazuya x reader #tekken fic #the other stuff will come out soon is2g im just slow 😂

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dfbeds · 2 months

Text

Discover the Elegance and Comfort of a Plush Velvet Corner Sofa

When it comes to home décor, few pieces make a statement quite like a plush velvet corner sofa. Combining timeless elegance with modern comfort, these luxurious sofas have become a staple in sophisticated living spaces. Whether you are revamping your living room or furnishing a new home, a plush velvet corner sofa offers an unparalleled blend of style, comfort, and versatility.

The Allure of Velvet

Velvet has long been associated with luxury and opulence. Its rich texture and lustrous sheen can instantly elevate the aesthetic of any room. Velvet fabric has a unique way of reflecting light, giving it a depth of color and a sense of movement that other fabrics simply cannot match. This makes a plush velvet corner sofa not just a piece of furniture, but a focal point that draws the eye and invites you to sink into its soft, inviting cushions.

Why Choose a Corner Sofa?

Corner sofas, also known as sectional sofas, are designed to maximize seating and make efficient use of space. Unlike traditional sofas, which can leave awkward gaps and underutilized corners, a corner sofa fits snugly into the corner of a room, creating a cohesive and inviting seating area. This makes them ideal for both small apartments and large living rooms, offering ample seating for family gatherings, movie nights, and casual lounging.

The Perfect Blend of Style and Functionality

A plush velvet corner sofa effortlessly combines style and functionality. The sumptuous velvet upholstery adds a touch of glamour, while the spacious design ensures plenty of seating space for guests. Many models come with modular components, allowing you to customize the layout to fit your space perfectly. Whether you prefer a traditional L-shape or a more expansive U-shape, a corner sofa can be tailored to meet your specific needs.

Durability and Maintenance

One might think that velvet, with its delicate appearance, is high-maintenance. However, modern velvet fabrics are designed to be both durable and easy to care for. High-quality velvet is resilient and can withstand the wear and tear of everyday use. Regular vacuuming and occasional brushing will keep the fabric looking fresh and plush. For spills and stains, most velvet sofas come with care instructions to help you clean and maintain the fabric without hassle.

Versatility in Design

Plush velvet corner sofas come in a variety of designs, colors, and sizes, ensuring that there is a perfect option for every home. From classic Chesterfield styles with tufted backs and rolled arms to sleek, contemporary designs with clean lines and minimalist aesthetics, there is a velvet corner sofa to match any interior décor. Popular color choices include deep jewel tones like emerald green, sapphire blue, and ruby red, as well as neutral shades like charcoal grey, navy, and beige.

Enhancing Your Living Space

A plush velvet corner sofa can serve as the centerpiece of your living room, creating a luxurious and inviting atmosphere. Pair it with complementary furniture and accessories to complete the look. Consider adding a plush area rug, elegant throw pillows, and a stylish coffee table to enhance the overall aesthetic. Lighting is also crucial; use a mix of ambient, task, and accent lighting to highlight the rich texture of the velvet and create a warm, welcoming environment.

Investment in Comfort and Style

Investing in a plush velvet corner sofa is more than just buying a piece of furniture; it's about enhancing your living space with comfort and style. The tactile pleasure of velvet, combined with the functional benefits of a corner sofa, offers a unique blend of luxury and practicality. It's a statement piece that reflects your taste and elevates your home's interior design.

Conclusion

A plush velvet corner sofa is a versatile and stylish addition to any home. Its luxurious fabric, combined with the practical benefits of a corner design, makes it an ideal choice for those looking to enhance their living space. Whether you are entertaining guests or enjoying a quiet evening at home, a velvet corner sofa provides the perfect blend of comfort and elegance.

For more information and to explore a stunning range of plush velvet corner sofas, visit the plush velvet corner sofa collection. Here, you'll find a variety of styles and colors to choose from, ensuring you can find the perfect sofa to complement your home décor.

