#the audience is on the edge of their seats. but i will not reveal my sneakrets >:o)c | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novaursa · 3 months ago

Note

okk hear me out!

gwayne x daemon daughter // kink repro

We all remember the tournament in s1, just imagine viserys decide that his niece (who is younger than nyra maybe 16) should marry sir gwayne to make more strength between their houses.

time pass they fell in love in oldtown and they raided Daeron as their own. They all come back when Luke was name heir of drifmark (during the audience). Daemon is furious to see her with gwayne.

But their chamber is right next to daemon and nyra, and at night gwayne is way more than ready to make understand that she is his 😏🔥

In Defiance of the Dragon

- Summary: When your uncle, King Viserys, promised your hand to Gwayne, your father was least pleased about it.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The air in the tournament grounds is drenched with the scent of crushed flowers and churned earth, the banners of noble houses fluttering like the wings of restless dragons. The sun casts a golden shine over the scene, making the polished armor of the knights gleam like fire. You stand at the edge of the royal pavilion, a place of honor, though it feels more like a cage at this moment. Your heart pounds in your chest as the king—your uncle, Viserys—raises his hand to command silence.

The crowd hushes, anticipation hanging in the air. You can feel the weight of a thousand eyes upon you, but none as heavy as the gaze of Ser Gwayne Hightower. His presence is unmistakable even among the throng of knights, his armor adorned with the sigil of his house, the beacon of the Hightower shining bright against the steel. Your breath catches as you meet his gaze, a fleeting moment that seems to stretch into eternity. There is something in his eyes—an unspoken promise, a plea for understanding.

Viserys’ voice booms across the grounds, his words carrying the weight of royal decree. "Today, before the tilts commence, let it be known that my beloved niece, the daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, shall be wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower. This union shall strengthen the bond between our noble houses, binding the blood of Old Valyria to the steadfast walls of Oldtown."

A murmur ripples through the crowd. Otto Hightower, standing beside the king, allows himself a thin, satisfied smile. The whisper of steel, the low hum of murmurs, and the occasional startled cry from the gathered lords and ladies mingle with the pounding in your ears. Beside you, Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent Hightower exchange a glance, though their expressions reveal little. You know Rhaenyra's thoughts well enough; her small hand squeezes yours briefly, a silent assurance.

Your eyes dart to the stands where your father, Prince Daemon, lounges. His posture is deceptively relaxed, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drum against the arm of his seat. His eyes—those unmistakable violet eyes—burn with an intensity that sets your nerves on edge. When he rises from his seat, you feel a tremor of fear run through you, though you fight to keep your face composed.

Daemon’s voice, sharp and cutting, pierces the air. "I would face Ser Gwayne in the first tilt. Let us see if this union has the favor of the gods."

The crowd roars in approval, eager for the bloodshed and spectacle that is sure to follow. Gwayne’s gaze shifts, now locked onto Daemon’s. You see the flicker of concern in his eyes, quickly masked by the steel of resolve. He inclines his head, accepting the challenge with a courtly grace that belies the danger he now faces.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The fear gnaws at you, a beast with claws that rake against your insides. You force yourself to remain still, even as every instinct screams at you to intervene, to do something—anything—to protect Gwayne from your father’s wrath.

Alicent notices your distress, her voice a gentle whisper in your ear. "Do not fear, my lady. Ser Gwayne is a skilled knight. He will honor you in this contest."

Her words are meant to comfort, but they do little to soothe the storm raging within you. Your eyes dart between the two men who now occupy your every thought—the father who has always shielded you with his fierce love, and the knight who has stolen your heart with his quiet strength. What would your father say if he knew how often Gwayne had filled your thoughts, how often you had dreamed of a future together, away from the politics and dangers of the court?

As the knights prepare for the tilt, you can barely breathe. The cheers of the crowd fade into a dull roar in your ears, and all you can focus on is the two figures facing each other across the field. Daemon’s black armor, dark as night and adorned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, stands in stark contrast to Gwayne’s silvered plate. The dragon against the tower—a battle that feels all too symbolic.

Rhaenyra leans in close, her voice urgent and low. "You know your father, sister. He won’t hold back. You must steel yourself."

"I know," you whisper, though your voice trembles with the effort of holding back the fear that threatens to overwhelm you. You cannot let anyone see how deeply this affects you—not Rhaenyra, not Alicent, and certainly not your father.

The trumpets blare, signaling the beginning of the tilt. The horses rear, their hooves pounding the earth as Daemon and Gwayne charge at each other. Time slows to a crawl, and you can only watch, helpless, as the gap between them closes.

The impact is thunderous, the sound of steel against steel ringing out across the field. The force of the blow unseats Gwayne, and he crashes to the ground in a heap of armor and dust. Your heart lurches in your chest, and you rise to your feet, barely aware of the gasps and cries around you.

"Gwayne!" you hear yourself cry out, the name escaping your lips before you can stop it.

The crowd is on its feet, roaring with excitement, but all you can see is Gwayne, motionless on the ground. The world blurs as tears well in your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to show any weakness.

Daemon circles back, his expression inscrutable behind his helm, but you can feel his eyes on you. This was no accident; he wanted to make a point, to remind everyone that no one—Hightower or otherwise—would take what belonged to a dragon without consequence.

But then, Gwayne stirs. He rises slowly, his movements pained but determined. Relief floods through you, but it is quickly replaced by a renewed sense of dread. Daemon is not done—not yet.

Before you can react, Gwayne is back on his feet, his eyes locked onto Daemon's. The defiance in his stance is clear—he will not yield, not even to a prince of the blood. You feel a swell of pride for him, despite the fear gnawing at your insides.

Daemon, sensing the mood of the crowd shifting, raises his lance once more, ready for another pass. But this time, something in Gwayne’s demeanor gives you hope. His gaze flickers to you for the briefest of moments, and you see the silent vow in his eyes—a promise to fight for you, no matter the odds.

The horses charge again, and this time, Gwayne meets Daemon’s strike with a fierce determination. The impact is brutal, but Gwayne holds his ground, refusing to be unseated. The crowd roars its approval, the tension in the air is felt.

When the dust settles, both knights remain in their saddles, battered but unbroken. It is Daemon who finally raises his hand, signaling the end of the tilt. There is no victor, no vanquished—only two men who have tested each other’s mettle and found themselves equally matched.

The relief that washes over you is overwhelming, and you sink back into your seat, your hands trembling in your lap. You dare a glance at Gwayne, who inclines his head to you with a slight, weary smile. It is a small gesture, but it fills your heart with warmth.

As Daemon dismounts, he casts a long, lingering look in your direction. There is something unspoken in his gaze, a challenge, perhaps—or a warning. But for now, you do not care. You have seen Gwayne survive your father’s wrath, and that is enough for you.

For the first time since this day began, you allow yourself a small, secret smile. The road ahead may be fraught with danger and intrigue, but you will face it with the courage of a dragon—and with Gwayne by your side.

You stand at the window of the Hightower, looking out over the sprawling city of Oldtown, where the cobbled streets wind like serpents beneath the autumn sun. The air is cool, tinged with the salt of the Whispering Sound, carrying with it the scent of the sea that you’ve come to know so well. The bells from the Starry Sept toll the hour, their sound reverberating through the stone walls of your home.

Your home. It’s a thought that still brings a small smile to your lips, even after all these years. The Hightower is vast, imposing, and ancient, its walls steeped in the history of Oldtown and the Hightowers themselves. Yet within these walls, you have found something unexpected—peace, and more than that, love.

Gwayne is beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back, a comforting weight. His touch is gentle, yet there’s a strength in it that you’ve come to depend on. He’s watching you with that soft expression that always melts the last of your worries away, the lines of his face relaxed, his grey eyes bright with the warmth of the afternoon light.

“He’s arrived,” Gwayne says, his voice low and calm, a grounding presence. You turn your head slightly to meet his gaze, the unspoken question in your eyes.

“Prince Daeron,” he clarifies, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Alicent’s letter arrived this morning, and they’ll be here within the hour.”

You nod, the familiar flutter of anticipation and duty stirring in your chest. Prince Daeron, the youngest son of Queen Alicent, sent to Oldtown to be raised and educated under the care of your husband’s family. It’s a great honor, of course, but more than that, it feels like a trust, a bond that ties your houses closer together.

Gwayne’s hand moves from your back to your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “He’s young, but from what we’ve heard, he’s bright and eager to learn. He’ll thrive here, I’m sure of it.”

You smile at his optimism, leaning into him slightly. “We’ll make sure of it,” you reply, your voice carrying the quiet determination that has grown within you over the years. Oldtown has become a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you and Gwayne have built a life together, despite the stormy beginnings of your union.

You can still remember the day of the tourney, the way your heart had pounded with fear as your father had chosen Gwayne as his opponent. The memory lingers like a shadow, but it’s one you’ve learned to live with, just as you’ve learned to live with the man who became your husband.

Gwayne, sensing the shift in your mood, squeezes your hand gently. “He’ll have the best tutors, the finest training. And he’ll have us.”

“Yes,” you agree, turning your gaze back to the city below. “He’ll have us.”

The grand hall of the Hightower is filled with the warmth of a roaring fire, the stone hearth dominating the room. The thick tapestries that line the walls soften the sound of footsteps on the stone floor, and the smell of spiced wine and roasted meat fills the air.

Daeron is smaller than you expected, a boy of perhaps seven years, with a mop of silver hair that falls into his eyes. Those eyes, so much like his mother’s, are wide with curiosity and just a hint of nervousness as he stands before you and Gwayne.

“Welcome to Oldtown, Prince Daeron,” Gwayne says, his voice kind but formal, as befits the occasion. He kneels slightly, bringing himself closer to the boy’s level, a gesture of respect and warmth that seems to put Daeron at ease.

The boy glances up at you, his lips parting in a small, shy smile. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne,” he replies, his voice small but clear. Then, turning to you, he adds, “My lady.”

You kneel beside Gwayne, reaching out to take Daeron’s hand in yours. His fingers are cold, and you can feel the slight tremor in them. “You’ll be safe here, Prince Daeron,” you assure him softly. “This is your home now.”

Daeron looks up at you, his young face a mix of emotions—fear, uncertainty, but also trust. It’s a look that tugs at your heart, and you find yourself wanting to protect this boy, to give him the guidance and care that only family can provide.

“We’ll take good care of you,” you promise, your voice gentle but firm. “Just as we would our own.”

The boy nods, and you can see the tension in his small shoulders begin to ease. He looks around the hall, taking in the grandeur of the Hightower, the vastness of the space that is now his home. There’s still fear in his eyes, but there’s also a glimmer of something else—hope.

Gwayne rises to his feet, offering his hand to you. “Come,” he says to Daeron, “let’s show you the rest of the Hightower. There’s much to see, and I believe the maester has prepared something special for your arrival.”

Daeron hesitates for just a moment before he takes Gwayne’s offered hand, his small fingers gripping tightly as though seeking reassurance. You stand beside them, a silent guardian of this new bond that is being forged.

As you walk through the halls, Gwayne points out various tapestries, statues, and paintings, telling stories of the history of the Hightowers and Oldtown. Daeron listens intently, his earlier nervousness slowly melting away under the gentle guidance of your husband.

When you reach the maester’s chambers, you’re greeted by the sight of a table laden with books, scrolls, and an array of strange instruments that immediately capture Daeron’s interest. The maester, a kindly old man with a beard as white as snow, greets Daeron with a deep bow.

“Prince Daeron,” the maester says warmly, “I’ve prepared a special lesson for you, one that I think you’ll find quite interesting.”

Daeron’s eyes light up with curiosity, and for the first time since his arrival, you see a genuine smile on his face. He looks up at you and Gwayne, his eyes shining with excitement. “Thank you,” he says, his voice more confident now.

Gwayne squeezes your hand, and you can’t help but return the smile. This, you realize, is what it means to be a family—not just by blood, but by the bonds you choose to create. In this moment, with the warmth of the fire and the promise of a new beginning, you feel something settle in your heart, a sense of fulfillment that you hadn’t known you were missing.

As Daeron sits down with the maester, already engrossed in the lesson that has been prepared for him, you and Gwayne share a look, a silent understanding passing between you.

And in this moment, as you both watch Daeron eagerly absorb the knowledge being offered to him, you know that you wouldn’t have your life being lived in any other way.

The halls of the Red Keep are as imposing as ever as you and Gwayne make your way through the corridors. It's been years since you last walked these halls, and yet they feel as familiar as ever—haunted by memories both bitter and sweet.

Gwayne’s hand rests on your elbow, guiding you through the maze of the castle with practiced ease. He’s dressed in the colors of his house, the green and silver of the Hightowers, his expression calm and composed as always. But you know him well enough to sense the tension beneath the surface, the way his gaze sharpens when he hears a distant sound, always vigilant, always protective.

You both turn a corner and nearly collide with a small entourage, led by none other than Rhaenyra herself. She’s flanked by her husband—your father, Daemon—and their children, their steps purposeful, their expressions tense. Rhaenyra’s silver hair gleams under the flickering torchlight, her violet eyes widening slightly in surprise as she sees you.

“Rhaenyra,” you greet her, your voice soft but steady, betraying none of the uncertainty you feel. So much has changed, yet seeing her here, a part of you yearns for the easy camaraderie you once shared as children.

“Cousin,” Rhaenyra replies, her voice warm despite the strain visible on her face. She glances at Gwayne and then back at you, her gaze searching, perhaps for some sign of how the years have treated you. “It’s been too long.”

“Far too long,” you agree, your eyes flicking to Daemon, who stands slightly behind Rhaenyra, his gaze locked on Gwayne. There’s a tension in his stance, a stiffness that wasn’t there before, and you know immediately that your father is displeased.

Daemon’s eyes are dark, and though he remains silent, the disapproval is clear. His gaze travels from Gwayne to you, then back again, lingering on the clasped hands between you and your husband. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and for a moment, the air seems to thicken with unspoken words and unresolved history.

“You’re back in the capital for the petitions, I presume?” Rhaenyra asks, breaking the silence, her tone carefully neutral. The mention of the petitions brings you back to the grim reality of why you’re all here—the matter of Driftmark, and the question of succession that has thrown the court into turmoil.

“Yes,” Gwayne answers before you can, his voice firm. “We came as soon as we heard.” He glances at Daemon, his expression respectful but guarded. “It seems the crown’s decision is in favor of your son.”

Rhaenyra’s face softens at the mention of Lucerys, but before she can respond, a voice from behind her interrupts. It’s Jacaerys, his young face set in determination. “The matter should have never been in question. Luke is the rightful heir to Driftmark.”

You see the fire in his eyes, the same fire that once burned in Rhaenyra at that age. It’s both heartening and concerning, especially now, in these treacherous waters.

“That he is,” you say gently, offering a smile to Jacaerys. “And it’s clear to anyone with eyes that he’ll make a fine lord.”

Before Jacaerys can respond, Daemon steps forward, his presence commanding attention. His eyes are locked onto yours now, and there’s a storm brewing behind them, a mix of emotions you can’t fully decipher. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, carrying the weight of a warning.

“You’ve found happiness in Oldtown, I see.” The words are directed at you, but his gaze shifts to Gwayne as he says it, his tone laced with something darker. “Though I wonder if the cost was worth it.”

You feel Gwayne’s hand tighten around yours, a subtle gesture of support. “Happiness is not something to be questioned, Father,” you reply calmly, meeting Daemon’s gaze without flinching. “Nor is the loyalty I hold to both my families.”

Daemon’s lips twitch, almost as if he’s about to say something more, but Rhaenyra places a gentle hand on his arm, silently urging him to hold his tongue. There’s a brief moment where it seems he might ignore her, but then he lets out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“We’re here to support our family,” Gwayne adds, his voice measured, addressing Daemon directly now. “In whatever way is needed.”

Daemon studies Gwayne for a long moment, the silence between them stretching thin. Finally, he gives a curt nod, though the hardness in his gaze doesn’t entirely soften. “As you should,” he says, the words clipped, before turning back to Rhaenyra.

“Come, we have business with the king,” he says to her, his voice brooking no argument.

Rhaenyra hesitates, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. “We’ll speak later,” she promises, offering a small, genuine smile before following after Daemon, their children trailing behind her.

As they walk away, the tension slowly dissipates, leaving you standing beside Gwayne in the dimly lit corridor. You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, leaning slightly into your husband’s side. Gwayne wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his warmth a comfort against the chill that lingers in the air.

“That went… better than I expected,” Gwayne murmurs, a touch of wry humor in his voice, though you can hear the relief beneath it.

“He’s never going to fully approve,” you say quietly, your eyes fixed on the spot where your father had stood. “But he’ll have to accept it.”

Gwayne turns to you, his expression softening as he looks down into your eyes. “I don’t need his approval,” he says, his voice firm. “I have you, and that’s all that matters.”

You smile at that, a genuine smile that reaches your eyes, banishing the last of the unease. “And I have you,” you reply, your voice filled with the love and certainty that have grown between you over the years.

The heavy oak door of your chambers shuts behind you, a soft thud echoing through the room. The warmth of the fire flickers across the stone walls that dance in tandem with your heightened pulse. Gwayne stands before you, his emerald eyes sharp and intense, still simmering with the tension of your earlier encounter in the halls. He says nothing as he approaches, but the way his hand reaches for your waist and pulls you flush against him speaks volumes.

You’ve grown accustomed to the feel of him—the strength in his embrace, the heat of his breath against your skin—but tonight there is something different, something more urgent. The lingering traces of your father’s displeasure hang between you, and you know, without words, that it fuels Gwayne’s every movement.

His lips descend upon yours, fierce and claiming, tasting of the wine shared at the evening’s feast. You respond in kind, your hands weaving through the thick strands of his hair, pulling him closer, as though you could erase the earlier tension through sheer proximity.

His hands roam across your body with practiced familiarity, fingers curling around the ties of your gown, loosening the laces with deliberate slowness. Gwayne leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low and rough. “I will make you scream for me tonight,” he promises, and the unspoken words hang heavy in the air—Let him hear.

Your heart flutters in response, not with fear, but with anticipation. The thought of your father just beyond the walls, likely brooding over his anger, stirs something within you. How often had Daemon whispered venom into your ear about the Hightowers, about how they were a poison slowly strangling your family? And yet here you are, wrapped in the arms of one who bears that very name, bound to him not only by vows but by something far deeper, something that even your father’s fury cannot tarnish.

Gwayne’s touch turns rougher, more insistent, and your breath catches in your throat as he lifts you with ease, laying you down onto the bed. The covers crumple beneath your weight, the mattress giving way as he settles over you, his eyes burning with a hunger that matches your own. “I want him to know,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips trailing fire down your throat, “that you belong to me.”

Your back arches involuntarily, and you bite down on your lip, the need to hold back your cries warring with the knowledge of who might hear. Gwayne’s hands grasp your hips, his grip possessive as he moves against you with a rhythm that leaves you breathless. Each movement, each deliberate thrust, is a challenge—a challenge to the walls that separate your chambers from those of your father and his wife.

The pressure builds inside you, the familiar heat coiling in your belly, and you grasp at Gwayne’s shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you fight against the wave of pleasure threatening to drown you. His mouth hovers over yours, demanding, coaxing you to give in, to let go.

And then you remember—Daemon’s chambers are just beyond. The thought of his reaction, of his barely concealed rage at the idea of you finding joy with a Hightower, sends a thrill through you. You gasp aloud as Gwayne drives into you harder, his breath ragged in your ear, “Louder,” he commands, his voice a mix of authority and need.

You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you, letting the sound of his name tear from your lips, louder than before, louder than you ever have. You imagine the look on your father’s face, his fists clenched in helpless fury, and the thought sends you spiraling into a pleasure so intense it nearly blinds you.

Gwayne’s name tumbles from your lips again and again, each cry more fervent than the last, as he brings you to the edge and beyond. You feel his satisfaction in the way he groans your name in return, his hold on you unyielding, as though he could anchor himself to you through sheer force of will.

When it’s over, when the last echoes of your cries have faded into the night, you lay beside him, your body spent and trembling, but your mind still racing. Gwayne’s hand rests possessively on your hip, his chest rising and falling with the remnants of exertion. “He heard you,” he says, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

You can only nod, the thought of what tomorrow might bring swirling in your mind. But for now, there is only this—only you and Gwayne, and the knowledge that whatever storm your father’s ire might bring, you would weather it together.

In the silence that follows, you curl closer to Gwayne, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest. “Tomorrow…” you begin, but your voice trails off.

“Tomorrow,” Gwayne echoes, his tone firm, reassuring, “we will face whatever comes. But tonight, you are mine, and that is all that matters.”

You smile softly at his words, closing your eyes as sleep finally begins to claim you.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd gwayne #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #gwayne x y/n #gwayne hightower #ser gwayne

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dominantslasherking · 3 months ago

Text

Armand With Dominant Male S/o pt 1

Backstory: Louis and Armand talk to Daniel about you. Armands, strange feelings and possessiveness of you is revealed. The obsession that Armand reveals for you is unsettling, Daniel can't help but wonder, what happened to you. Authors note: Tell me if you want part 2.

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+

The dim light of the room flickered softly over the rich crimson drapes, casting long shadows that mirrored the weight of the conversation between Daniel, Louis, and Armand. The sound of the city outside was muffled, distant. It was just the three of them now, seated in that familiar, quiet tension. Daniel, ever the sharp observer, leaned forward in his chair, the recorder beside him whirring faintly, capturing every word.

Louis’ dark eyes flickered over to Armand, who sat with a distant expression, lost in thoughts of a time long past Almost weary of the current subject that was about to be, revealed. The interview had delved into old wounds, recounting moments of blood and betrayal, moments that were still vivid in Louis' mind. The play, the Theater of the Vampires, where he and Claudia had first met Armand and his brood. It was a time when everything was fragile—when the world had cracked open and bled.

Daniel was listening intently, following the story, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes, something unsaid hovering on his lips.

“And this is where Claudia asked to join them,” Daniel remarked, a small smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “Bold move. She never struck me as one to hesitate.”

Louis chuckled softly, a bitter edge to the sound. “Claudia was many things, but hesitant was never one of them.”

But then, Daniel shifted, leaning back in his chair, eyes narrowing as he steered the conversation in a different direction. “Speaking of companions…” he began, his tone measured, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask. You’ve mentioned so many characters from your past—Lestat, Claudia, Armand—but there’s one who seems to be missing from the puzzle.” Daniel’s gaze sharpened, settling on Armand, whose stillness had taken on a peculiar intensity.

“What about the vampire [Your Name]?”

Louis glanced at Armand, whose expression remained unreadable. The air between them felt thicker, charged with something unspoken. Armand’s dark eyes flickered with something that might have been longing, or perhaps possession, as if the mere mention of [Your Name] had awakened something deep and dormant within him.

“[Your Name],” Daniel repeated, leaning into the silence. “There’s not much written about him, but what I’ve found… well, it’s fascinating.” Daniel paused placing his recorder onto the table tappingsome files. "I mean anytime you did talk about your past, never once did you mention [Your Name] despite the hints in your story that seemed almost made up, as if you were...well I don't know, excluding someone?" Daniel let out a hum, Louis faked a smile.

Armand’s lips curled into a soft smile, though his eyes remained distant. “Fascinating, yes,” he murmured. “He always was.” Armand stayed calmly distracting Daniel from Louis for the time being.

Louis shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “[Your Name] was with us for a time after we… after we thought we had killed Lestat,” he explained, his voice quieter now, more careful. “He was an old friend, or at least, he felt like one. Claudia adored him. Treated him almost like a father, after Lestat.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “A father figure? That’s interesting. Especially after… everything with Lestat.” Louis opened his mouth to respond, but the weight of the past pulled him under, drawing him into a memory he hadn’t revisited in years.

Claudia’s youthful laughter echoed softly in the apartment room, filtered through thick curtains. You sat with her at a grand oak desk, his quiet presence a soothing contrast to the chaos that often surrounded her. He held a delicate book in his hands, showing her the intricacies of calligraphy, his long fingers guiding hers with a gentle patience that was entirely foreign to Claudia’s previous life.

“Like this,” [Your Name] murmured, his voice soft but commanding. He demonstrated a fluid stroke, the pen moving with elegant precision. Claudia’s brow furrowed in concentration, her hands trying to mimic his movement, though frustration danced behind her eyes.

“I can’t do it,” she huffed, but there was no real anger. With [Your Name], there never was. Slowly your hand brushed against her dark and flawless skin

“You can,” he replied calmly. “You just need time. We all do.”

There was something calming in his presence, in the way he never rushed her or demanded perfection, unlike Lestat. He was patient, treating Claudia with a respect that neither Louis nor Lestat ever fully granted her. It was perhaps why she came to see him as more than just another companion—he was a guide, a teacher, a quiet fatherly figure.

Claudia’s smile returned, albeit faint, and she tried again, her tiny strokes improving under his watchful eye.

Louis, watching from the doorway, had always been struck by the way [Your Name] interacted with her. Unlike Lestat, who sought to mold Claudia into a creature of his own making, [Your Name] let her be free. He offered her the tools to learn but never forced her hand. ---

Louis nodded, though his gaze grew more distant, his mind drifting back to those long, haunting nights. “[Your Name] didn’t speak much,” Louis continued. “He was quiet, gentle, with an aura that suggested he had seen more of the world than any of us combined. Claudia trusted him, perhaps because he never tried to control her. He let her be free, let her learn. I… I never asked about his age, but I always suspected he was ancient. He had that look about him. That weight.”

Another flashback enveloped the room. [Your Name] sat in a dimly lit corner of their home, the flickering candlelight casting shadows over his face. He was hunched over a piece of parchment, a quill gliding smoothly across its surface as he wrote in deep concentration.

Louis, standing a few feet away, watched the scene quietly. He had often wondered what thoughts lingered behind those eyes, what worlds [Your Name] inhabited when he retreated into his silence. There was a timelessness to him, a stillness that unsettled even Louis.

The quill scratched softly against the paper as [Your Name] wrote, never pausing, never hesitating. A half-finished poem lay before him—lines that hinted at an eternal sadness, at an understanding of the world that Louis could only guess at.

"In shadows deep, we dance and fade, Unseen by time, in darkness laid. A fleeting touch, a whispered cry, We live forever, yet still we die."

Louis had never dared to ask about the poem, nor about the others like it that [Your Name] left unfinished. There was always a sense that those words were not meant to be shared, that they belonged to a part of [Your Name] that remained forever out of reach.

Armand’s eyes flicked over to Louis, a subtle smile on his lips. “You never understood him,” Armand said softly, his voice almost tender. “But Claudia did.”

The room seemed to freeze again, the gravity of Armand’s words hanging between them. There was something more, something deeper beneath his tone, but Louis didn’t respond. Instead, he let the silence stretch.

Daniel, however, was unwilling to let the moment pass without prodding further. “And what about his work? His poetry?”

At this, Armand’s expression faltered, his usual controlled demeanor slipping for a fraction of a second. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but Daniel caught it. He had been waiting for this moment.

“You mean his unfinished poems,” Daniel continued, flipping through his notebook. “It’s strange, isn’t it? So much of his work was lost or… incomplete. But there’s one poem that stands out. The one about Claudia.” He paused for dramatic effect before reading a few lines:

"In her eyes, a child—yet, never to grow, Trapped in a prison of eternal woe. Her heart beats, but not with life’s fire, A doll’s existence, never to expire."

Daniel looked up, meeting Armand’s gaze. “Unfinished, of course. But haunting, nonetheless. It almost feels like he was trying to capture her essence, but couldn’t quite bring himself to finish the thought. Why do you think that is?”

Armand’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing over his features. “Because some things are too painful to complete,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “Even for a vampire as old as [Your Name].”

Daniel held Armand’s gaze for a long moment before turning back to Louis. “So, he was there, part of your little family, but never truly part of it. An outsider, despite being… what, centuries old?”

Louis nodded. “He was always elusive. A shadow. There, but never fully with us. But in his own way, he cared for Claudia. I believe he loved her… as much as a creature like him could love.” Daniel snorted at Louis calling the other vampire a creature, amusing really.

Armand’s expression softened, but his eyes still held that possessive gleam. “[Your Name] was more than just a companion,” Armand said quietly, his voice dripping with something more intimate, something obsessive. “He was an artist. A mind that saw the world in ways none of us could comprehend. And in that, he was perfect.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, sensing the depth of Armand’s obsession. “It sounds like you were quite fond of him, Armand.”

“Fond?” Armand’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Fond doesn’t even begin to describe it.” He glanced at Louis, then back at Daniel, his gaze sharpening. “But I suppose you’ll find that out in time, won’t you?”

The room fell silent again, the weight of the past pressing down on all of them. Armand’s obsession with [Your Name] hung in the air, unspoken but palpable, and Daniel knew that this was only the beginning. The dim lighting of the room cast long shadows across the walls as Daniel’s voice cut through the tense air. He glanced between Louis and Armand, history lingering just beneath the surface. Louis sat stiffly, avoiding Armand’s gaze, his expression unreadable but tight with an underlying tension.

"So, how did you first meet [Your Name]?" Daniel inquired, breaking the silence. He leaned forward in his chair, eyes sharp as he caught the subtle exchange between the two vampires, but his quesion was clearly direced at Armand. Louis shifted uncomfortably, his eyes momentarily meeting Daniel’s before darting away. His hands fidgeted slightly in his lap as if the very mention of [Your Name] was enough to unravel something within him. “I need a moment,” Louis muttered, standing abruptly. Without another word, he exited the room, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

Daniel raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued further by Louis’ reaction. “That was… strange. He usually holds his composure better.”

Armand watched Louis leave, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. His dark eyes flicked back to Daniel. “Louis is complicated when it comes to [Your Name].” His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of possessiveness.

Daniel tilted his head, intrigued. “What do you mean by that?”

Armand leaned back, folding his hands together as he considered his words. “Louis… admired [Your Name], perhaps even more than he admitted to himself. He loved him, in a way. But he never acted on it. He feared what might happen if he did. He worried about Claudia, about rejection. Louis has always been a creature ruled by guilt.”

Daniel’s brow furrowed. “So, you’re saying Louis was in love with [Your Name]?”

Armand gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Yes, but Louis’ love is often restrained by fear. He couldn’t risk what they had, the balance they had established. He was content with the idea of [Your Name] being there, even if he never fully pursued his desires. But me…” Armand’s smile grew, dark and intimate. “I wasn’t as restrained.”

“Obsessed?” Daniel offered, his eyes gleaming with interest.

Armand’s smile deepened, his gaze far away now as he recalled the moment that had changed everything. “Obsessed,” he repeated softly. “I first met [Your Name] at a play. I was performing for humans, entertaining them with our little charade. But when I saw him…” Armand’s voice trailed off, and the room seemed to darken as the flashback began. ---

The theater was crowded with the lively chatter of the mortal audience, the scent of cheap perfume and candle wax heavy in the air. The dim light of chandeliers flickered across the stage as the actors performed, though Armand’s attention was no longer on the play.

Seated among the audience was a figure unlike anyone Armand had ever seen. [Your Name], with his sharp jawline and hauntingly smoky red eyes, sat in the back row, a quill in hand as he scribbled across a piece of parchment. His attention wasn’t on the performance but rather on whatever he was writing, his lips barely moving as his thoughts flowed onto the page.

Armand, playing his role on stage, felt his concentration waver. The beauty of [Your Name] was undeniable—he was like a statue carved from marble, perfect and distant, entirely uninterested in the mundane theater around him. His very presence seemed to command the room in a way that no mortal could.

As the play continued, Armand found his gaze drawn back to [Your Name] again and again. There was something magnetic about him, something beyond mere physical attraction. It was as if [Your Name] belonged to another world, and Armand could not resist the pull of that world.

Unable to focus any longer on the play, Armand had finished early, much to the 'awes' of the mortals watching. He made his way discreetly toward the back of the theater, his eyes never leaving [Your Name]. The other actors continued their performance, oblivious to his distraction, as Armand approached.

When he was close enough, he could see the quill moving smoothly over the parchment, the words forming beneath [Your Name]’s skilled hand. His expression remained impassive, though there was a subtle grace to the way his jaw moved as he focused. His beauty was mesmerizing—those sharp, defined features, the way his fingers held the quill with delicate precision.

“Enjoying the play?” Armand’s voice was low, but it held a teasing edge.

[Your Name] didn’t look up immediately. Instead, he finished the line he was writing before raising his eyes to meet Armand’s. His gaze was piercing, deep red with an ancient wisdom that sent a thrill through Armand.

“Not particularly,” [Your Name] replied smoothly, his voice calm but with an underlying sharpness. “I’ve seen better.”

Armand smiled, intrigued by the indifference in [Your Name]’s tone. He had expected someone as striking as this to be swept up in the grandeur of the theater, yet here he was, completely unimpressed.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t entertain you,” Armand said, though there was no sincerity in his apology. Instead, his eyes lingered on [Your Name]’s form, taking in every detail—how his clothes fit perfectly against his body, the way the flickering candlelight cast shadows across his face, making him look almost ethereal.

“You seem distracted,” [Your Name] remarked, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on your performance?”

Armand chuckled softly. “Perhaps, but I’ve found something far more interesting.” His gaze lingered, making his intent clear.

[Your Name] raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “Is that so?” --

The flashback faded as Armand’s voice broke through the memory, returning Daniel and the present audience to the dimly lit room. Armand’s eyes were dark with longing, his tone soft as he spoke again.

“That was the first time I saw him,” Armand murmured, his voice almost reverent. “He captivated me in a way no one ever had before. There was something… otherworldly about him. From that moment on, I knew I had to have him, despite the fact that I was...Occupied with Louis at this time”

Daniel remained quiet, letting the weight of Armand’s words settle in the room. The intensity of Armand’s obsession was palpable, and it was clear that this story was far from over

#the vampire armand #interview with the vampire #interview with a vampire #louis de pointe du lac #vampire armand #armand x reader #armand x louis #armand x male reader #obsession #obsessed armand #claudia #2022 Interview with the Vampire #slasher x male reader

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gallusrostromegalus · 8 months ago

Note

I must ask how my Most Favorite Boys, Jushiro Ukitake and Shinji Hirako, are doing in AEIWAM?

When Shinji returns to his post as Captain of the 5th after his exile, he is DETERMINED to not repeat his past mistakes and actually get to know the shinigami serving under him. He needs... Some kind of event, something people will voluntarily attend, where they'll tell him about themselves, and with a bit of structure because he is an awkward sod, and social interactions need RULES, DAMMIT-

"Now hang on-" says Shinji after staring at the blank office wall in silence for the last thirty minutes. "-that's not a bad idea!"

"...Is he okay?" Lieutenant Momo asks quietly.

"Oh yeah, he's always a little freak. Talks to himself and gets a lot out of the conversation." Also Lieutenant Hiyori nods. "You don't need to worry until he breaks out the craft supplies."

"He just pulled out a bunch of markers and construction paper." Momo pointed to their captain as he scribbled furiously on the paperwork he was ignoring.

"Aw. Fuck." Groaned Hiyori. "Well this is gonna be cringe as hell."

***

A few nights later, most of the fifth division assembled in the auditorium, slightly confused, but they had been promised there would be no additional work from this meeting, and there was an open bar, so they were in figurative and literal high spirits.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Fifth Division, welcome to TONIGHT'S GAME!" A cheerful and showman-like voice called out over the speakers, and the stage curtain rose to reveal a brightly colored game show stage where there had not been one before.

"Tonight's lovely contestants are- all the way from payroll, it's Fifth Division Tenth Seat Tenya Danshin!" The voice called out as the familiar face of their payroll and scheduling manager trotted out onstage and took his place behind the first of three podiums. There was some scattered and genuine, if confused applause from the audience.

"He's Big, he's Bad, he's just a little Bizarre, he's Josuke Araki!" The voice continued as a notably tall and muscular member took his place behind the middle podium with a wave and broad grin. There was more clapping and a few cheers this time.

"Currently being dragged onstage by my lovely assistant, it's my second favorite Lieutenant, Hiyori Sarugaki!" The voice continued as Hiyori was wrestled onstage and behind the third podium by Momo. The audience whooped and snickered at the spectacle.

"FUCK YOU, YOU FREAK!" Hiyori roared, flipping off the audience and the figure behind the final podium on the other side of the stage.

"I'm your host, ME! I've been here the whole time!" Grinned Shinji, dressed in a rather snappy three piece suit and holding a microphone. "WELCOME, all my lovely division members and Hiyori, to Tonight's Game! Now, you all know how to play, right?"

"Um. No. Sorry sir." Muttered Tenya as Josuke shook his head.

"You didn't tell us shit!" Hiyori growled.

"That's RIGHT!" Shinji's Cheshire Cat smile shined under the spotlights.

"You see, I wanted to get to know everyone in the 5th a little better, and there is nothing quite like a game show to get people to reveal some truly startling sides of themselves, but playing the same game over and over would be boring! So, every night we play Tonight's Game, the game is a different game than last time, and the contestants will all start with blank slates!" He explained, entirely too pleased with himself. "So- the only way to win is by learning, the only way to learn is by playing, and the only way to begin is by beginning, so without further ado- Momo, will you please bring out THE LIE DETECTOR."

The small curtains at the back of the stage opened, and Momo rolled out a cart with a strange device covered in dials and switches with a long antenna and a large lightbulb on top.

"Thank you Momo! Now, the clever bastards in the 12th whipped this up for me so I have absolutely no idea how it actually works, but I am assured this is the latest cutting-edge in Veracity Technology. Let's turn it on and try it out! Tenya-!"

"Yes, sir!" Tenya snapped to attention. "No need to be formal, I'm only your host, not your captain right now." Shinji waved. "Tell me Tenya- Do you have any children?"

"I- Um, my wife and I have three children, two little boys and our infant daughter?" He stammered, confused.

DING! The Device charmed, light bulb lighting up bright green.

"That is CORRECT!" Shinji grinned. "You get a point!"

There was another chime as the screen on the front of Tenya's Podium lit up and displayed a "1".

"Oh, I see!" Laughed Tenya.

"Josuke!" called Shinji.

"Capt- Host?" Josuke stopped mid-salute.

"Very good! Tell me Josuke, do you live in the barracks?" Shinji asked with genuine interest.

"Uh, no. I live with my Mom." Josuke shook his head.

DING! Said the device.

"That is Correct!" Shinji nodded approvingly. "You get a point as well!"

"Oh, so, every time we tell the truth, we get a point?" Asked Josuke.

"Very quick on the uptake my friend!" Shinji winked. "Of course, as the game goes on, the questions are going to get much harder to answer Truthfully..."

Oooooooh! Gasped the audience, invested now.

"What happens if we lie?" Wondered Tenya.

"Even if we did- how would he fucking know?" Hiyori rolled her eyes.

"You can try it and find out!" Shinji grinned with more than a hint of Menace. "Hiyori! It's your turn!"

"Ugh. What?" She groaned.

"Tell me, When is my birthday?" Asked Shinji.

"I don't know and I don't care." She smirked, sticking her tongue out at him.

BZZRK! The Device buzzed angrily, and the light flashed red. OHH! laughed the audience.

"What the FUCK?" Yelped Hiyori.

"Ooh!" Shinji winced, thoroughly enjoying himself. "I'm afraid that is INCORRECT! According to the screen back here, you spent the better part of THREE MONTHS tracking down a specific part to repair my sound system and traveled halfway across the planet to deliver it personally to me on my birthday. So not only do you know, you DO care, and for that I'm afraid I'm going to have to dock you two points."

Hiyori's screen lit up and displayed a "-2"

"WHAT THE HELL?" Hiyori wailed. "You didn't even see me when I gave you that Banana Plug or whatever-!"

"I did not!" Shinji grinned. "-but The Device knows, and is infallible!" "That's terrifying!" Tenya laughed nervously. "Alright contestants, the questions are going to get harder now, so consider your answers to them carefully." Shinji warned, a finger up to his lips. "Contestants- does any of your underwear have holes in it?"

"...Can we refuse to answer on the grounds it might get us in trouble?" asked Josuke.

"Yes! But you won't get any points for that round, and you may not win our Lovely Prize this week. Speaking of- Momo! Will you please show our contestants what they're playing for this week?"

Momo emerged from backstage with a large, blank sign, which she turned over and held over her head for all to see.

AN EXTRA WEEK OF PAID VACATION

OHHH! exclaimed the audience, with a few audible mutters of Damn, a whole week? and How do you get on this show?.

"ALL MY UNDERWEAR HAS GOT HOLES IN IT!" Shouted Josuke, now with heavily-motivated enthusiasm. Laughter exploded out of the audience, thoroughly entertained.

DING! chimed the device, and the score on Josuke's podium went up.

"Josuke taking an early and shameless lead!" Beamed Shinji, delighted that his plan was working. "Tenya?"

"I-ah, I don't think so?" Tenya blushed. "I bathe the kids and get them ready for bed while my wife does the laundry." He tried to explain.

BZZRK! The Device contested, red light flashing and the audience howled with laughter.

"Uh-oh, that's Not Correct!" Grinned Shinji. "According to the device, a significant amount of your clothes have holes in them, and you don't notice because you get dressed in the dark. You didn't outright lie though, so you will only not get a point instead of a deduction."

"WHAT?" Yelped Hiyori, outraged.

"Yeah, that's fair." Tenya winced. "Seriously though- where does this thing get it's information from?"

"...Hiyori?" Shinji leered playfully at his lieutenant.

"Yeah, it's all got holes. They come that way- Two for my legs and one for my torso." Hiyori snarled.

DING! agreed The Device.

"That is *technically* correct, which is the BEST kind of correct! You get a point!" Shinji cheered, and so did the audience.

"FINALLY!" She shouted, but her eyes narrowed with competitive enthusiasm.

---

The game continued for an hour, with a mix of group and solo questions, but equal chances to score points awarded to all contestants. Josuke was shameless but ill-informed, causing him to fail several rounds, Tenya was honest even as his face flushed red and he crumpled behind his Podium. Hiyori did her best to be only as honest as she had to be, and as the game continued, they came to a three-way tie.

"Before we begin the final round-" Shinji said, intoning a gentle sincerity. "Contestants, you've been so honest with me. Like. Alarmingly Honest with me. So I need to be honest with you- I do know how The Lie Detector works."

There was a scandalized gasp from all three contestants and the audience.

"Okay- I *sort of* know how The Device works." Shinji admitted. "I don't know what 'Wiffy' is-"

"YOU MEAN THE FUCKING WI-FI?" Howled Hiyori.

"Oh, like you know how it works!" Shinji glared.

"It's using a radio frequency to transmit Data instead of an electrical pulses like internet usually does." She scoffed. "-AND I KNOW HOW TO PRONOUNCE IT!"

Shinji glared. "...I should deduct a point from you for insubordination."

"You can't do that, you're the Host, not the Captain!" Said Josuke cheerfully.

"Yeah, unless Host is a Military rank, it's arguing, not insubordination."

DING! Agreed The Device.

"DON'T GANG UP ON ME!" Shinji wailed. "Fine, fine. Anyway, I might not know how Why-Figh works, but I *DO* know how the device knows if you're lying or not. Would my Lovely Assistants please come to the stage?"

Momo emerged from backstage, wearing a labcoat and holding another device with an antenna that matched the Lie Detector, followed by a middle aged woman holding a Baby, an older woman, and Mashiro Kuna.

"Akkiko?" Tenya yelped, and his wife laughed manically.

"MOM??" Wailed Josuke.

"MASHIRO??" Hiyori bellowed, jumping up onto her Podium. "YOU SOLD ME OUT?!"

"FOR A BAG OF CORN CHIPS!" Mashiro cackled.

"YOU DIDN'T EVEN PAY HER?!" Hiyori howled at Shinji.

"She was gonna do it for free! I talked her UP to a bag of corn chips!" Shinji protested. "But YES! You've all been deceived! Hoodwinked!Bamboozled, even! Which brings us to our Final Question!"

The crowd roared with excitement.

"I started this game because I wanted to get to know everyone better- but I have to ask, how well do YOU know each other, and so I must ask you all if you know these people as well as they know you?"

There was a loud OOOH! of intrigue from the audience.

"Just to make it extra-exciting, all of these questions will be worth up to three points!" Shinji grinned, then slowly turned to the first Podium. "Tenya."

"Oh god." Tenya laughed nervously.

"Your lovely wife. You've been married for ten year now, so you theoretically know what she looks like, right?" Shinji teased. "So, for a potential three points and week of paid vacation- Do you know what color Akkiko's eyes are?"

Akkiko giggled, turning around as Tenya leaned as far forward on his Podium and squinted at her. With a deep sigh, he slumped over the podium in defeat.

"...I do not." He groaned and Akkiko cackled.

"That is CORRECT!" Shinji cheered.

"I'm not good with colors." Tenya tried to explain. "-this morning I actually asked her what color MY eyes are."

"YES! That's what I was waiting to hear!" Shinji shouted, pumping his fist in the air. "All three points!"

The audience cheered loudly.

Shinji turned to the next contestant. "Josuke."

"Oh no." Josuke giggled.

"What is your mother's favorite food?" Shinji asked.

Josuke stared blankly.

"SURELY you are not living in your mother's house and NOT COOKING FOR HER, are you?" Shinji asked with no small amount of menace.

"You're never going to get married if you can't cook!" Tenya nodded in agreement.

"I COOK!" Josuke protested. "...sometimes." he added, cringing.

"-So. What do you make for your beloved mother, who works so hard taking care of her adult son?" Shinji teased.

"LOTSA STUFF THAT'S WHY I DON'T KNOW!" Josuke wailed. "I COOK KATSUDON, I COOK RAMEN, I COOK CURRY, I COOK OMURICE- I EVEN LEARNED HOW TO COOK WESTERN FOODS LIKE LASAGNA AND CHILLI CHEESE DOG-! DING! Went the device, Josuke's mother holding the radio.

"Was your favorite in there Mrs. Akari?"

"Yes! I like Chili Cheese Dog." She smiled. "I always eat seconds!"

"YOU ALWAYS EAT SECONDS OF EVERYTHING I COOK I DON'T KNOW WHICH ONE YOU LIKE THE MOST!" Josuke wailed.

"That is also true! He is a very good cook! And single!" She nodded up at Shinji.

"-And he's single!" Shinji grinned at the audience, some of whom whistled back. "Three points, for your culinary skills! Which means we have a Tie!"

The audience tittered with speculation and excitement.

"...Hiyori." Shinji grinned.

"You're a dead man as soon as you sign off on my vacation time." She glared.

"I mean, I can end the game right now." Shinji wagged his finger at her. "-But I can't resist the opportunity to humliate you. Now, You and Mashiro have been living under the same roof for longer than Josuke and Tenya have been alive, so to be fair to them, I'll ask you about someone you've met more recently but should still know pretty well-"

Hiyori squinted at him.

"-What is Momo's Favorite Animal?"

"What?" Hiyori laughed. "-Everyone knows it's Penguins!"

"Really?" asked Josuke. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, I didn't know that either and I've served under her for decades now!" Said Tenya.

"What? How do you guys NOT know that?" Demanded Hiyori. "Her phone background is a Rockhopper Penguin, she's got a Fairy penguin squeeze toy in her desk for really long phone calls and she's always talking about wanting to go to the Tokyo aquarium in the living world to see them in person! She's even got a HUGE collection of penguin plushies in her r-" DINGDINGDINGDINGSING!! rang the Machine as Momo furiously pressed the button, face red as a beet.

"Wow!" Shinji smiled. "I'm surprised! You seem to know Miss Hinamori really well!"

"Uh, duh? We're colleagues." Hiyori rolled her eyes.

Momo sighed with relief.

"Interesting! Follow-up question- What's Mashiro's surname?" Shinji asked.

Hiyori blinked. "...uhhhhhhhh..."

"You heard Kensei yell it at least six times a day for the last century you jackass!" Laughed Mashiro.

"UHHHHH..." Hiyori paled, and the audience roared with laughter.

"Hmm... I seem to remember you pretending you didn't care about my birthday, and yet, you do- For you to remember her favorite animal and in such detail, Momo must be VERY IMPORTANT to you!"

The audience giggled Momo turned scarlet again and slowly crumpled into a ball. Mashiro vibrated with excitement beside her.

"Yeah?" Hiyori glared at Shinji. "She's the smartest person in the whole damn division and does half your job for you? If I win, I'm giving the week off to her just to watch you flail around without her! No wait- I'll set up the webcam and we can split the week off, go to the aquarium AND watch Shinji squirm like a worm an a-! Uh? Momo? You okay there?" She asked, finally noticing Momo laying on the floor, borderline catatonic with embarrassment.

"This is FASCINATNG!" Shinji grinned. "You are apparently so immune to embarrassment that you have somehow made it bounce off you and target Momo!"

"What's to be embarrassed about? I like her okay?" Hiyori blinked. "She's great! I wanna work with her forever!"

Shinji leaned forward on his elbows, chin in his hands and stared at Hiyori, positively vibrating with excitement.

"What?" She glared.

"You are. SO CLOSE. To comprehending something." He said, wide-eyed and delighted. "It's fascinating to see someone on the precipice like this."

Hiyori stared blankly at him. clueless.

"So you like Momo. We've established that." Shinji said, attempting to throw her a bone. "H- how do you think Momo feels about you?" Hiyori slowly lowered her gaze to Momo. The entire audience watched in hushed fascination as Hiyori frowned at the situation, thinking hard-

"...Momo?" Hiyori's voice was suddenly nervous. "Do you- have I just been annoying you? Becuase I can stop-"

Momo Hinamori was abruptly on her feet, crouched atop the Podium, fists balled in the front of Hiyori's shushako, pulling the blonde's face up so it was mere inches from hers. "HIYORI SARUGAKI YOU ARE THE MOST INFURIATING WOMAN IN THE UNIVERSE!"

"Fuck!" Hiyori yelped. "I'm really sorry, I'll- I'll leave you alo-"

"I'LL TELL YOU WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO DO, MISSY!" Momo continued, grabbing Hiyori's face. "YOU'RE WINNING THIS GAME, YOU'RE SPLITTING THE WEEK OFF WITH ME, YOU ARE GETTING A HOTEL IN THE LIVING WORLD AND THEN *I* AM GOING TO-'

In the videotape of the game that mysteriously appeared in the ninth division later that week, the next forty-seven seconds of sound had been obscured by a single, loud, continuous "BLEEEEEEEEEEEEP!" sound, but Mashiro was visibly looking up some of the terms being shouted on her phone, Josuke's mother sprinted up to cover her son's ears to no avail, Akkiko was pointing between herself and Tenya with excitement, and Shinji's jaw fell so far open it looked like it had become unhinged from his skull.

"-AND IF EITHER OF US CAN WALK IN THE MORNING, THEN WE'RE GONNA GO SEE SOME PENGUINS!" Momo finished, staring Hiyori down with a terrifying blend of romantic fury and bloodthirsty lust.

Hiyori stared up, wide-eyed and expressionless, face clearly offline as she underwent several psychological and spiritual awakenings before her she slowly broke into a slow, stupefied grin "Oh you like-like me!"

"...Yes." Momo sighed, deeply pained and affectionate at once as the audience howled. "You're okay with... all that?"

Hiyori saluted Momo with an enthusiastic "-Yes, SIR!"

"NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M FUCKING TALKIN' ABOUT!" Shinji whooped with joy, jumping up and down, the audience on their feet with applause. "POINTS AND VACATIONS ALL AROUND, AND FOR BEING THE *MOST* HONEST, THE WINNER OF TONIGHT'S GAME IS MOMO HINAMORI!"

The audience cheered wildly as Momo scooped Hiyori up like a princess and carried her backstage.

"THAT'S IT FOR TONIGHT'S GAME!" called Shinji over the din. "GOODNIGHT EVERYONE, AND GOOD FUCKING LUCK!"

---

As for Jushiro Ukitake, he appears on a special guest episode of Tonight's Game with fellow Captains Soi Fon, Byakuya Kuchiki and Retsu Unohana to play "Never Have I Ever" and *that* episode is widely considered to be one of the most scandalous and unhinged of all the games on Tonight's Game.

#AEIWAM #An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy #Bleach #Bleach Fanfic #Shinji hirako #momo hinamori #hiyori sarugaki #jushiro ukitake #(well he get mentioned at the end)#Long post #I've been watching a lot of Game Changer and I occured to me that Shinji and Sam Reich have a lot in common #for those of who don't watch Game Changer: This is a parody of the second episode

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heizlut · 9 months ago

Note

Hallo! I am very new to tumblr, so please excuse any mistakes i may make qwq

I really enjoyed your Venti and Kaeya story(ies)! Could you do something similar for Lyney with the addition of a breeking kink? He doesnt have cat ears or a tail like his sister- instead, the feline side of him shows through his obsessive need to breed :x

jshdhdhd i’ve been thinking about this like crazy and i’m so glad we got to clarify a few details over messages before i wrote this! again, welcome to tumblr! i’m so glad you stumbled across my page🫶🏼 (was also totally inspired by the yaoi when writing this lmfao)

Jinx

cw: breeding kink, textured feline tongue, hypnosis, rope-play, mentions of pregnancy

tags: sub fem!reader, dom!lyney with recessive feline traits, mostly proofread

a/n: here's a lil translation for the pet names- "mon chaton"= my kitten; "mon cherie"= my beloved; "bonne fille"= good girl; “ma bonne fille”= my good girl

nsfw under the cut

m!list here

જ⁀➴✧:･.˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.・જ⁀➴✧:

Ever since becoming his girlfriend, Lyney found he had a particular jinx; all because one evening he fucked you so hard backstage before his performance, filling you so full of his sticky cum, and his show ended up being the greatest one yet. The next performance, he wanted to test out his little theory; fucking his cock into your tight cunt til his cum was leaking out and dripping down your thighs. Lyney had yet another show stopping performance.

When he told you his theory, you had simply laughed, “Seems like you just want to relieve some pre-show nerves. I doubt it’s some type of jinx, my love.” The cute little pout on Lyney’s face made it hard to take him seriously. You give him a kiss on the cheek, “I don’t mind this little routine though. If it means getting fucked so full of you before a show, I’ll do it.”

Tonight was a performance that Lyney knew he couldn’t fuck up. It was meant to be another show stopper with prominent Fontaine guests in the audience. You made your way to his dressing room as you usually did. Lyney was seated at his vanity touching up his hair when he saw your reflection behind him in the mirror. The corners of his lips curl upwards, “There she is~”

You smirk in response, “I have something special for you tonight…Master Lyney~” Lyney turned his body in his chair to face you as you begin to undo the buttons of your dress. The soft material slips off your body, revealing a red lacy lingerie set with a black garter belt that matched his. Lyney’s lips part, taking in every inch of you with his violet eyes. Lyney almost wanted to curse his innate feline genes for almost pouncing on you right then and there. The way you looked right now and using that title he'd teased you with before was almost too much for him to bear. He wanted to be able to take his time with you, or at least as much time as he could before he had to make his way to the stage.

Lyney gets up from his seat, sauntering over to you with a sultry look in his eyes. His fingers reach out, tracing the lacy edges of your lingerie, "Look at my sweet girl dressed so provocatively... Wearing my extra garter belt no less." He runs his finger under one of the straps and pulls it back and releases, letting it lightly slap back against your skin. Your breath catches in your throat as he does so. Arousal pooling against the thin fabric of your panties when he leans in, his lips grazing yours as he speaks in a low tone, "I have something special for you too, mon chaton~" Lyney backs away from you, the lingering touch from his lips sets you ablaze with desire.

Lyney digs through his pocket and pulls out a carnelian pendulum with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Be a sweetheart for me and keep your eyes on crystal, yes?" You draw your bottom lip between your teeth and nod, fixing your gaze on the pendulum. Your eyes follow the swinging pendulum as Lyney begins to speak, "Relax your mind and your body... Focus on the sound of my voice..." He continues on as you feel your mind go blank. He smirks at your dazed expression, now having you fully under.

He softly caressed your cheek, running the pad of his thumb across your soft lips, "Be a good girl and get the purple rope, yes?" All you can do is nod and follow his instructions. Lyney's cock twitches as he watches you bring back the rope he requested. He takes it from you hands and moves behind you, his lips against your ear, "Arms behind your back, mon cherie~" Of course, you comply. His voice filling your mind like a sweet melody that was only meant for you alone. A tingling sensation pricks at your skin as the ropes loop through your arms just tight enough for you to be forced to stay in that position, unable to touch him.

Lyney's fingers trace your skin as he moves to the front of you, admiring how gorgeous you looked. He takes hold of the straps of your pretty bra between his digits, using his pyro vision to carefully singe them just enough to let a piece of them burn away. The straps fall loose to your back and he singes the front connecting the cups. Your perky breasts are left exposed to his lustful gaze as the bra makes a soft noise when it lands on the dressing room floor. You squirm a little in your spot as the need between your legs begins to consume you. Your eyes stuck on his violet ones that burn with deep desire, "Be still, mon chaton."

Your lips part as you let a soft moan slip when Lyney cups your breasts in his nimble hands. He squeezes and massages them, mesmerized by the way the plushness squishes between his fingers. He lowers himself and leans forward taking one pebbled nipple into his mouth; his rough feline tongue flicking and swirling around it. Your body tries to fight against the hypnosis, desperate to tangle your fingers in his hair as his rough tongue does its work on your body.

Leaving your breasts sore and swollen, Lyney kisses down your body softly til he's eye level with your clothed cunt. His eyes flit up to your face, pleased to see you looking so needy. He taps your thigh twice, "Spread out so I can enjoy my pre-performance meal." You comply, taking a small step to the side to give him more room. Lyney smirks, "Bonne fille..." He places his hands on your thighs and licks a stripe through your thin panties. He lets out a broken groan at the scent and taste of you as your arousal soaked the material. Lyney tugs at the panties until they rip and glide down, now hanging loosely around one ankle.

Your moans fill the small dressing room as he dives in between your folds, lapping up your juices with his rough tongue. His grip tightens on your thighs as you shake with pleasure; his tongue relentless against your sensitive clit. White hot pleasure courses through you as you cum on his tongue, making him snarl as he overstimulates you, unable to get enough of your taste. "Please, Master Lyney~!" you cry out, feeling as though your legs are about to give out from underneath you. The title you give him and the way you taste and smell kicks his feline instincts into full gear. Lyney needed to breed you.

Lyney straightens up and tugs you by your garter belt to his vanity. He bends you slightly and tangles his fingers in your hair, pulling your head up to look at the reflection of you both in his mirror. "Oh, mon chaton... See the way you look right now? I simply can't resist~", he chuckles as you whimper when you're forced to look at how dazed and desperate you are for him. He undoes his pants, tugging them down just enough for his twitching cock to bob free against your ass.

Lyney's hands travel down your curves and to your round ass, giving your cheeks a light squeeze. He spreads them apart, giving himself a better view of your leaky pussy. He moves his hips, letting his fat pink tip rub against your cunt and gather your arousal. Lyney stills himself, his tip pushed against your wet entrance as he leans over, locking eyes with you in the reflection, "Keep your eyes on us." Unable to do anything other than what he says, your eyes widen as a pretty cry leaves your lips as he pushes himself inside of you.

His fingers dig into the fat of your hips as he fucks into you deep and hard. Lyney completely loses it when he sees your eyes flutter and drool slips from the corner of your mouth as you keep your eyes on the lewd display. His pace becomes harsh as the tip of his thick cock bullies your insides over and over, "Need to breed you nice and full... Need to see your cute stomach swell with my children- Fuck, mon amour...-" His hips stutter when he sees the white ring of cum that had formed at the base of his cock. Lyney lets out a breathy chuckle, running his fingers though his hair, “Creaming around my cock? You must really want me to breed you, huh”

You’re so fucked out the only way you can respond is by moaning over and over. You looked angelic and so fucking slutty that when your eyes crossed in pleasure and your tits bounced in time with his thrusts, Lyney releases a whiny moan. With a final thrust, his hot cum floods your fluttering pussy. His cock throbs as he regains his senses, groaning as he pulls out and his cum begins to leak from your cunt.

As much as the sight of his cum leaking from you filled his ego, Lyney needed it to take. Quickly grabbing a silicone prop, he pushes it inside your pussy with a curved smile, "You shouldn't let my seed go to waste. We need to keep you stuffed full 'til my cum takes..." Your eyes meet his devious ones in the vanity mirror, still looking for more. A sudden knock on the door causes Lyney to snap from his thoughts as Lynette's voice sounds from the other side, "Lyney, it's time."

"I'll be there in a moment!", he calls back and then lets out a sigh. His gaze returning to your dazed one. Your were still under his hypnosis... Lyney's voice is saccharine when he speaks his next words, "Sit still at my vanity and don't even think about covering up or fucking yourself on the prop that's keeping my cum in you." A sly smile forms on his lips when you let out a small whimper when you sit, making the silicone prop push deeper inside of you. Lyney presses a slow kiss to your lips and smiles, "Ma bonne fille..." He readjusts his clothes and fixes his hair one last time before heading out for his grand performance,

And what a performance it was. A standing ovation, thrown flowers covering the stage, and raving reviews from the prominent figures of Fontaine; all thanks to you. Lyney walks back to his dressing room and his lips curl up when his gaze lands on your shaking, restrained body still sat as his vanity as your own arousal had pooled in the chair. You were his lucky charm, his special jinx; and oh how he would reward you for being so perfect.... Breeding you time and time again.

જ⁀➴✧:･.˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.・જ⁀➴✧:

a/n: i turned myself on just writing this lol also plz if you’ve read the yaoi i referenced, let’s be friends lmao

#lyney smut #lyney x reader smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #lyney x reader #genshin lyney #genshin impact lyney

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notsosweetchan · 9 months ago

Text

˚ʚ♡ɞ Show Time ˚ʚ♡ɞ

Notes: Check out part 2

Warning: Camboy AU Smut

Paring: | Chan x Reader |

At precisely eight-thirty every evening, Y/N would retrieve her charging laptop from her desk and make herself comfortable on her bed.

She eagerly opened it up, looking forward to watching her favorite Camboy. His handle was gnbnahc but most of his viewers know him as Chan or Channie.

Y/N had stumbled across him while watching porn one day 2 months ago, and she had been hooked since. The starting soon screen counting down his start time always made her heart pound with excitement.

His room tinted red from his led lights and the deafening music blaring through her speakers, a stark contrast to her silent room.

Chan has shown his face but body was a work of art. A perfect V shaped torso, toned arms and abs that you could practically etch your name into. “Hello everyone,how’s your night going “ Chan waved to his viewers.

Every livestream started off with him just chatting for a bit before he started to undress. He liked to tease them first, always keeping them on the edge of their seats. “ xxcherrylips ask what are going to be doing tonight” he read a donation message aloud.

“Well I do have something special in store for you all he winked at the camera. Y/N's heart leapt in her chest, her cheeks turning tomato red.

Chan always made her feel seen even though he didn't know she existed. He began to run his hands up his chest, playing with his nipple piercing.

“Tonight I’m going to edge and make myself cum so fucking hard for you all. But first let’s start with a little strip tease” he did a sexy little dancefor his audience. Y/N like an obedient dog , tipped 50 tokens “ to take it slow” she chuckled to herself.

Chan smirked “ 50 tokens for me to take it slow huh, that’s it baby girl? Don’t be stingy ” her face burned a deep shade of red, but she tipped another 100.

“Better” he purred into the mic, his voice laced with lust. He unbuttoned his shirt one button at a time, every click of the button making Y/N's heart pound faster.

He turned around, teasingly wagging his ass for her and his other viewers. Tonight felt different, something about the way he moved or maybe how he looked at the camera made her insides pool with arousal and anticipation. Chan reached for his belt buckle and ever so slowly unbuckled it.

Y/N bit her lip as her hand strays to her panties, rubbing circles on her clit through the fabric. He slid his pants down just enough to reveal the tip of his cock,throbbing against his boxers.

He took his time, teasing his way down his chiseled abs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. Y/N whimpered quietly as Chan licked his lips and gave the camera a playful wink before pulling down the front of his boxers.

His cock bouncing free, Y/N couldnt believe how much she needed to see him edge himself off.

“I want you to touch yourself for me baby girl, do it now” he ordered into the mic. Y/N listened without a second thought, her fingers slipping between her wet folds. With her free hand she typed out a message to him “Chan I’m so wet for you.”

His chocolate brown eyes connected with hers or at least it felt like it, his smirk growing wider by the second. “That’s my good girl, I want to hear you cum for me” he said huskily. His hand wrapped around his erection,slowly pumping his length.

His other hand disappeared from the screen only to return with a bottle of lube. Y/N moans escaped her lips as he coated himself in it, and to her surprise Chan picked up a toy as well.

“I thought tonight we would make this interesting, whoever tips the most gets to control my pleasure tonight” he smirked.

Y/N's fingers flew across the keypad , fearful of someone else controlling him. But someone else tipped more, Y/N felt her chest tighten with jealousy as Chan moaned out. “Looks like @bigdaddycock123 is in charge tonight, don't disappoint me now babe” he winked at the camera.

Y/N sighed in defeat and continued masturbating to the sight of Chan moaning out his viewers name, but in her mind it was her he was moaning for. Chan worked his cock and the toy in and out of himself, his moans louder now.

The person who was in control sped him up and Chan's moans grew louder, the knowledge that he was getting off on someone else's command made Y/N so wet she could feel her juices soaking through her panties.

“@bigdaddycock123 please can I cum” Chan whined, waiting for the person’s permission “No not yet , I want to hear some more moans from you” Chan whined in frustration, but he did as he was told. His moans vibrating the airwaves and making Y/N's toes curl.

“Fuck I’m so close, please” he begged “Edge for me once more and you can cum” @bigdaddycock123 typed. Y/N couldn't take it anymore , she doubled her efforts to get herself off while Chan edge himself, his moans echoing in her head.

His muscles tense and his breathing ragged. Y/N couldn't take it anymore she was so close herself. “You can cum now @bigdaddycock123 said.

That was all the permission Chan needed , he sped up hisstrokes, groaning so loadly Y/N swore she could feel it deep in her bones. Precum leaked from the tip of his cock, he was so close too.

Y/N rubbed her clit in sync with his strokes .“Fuck I’m cumming, I’m cumming now” he roared into the mic, his cock twitching as he came splattering his cum onto the camera screen.

Y/N couldn't hold it any longer, her walls spasmed around nothing as she came hard. The afterglow enveloping her in its warmth.

Chan caught his breath he panted , his chest heaving. “Thank you all for tuning in tonight, I will see you all next time” he winked before signing off. Y/N lay in her bed, her heart pounding in her ears, wishing it was her hand touching him instead of his own.

Y/N sent him a private message “How much for a private show?” she bit her lip waiting for his response.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids imagine #stray kids smut #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz imagine #skz smut #skz bang chan #bang chan imagines #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagine #bang chan smut #bang chan #stray kids bang chan #bang chan stray kids

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radiant-reid · 2 years ago

Text

Exposed

Summary: You and Spencer don't realize how many of your not-safe-for-work conversations have been on the FBI's radar until a memo gets distributed

Word Count 1.0k

Content Warning: NSFW (18+) themes

Similar to how it's never good to get called into the principal's office, it's never good when Hotch calls a meeting in the middle of the day. With no case, active or pending, curious looks get exchanged before the team when Hotch speaks from the landing before you all climb the stairs and follow Hotch to the boardroom.

Spencer slyly sits next to you, pretending he didn't notice Morgan was going to sit there. He taps your foot under the table, which you didn't understand could be flirtatious before you met Spencer.

Always a straight shooter (metaphorically and literally), Hotch doesn't waste any time. He hands a copy of a stapled stack of paper to each of you but stays standing, hinting that it will be a quick meeting. Thankfully, that means nothing is wrong.

Your eyes widen when you read the cover page: Sexual Harassment Memorandum.

A tiny giggle escapes JJ's lips as everyone looks at Penelope and Morgan, who are likely the guilty parties. They both look a little nervous, Penelope grimacing while Morgan stiffens in his seat.

"The brass has caught on to some less-than-work-appropriate language used by members of this team," Hotch informs you all. "And, although we have more important things to do like saving lives, they want this memo of inappropriate language examples distributed."

Besides the hilariousness of the passive-aggressive telling-off, it amuses you that Hotch thinks it's a waste of time.

"Please read through it and refrain from using these words when there's an outside audience." He finishes.

"That outside audience being Erin Strauss," Rossi comments in a low enough whisper Hotch can pretend he didn't hear the insult at his superior.

"That's all." Hotch wraps up the meeting before leaving the room, presumably to finish work that's actually important.

Everyone's wearing amused grins when Hotch leaves. "Busted." Rossi sing-songs to Morgan and Penelope, who are looking very guilty. "Have fun, kids." He laughs before leaving the room.

You notice the thickness of the new list of forbidden phrases. "Damn, how much flirting have you two done since the last time you got in trouble with HR?" You joke, earning a laugh from the table.

The list is amusing to read, everyone laughing at the memories. It was definitely not HR's intent, but it breaks up the monotonous day.

Reading pages ahead, Spencer stiffens next to you, and you're on edge about what he's read. After eight years, he's heard some lewd things come out of Penelope and Morgan's mouths, so it's unlikely one of their comments would have phased him.

You see it when you skim-read a few quotes: you looked sexy in your glasses earlier. You can remember exactly when you typed that. It was a stakeout where you were assigned to sit in a car with Morgan while Spencer sat with Emily, and you were so bored you thought you'd flirt with your boyfriend. It's not too revealing regarding who it was about, and Penelope wears glasses, so hopefully, it goes unnoticed.

It doesn't.

"Wait, I never said that," Morgan says, finger hovering over the quote.

"Which one?" Emily asks, intrigued.

"You looked sexy in your glasses earlier." He repeats what you'd texted Spencer, busting you both. You kick him under the table when you notice the blush spreading around your boyfriend's neck.

The rest of the team is puzzled, not understanding how it couldn't be them. "Are the rest yours?" Emily asks.

"You're on my most-wanted list." Morgan reads the contents of the email Spencer sent you with an attachment to the FBI's updated most wanted list. That one was situationally inappropriate, but you deleted it twice and told Spencer to do the same, so you're not sure how they got it.

They read through a few more that aren’t theirs, and you grow increasingly worried about how curious they will be. There’s no chance they’ll let it go. As profilers, won’t take them long to figure it out, especially when your boyfriend is blushing like a maniac next to you, no matter how much you kick him under the table.

The most damming one is on the last page: that sweater vest is very sexy. Olive green is your color. It’s from a few weeks ago, spoken over Spencer’s earpiece as he infiltrated a poker competition to apprehend an UnSub.

“This is about you.” Emily immediately picks up, looking at Spencer.

“Yeah, and you wore your glasses a couple of months ago,” Penelope remembers. Although he played it off like his contact lenses didn’t get delivered before he ran out, it was really because he left them at his apartment when he stayed at yours one night and you distracted him for so long in the morning that he didn’t have time to get any.

Spencer cringes, looking totally guilty. There’s no point in denying it, so Morgan lays into the next part of the mystery. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

That’s much easier to solve when there are four women around the table, and Penelope couldn’t be sexually attracted to him, JJ’s married, and Emily’s like his big sister, so that leaves you.

“No way!” Penelope squeals excitedly, clearly thrilled by this big reveal.

“Some of this is filthy,” Emily says, pointing out some very dirty messages. They were mostly over phone calls which is why you didn’t think they could be tracked.

You bite your bottom lip, eyes flicking to Spencer. He’s as amused as he is embarrassed. “Surprise?” He jokes to reveal your relationship.

You smirk, joining him in his unashamed stance. It’s not your fault the FBI won’t overlook your occasional flirting. “It’s worse on our personal phones.” You assure them.

“I want to know everything,” Penelope tells you. “We’re having girls’ night ASAP.”

It’s not the reaction you imagine, but Spencer shrugs. He has been reassured countless times that he leaves you more than satisfied in bed. “Just remember you’ll have to look at me the next day.” He warns the BAU ladies who are desperate to hear the insider details of your relationship.

It's a good point to consider but the gossip is too tempting. “Tonight.” Penelope decides.

You laugh at her eagerness, nodding. “Let’s do it.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid one shot

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pinkthick · 10 months ago

Text

Ephemeral Voices

Pairing: Human!Alastor & Female!Reader (He will love the reader but not in the way you think)

Human!Alastor & Human!Mimzy

Summary: Alastor chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving hers "I do not know, my dear." he replied, extending a gloved hand towards her. “Care to find out?”

Notes: I do not know what I’m doing but enjoy 😭😭 (Credits to the artist @xixixixi1037 on Twitter)

Masterlist

Chapter one: May I join you?

In the dimly lit jazz club, the air hummed with the sultry notes of saxophones and the rhythmic tapping of drumsticks. Y/N sat at the corner table, her fingers tracing the rim of her whiskey glass as she lost herself in the melodies swirling around her. The ambience was intoxicating, drawing her deeper into the world of jazz.

Mimzy, her vivacious friend and a regular performer at the club, took center stage, her voice weaving through the room like silk. Y/N watched with a fond smile, admiring Mimzy's talent as she commanded the attention of the audience.

Amidst the crowd, a figure caught Y/N's eye. Tall and enigmatic, he moved with an effortless grace that seemed to defy the very essence of the music. His crimson suit gleamed under the soft glow of the stage lights, and his presence exuded an aura of mystery.

Alastor, that was his name, though Y/N didn't know it yet. He danced with Mimzy, his steps synchronized with the rhythm of the jazz. There was something captivating about him, something that tugged at the edges of Y/N's curiosity.

She took another sip of her whiskey, her gaze never leaving the pair on the dance floor. There was a story there, she could sense it—a tale woven within the threads of music and movement.

As the night deepened, Y/N found herself drawn closer to the stage, her heart quickening with each note that hung in the air. Alastor's presence loomed larger, casting a spell that seemed to envelop her in its embrace.

Mimzy's voice faded into the background, replaced by the sound of her own heartbeat as she watched Alastor's every move. His eyes, piercing and intense, met hers across the room, sparking an electric current that sent shivers down her spine.

Their gazes lingered, a silent exchange of recognition and intrigue. Y/N's pulse quickened, her mind ablaze with questions she couldn't yet voice. Who was this man, and what secrets lay hidden behind his captivating facade?

As the final notes of the jazz melody faded into the night, Alastor and Mimzy took their bows, their performance met with thunderous applause from the audience. Y/N remained rooted to her spot, her thoughts consumed by the enigmatic stranger who had ignited a flame within her soul.

In the hushed aftermath of the performance, Alastor made his way through the crowd, his eyes never straying from Y/N's as he approached her table. There was something interesting in his gaze.

"May I join you?" he asked, his voice a velvet whisper that sent shivers cascading down her spine. Y/N nodded, her voice caught in the swell of emotions that threatened to consume her. As Alastor took his seat beside her, the world around them faded into oblivion.

"I couldn't help but notice you were staring, dear," he remarked, his voice a sultry cadence that danced through the air. Y/N's cheeks flushed slightly, caught off guard by his direct acknowledgment. She laughed, a soft and melodious sound that echoed in the intimate space. "Wasn't everyone?" she replied, attempting to mask the fluttering excitement in her chest.

Alastor's smile widened, revealing a hint of charm beneath the enigmatic exterior. "Alastor. Alastor Hartfelt," he introduced himself, extending a gloved hand toward Y/N. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation as she placed her hand in his, their fingers interlocking in a fleeting moment of connection.

"Y/N," she responded, her name rolling off her tongue with a grace that matched the jazz melodies still lingering in the air. "Nice to meet you, Alastor."

Alastor's gaze lingered on Y/N, his eyes betraying a curiosity that mirrored her own. "Are you here all alone?" he inquired, his voice a whisper that stirred the air between them.

Y/N shook her head, a soft smile gracing her lips. "Oh, no. I came with Mimzy," she replied, her words laced with warmth and affection for her friend.

Alastor nodded, a knowing glimmer dancing in his eyes. "Ah. A friend of Mimzy’s is a friend of mine, Miss Y/N," he remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement.

"She's a really good dancer," Y/N remarked, her eyes fondly following Mimzy's movements on the stage.

Alastor chuckled softly, his gaze still fixed on Y/N. "She's one of the only people who can really keep up with me," he revealed, a note of pride in his voice.

Intrigued, Y/N arched an eyebrow. "Are there others?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Alastor chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving hers "I do not know, my dear." he replied, extending a gloved hand towards her. “Care to find out?”

A spark of excitement ignited in Y/N's eyes as she accepted his invitation. Their fingers intertwined once more, and Alastor led her to the dance floor.

As the music enveloped them in its intoxicating embrace, Y/N found herself swept away by the rhythm of the jazz with Alastor as her guide. "I must say, Miss Y/N, you're holding up quite well," Alastor remarked with a twinkle in his eyes.

Y/N, breathing a little heavier, managed a breathless laugh. "I don't know how you're still doing this," she admitted, a playful glint in her eyes.

Alastor, the epitome of grace, chuckled softly. "Years of practice, my dear. It becomes second nature after a while." Despite her best efforts, the fast-paced dance proved to be more challenging than she anticipated. Y/N struggled to keep up with Alastor's effortless elegance, her breath quickening as fatigue set in.

She even stumbled occasionally, her steps faltering under the weight of the rapid movements, but each time, Alastor was there to catch her. “For someone who's not a usually, this is quite the workout." she quipped, attempting to catch her breath.

Alastor's eyes sparkled with mirth. "You're doing splendidly, considering," he complimented as he guided her through a series of spins with effortless grace.

As the jazz melodies reached a crescendo, their dance intensified, weaving patterns of connection between them. Y/N embraced the challenge, determination in her eyes, even as the fatigue started to set in. Alastor sensed her effort and, with a twirl, brought their dance to a graceful conclusion. They stood at the center of the dance floor, breathless but exhilarated. Y/N, her cheeks flushed, couldn't help but smile.

"I must admit, you have a unique charm on the dance floor," Alastor complimented, a genuine warmth in his gaze.

Y/N grinned, playfully rolling her eyes. "Maybe not as unique as yours, but I'll take it."

They returned to their table, the echoes of their dance lingering in the air. Mimzy, observing from afar, joined them with a knowing smile. Her voice cut through the lively chatter of the jazz club, her tone laced with playful concern. "Take it easy on her, darlin'," she chimed in, her eyes twinkling with affection.

Alastor turned to Mimzy with a charming smile, his eyes alight with amusement. "Of course, Mimzy. Wouldn't want to wear out my dance partner too soon," he replied, his voice dripping with playful banter.

Y/N laughed, sharing a glance with Alastor. "I was just trying to keep up honestly.”

Mimzy winked at Alastor. "Not everyone can keep up with this one.”

Alastor leaned back in his chair, a contented expression on his face. "What can I say, just pour me some whiskey, and I will be on the dance floor all night long."

Y/N chuckled, raising her eyebrows playfully. "A man of simple pleasures, I see. I'll remember that for next time."

Mimzy chuckled as she rolled her eyes "Well, well. Alastor, you're quite the dance enthusiast, aren't you?"

Alastor grinned, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. "Guilty as charged. It's hard to resist the allure of a good dance."

Mimzy smiled, pouring a glass of whiskey and sliding it across the table to Alastor. "You know where to find me if you need a dance partner. Now, enjoy that whiskey, darlin'." With a wink, Mimzy returned to the performance area, leaving Y/N and Alastor at the table.

As the jazz melodies continued to fill the air, Y/N reached into her bag, producing a pack of cigarettes. With a swift motion, she took one out, placing it between her lips, and lit it with a flick of a match.

Alastor, watching her with mild surprise, hummed, "Didn't take you up for a smoker."

Y/N exhaled a thin stream of smoke, her eyes meeting his with a knowing smile. "It's a bad habit, I know," she admitted, the smoke curling around her like a veil.

Alastor nodded, taking a sip of his whiskey. "We all have our vices."

Alastor observed Y/N, her features softened by the glow of the match and the ambient light as she nodded.

He noticed her gaze shift towards a clock on the wall, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "Something on your mind?" he inquired, curious about the sudden change in her demeanor. Y/N glanced back at him, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Just checking the time. It's later than I thought." Alastor followed her gaze to the clock, realizing that the night had indeed slipped away.

Y/N took a final drag from her cigarette before flicking away the ash "I should probably be heading home."

Alastor raised an eyebrow, a hint of disappointment in his eyes. "So soon? The night is still young, my dear."

Y/N nodded, her eyes lingering on the clock for a moment longer. "True. It's just... I have an early morning tomorrow.“

Alastor, sensing Y/N's impending departure, smiled warmly. "Then allow me to escort you home," he offered, a gesture that held both politeness and genuine interest.

Y/N looked at him, touched by the offer. "That's sweet of you, Alastor. But it's not necessary. I can manage on my own."

Alastor chuckled, his gaze unwavering. "Consider it an old-fashioned courtesy. Besides, a gentleman wouldn't let a lady navigate the streets alone, especially at this hour. It's the least I can do after the delightful company you've provided this evening." He would know that.

Y/N couldn't help but grin at his charming demeanor. "Well, who am I to refuse such a gentlemanly offer? Escort away, Mr. Hartfelt."

As they made their way through the jazz club's exit, Mimzy waved them off with a wink. "You two take care now. See you again, Y/N!"

The city night enveloped them as they stepped onto the streets, the echoes of jazz fading into the background. