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lushrue · 1 month ago

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dinner party (nsfw)

ghoap x fem!reader

cw: oral (m and f receiving), dubcon (sort of?), voyeurism, dom ghost

it was supposed to be a normal dinner party.

by all accounts, it had been up to this point. it wasn’t unusual for your husband to invite the men he worked with over for dinner, especially johnny. the man lives alone, he’d said, least I can do is give ‘em a nice home-cooked meal every once in a while. you always pulled out the stops, cooking something bordering on gourmet that the mess halls couldn’t even hope to replicate. tonight, it had been grilled salmon with wild rice and roasted asparagus.

conversation over dinner was normal, aided by the wine and whiskey loosening everyone’s lips. you’re far more sociable than simon is, but that doesn't take much, so the alcohol kept the words flowing freely. it wasn’t until after dinner that things started to shift.

the three of you settled in the living room with your respective spirits, wrapping up the night with friendly conversation over light dessert. you moved to your usual spot in the armchair beside the bookshelf, but the sound of simon clicking his tongue at you stopped you in your tracks. he was sat in his own chair nearest the sofa, legs spread like a king on his throne. you couldn’t quite keep your eyes from wandering, admiring the way his jeans clung to his thighs. he met your gaze, the corner of his lips quirked up in a mischievous smirk. he patted his thigh and you felt embarrassment burn your cheeks.

you glanced over to johnny, as if to remind simon that you had company, but he didn’t seem to care. his dark eyes stayed fixed on you, silence falling over the room as johnny’s gaze followed his lieutenant’s. simon cocked his head, a gesture that you recognized as obey or else. you didn’t feel like testing the waters tonight, so you padded over to him, perching yourself on his thigh.

your husband’s arm snaked around your waist as you swirled your wine in your glass, staring at the whirlpool it created to distract you from the way johnny was eyeing you. simon had pulled you onto his lap for a reason, and part of you wondered if it wasn’t entirely selfish motivation that had you positioned here. simon’s hand stroked over the crushed velvet of the dress he’d insisted you wear, sliding down to grip your ass occasionally when you got too fidgety.

conversation gradually turned to their work, so you tuned them out. it wasn’t that you weren’t interested; most of it just flew over your head. it gave you time to focus on the way your husband was feeling you up. his hand never stayed in one place too long, sliding from your shoulder to your spine to the nape of your neck and down. it made shivers run down your spine, goosebumps rising on your arms and legs the longer it continued. despite your squirming, you managed to stay ladylike, a metaphorical aspirin between your knees as the two men talked.

“so, how’s y’r sex life?” simon asked, which snapped you back to attention. johnny seemed just as bewildered as you did at the question, his cheeks flushed scarlet beneath the stubble. you nudged simon’s shoulder, shaking your head at him. “simon, that’s not polite,” you said, but he didn’t pay you any mind. he was too busy watching johnny fluster and scramble to find his words. “l.t., I-” he started, but simon held up a hand to stop him. “nah, don’ play dumb with me, lad. heard ya jus’ the other day in the rec room. talkin’ about how ya haven’t had a good shag in months, somethin’ like tha’.”

you were just as embarrassed as johnny was now. you knew simon wasn’t the most tactful of men, but this was a whole other level. johnny stuttered around his words, trying to find some kind of reply that was appropriate for the situation. nothing would be appropriate for this situation, you thought. simon just chuckled, his hand rubbing the plush cheek of your ass. “look how flustered ‘e is, lovie,” he said to you, finally giving you his full attention. “poor man, doesn’ have a good bird like I do. no one to cook ‘im a nice dinner and keep ‘is cock wet.”

as flustered as you were, the words sent a jolt straight to your core. taking care of your husband was a sense of pride for you. you got a primal satisfaction out of sinking to your knees and sucking him dry after he’d had a hard day. it meant the world to you when his shoulders sagged and released the burden that he’d been carrying, all at your hands. you shifted on his lap, pressing your thighs together to get some relieving friction.

simon looked back at johnny, who seemed just as affected. he had his hands clasped over his lap, his gaze cast down at the throw rug like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. “ya wanna know wha’ it’s like, sergeant?” simon asked, his voice dropping into a register only you got to hear. “wanna feel my sweet, pretty dove wrapped aroun’ ya?” johnny jolted like he’d been shocked with a prod, wide blue eyes looking up at his commanding officer. there was bewilderment there, you noticed. clearly, he hadn’t been expecting this. but behind the surprise, there was something more carnal. he looked hungry, like a mutt begging for scraps from the table.

your husband placed a firm hand on your back, taking the wine glass from your hands and coaxing you to stand. “g’won, lovie. on your knees for our bashful lad, hmm?” simon’s choice of words struck you. our. this was for both of you, not just simon. the two of you had discussed the idea of a threesome once, but it felt like a pipe dream then. you’d expressed interest, never really expecting simon to share but confessing your fantasy all the same. and now, here it was. Happening.

you did as you were told, kneeling in front of the sofa where johnny was. from this angle, you could see how harshly his chest was rising and falling, his breath quick and uncertain. it brought you a strange sense of satisfaction that you could fluster a special ops soldier so easily. you sat there expectantly, but johnny didn’t move. he just stared at you, almost the same way he’d stared at his dinner plate before digging in. his eyes traced the contours of your body, over your shoulders and down to your full chest, over your breasts and down to the plush of your stomach and thighs where they pressed against your dress.

“starin’ won’ make ‘er cum, johnny,” simon quipped. you drew in a sharp breath, glancing back over your shoulder at your husband. he clicked his tongue again, motioning back towards johnny. “ah-ah, keep your eyes on ‘im, precious. he needs y’r attention more’n I do.” you looked back up at johnny dutifully, your lips parting slightly as you waited for him to do something, anything. the fabric of the rug was biting into your knees, making you a tad uncomfortable. “she’s yer wife, simon, I cannae jus’-” “you can an’ you will,” simon interrupted. “the only way she gets any pleasure tonigh’ is by your hand, an’ I don’t let my wife go to bed unsatisfied.” you let out a whine at that, the stakes so much higher now that you knew the terms. johnny just had to touch you.

“steamin’ jesus,” the Scot cursed under his breath, your whine sending a spark of pleasure between his legs. he’d never heard a woman make that sound before, especially not at the prospect of being pleased by him. “i can touch ‘er?” he asked, but he didn’t look at simon for an answer. his stare was more intense, sizing you up, deciding which piece of you would be most juicy to sink his teeth into. simon hummed in amusement. “unless y’r bloody telekinetic, s’pose ya have to, don’ ya?” simon responded, shifting in his chair. you heard the zipper of his jeans go down and it was almost painful that you couldn’t look at him.

johnny reached forward, taking your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he stroked his thumb along your jaw, shuddering on his exhale. “y’r so soft,” he breathed out, marvelling at the beauty of you on your knees. you lean your head into his touch, following the pulls and pushes of his hand as he inspects you. “such a bonnie bird,” he cooed, spreading his legs and pulling you in closer to him. you shuffle forward, settling yourself more squarely between his knees.

“simon says ya suck cock like a dream. is he righ’?” johnny asked. you nod, leaning forward to mouth at his crotch through his jeans. you could feel how hard he was already from barely having touched you. instead of focusing on the fact that simon was going around blabbing about your blowjob skills, you chose to take in as much of johnny’s musk as you could through his pants. you couldn’t quite smell him, but there was the barest hint of his body wash peeking through.

simon had started stroking himself to the sight of both of you, the wet shlick reaching your ears and emboldening you. knowing that your husband was enjoying this ignited a fire that started in your core and spread through your veins. johnny got the same motivation, locking eyes with simon for only a moment before shoving his jeans and boxers down. you gasp at the suddenness of it, placing your hands on his bare thighs to steady yourself. before you can fully get your bearings, johnny grabs the back of your head and shoves you down.

he’s not as long as simon, but he’s certainly thicker. he fills your mouth almost instantly, your cheeks aching a little with the stretch. you and johnny moan in unison, your eyes fluttering shut as johnny’s hand balls up in your hair. simon chuckles behind you, his hand tightening around himself. “tha’s it, lad. fuck ‘er mouth good, she likes it a bit rough.”

johnny’s hips start thrusting, the ruddy tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. tears bead up in the corners of your eyes, whimpers and moans giving johnny some vibration as he fucks your throat. you applauded yourself for the decision not to wear mascara; cleaning the tears and spit from your face would be difficult enough. saliva dribbled down johnny’s length, wetting your lips as you hollowed your cheeks. the salt of him coated your tongue, precum leaking down your throat. above you, johnny was grunting and groaning like a rutting bull, thrusting into your mouth with abandon. “how’s my girl feel, johnny?” simon asked, his voice sounding strained. hearing just how affected they both were had your pussy dripping with arousal. “fuck, si, she’s…ah, so warm. fuckin’ milkin’ me.”

your tongue traced the protruding vein on the underside of johnny’s cock, delighting in the shudder you earned from him. it didn’t take long after that for him to finish down your throat. you swallowed every drop, taking in everything he offered. he was more bitter than simon, but you enjoyed it all the same. you pulled your mouth off of johnny’s cock with a wet pop, peeking up at him with heavy lidded eyes. the man you saw was not the man who’d sat across from you at dinner. he looked downright feral, grabbing you like a man possessed. he pulled you up from the floor, laying you out on the sofa and tugging your underwear down.

before johnny tossed them away, he held them to his nose, drinking in the smell of you. he groaned, balling the fabric up in his fists. “y’r bird smells like heav’n, l.t.,” he rasped, dropping the panties and fixing his wild gaze back on you. “bet she tastes even better.” without any further warning, he dipped his head between your thighs, thick tongue lapping up the moisture from your cunt. you squealed in surprise, throwing your head back against the cushions. simon bit back a curse behind his hand, watching his best friend devour his wife like his last meal. the mere thought was enough to make him spill all over his hand and stomach, his release silent so as not to distract johnny.

you didn’t think anything could. your thighs clamped around his head to keep him in place, but it was hardly necessary. even the rapture couldn’t pull him away from your pussy and the nectar that dripped from it. as much as you enjoyed the feeling, johnny wasn’t as coordinated as simon was. his tongue was wild, moving for his pleasure rather than yours.

you twitched and moaned when he would happen to graze your clit, hoping that he’d get the hint, but he never did. there was no technique, no purpose. johnny came up for air, hazy eyes meeting yours. he was pussy-drunk, your juices shining on his lips and chin. he nosed at the inside of your plush thigh, sinking his teeth into the fat there. it stung and your back arched, reaching down to push his head away. the sting wasn’t pleasurable, not compared to his tongue against your cunt.

the moment simon caught the resistance from you, he was on his feet, yanking johnny back by his mohawk. the Scot gasped, back arching as simon held his hair tight in his fist. “easy, mutt,” simon growled in johnny’s ear, pushing his head down to look at you. “tha’s my girl, and y’r gonna treat ‘er with the respect she deserves. not some blushin’ virgin tha’s never had a woman, are ya?” johnny huffed, taking the question as an insult to his manhood. “‘course not,” he said, voice tense and strained. simon shook johnny’s head, then released his hair. “didn’ think so. remember y’r place, treat ‘er right.”

the scolding from simon had leveled johnny, forced him to slow down and think with his brain and not his cock. you twitched and whined as he paid more attention to your aching clit, swollen and puffy with desire. your hips bucked against your will, pressing against johnny’s tongue harder.

finally, his tongue pushed inside you, caressing your walls. you clenched around him, tension building in your lower stomach. “don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop!” you begged, chest heaving. simon appeared at your side, stroking your hair. his gaze was soft, admiring, a welcome contrast to johnny’s. “cum on his tongue, love. he’s been waitin’ for it, not gonna stop ‘til he gets it.” those words were all it took to push you over the edge, shuddering and whining as johnny licked you through your orgasm.

you felt floaty after, the pleasure of having your husband’s best friend eat you out while your husband watched going straight to your head. there were cooed praises and kisses to your cheeks, but you weren’t entirely sure who they came from. hushed words were exchanged at your feet, then johnny was zipping himself up and kissing you goodbye. simon wrapped you in your favorite fuzzy blanket, the gentle sway of his gait soothing you as he carried you to the bedroom. once he’d laid you on the bed, he started to leave, but your soft hum and hand on his arm stopped him. “si? can we do that again?” you asked, voice soft and wrecked.

simon just chuckled, brushing your hair away from your face. “don’ you worry, lovie. he’s comin’ back for dinner next week.”

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anakinca · 11 days ago

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CLAYTON BERESFORD sitting in Victoria secret changing room, watching us put a lingerie on we chose (but he's not looking with lust but more in admiration and true, pure love cus I'm tired of ppl chosing lust over pure feelings) and helps us with the corset and he's just can't help himself and kisses our exposed back and shoulder :((((

—❝endlessly tender❞

clayton beresford x reader

tw ; nothing, just pure fluff

a/n ; kay so bunny i was literally prancing around my room when i got this cause my LORD it lowkey saved me from my horrible writers block 😭😭 BUT YAH I HAD A LOT OF FUN MAKING THIS SOOOO ENJOY, ANGELS <33

THE LIGHTING IN THE VICTORIA’S SECRET CHANGING ROOM WAS SOFT AND WARM. It casted a gentle glow over the blush-pink walls and mirrored surfaces. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and roses, and the world outside the door seemed to blur into insignificance.

Clayton sat on the plush velvet sofa in the corner of the small room, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his posture relaxed but his gaze attentive. He—being the businessman he is—negotiated with the saleslady at the front desk to let you two have the changing room to yourselves for only an hour.

You stood in front of the mirror, smoothing out the delicate fabric of the lingerie set you’d chosen. The soft lace hugged your body, the light catching on the intricate patterns as you turned slightly to examine yourself. Behind you, Clayton sat quietly, his hands resting in his lap, his head tilted ever so slightly as he watched you.

But it wasn’t a watchful gaze born of lust or desire—it was something far deeper, far gentler. His blue eyes glimmered with admiration, and the faintest of smiles tugged at his lips as if he were seeing a masterpiece come to life.

“Clay,” you murmured a little teasingly, turning to look at him over your shoulder, your cheeks warming under the weight of his soft, unwavering gaze. “You’re staring.” You giggled, your lips curving up.

“I know,” he replied simply, his voice low and warm, like a comforting embrace. “I can’t help it. You’re…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly as if searching for the right words. “You’re breathtaking.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, though your heart bloomed at his words. “It’s just a corset. Nothing groundbreaking.”

“Not to me,” he said softly, standing up and stepping toward you. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every second.

You turned back toward the mirror, tugging at one of the laces of the corset, but your fingers fumbled. Before you could try again, you felt his hands gently brush yours aside. “Let me,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

His fingers worked carefully, tugging the ribbons into place and fastening them with precision, his touch warm and steady against your skin. The moment felt so intimate, so tender, that you barely dared to breathe. His presence was grounding, his every move filled with a quiet reverence that made you feel cherished in a way words could never express.

When he finished, his hands lingered for a moment, his fingertips brushing lightly over the exposed skin of your back. You looked up at him through the mirror, your gaze meeting his, and the softness in his eyes made your heart ache.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He then leaned down, pressing a featherlight kiss to your bare shoulder. The warmth of his lips sent a shiver down your spine, and when he shifted slightly to kiss the curve of your back, your breath hitched. There was nothing urgent about his actions—just love, unfiltered and pure, poured into every soft touch and lingering glance.

You turned around to face him, and his hands instinctively rested on your waist. “Clay,” you whispered, your voice trembling just enough to betray how deeply he’d affected you.

He smiled, that soft, boyish smile that never failed to make your heart flutter. “I’m sorry,” he said, though there wasn’t an ounce of regret in his tone. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Your hands found their way to his face, your fingers brushing against his jawline as you looked up at him. “Don’t apologize,” you said, your voice just as soft. “I love you for it.”

His eyes softened further, and for a moment, he just looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world worth looking at. Then, slowly, he leaned down and rested his forehead against yours, his arms wrapping around you as though he wanted to shield you from the world.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

The words settled between you, warm and gentle, and you smiled, your heart so full it felt like it might burst. “And you’re everything to me, Clayton.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading into irrelevance. The lace and silk, the blush-pink walls, even the mirrored reflections—all of it was secondary to the warmth and love that radiated between you.

In his arms, you felt beautiful, adored, and utterly safe. In that quiet little room, under the soft glow of the lights, you knew without a doubt that this kind of love—pure, unwavering, and endlessly tender—was the rarest and most precious thing in the galaxy.

And as his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer once more, you realized there was nowhere else in the universe you’d rather be.

@thesassypadawan @anakinstwinklebunny @sydkneez @dessxoxsworld @nikiloveshayden @sweetcheesecakesblog

let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the tag list, angels <3

#anakinca #angelreqs #clayton beresford #hayden christensen #clay beresford imagines #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen imagines #clay beresford x reader #clay beresford x you #clay beresford #awake 2007 #anakin x reader #james kelly

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tteotlma · 5 months ago

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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 · 7 months ago

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ `"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!

#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 · 11 months ago

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

________________________________

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!

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sirenpearldust · 2 months ago

Text

Cherry

Pair: Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 2.443

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bartender acknowledged the request with a subtle nod.

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

It was like she had enchanted him.

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

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

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

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

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

Her anonymity was intoxicating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes smiled at him, teasing and knowing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

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

The question had been nagging at him for a while.

“Work and University,” she replied simply.

“You know I can take care of you.”

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

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

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

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

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

Her silence spoke volumes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes held his, steady and resolute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing.

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

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

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

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

“Do you hate me, or is it just this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Satoru,” she whispered, leaning forward while.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you to stop.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kissing his head she also closed her eyes.

Main Taglist: @bubybubsters @lilah-asteria

#gojo satoru #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk gojo #gojo saturo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x y/n

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liittleemiixeer · 4 months ago

Text

Echoes in a silent heart

summary: The squad planned an improvised get-together at dinner time to unwind after a hard day of patrolling Rotkov. However, neither the angel nor the cryptographer cared much about it.

fandom: heaven's secret requiem (romance club)

pairing: cain x lane

word count: 1,657

rating: general

prompt: eyes lock from across the room

trigger warnings: none

tagging: @romanceclubprompts, @rc-catalog

this is not my first time writing fics, but it is my first rc fic and the first time posting on tumblr, so go easy on me please hehe :) this is my sumbission for the 2024 flufftober prompt event. hope you like it, mwah!

The Romanov estate's living room was cloaked in the warm glow of the fire, casting shadows that flickered across the room’s opulent furniture. The squad, scattered across the room, had made themselves comfortable. Greg sat on the floor with his back against a velvet armchair, cracking jokes that sent ripples of laughter through the room. Anna, resting on one of the plush sofas, rolled her eyes but laughed despite herself. Beside her, Kira smirked and added her own witty remarks, which only led to more good-natured bickering between the two women, their voices rising just above the crackling of the fire.

Noah groaned from his spot on the floor in front of the fireplace to keep warm, complaining about something—the cold, the food, the endless waiting in this godforsaken city, it hardly mattered. His complaints were constant background noise, drowned out by Nick and Lester’s easy-going banter as they tossed small pieces of bread at each other across the coffee table. The two of them were relaxed, enjoying the brief reprieve, and engaging in their usual antics with grins plastered on their faces.

Dmitry, on the other hand, was standing by the kitchen’s door away from the group, but watching over them. As always, his expression as serious and unreadable as ever. He didn’t partake in the laughter, nor did he seem to mind it. The General’s focus was inward, as though even in this brief moment of peace, his mind was still deep in the day's events.

Anhea and Pileon, standing at opposite sides of the fireplace, both carried an air of detachment, their celestial forms making them stand out from the others. Yet, every so often, they would glance at the humans, as though amused by their behaviour. Anhea would occasionally offer a small, knowing smile, while Pileon, though darker in presence, seemed more entertained than anything else.

But none of that registered for Lane. None of the banter, the teasing, or the complaints could cut through the fog that had settled over her. She felt removed from it all, like she was observing through a thick pane of glass. Lane sat on the corner of one of the couches, her legs pulled up close to her chest and a soft blanket covered her back and arms. In front of her, the remnants of military prepackaged meals lay scattered across the coffee table, untouched, much like Cain’s. Their squadmates had served rations for everybody, just in case, but he was across the room, standing near one of the tall windows. His eyes were cast downward watching the snowy view outside, as if nothing here truly interested him. The others continued eating their rations or whatever they could scavenge from the canteen, their muted conversation blending into the background.

She hadn’t meant to look at him, but her gaze found him like it always did, as though pulled by an unseen force. The firelight played tricks with the shadows, outlining his features with an ethereal glow. His skin seemed to catch the light in a way no one else’s did, a reminder that he didn’t belong in the same world as the rest of them. She watched him silently, her eyes tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the serene expression that seemed untouched by any human emotion. He stood still, almost unnaturally so, statuesque even, completely removed from the casual chaos around him. There was something in the way he carried himself tonight that was different. He wasn’t just watching them or the street outside. He was waiting, his stillness full of a quiet tension that only Lane seemed to notice.

And then, without warning, his head lifted.

She couldn’t understand what was happening inside her. Was this what it felt like to feel again? Her fingers twitched, her body longing for movement, for some kind of contact. But, before she knew it, Cain was no longer standing across the room. Silently, smoothly, he approached her, his presence commanding but without breaking the gaze. He moved closer, and the world shrank even further. Cain’s form, so tall and imposing, came to rest beside her as he sat on the armrest of the couch she was sitting in, his body close—closer than he had ever been that day. Lane barely breathed.

Their eyes locked, and the world seemed to pause. The chatter, the laughter, the crackling fire—all of it dulled into the background. There was only Cain and Lane, Lane and Cain. Her breath caught in her throat, and her hands fisted the blanket from the accumulated pressure. His eyes were piercing, glowing faintly in the dim light, and in that moment, she could see the depth of his age, the ancient knowledge hidden beneath his perfect exterior. Yet, there was something more—something she couldn’t quite place. Cain’s eyes held hers unapologetically, and it felt like the world narrowed to the space between them. She could hear her heart drumming in her ears, becoming louder by the moment, as if it was trying to make up for all the times she hadn’t felt anything at all.

She slowly leaned forward, not fully realising she was doing it, craning her neck slightly to tilt her head upward. She studied him closely—the way one of his hands hung gracefully as he rested his elbow on the back of the sofa, fingers relaxed. The other lay elegantly on his knee. The members of the squad might not have noticed it, but Lane did. His presence, despite its quietness, held an intensity that was almost magnetic. She could feel it, making her crave to be near him every passing day.

Her hand moved before her mind could catch up. Just the smallest shift, her fingers extending out, brushing ever so slightly against the cushion of the sofa beside her, as if seeking some point of contact with the reality he represented. She didn’t touch him—not quite—but her hand gently caressed the upholstery just on the spot where his hand dangled prettily. The space between them was just a breath’s width, but it was charged with an electricity she hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. She wanted to provoke him, dare him to react. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, though—a sign, a flicker of humanity, something that would make her feel connected to him. Yet Cain, for all his angelic calm, wasn’t human, just as she no longer felt as attuned to her own humanity anymore. But maybe, in each other, they could find some common ground; feed off each other to feel complete.

Cain’s gaze flicked down, noticing the motion. His expression didn’t change, but there was the slightest hint of awareness, a spark of recognition behind those icy eyes. He didn’t move, but the air between them seemed to hum, as if time had slowed just for this single, fragile moment. Cain’s gaze focused on her hand for the briefest moment before lifting it back to hers. His face remained impassive, but Lane swore she saw something akin to curiosity, or perhaps caution, confusion even. It was as if he was waiting for her to continue, testing her, just as she was testing him.

And then, it was gone.

Lane’s skin tingled, her senses heightened, every inch of her aware of the space between them. She was suddenly desperate to know what he was thinking, to know if he felt anything in that second of almost-touch. Goosebumps rose all over her arm, surprising her. She observed her skin, how those tiny bumps formed due to the pleasure of being close to the angel, causing her mouth to part in awe. She recognized the reaction, memories of her past flashed in her mind, but experiencing it again after everything she endured was different. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, but her body felt alive, more alive than it had in weeks, months, maybe years.

With every fleeting second, she became more aware of the squad’s voices filling the room again, and the mood returned to its lighthearted warmth. But for Lane, everything felt different, as it always did after every interaction with Cain. Something had shifted, and she wasn’t sure if it was inside her or if it was something between her and the angel. He wasted no time in walking away and leaving the chaotic dinner in the living room, but not before looking at her one last time. His steps didn’t falter as he retreated across the room, taking up the stairs where the shadows swallowed him almost completely. But like all the other times, Cain had pulled away again, and she was left with the uncertainty of a what-could-have-been.

While Lane was processing her own reaction, Cain’s eyes broke away, his attention turning back to the room. A sudden burst of laughter from Greg broke the spell, but Lane barely noticed it. Her heart still raced in her chest, her body reacting to a feeling of anticipation her mind couldn’t fully grasp. Suddenly, the sounds of the squadmates’ chatter returned to their original state, startling her out of her trance. The fire crackled once more as she looked around the room to reconnect with her surroundings again, the atmosphere of that moment evaporating and leaving Lane with a hollow ache she couldn’t explain. Cain took advantage of her distracted state and moved away, standing by the staircase, his arms crossed over his chest, and his wings spread slightly over him. Seeing the action, Lane’s hand dropped back to her lap, the moment slipping away as quickly as it had come, yet her body still hummed with the aftershock of the near-contact. Why did her body betray her whenever she was near him? It felt as if it was already accustomed to him.

Either way, she knew one thing: that brief, almost imperceptible moment of connection was enough to stir something deep within her. Something she hadn’t felt in far too long, that lay dormant, waiting for the opportunity to awake.

fin.

#romance club #rc #rc lane #rc hsr #heaven's secret requiem #rc cain #rc heaven's secret requiem #cainlane #cain x lane #hsr fanfic #rc fanfic #rcprompts #flufftober 2024

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lysenfeu · 5 months ago

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)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(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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cup1d-ends-here · 2 months ago

Text

Nights Like This | Archer x Reader

Author Note: It has come to my attention that there is a lack of Archer love from Fate Stay/Night: Unlimited Blade Works. Imma fix that, please enjoy😙

Summary: Your childhood friend Rin Tohsaka had decided to stay the night at Shirou's again, leaving you and her servant, Archer, alone.

Genre: Smut, fluff, slight angst (playful)

Word Count: 6.1k

The Tohsaka mansion stood silent under the star-drenched summer sky, its silhouette etched in sharp contrast against the pale glow of the crescent moon. The cicadas' rhythmic hum filled the air, blending with the occasional rustle of leaves in the warm, restless breeze.

You sat cross-legged on a plush velvet sofa in the study, the mansion's only occupant tonight. The antique clock on the mantle ticked in deliberate defiance of time's passage, the sound growing louder as the night deepened. You weren’t expecting any disturbances tonight—until the faintest knock echoed through the air, reverberating down the empty hallways like a whispered dare. Your eyes flicked up from your book to meet a tall figure leaning against the door frame—arms crossed.

'Hello, Archer,' you say closing the book and placing it on the mahogany desk. 'I thought you and Rin were on another midnight escapade.' The archer servant scoffed.

'No. I'm on babysitting duty tonight while Rin frolics around with her boy toy.' The corner of your mouth twitched in amusement as you leaned back into the sofa, crossing your arms to mirror his stance.

'Babysitting? I didn’t realise I needed a chaperone.' Archer rolled his eyes, his grey gaze scanning the room with practised indifference. 'Hardly. I'm here to ensure this oversized house doesn't burn down while you're... distracted.' His tone dripped with sarcasm, though there was a flicker of genuine concern buried beneath the layers of his usual aloofness.

'How thoughtful of you,' you replied, your voice laced with mock sincerity. 'But I can manage a quiet night of solitude without burning anything down.' He pushed off the doorframe and strode further into the study, his footsteps silent against the plush red carpet.

'Solitude, maybe. Quiet? That depends. You’re alone in this place, and it’s summer at a time when all manner of creatures crawl out of the shadows. Let’s just say I’ve seen enough to know better than to leave you to your own devices.' You tilted your head, studying his expression. Despite his words, Archer’s eyes carried that familiar glint of challenge, as though daring you to refute him.

'Is that your roundabout way of saying you're bored and decided to crash here?" you teased, gesturing for him to take the seat opposite you. Archer hesitated, as though debating whether to dignify your remark with a response. Finally, he sighed and settled into the high-backed chair with the air of someone who owned the place.

'If I were bored, I’d at least have the decency to admit it. This,' he gestured vaguely to the room, 'is an obligation. And perhaps a touch of pity for you, sitting here with nothing but dusty books for company.' You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. "How considerate. Tell me, Archer, do you always treat your babysitting assignments with this much charm?"

'Only when they’re particularly helpless,' he shot back, his smirk deepening. The banter filled the room like a spark lighting a dim flame, warming the solitude you’d expected to endure tonight. Archer, for all his exasperating wit, had a way of making even the quietest summer nights feel alive with unspoken possibilities.

'I may not be a mage but I most certainly can handle myself.' I puffed out my chest and the grey-haired man scoffed. Archer leaned back in the chair, arms draped over the armrests with the kind of arrogance only he could pull off.

'Oh, really?' he drawled, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. 'Because sitting here surrounded by dusty tomes screams 'capable.' Should I fetch you a sword, or will you fend off intruders with your wit?' You shot him a glare, determined not to rise to his bait.

'I don’t need a sword or magic to defend myself,' you retorted, puffing your chest out just a little more for effect. 'I’m perfectly capable of handling whatever comes my way, thank you very much.' His scoff was almost theatrical.

'I’m sure. Let me guess—you’ll bore your enemies into submission with that speech of yours?' You picked up the nearest object, the leather-bound book from the mahogany desk, and aimed it at him without a second thought. It sailed across the room, but in a blur of motion, Archer caught it mid-air with a single hand.

'Nice try,' he said, smirking as he turned the book over, inspecting its cover. 'At least you’re resourceful. I’ll give you that much.' You crossed your arms, annoyed but secretly impressed by his reflexes.

'See? That’s proof enough I’m not entirely defenceless.' Archer leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and regarding you with a raised brow.

'Let me paint a picture for you. A servant breaks through the barrier outside; storms the mansion, and launches a weapon at you. What’s your move?'

'I…' You faltered for a split second but quickly recovered. 'I’d dodge, obviously.'

'And then what? Throw another book at them?'

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you stared at him. His smirk widened as he leaned back, clearly enjoying himself.

'You’re insufferable, you know that?'

'Perhaps,' he said, tossing the book back to you with surprising accuracy. 'But if I’m insufferable, you’re predictable. That’s why I’m here—to make sure no one takes advantage of your charming overconfidence while Rin’s away.'

You clutched the book, your grip tightening as you fought back a retort. Archer wasn’t wrong—not entirely, anyway—but there was no way you were going to admit it.

'Fine,' you said after a long pause, 'but only because I can tolerate the company.'

He smirked again, his crimson eyes softening ever so slightly. 'Glad to be of service.' Suddenly, Archer's face dropped and he groaned.

'What's wrong?' You tilt your head, your earrings tapping underneath your ears at the motion.

'Rin has requested I pack her an overnight bag and bring it to Shiro's residence...she forgot to bring anything to change in.' He sighed and rubbed his temple. He gets up off the sofa and heads into Rin's room, you trail after him. You lean in the door frame watching him hold a bag and search in her draws. An amused smile graces your lips as he opens her undergarment draw. Archer froze for a fraction of a second, his fingers hovering over the edge of Rin's neatly arranged undergarments. His eyes darted toward you, narrowing slightly as he caught sight of your amused expression.

'Don’t even start,' he said flatly, his voice carrying a warning edge that only made your grin widen.

'I wasn’t going to say anything,' you replied, feigning innocence as you leaned casually against the doorframe. 'Though, I didn’t peg you as the type to rifle through a lady’s… unmentionables.' Archer sighed, muttering something under his breath about how this wasn’t part of his job description. He pinched the bridge of his nose before grabbing what looked like a plain, practical set and tossing it into the bag with the precision of someone trying to pretend this was all very routine.

'Careful,' you teased, folding your arms. 'Wouldn’t want to pick the wrong ones. Rin might get upset.'

He shot you a look, his smirk returning. 'And here I thought you’d appreciate the effort I’m putting into this ‘babysitting’ duty.'

'Oh, I do,' you quipped, watching as he moved on to the wardrobe to pull out pyjamas and her usual clothing. 'In fact, I think Rin owes you big time for this. Maybe you should negotiate a better contract next time.'

'Noted,' Archer replied dryly, stuffing the rest of the items into the bag. He slung it over his shoulder with a practised ease and turned toward you. 'Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to play errand boy for the evening.'

You couldn’t resist one last jab. 'Well, don’t let Shirou catch you snooping in Rin’s drawers, or he might challenge you to a duel or something.'

Archer rolled his eyes but couldn’t entirely suppress the twitch of a smirk. 'I’ll keep that in mind. Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone, will you?'

With that, he disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone once more in the grand, silent mansion. The cicadas’ hum resumed as the door clicked shut.

The hours passed in a quiet haze, the ticking of the antique clock growing more pronounced in the stillness of the house. You were half lost in your own thoughts when the familiar sound of Archer materialising into the study. You glanced up from your book, meeting his tired gaze.

'Back already?' you asked, a teasing edge to your voice. Archer grunted in response, rubbing his temple as if the night had aged him by a few decades.

'Yes, unfortunately.' His tone was drained of the usual snark, but there was still a faint edge of humour lurking beneath the exhaustion. You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.

'What happened? Did Shirou decide to make it a challenge?'

'Hardly.' Archer dropped into the chair across from you, slumping with a sigh. You sat in silence for a moment, watching Archer’s weary expression soften as he let the weight of the night settle over him. It was rare to see him this worn out, and though you enjoyed the banter, it was clear he wasn’t quite himself. You had changed into your pyjamas; soft silk pink shorts and a baby pink cotton tank top with a little bow adorning the centre of the neckline lined with white lace.

'Hey, Archer, can I ask you something?' You closed your book and shifted your body to face him. Archer opens one eye to look at you.

'What?' He gruffs and you look down at the coushins of the sofa, avoiding eye contact.

'Do...Do servants have the same desires as humans?' You asked, a vague question indeed. He opened both his eyes and looked at you.

'You'll have to be more specific,' he hums.

'Do you...do you feel, you know, attraction?' The air between you grew still, the hum of the night outside suddenly distant. Archer’s gaze was sharp, probing, as though he hadn’t quite expected that question. For a moment, his usual confidence faltered, replaced with something unreadable in his eyes. You shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, your fingers nervously tracing the lace trim of your top. The question had slipped out before you could stop it, and now, you regretted the awkwardness that settled between you. Archer sat up a little straighter, his usual teasing smirk absent for once. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, as if weighing his words.

'You’re asking if I can feel... desire, like a human,' he said, slowly and deliberately, as if testing the very idea. 'I suppose that depends on what you mean by 'feel.' As a servant, I don't experience the same emotions that humans do. At least, not in the way you might expect.' You frowned, confused by his answer.

'So, it’s... a no, then?'

'Not exactly.' Archer’s voice softened, a flicker of something deeper in his tone. 'It's not that I can't experience attraction, but it’s more complicated. There’s a certain... detachment to my existence. Emotions, desires, they’re not something I chase, nor are they something I dwell on. I’m bound by a different purpose, one that doesn’t really leave room for things like 'falling in love.'' His words hung in the air, heavier than you anticipated. Despite his composed exterior, there was a subtle weariness to his voice, a touch of something unspoken beneath the surface.

'But you can still feel it, right?' you pressed, still unsure of where this conversation was going. 'It’s not completely gone, is it?'

Archer’s gaze softened, and for a brief moment, he almost looked... human. Not the servant or the hero or the idealised warrior, but just a man who had once known what it was like to live with those emotions. 'I suppose that’s a matter of perspective,' he said quietly, almost thoughtfully. 'Feelings can be buried, but they’re never completely gone. They just... change.' You swallowed, suddenly aware of how personal this conversation had become. The silence stretched between you both, the weight of his words sinking in.

'Do you regret it?' You asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. Archer's expression hardened slightly, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

'Regret is a human luxury,' he replied softly. 'I live with the consequences of my actions, but I don’t have the luxury of dwelling on what could have been.' You nodded slowly, understanding the hint of pain behind his words. For all his detached nature, there was still a part of him that had known love, desire, perhaps even loss. The silence between you both stretched on, neither of you quite knowing how to break it.

'Do you feel sexual desire?' You asked, inching closer to him. Archer’s eyes narrowed slightly as the directness of your question hit him. His posture stiffened, and for a moment, it was clear he wasn’t sure how to respond to such an inquiry. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the playful tension gone, replaced by something more serious.

'That's... a very blunt way to put it,' he muttered, his voice low, as if considering his answer carefully. 'But yes, I am capable of it. It's a part of being human... or at least, having been human at one point. But whether or not I feel it in the way you mean is another matter entirely.' You could tell by his tone that he was measuring his words, choosing carefully how to explain something so personal, yet so difficult to articulate. There was a certain distance to his words, as if trying to prevent the conversation from becoming too intimate.

'Why do you ask?' Archer's gaze flicked to you, his crimson eyes catching the soft light from the nearby lamp, assessing. 'Curiosity... or something more?' He leaned back in his chair slightly, waiting for your answer, as though he could sense the shift in the dynamic between you two.

'As a human, you are very pleasing to look at, your personality is insufferable- but I am a believer of speaking when something is on my mind,' your tone taking a sharp edge. Archer’s lips curled into a small, knowing smirk, though his eyes remained steady, unreadable.

'I can tell,' he replied, his voice laced with a hint of amusement despite the tension building between you. 'You’ve always been... direct.' You felt a flush of heat rise to your cheeks, a mix of irritation and something else—something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. His calm response only fueled the sharp edge in your tone as you leaned in just a little closer.

'I’m just being honest,' you continued, voice quieter now, more deliberate. 'You’re insufferable, but that doesn’t mean I can’t admit when someone has... certain qualities.' Archer studied you for a moment, his expression almost imperceptibly softening, though he didn’t break his usual guarded demeanor.

'And what qualities might those be?' he asked, his voice now more cautious as if sensing the deeper layers of the conversation beneath your words.

'Physical,' you said, eyes briefly flicking to him and then away. 'The way you carry yourself. The confidence, even when you’re being unbearable.' There was no denying the bluntness of your words, but at least now, you had his full attention. Archer’s gaze held steady, his lips twitching as if he were about to respond, but the words seemed to elude him. He glanced away for a moment, though you could see the subtle shift in his expression, as if trying to process what you had said.

'You’re strange,' he finally said, his voice quiet but with an edge of something else—something more complex than the usual teasing banter. 'But I suppose that’s part of what makes you... interesting.' You weren’t sure if he was mocking you or not, but you didn’t care. The conversation had gone further than you’d expected, and yet, there was a strange comfort in the rawness of it. Even if it left both of you standing on uncertain ground. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the tension lingering in the air, but unspoken understanding passing between you. Archer shifted slightly in his seat, his gaze locking with yours.

'So, you’re saying you like what you see?' he asked, the usual sarcasm in his voice now replaced with something less defensive. You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you simply met his gaze, your expression firm but unreadable. Finally, you gave a small shrug.

'Maybe,' you said softly. 'But that doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you.' Archer let out a short laugh, and for the first time in the conversation, there was a warmth to it.

'I wouldn’t expect anything less.' The air between you two shifted again, the conversation moving past its initial awkwardness, and you couldn’t help but wonder how far this unexpected honesty would take you. You inched closer to his spot on the sofa, sitting on your knees, his arm that was draped over the top of the sofa.

'It's just us here,' you whisper with a smirk on your glossed lips. Archer's gaze shifted slightly, his expression unreadable as you moved closer. The air around you both seemed to thicken, the quiet weight of the moment pressing in. His posture didn't shift, but there was a flicker of something—surprise, wariness, or maybe just the subtle awareness that this was a different side of you, one that had surfaced unexpectedly. You could feel the tension building as you leaned in a fraction more, the proximity making his usual nonchalance seem less certain. His eyes remained on you, though they seemed to be measuring the space between you, waiting for your next move.

'It's just us,' you repeated, your voice soft, almost taunting, as your lips curled into a playful, challenging smirk. The subtle hint of gloss on them caught the light, adding to the sharpness of your look. Archer let out a quiet breath, his gaze flicking to your lips before returning to your eyes.

'Careful,' he said, his tone still steady, but with the slightest edge of caution. 'You’re treading into dangerous territory.' You tilted your head, never breaking eye contact.

'Am I?' The question hung in the air, your confidence radiating. You could feel the shift in his demeanour, the tension between you both hanging on the cusp of something—unknown and maybe a little dangerous. Archer’s gaze softened slightly, though there was still a guardedness to it.

'You’re bold,' he said, his voice low. 'But you should know that doesn’t unnerve me.'

'You sure?' you whispered, inching even closer, your breath brushing against the skin of his neck. His jaw tightened, his hand subtly shifting from the back of the sofa to the seat, as if bracing himself for something—perhaps uncertain of whether to push back or lean into the moment.

'You’re playing with fire,' he murmured, though the words didn’t seem to carry their usual warning. You smiled, a faint challenge in your eyes.

'Maybe I like the heat.' For a long moment, neither of you moved, the unspoken tension building, as though both of you were testing the limits of this quiet standoff.

'But can you handle it?' Archer responds, his voice lowering an octive. The change in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, the deeper, more controlled tone carrying an intensity that felt all too close. Archer’s eyes locked onto yours, unwavering, and in that moment, the playful edge you’d been holding onto felt as fragile as glass. You could feel the air shift, the space between you narrowing with every breath. The challenge in his words wasn’t lost on you, but it only fueled the fire you’d already sparked.

'Maybe you should find out,' you replied, your voice equally low now, matching his tone. Your smirk remained, but there was a flicker of something more—something dangerous, something daring. You weren't sure what you were doing, but you were caught up in the pull of it. Archer’s gaze darkened, his jaw clenching as if he were trying to decide how far to let this go. The playful teasing, the edge of sarcasm—all of it slipped away, replaced by something more serious, more... intense. He leaned in slightly, close enough for you to feel the heat from his body. The electricity between you both buzzed, crackling with tension, leaving you caught between daring to test the limits and knowing exactly what it might cost. His presence, his confidence, wrapped around you like a challenge, and you knew in that moment that this was no longer just about words. It was something much more carnal. Archer’s hand moved faster than you anticipated, his fingers brushing against your arm with a surprising gentleness, despite the tension that thickened the air. The contact sent a ripple through you, the warmth of his skin against yours igniting something that was both familiar and unsettling. He didn’t break eye contact, his gaze steady and calculating, as if reading your every response. You hadn’t expected him to be the first to initiate, but the moment his fingers brushed your skin, something inside you shifted. His hand moved, slowly, deliberately, to rest on your waist, his thumb grazing the edge of your hip. The subtle touch was enough to make your breath hitch, a quiet pulse of heat spreading from where he touched you. His voice was low, almost a whisper as he spoke, his lips close to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

'Careful,' he murmured, but there was no longer a hint of warning in his voice, just a challenge, a promise of what might come next. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, the weight of the moment hanging between you. Archer’s hand was firm on your waist, but it was the look in his eyes that unsettled you—the intensity of it, like he was waiting for something, testing you, all while keeping himself in check. You could feel the tension in every breath you took, the space between words more powerful than anything spoken. And yet, his touch, though restrained, felt like a silent dare. You placed your hand on his toned chest, testing the waters. Archer’s breath caught slightly as your hand rested against his chest, the subtle pressure of your palm against his toned muscles sending a jolt through him. His body was still, but the pulse under your fingers was steady, like a quiet drumbeat—an unspoken challenge. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his chest rising and falling with each breath, the faintest shift in his posture signalling that he was fully aware of the moment. The distance between you two had all but vanished now, and there was an undeniable electricity crackling in the air. His eyes flicked to your hand for just a moment before locking back onto yours, his gaze intense, studying, searching for any hint of hesitation in you. His other hand lifted your chin to make eye contact with him.

'(Y/N). I'll show you fire.' With that, Archer's lips encapsulate yours in a hungry, carnal kiss. You moan gently as he grips you harder. He pulls you into his lap and you place both hands on his chest.

'Archer, please,' you sigh, gripping his black undershirt. His nose trails up and down your neck, peppering kisses along it, gently biting at the soft skin. Your hands slide down his toned body as they stop at his crotch, a hard mass forming underneath it. The grey-haired bowman chuckles at your desperation. He undoes his pants and you slide them down as you rid yourself of your shorts.

'My, in such a hurry.' He teases and you scoff.

'Shut up.' He chuckles and your face floods with red. His hands traces your body as they make their way to your needy pussy. He slids your laced panties to the side and dips his finger tips in the wetness. He chuckles again, 'needy already?' He teased. You blush again and bit your lip.

'Just get on with it, bowman,' you huffed. He places kisses along your neck as he guides your hips over his thick, long length.

'Are you ready, girl?' He hums in your ear and you nod desperately. He pushes your hips down gently, as the inches stretch your walls you groan with pleasure.

'Ar-Archer,' you whine as you bury your face in his clothes chest. He grits his teeth as he sheths into you fully.

'Fuck,' he groans in delight. You slowly move your hips before gathering more and more enthusiasm. His skilled hand moves its way to your pearl, gently massaging it- creating unspoken amounts of pleasure. After a few minutes of passionate kisses and moans, Archer's stomach tightens. 'Ngh-' he clenches his teeth and you suck at his neck.

'Are you close? Mmh-' you moan and he nods. 'Me..me too. Archer, I' gonna cum!' You whine as you both reach your high together. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and see stars as Archer releases his seed into your pussy. You both come down from your high and the bowman gently lifts you off his lap onto the sofa. Flustered, he catches his breath. The room felt different now, the quiet after the storm settling over the two of you like a blanket, thick with unspoken words. Archer’s hand was still on your waist as he reluctantly helped you off his lap, guiding you back to the sofa. His touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent a quiet pulse of heat through you. You both sat there for a few moments in the stillness, neither of you quite knowing what to say. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, his usually steady demeanour faltering, the tension of the moment still hanging in the air between you.

'That was...' Archer started, his voice trailing off as he caught his breath, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to regain some semblance of composure. His usual confidence was shaken, a rare sight for anyone who knew him.

'Yeah,' you murmured, glancing away for a moment, feeling the flush on your cheeks, still processing the rush of emotions. 'I didn't expect you to... well, to do that.' He looked at you, his gaze softening slightly, but there was still that edge of uncertainty in his eyes, as if even now he wasn't entirely sure of what had just happened between you two.

'Neither did I,' he admitted, his voice quiet, the usual teasing gone.

'Shall we get cleaned up?' You ask, tilting your head. Archer looked at you for a moment, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual, before he finally nodded. His usual self-assuredness seemed to be returning, though there was a softness in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

'Getting cleaned up sounds like a good idea,' he replied, his voice still carrying that low, steady tone. He stood up from the chair, pushing it back with a slight motion. The moment of vulnerability from before was quickly fading, replaced by the familiar sense of control, but there was still a subtle tension in the air, as if neither of you were quite sure where to go from here. You smiled faintly, already feeling a bit lighter as you moved toward the door, ready to take the next step and put some distance between the intensity of the moment.

'I’ll head to the bathroom,' you said, pausing to look over your shoulder at him. 'Meet you there?' Archer gave a small nod, his expression unreadable but his eyes flicking to you with a hint of something unspoken. 'Yeah. I’ll be there in a minute.' As you turned to head down the hall, you could hear the soft creak of the floorboards as he followed you, his presence still lingering behind you, the quiet hum of the night around you both. The air between you had changed, but the next step, whatever it was, still felt uncertain. And maybe, just maybe, that was what made it all the more intriguing. You made your way to the bathroom, the soft tap of your footsteps on the floor echoing in the hallway. The house felt unusually quiet after everything that had just passed, as though the silence was holding its breath, waiting for the next move. You could feel Archer behind you, his presence a constant, but the space between you both seemed more charged now—more aware. As you entered the bathroom and flicked on the light, you caught your reflection in the mirror. You paused for a moment, studying yourself. Your cheeks were still flushed, the lingering warmth of the moment evident in your expression. You exhaled slowly, trying to steady your thoughts, but there was no denying how your heart was still racing. The room seemed too small for the thoughts running through your mind. You heard the door creak open behind you, and Archer’s reflection appeared in the mirror. His eyes met yours, and for a brief second, neither of you spoke. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable but intense. He was watching you, and in that silence, it was almost like the world outside didn’t exist.

'So,' he said, his voice breaking the quiet, soft but still carrying an edge of that cool composure he always wore. 'You really don’t hold back, do you?'

You met his gaze in the mirror, the challenge from earlier still simmering between you.

'What can I say?' You gave him a small smile, trying to keep things light, but there was an undeniable charge in the air between you two. 'I like to keep things interesting.'

Archer pushed off from the doorframe and stepped toward you, closing the distance between you both. His movements were measured, deliberate, and yet there was a hint of something more uncertain in the way he lingered, just out of reach. His eyes searched yours, a silent question hanging in the air.

'You’re a dangerous one,' he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper.

'Maybe,; you said, tilting your head slightly. 'But then again, you’re not exactly innocent yourself.' Archer let out a breath, the barest chuckle escaping his lips as he took another step closer. The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken words, the boundaries between teasing and something deeper becoming harder to distinguish. For a moment, neither of you moved, standing there in that shared space of tension and quiet understanding. The silence spoke volumes, but the next words, or actions, would decide just how far the night was going to go.

After a steamy shower filled with sweet nothings, soapy massages and wet kisses, the tension in the air seemed to stretch between you as you both made your way to the bedroom, the house still holding its quiet, expectant breath. The bed loomed ahead, soft and inviting, but with it came a weight—an unspoken question of where this moment would lead, of whether the night would end with you both in the same space, or if you'd part with everything left hanging in the air. Archer was the first to climb into the bed, his movements smooth and controlled, though his eyes flicked toward you, watching for any sign of hesitation. You followed him, the soft rustle of sheets filling the silence as you settled in beside him. The space between you felt both vast and intimate, and the familiar tension still hung between you, though now it was softened by the quiet of the room. Archer wore a simple, yet effortlessly stylish outfit, even in the quiet of the night. His dark, fitted t-shirt clung slightly to his toned frame, the fabric stretching just enough to highlight his broad shoulders and defined arms. His pants were loose, and comfortable, but still fitted enough to suggest the lean strength of his build. Despite the casualness of his attire, there was an unmistakable air of confidence around him, his posture relaxed, yet purposeful, as if even in sleep, his composure was never truly shaken. You both lay on your sides, facing each other. The light from the nightlight outside the window filtered through, casting soft shadows across the room. Archer’s gaze never left yours, a steady, almost searching look, as if he was trying to understand what had shifted between you two.

'Do you always do this?' Archer's voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful, the usual edge gone. 'Test the waters and then back off?'

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you weren't sure how to answer. You weren't used to being questioned like that, especially not when things had felt so... raw.

'I don't know,' you replied slowly, shifting a little closer. 'Maybe I'm just trying to figure out where the line is.' Your voice was softer now, as if you, too, were testing the waters, even in this moment. Archer’s gaze softened, just a fraction, as if he was seeing a different side of you now. He didn’t answer right away, letting the quiet between you both settle again. His hand found its way to your shoulder, resting there with a surprising gentleness.

'You’re complicated,' he murmured after a beat, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. You smiled, a small, knowing smile, as you met his eyes.

'I think we both are.' With that, the tension seemed to ease, if only slightly, as you both settled in, the warmth of the bed enveloping you. It was still quiet, still heavy with what had passed between you, but for the first time that night, there was a sense of calm as you both allowed the pull of sleep to settle in. The sheets between you were a thin barrier, but for now, it was enough. And as the room grew darker, you closed your eyes, the sound of his steady breathing beside you the only thing you could focus on. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the stillness in the room felt almost suffocating. The space between you, though physically small, seemed to carry the weight of everything unspoken. The bed felt a little too large, a little too empty, and you couldn't help but shift closer to him. Slowly, you moved, your body drawn toward his warmth, the instinct to be nearer to him taking over. Archer didn’t say anything at first, but his body tensed slightly, as if uncertain of what you were doing. Then, just as slowly, he relaxed, his arm shifting to accommodate you as you nestled against his chest. The closeness felt natural, even if the moments leading up to it had been anything but. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer, the heat of his body spreading over you like a shield against the quiet of the night. You could feel the rhythm of his breath beneath your ear, steady and calm, and for the first time since everything had shifted between you, there was a sense of peace. Archer’s hand rested gently on your back, his fingers lightly tracing over your skin, almost absentmindedly. The gesture was tender, yet held an underlying sense of care that hadn’t been present before.

'Comfortable?' he murmured softly, his voice still a little rough, but no longer carrying the edge it had earlier. You nodded, pressing a little closer, the warmth between you both enough to drown out the rest of the world.

'Yeah,' you whispered back, letting the quiet moments stretch on, both of you caught in the gentle pull of the night. And in that space, in his arms, everything else seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you. As the night settled around you both, the weight of everything that had passed seemed to dissipate, replaced by a peaceful stillness that was comforting and safe. The soft rustle of sheets and the rhythm of your breathing blended together, creating a quiet harmony between you. Archer’s arm around you felt steady, grounding, and for once, there were no unspoken words, no tension between you—just the warmth of being close. Outside, the night carried on, but within the quiet confines of the room, everything felt just right. You could feel the exhaustion of the day beginning to settle in, your eyelids heavy, your body finally allowing itself to relax. Archer’s breathing slowed, the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath you a calming lullaby. Without a word, you both drifted into the comfort of sleep, the night unfolding around you like a soft blanket, offering a promise of peace in the unspoken connection between you. The world outside continued on, but for now, in this moment, it was just the two of you, entwined in the quiet comfort of shared stillness.

And as sleep took hold, you let it, knowing that whatever came next could wait for tomorrow.

#fanfic #imagine #fanfiction #smut #x reader #archer #archer emiya #fate #fate stay night #fate stay ubw #shirou emiya #rin tohsaka #archer x reader

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 2 years ago

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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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dfbeds · 7 months ago

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Discover the Elegance and Comfort of a Plush Velvet Corner Sofa

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#plush velvet corner sofa

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sebsxphia · 1 year ago

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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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another-rogue-trevelyan · 3 months ago

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I’m in Lucanis hell so here is Lucanis and Elora’s first meeting

——————————————————————————

All Lucanis wanted was a decent cup of coffee, and Viago de Riva was making that impossible.

After finishing his most recent contract, the First Talon had sent Lucanis to House de Riva with some sensitive information. Instead of being quick and easy, it seemed Viago had a thousand things he wanted brought to Caterina’s attention, not the least of which being his latest batch of recruits.

“They’re coming along in the de Riva tradition - stealth, combat, and poisons. We’re surprising them with their poison trial tonight, and I’m hoping we don’t lose as many as we did last time. You would think I didn’t spend hours instructing them - wasted hours, apparently.”

Lucanis sighed, accepting he was going nowhere any time soon. “You said you have a large cohort this time?”

“Five. Certainly more than usual.”

“And did you give them all ridiculous code names like you do your poisons?”

Viago grinned. “We all need a little levity in this line of work, Lucanis. And yes, they’re chess pieces this time - King, Queen, Chevalier, Priestess, and Rook.”

“Hate to be the King. That’s asking for assassination.”

After what felt like hours, Viago finally dismissed him back to House Dellamorte. It was too late in the evening for Café Pietra, so he’d have to settle for coffee at home.

He passed by the Fifth Talon’s artwork in the halls, largely of plants he could use to kill people, and paused briefly to enter a large sitting room. Plush velvet chairs, a roaring fireplace with intricate carvings, expensive decor - no one could say Viago didn’t have taste. He was just pausing to examine a sculpted bust on a pedestal when he heard a crash behind him.

Lucanis whipped around, knives out, and bounded to the door in two silent steps. He stood back to the wall, weapons at the ready - one gifted to him by Caterina many years ago - and slowly peered around the doorframe. Then he relaxed and lowered his knives.

A young elven girl had stumbled into one of Viago’s porcelain vases, sending it crashing to the floor. The girl was clinging to the pedestal it had been placed upon. Blonde hair stuck to her forehead, which even in the dim firelights Lucanis could see was slick with sweat. She was shivering, sickly and pale, her green eyes bloodshot. She stumbled a few steps toward a large flowerpot and promptly vomited into into it.

“Mierda!” Lucanis sighed. The girl could be no older than sixteen, at most. She finished heaving, tried to stand, and promptly stumbled. Lucanis caught her just before she could smack her head on the corner of another one of Viago’s displays.

“Are you an initiate?” Lucanis asked as he painstakingly lead her into the sitting room.

“R…Rook,” she coughed out. Lucanis guided her onto the sofa, laid on her side in case she vomited again, and started searching through Viago’s cabinets. He knew Viago well enough to know he had a stock of poison antidotes in every room. Despite himself he chuckled when he found what he was looking for - a small vial labeled, “up and adder.”

“You’re lucky Viago uses the same poison in every initiate trial. Here, drink this.”

The elven girl - Rook - shakily took the bottle and drank it. She looked relieved a few minutes later when the shaking began to ease, but she was clearly exhausted.

“I don’t understand,” she slurred through heavy eyelids.

“What don’t you understand?” Lucanis asked.

“You’re supposed to let me die.”

She was asleep before he could answer, a bit of color returning to her cheeks. Lucanis took one of Viago’s expensive blankets and placed it over her.

“Not everyone needs to die,” he murmured, and went home to make himself a cup of coffee.

#dragon age #lucanis dellamorte #dragon age lucanis #lucanis romance #dragon age fanfic #my writing #anotherroguetrevalyan #dragon age the veilguard #da: the veilguard #datv #Elora de riva #my rook #antivan crows #antivan crow rook

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honeybummer · 4 months ago

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NEW Chapter is up for Bloodstained! Chapter 31 "Urges Return". I'm sorry if it depresses u <3

Come check it out on A03!

Lil Snippet Below:

The library was bathed in the warm glow of late afternoon sunlight, golden streaks filtering through the high arched windows.

Books lined the shelves, worn with age, but today the space held something more precious than stories.

Luna's giggles echoed as her tiny hands reached for Karlach, who bounced her on her knee.

"Look at you, little firecracker!" Karlach cooed, her deep laugh matching Luna's high-pitched squeals.

The tiefling’s broad smile was infectious, her fiery red skin contrasting against the light wood of the library. “I swear, she’s going to grow up to be a fighter. I can feel it in my bones.”

Across from them, Shadowheart sat in a cozy leather armchair, her usual guarded expression softened. She held a small stuffed griffon, playfully dangling it just out of reach as Luna stretched her eager hands toward it, her face lit with excitement.

“She certainly has your energy,” Shadowheart remarked, her voice calm and warm. “But I wouldn’t be so quick to hand her a sword just yet, Karlach. Let’s give her a few more years.”

Lyra sat nearby, curled into the corner of a plush velvet settee, her legs tucked beneath her as she watched them, a soft smile playing on her lips.

The crackling fireplace across the room created a peaceful atmosphere.

Karlach looked up from Luna, her eyes bright with nostalgia. “Remember the old days? Charging into battle, just trying to stay alive? Now it’s baby giggles instead of battle cries.”

Shadowheart snorted, amusement dancing in her gaze. "It’s definitely a change of pace. But honestly? I wouldn’t trade it for anything."

Lyra’s heart warmed at their words. It was strange to think about how far they had all come.

She leaned back, resting her head against the arm of the settee, the weight of those days distant, yet still a part of them all.

“Do you ever miss it?” Lyra asked, her voice soft as she traced the rim of her teacup with her finger. “The fighting, I mean.”

Karlach glanced at Lyra, her expression thoughtful as she let Luna play with her hands. “Sometimes I miss the adrenaline. But I like this more—being here with you all, with this little one.” She gently brushed a tuft of Luna’s hair from her face.

Shadowheart nodded. “We had our time in battle, but we’ve earned this.” She gestured to the room. “We’ve earned this peace.”

Lyra smiled softly, watching as Luna’s tiny fingers wrapped around the griffon’s wing that Shadowheart was holding. "I suppose you're right," she said, though there was still a small part of her that worried.

Karlach leaned back, looking at Luna with admiration. "She's gonna grow up with all these stories, you know. Daughter of the heroes who saved the world. No pressure, huh, kiddo?" She winked at Luna, who babbled happily in response.

Shadowheart smirked, her usual stoic demeanor melting in the presence of the baby. “Let’s hope she grows up with fewer near-death experiences.”

Lyra picked at her nails. Part of her didn’t want Luna to know all the blood that had been shed.

That Lyra had—

Her breath hitched as she stared down at her hands, her heart racing. Crimson stained her pale skin, thick rivulets of blood trailing down her fingers, pooling in her palms.

She blinked, panic rising, as the blood began to drip onto the pristine sofa beneath her, each drop a stark reminder of the lives she had taken.

“Are you alright, Lyra?” Shadowheart’s voice, soft but curious, broke through the fog. She leaned back in one of the library’s armchairs, lazily twirling a glass of wine between her fingers, watching.

Lyra blinked, glancing down again. Her hands were clean. No blood. Just smooth, unmarked skin.

She exhaled shakily. “I’m fine,” she whispered, barely trusting her own voice.

It was just a hall𝓾cination.

Nothin𝓰 more.

The crackling fire filled the silence, its warmth chasing away the last traces of her unease.

Across the room, Karlach watched over Luna, making sure the baby didn’t knock any books from the shelves.

The soft laughter from earlier had quieted into a peaceful lull, the evening settling into a comforting rhythm.

Karlach rose, murmuring something about grabbing another bottle of wine, leaving the room for a moment.

As Luna finally grew tired, her eyes drooping in the warmth of the firelight, Lyra scooped her up, cradling her gently. She laid down onto the sofa with her daughter.

It was then that Shadowheart’s sharp eyes caught a glimpse of something—the faint purplish marks that peeked out from under Lyra’s collar.

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk curling at the corners of her lips. “Well, well… what have we here?”

Lyra looked up, her eyes wide in confusion. “What?”

Shadowheart chuckled softly and nodded toward her neck. “Those little marks you’re trying to hide. Astarion’s been busy, hasn’t he?”

Lyra’s cheeks flushed instantly as she reflexively reached up to adjust her collar, but there was no hiding it now. “Oh,” she stammered, trying to come up with something, but Shadowheart’s smirk only deepened.

“Come on,” Shadowheart said with a teasing gleam in her eye. “You can’t leave me in the dark here. How is he?” She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is he as... intense in bed as he is in everything else?”

Lyra laughed softly, feeling her face burn even hotter. She gently rocked Luna, who was now dozing off in her arms, and shrugged with an embarrassed grin. “He’s... well, yes. Intense is one word for it.”

Shadowheart’s eyebrow arched higher, her expression half-amused, half-intrigued. “I imagine he’s not the gentle type,” she mused, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Especially given his past. I always thought he might be... demanding.”

Lyra’s heart skipped a beat, thinking about the previous night. The way Astarion had taken control, the way he had anticipated her every need, every desire, without a word passing between them.

“He knows what he’s doing,” she admitted, her voice low, almost shy. “But it’s more than that. It’s like he can sense what I want, even when I don’t say it.”

Before Shadowheart could press further, Karlach burst back into the room, holding two fresh bottles of wine, her broad grin infectious. “Did I hear something juicy?” she teased, practically bouncing as she plopped down beside them. “Come on, I need to hear all the details!” She poured herself a generous glass, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You know, I always had a bit of a crush on him,” she added. “Not my type, of course, but still—those cheekbones? And that swagger? Hard not to notice.”

Lyra blinked in surprise, then laughed, her blush deepening. “You? A crush on Astarion?”

Karlach shrugged, grinning unapologetically. “I mean, who wouldn’t, right? All that dark, brooding charm.” She sighed dramatically, raising her glass in a mock toast. “But you’ve got him now, and I’m dying to know—how is he in bed?”

Shadowheart leaned forward, grinning. “We were just getting to that.”

Lyra rolled her eyes playfully at Karlach's enthusiasm, grateful for the distraction.

She took a sip of wine to buy herself some time, trying to find the right words to describe her experiences with Astarion without revealing too much. As she contemplated her response, Luna shifted in her arms, nuzzling closer to her mother as she slept soundly.

"He's... attentive," Lyra finally replied, choosing her words carefully. Her voice softened as her thoughts drifted back to the nights they’d spent together. "And passionate. It’s like he loses himself in the moment, completely focused on... pleasing."

A warmth spread through her, memories stirring of how Astarion had made her feel—cherished, wanted, as if she were the only thing that mattered. The intensity in his eyes when he touched her, the way his hands moved over her skin, left her feeling desired in a way she hadn’t known before.

Shadowheart watched her closely, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “That sounds a little too... tame for the Astarion we know,” she teased.

Karlach huffed, lowering her voice dramatically. "Romantic, huh? You can’t fool us, Lyra. We all heard those nights in the woods all those years ago." She grinned wickedly, waving her hand as if to dismiss the more tender details. "It always sounded like a wild, rough romp—the kind where two beasts collide."

“Do you remember those nights?” Shadowheart asked curiously.

Lyra’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of crimson, the memories of those nights broken and missing pieces, but still flashing vividly in her mind.

The untamed passion, the raw intensity of it all.

There were few words, little gentleness. Just a deep, primal connection that left them breathless and tangled in each other beneath the moonlit canopy.

Lyra hesitated. “Well, there were... moments,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Moments where things got... wild.”

Karlach burst into laughter, slapping her thigh in triumph. “I knew it!” she crowed, raising her glass in victory. “Two beasts, I told you!”

Lyra shook her head, laughing along with her, though the heat in her cheeks never quite faded. “But,” she added, her voice softening again, “it’s not always like that. There’s something... deeper now. He’s still intense, but it’s different. He’s careful, thoughtful. As if he’s trying to prove that he’s more than just... the talent you imagine.”

Karlach groaned dramatically, her voice full of mock disappointment. “Lucky you. A beast and a romantic.” She refilled her glass. “If you ever need a stand-in for one of those wild nights, you know where to find me.”

The room burst into laughter, the teasing and light-hearted banter blending perfectly with the crackling warmth of the fire, while Luna stirred sleepily in Lyra’s arms.

A few hours later the girls were still resting in the library.

It was getting late, and Astarion was still not home.

Karlach and Shadowheart were fairly drunk by now, slurring their words and passing stories back and forth. The fire had dimmed, casting flickering shadows along the walls.

Karlach was in the middle of explaining the passion and tenderness of Wyll when Shadowheart let out an exaggerated groan, waving her half-empty glass. “That sounds...incredible,” she slurred, her words dragging. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes half-lidded, staring at nothing in particular. “Wyll... what a sweetie... a real gentleman...”

Lyra raised an eyebrow, glancing over. “Shadowheart, are you okay?”

Shadowheart’s lips quirked into a tipsy grin, her eyes glazed with drink. “I’m fine... just... thinking...” Her voice softened, trailing off as she swirled her glass lazily. “I’ve never had that, you know. Someone like him... someone tender.” She hiccupped lightly.

Lyra, still holding Luna, tilted her head curiously. “Never?”

Shadowheart shook her head slowly, letting out a slow, almost dreamy sigh. “Lae'zel... gods, you know how she is. Fierce, strong, all that good stuff..." She squinted, trying to focus. "But tender? Ha!" She let out a short, humorless laugh, her voice taking on a bitter edge. “Not in the way you're talking about. It was always... raw with her. Intense. It was all about power. Control.” She waved her hand dismissively before taking another gulp of wine. “Not really the... cuddle type.”

Shadowheart had explained their relationship was on-and-off, due to Lae’zel being on the astral plane all the time.

“Do you... miss her?” Lyra asked gently, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Luna.

Shadowheart’s eyes glazed over again, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the rim of her glass.

“More than I thought I would,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze drifted to the flickering fire, her expression distant. “I miss her strength. Her... her confidence. She never doubted anything. Always so sure of herself. Of us. I thought I hated that...” She shook her head, blinking a few times as if to clear her thoughts. “But now... gods, I relied on it. On her.”

A long silence followed, filled only by the soft crackling of the fire and Luna’s gentle breathing. Shadowheart stared into the flames, her face softened by both drink and longing.

After a moment, Shadowheart glanced back at Lyra, her gaze unsteady but sincere. “You’re lucky, you know,” she mumbled, her words slightly slurred. “Astarion... he makes you feel... seen. I can tell. And cherished... lucky ,” she repeated, her tone heavy.

Lyra smiled, though there was a bittersweet note to it now. “I am lucky,” she agreed softly. “But you deserve that too, Shadowheart. You’ll find it again.”

After a moment, Shadowheart raised her glass in a half-hearted toast. “To the good old days, then. And to... whatever comes next.”

Lyra smiled and raised her glass, despite having her hands full with Luna, and the two of them shared the quiet, comforting presence of friendship.

But as Lyra shifted, trying to adjust her hold on both Luna and the glass, her grip faltered.

The glass slipped from her fingers, crashing against the marble floor with a sharp, echoing sound. Red wine splattered across the floor, dark stains spreading like spilled blood against the pristine surface.

Lyra’s grip tightened ever so slightly around Luna as the faint scent of blood began to fill her nostrils, sudden and sharp, like a metallic tinge in the air.

She blinked hard, trying to shake off the sensation, but behind her eyes, she saw a flash of red—dark, violent. Her stomach twisted, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

No𝔱 again.

Shadowheart was still talking, her voice a babbling hum in the background, but Lyra could barely focus.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, each beat sounding louder, more insistent, as if something was trying to claw its way out of her chest. She swallowed hard, willing herself to stay calm, to keep the darkness at bay.

Not here.

Not no⍵.

The scent of blood grew stronger, almost overwhelming now, and Lyra’s vision blurred. For a moment, she thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye—something dark and shifting, lurking just beyond the edges of the firelight. Her pulse raced, panic creeping up her spine.

It's not real. It's not real. It’s not 𝑟𝓮⍺𝒍 .

She repeated the words in her mind, trying to anchor herself. But Bhaal’s presence—faint, but unmistakable—lingered in the recesses of her consciousness, like a shadow she couldn’t fully escape.

Lyra blinked rapidly, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

She needed to stay grounded, needed to focus on something real, something tangible. Her fingers brushed through Luna’s soft curls, clinging to the feel of her daughter’s warmth, her innocence.

She couldn't let herself slip, not when she had so much to protect.

“Lyra? You okay?” Karlach’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.

Lyra stiffened, forcing another smile, but it felt weak, hollow. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice too light, too hurried. “Just... tired, I think.”

The room felt too small, too warm.

She could still smell the blood, feel the cold fingers of Bhaal’s influence tugging at the edges of her mind. It was as if the room around her was fading, blurring into that red haze again, and she fought to stay present.

Luna stirred in her arms, her tiny face peaceful and unaware of the storm brewing inside her mother. Lyra kissed the top of her head, breathing in the sweet, calming scent of her child.

Hold on for her. You have to hold on.

But beneath the surface, the darkness was there, waiting for a moment of weakness.

Just one slip.

廾𝓮𝒍𝒍𝚘, 𝓛𝔂𝑟⍺

No , it’s just my imagination. I control him.

He can’t hurt me.

The scent of blood surged through Lyra’s senses, overpowering everything.

Her vision blurred, and a wave of darkness crept up from the depths of her mind, dragging her under.

I control him. I control him. I control him .

But—

𝛪 𝒄𝚘𝓷𝔱𝑟𝚘𝒍 𝓾𝐬.

Her heart raced, her body no longer hers to control.

Without thinking—without hesitation—her hand shot out, fingers trembling as they found the hilt of the dagger strapped to Karlach’s thigh.

The cool metal slid into her palm, heavy and sharp, as if it had been waiting for her all along.

No—

The thought flitted away, drowned beneath the pounding in her skull and the insistent pull of Bhaal’s influence. Her fingers closed around the hilt with a terrifying certainty, the dark craving consuming her.

She needed blood.

To kill.

To make someone suffer .

In a heartbeat, she raised the dagger, the blade glimmering in the dim light.

It reflected the image of the small, delicate baby cradled in her arms, her heart plummeting as the world fell into a chilling silence.

A scream echoed in her mind, yet no sound escaped her lips.

“Lyra, no!” Karlach’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and filled with panic.

Shadowheart, slightly disoriented from the wine, struggled to grasp the unfolding danger, her reactions dulled by the haze of intoxication.

Before Lyra could blink, Karlach lunged at her, their bodies colliding in a blur of movement.

The blade hovered just above Luna, trembling in her grasp—

Blood spilled.

#ao3 #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #smut #baldur's gate 3 #vampire #astarion #astarion fanfiction #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion fluff #astarion headcanons #astarion smut #astarion x female oc #astarion x female tav #daddy astarion

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littlest-w01f · 6 months ago

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.

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