#plush velvet corner sofa

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franzkafkagf · 4 months

Note

Also tell me more about Aegyn riseeeeeee

YES YES YES

Basically the day after Aegon's coronation he invites his bestie Martyn Reyne over to "celebrate" ;) Aegon is such a brat4brat power bottom in it, he drives me INSANE. It's nearly done, here is the beginning:

👹 NSFW under the cut dont look if ur under 18 👹

Martyn reclined comfortably on the sofa, sipping on his wine as his gaze wandered around Aegon's lavishly decorated room. Tapestries covered the walls, depicting scenes of dragonfire and, weirdly enough, orgies. The floors were covered with plush, intricately woven rugs and at least a dozen scented candles were scattered around the room.

"You've really outdone yourself this time, Egg," Martyn remarked, letting out a low whistle. "The place looks like something straight out of a Dragonlord's wet dream."

Behind a heavy velvet curtain, Aegon chuckled softly. "I'm glad you approve, Reyne. But I think you'll find the main attraction far more impressive than the décor."

Martyn's curiosity was piqued as he took another sip of wine. "Oh? And what might that be?"

"Patience, my dear friend," Aegon replied, still only a shadow behind a curtain. "I just need a moment to finish getting ready. Are you ready?"

Martyn leaned back, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "I'm always ready for whatever the fuck you have planned, Egg."

With a final adjustment to his appearance, Aegon took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the curtain. He was dressed in a see-through red robe that clung to his frame, the fabric leaving next to nothing to the imagination. His hair was braided and his body adorned with glimmering jewels. His lips were painted a dark red, and his eyelids were shaded in blue, accenting his piercing lilac eyes.

"Ta-da!" Aegon exclaimed, striking a pose to showcase his body. "What do you think?"

Martyn’s eyes widened in surprise before he burst out laughing, nearly spilling his wine. "By the Seven, Aegon, you look like a whore! You even got the red lips and everything."

"Fuck off, Reyne.” Aegon rolled his eyes, as he walked over to the table and poured himself a cup of wine, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "If I wanted your sarcasm, I'd have asked for it."

Martyn raised his hands, still grinning. "Alright, alright. You look... stunning, truly. Like something out of a dream."

Satisfied with the response, Aegon downed his drink. He then walked over to Martyn, stopping right in front of him. "Now, if you're done gawking, why don't you pull off your pants and show me what you've got?"

"Anything for you." Martyn's dumb grin widened as he set his wine aside and stood up, his fingers undoing the laces of his trousers. He let them drop to the floor. “Tell me, am I supposed to call you Your Grace now?”

“Shut up,” Aegon silenced him and sank to his knees before his friend, eyes dark as he looked up at him. "Tell me, Reyne, what do you want?"

Martyn's breath hitched, he wanted to bend him over and fuck him right now. "I want you to put my cock in your mouth."

"Do you now? Well, let's see if you deserve it."

With that, Aegon leaned in close, his breath impossibly warm against Martyn's skin, but he didn't touch him. Instead, he just let his lips hover close, his tongue darting out to lick the air. Martyn groaned, his hands reaching for Aegon's hair, but Aegon swatted them away.

"Ah, ah, ah," Aegon chided. "You don't get to touch the king unless he says so."

Martyn's let out a frustrated groan, but he complied, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Egg you're such a fucking tease."

"That's the point, isn't it?" he chuckled. He leaned in again, this time he let his lips brush lightly against the tip of Martyn's cock, the touch so fleeting it was almost maddening.

Martyn's hips jerked forward involuntarily, and he let out a low growl of frustration. "Please, Egg. Stop teasing."

Aegon's smile widened as he placed a delicate kiss on Martyn's length, barely grazing the sensitive skin. "Call me Your Grace," he commanded, his voice low.

Martyn's voice was strained and breathy, Aegon could be such a brat sometimes. "Please, Your Grace. Suck my cock."

Aegon finally took pity on his friend, opening his mouth and taking his friend into his mouth. Martyn let out a deep moan. Aegon's warm, wet mouth felt so perfect around him.

Aegon started moving, his tongue swirling around the head before sliding down the shaft. His movements were painfully slow, clearly enjoying how Martyn came undone.

"Fuck, Egg," Martyn groaned, fighting back the urge to grab Aegon by his hair and force him deeper. "You're amazing."

#martyn reyne #aegon ii targaryen #hotd #ales.txt #asks #bratty power bottom aegon is so important to me

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sweet-chimera · 30 days

Note

Be Honest…

You are a cottage core maximalist!

🍄Pale pastel colors on the walls, along with flowered wallpaper. Art work adorns every inch of wall space in some form. Dried flowers, watercolor plants. Oil paintings of forests. Woven tapestries featuring nature with warm colors.

🍄‍🟫Definitely a daisy or two can be found in the kitchen.

🍄Doilies are everywhere!

🍄‍🟫Exceedingly cozy knit blankets are conveniently draped on over stuffed chairs so they become the perfect corner to sit and read a book.

🍄You have a beloved journal full of warm, indulgent beverages made with special ingredients to ease the mind, relax and unwind. It’s got stickers and mushroom washi tape accents, complimented with bubbly calligraphy.

🍄‍🟫You hoard jars! Never throw them away, they are cleaned and used to organize something else. Topped off with a ribbon or a repainted cap and custom labels.

🍄Your bed is super comfy. Plush mattress, the kind you sink into and just disappear. Crisp sheets with tiny flowered prints, smells fresh and lightly sweet because of the linen spray you craft. Probably a throw blanket of faux fur at the foot of the bed along with a quilt or two. Pillows, many pillows. A stuffed hilichurl plushie too.

🍄‍🟫You have a crocheting and knitting corner, probably a rocking chair too. You make your friends little keepsakes and gift them randomly.

🍄Spotless bathroom, includes humidity loving plant life. Various bottles of sweet smelling oils, bubbly soaps, half melted candles and a book tray so you can soak and read.

🍄‍🟫Your closet is full to the brim of cottage core dresses and skirts. Might have a collecting of dainty, lace socks and thigh high leg warmers that are knit. Definitely has a cardigan for every season and occasion. An apron in every color, many with patchwork patterns.

🍄Your couch is probably some soft material. Crushed velvet or a luxurious linen in a washed out color or floral pattern. It’s spacious and perfect for naps and blanket burritos with your favorite friends - esp that one devastatingly handsome hilichurl. Crochet, velvet, faux fur, ruffles and bows adorn your sofas extensive pillow collection. Blankets lots of throw blankets!

🍄‍🟫Lastly, you made cookies today didn’t you?

Just cause its accurate...

#(WHAT PROMPTED YOU TO--)#grimulf of the wilderness

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glasswaters · 2 years

Text

the lake by the mountain

It starts, as all things do, with a story. It begins, gauze-thin and stretched across these mountains, long before I was ever born, with the unspooling of a thread. Cotton, bleached white and pulled taut to keep a petticoat’s hem.

“Such was my task”, says my grandmother, who smells of wants and conviction the way my mother smells of daffodils. Her hands are worn, now, by age or by exhaustion, and when she holds her embroidery into the light, I can see the sun peeking through pierced fabric. The gas lamp on the table gives a groan, the sharp noise of the last of the wick eaten up by flame, just before it dies.

Here is how my mother tells it, when my father has left for the day and she lays the pelts out to dry: your grandmother is a stubborn thing, sweeting. When they lay the phone lines, she refused them. When they carved space for the plumbing, she filled it with soil. When they traced cables from outlet to outlet, she stood, lamp in one hand, knife in the other, and bared her teeth.

The grocer knows her by name, yet.

My grandmother’s skin is paper-thin. When she turns her head, I can see the light through it, as though she has long since been pulled taut over a bulb’s jutting edges. When she opens her mouth, her voice comes out a sharp thing, whetted and precise. “What use have I”, she says, and pulls the thread until it near snaps. “My sweetling, whatever would I do with fancy baubles?”

The fire cracks, and paints in the shape of it, my grandmother’s face golden. I shrug. “Comfort”, I say.

“Convenience”, says my grandmother, and drags her mouth downwards. There is a fountain in the courtyard and an outhouse by the trees. There is copper cookware, lined up in the kitchen, and a basin sturdy enough to hold her. The windows are open wide, and in the planters hanging off the sills, my grandmother has made for the bees an offering of sweetness.

Every summer, they feast on the flowers, a thick buzz of wings.

“What need do I have for wires?”, she asks, with her fingertips hooked underneath my chin. “The mountains are slow, dearling, and there is much lays heavy in the valleys that has not yet reached the summits.”

“Heat settles high”, I say, and my grandmother laughs. The furs on her sofa are as soft as they have ever been, silver things that I can dip my hands into and watch them disappear. My fingers sink into them undisturbed, until they rest at the downy warmth of them.

Stories are things made of thread and words, half-spun and half-dreamt. When my grandmother was new, with smooth hands and skin thick enough to break teeth, she would sit on the summit, just by the cross that marks its highest point, and hem petticoats and linens. Her feet were bare, then, and bleeding, still dripping stubbornness over limestone and fossils.

As the locals tell it, a spirit rose from the lake in the valley at night and made the trek to the summit; bloody feet and tender, stubborn mouth. With wild hair and wilder heart, it dragged from the bottom of the lake to the top of the mountain sweet freshwater pearls.

It sat, wanton and wanting, on the moss, until someone came to pin it by the limbs to plush velvet. A needle threaded through every fingertip, string tied about every toe, it stayed, like that, under dull eyes and duller teeth.

Until the dusk came, and brought with it the sun’s death.

As the locals tell it, the spirit made then the trek back down to the lake. Sometimes, at night, something wanton lay, with eyes like polished pearls and hands carved of dripping limestone, motionless until the sun rose above the mountain peaks.

“The skies were clear”, says my grandmother, and in the soft light of the waning sun, her eyes shine white. “Planets pinned to the firmament, and you could map worlds in the space between. Some days, I could see beyond this solar system.” She smiles at me, a wrinkle from the corners of her mouth to the slack of her cheeks, and keeps me pinned, still, on her furs. “When the day was cold, and there were no clouds, I could see to the ends of the universe at night. Not anymore, now.”

In my back pocket, my phone buzzes. My grandmother drags her fingers to the seam of my trousers. In my ears roar the rocking waves of a storm. “I don’t have to check it”, I say. My palms ache at the tips, still buried in the pelts, still half-hidden. Half curled.

My grandmother tilts her head. Like a bird, almost. Like something with sharp claws and sharper teeth, with eyes that see – something moves. Somewhere within my ribcage or tangled about my spine, something shifts. My grandmother’s eyes are mother-of-pearl, and her teeth are soft, soft things.

“Don’t you?”, she asks. Her skin shimmers in this light – a blanket of oil on a lake’s surface, a layer of despair around a kernel of dirt. Hands, worn and wrinkled.

Mine are smooth, still, and I shake my head. “I don’t”, I say. She laughs. She holds out her hands, and fits them to the curve of my jaw. They lay, like that, unmoving, stubborn things, against my skin.

“Child”, she says softly. “Sweet thing.”

My mother leaves the pelts out to dry once my father has left for work. Before he comes home, she collects them and folds them, damp still, until they fit into the suitcase on top of the dresser, with its broken clasp and the belt tied around it. Her mouth has long since fit itself into the gaps of my father’s smile.

Her phone in her pocket buzzes. When she picks up, my father’s voice drips from the speaker. “Hello, my loves”, he says, and my mother fades around the edges.

“Hello”, she says. Her hair is dry.

At night, something lies in the lake, its eyes wide open, its mouth agape. Its hands are smooth the way stones are in riverbeds – so long have they lain in the water that there is nothing at all to them, anymore, except polished rounds. Its hair floats, weightless, like seagrass sprouting from its head. Or, perhaps, like fabric does when it is put to soak in water that is more gasoline and blue dye, now, it drags, swirling, until it lies trembling at the lake’s surface.

The stars are dull behind their layer of light. The city is alive, even at night, flickering billboards and humming streetlights and girls with bright eyes and brighter smiles, gathered about the pavement. They carry their heels in one hand and their phone in the other, texting half-formed flirts to half-shaped crushes.

Laughing, bell-shaped.

The thing in the lake watches the skies. In the morning, it will lead wet footprints to the mountain’s summit.

“Come”, says my grandmother, ever sharp. “Why don’t you help me with the linens?”

I drag my hands from her pelts. My phone in the back pocket of my trousers is warm, and presses smooth against me. I don’t check it.

My grandmother’s hands are a solid weight on me, and my hems are still wet. My feet leave bloody prints on her wood floor.

“Come”, says my grandmother. I come. I breathe.

I reach for the linens. ______ commission for @hasenfu, thank you for commissioning me!

#spilled words #spilled ink #writerblr #writers of tumblr #poets of tumblr #on generational longing #on spirits that lay in lakes and watch their world pass them by #on old women in houses from times long past #a conversation between a grandmother and her grandchild

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how-masterful · 2 years

Text

31 Fics of Fright

Day 28- When A Black Cat Crosses Your Path

Ainley!Master X Reader

Prompt: Cat

Notes: Oh how I love the cheetah planet! Such a wonderful idea that brings so many wonderful fics. The master catboy renaissance has been highly overdue, and i’m glad the power of the doctor has brought it upon us!

Warnings: Suggestive Content

The TARDIS was warm, her walls buzzing with a tangible warmth. Her pilot and his companion needed it. The pile of clothes that had been abandoned in the corner of the bathroom was a mighty one- scarfs and gloves, extra layers and long coats, all tainted with traces of alien toxin that while anything but deadly, were not preferable on your attire. The wardrobe was sure to provide an easy replacement if it were required.

The day had been busy, the sun only escaping through its prison of dying trees for a few moments. The planet was a destination of permanent twilight, its shimmering sky a blanket of glittering constellations, its atmosphere alive with an energy only describable as supernatural. You’d craved the feeling of power, the kisses of lightning against your skin as you strolled across the terrain. The planet was imbued with a glorious energy, revitalising and inspiring. The Master had told you people came from across the universe to soak up a single moment of its energy. It amplified what was inside of you, the nature that dwelled within your spirit, the intentions within your heart.

The planet knew exactly who you were and what you’d become. It was no place for judgement. It was a place of invigoration.

The Master had joined your traversal, clothed in his warm velvet garments, gloved hand within your own. He watched the world with changed eyes. Eyes that were not his own on a plethora of levels. These eyes belonged to Tremas, a man so full of love for his people and family. He supposed, since he had taken a companion, they would be useful. Not only were they the eyes of a Trakkenite, they were the eyes of the Cheetah. Powerful, dangerous, instinctual. A life lived in violence and fire. The Master felt a kinship to his newfound perspective. The planet would assist him greatly.

The pair of you had walked for hours, absorbing the planet's life and talking of wonderful pleasantries. Of future endeavours, of memories from years gone by. You could feel it within you, the growing strength of mind. Sure, your peaceful purloin of power had been interrupted by somebody trying to poison the energy. It didn’t happen often, but the Master made a great attempt to foil the plot. If somebody was trying to take his benefit, then the Master would play the good guy. It was all a matter of perspective. Of true evil versus a pest that needed eradicating. Cats were known to be valiant hunters of vermin, after all.

Once returned to the TARDIS and shed of the toxin, you had shared a shower and retired to the heat of the fire. The flames licked and danced against the fireplace, the Master allowing himself to fall to the waiting hands of rest. The Master, a beacon of villainy and bountiful energy, now resting so calmly within your embrace. So… exposed. He’d even taken off his gloves.

To see the Master like this was a wonderful thing. His hair, shifted from his usual slicked back style, now falling free and endearingly dishevelled. He was still a proper sort, his comfortable clothes as decadent as his usual attire, but there was a different look in his eye. He was off the clock, unguarded, breathing deep into his lungs and allowing his body to pause.

This was new. This was healthy. This was… the Master.

“How do you feel, my love?” His voice purred, pulling you from your admiration.

You gave a small sigh, allowing your back to rest deeper into the plush of the sofa. Fingers had wandered to pleasantly scratch at the hair on the nape of the Master's neck. Idle petting, sweet touches. Tactile and endeared.

“I feel like I've been asleep for a week.” You admitted with a smile. “Like every part of my body is just… better. I feel like I could run a marathon.”

The Master chuckled quietly, settling against your touch.

“That is a typical reaction, my dearest. The planet is indeed quite potent. Perhaps there was an Olympian within you all this time.”

Now it was your turn to laugh.

“I can just about manage the current workload of running down corridors. I’m not in the market for medals just yet.”

All throughout the conversation, there had been a low sound emanating from the Master's throat. A gentle rumble, a persistent white noise that made every bone in your body want to melt into jelly. It spoke of comfort, of safety. It was the softest of purrs. The Master had been purring.

“What about you? What about the, y’know… Cheetah?”

The Master nodded slowly, his eyes fluttering shut. Your hand had slowly crept from the back of his neck to the crown of his head, your fingertips petting at the Timelords hair.

“The Cheetah planet has made its mark, and I believe it shall never leave me. Our visit today seems to have empowered it.”

“So... you’re going to start changing?” You asked, rather apprehensively. The Master turned to your face with a half smile.

“The planet is gone, my love. The Cheetah’s taken with it. No trace of the power that once was can ever ascend to that form again. What is left within those who still hold its touch can only be empowered.”

Ah. So that was why the Master had become so… purry. He was more like the Kittlings, than the Cheetah. The feline instinct within him had been amplified by the energy, sparked to life.

“Are you still intending to perform your ritual tomorrow?”

That was the whole reason you’d visited. You’d been telling the Master for weeks about the planetary position you’d been researching- how the specific layout of orbits on Samhain was a powder keg for manifestation. You’d anticipated his hand waving away your superstitious work, brushing off your witchcraft as a foolish human dream- instead he’d taken you to strengthen your power. To aid your craft. As a Samhain gift to his sorceress.

“I’d be delighted for you to join me, Master.”

Your hand had shifted to softly scratch under his chin, nails gently catching at his beard. The Master leant into the touch, his involuntary purr growing stronger. He hadn’t reacted to the sound. Perhaps he’d grown to accept it. You certainly had.

“After all, every witch needs a feline familiar.”

You hummed out a small laugh, inching closer and closer to the Master's chest. There was no gap between you, the Master's fingertips running up your arms and tickling down your spine. You caught his chin between your finger and thumb, his lips parting to bare his fangs. They’d become more prominent, sitting upon his bottom lip. To others, he may have looked like a vampire. Black velvet, flowing cape, pearly fangs within his smile. But this was your Master, a maniac after your own heart, a villain with a you shaped space within his chest.

“And you black cats are oh so lucky.”

“Don’t forget your place, my sweet.” He whispered, tone low and shiver inducing. You nodded, nose brushing against his own, your lips centimetres apart.

“Tomorrow may be yours, but I am still your Master.”

“Always.” You replied, teasing the Timelord with a small peck to the side of his lips.

“You are the Master, and I shall obey you.”

A grin cracked itself onto your lips, your skin alive with newfound power. The Master growled warningly. A soft moan escaped your mouth at the sound.

“I do hope you aren’t intending to undermine your obedience with petty mockery. I would hate to have to punish you before your big day.”

“Never, Master. It’s simply a little Halloween trick. To repay you for my Samhain treat.”

The Master raised an eyebrow, watching you closely. You met his gaze with earnest, lips instinctively parting.

“You will always be my Master.”

“My good little witch.” He smiled, the devil on his lips. You leant forwards, lips connecting with his own as the gap between your existences closed shut. The Master took control, hands holding you within his infernal grasp. If witches were destined to hell, you could only pray the devil had other plans in mind for you. The Master, both familiar and figurehead, would never release his hold upon his most adored companion.

“Mine.” He purred against your lips, the Cheetah planet burning hot within him.

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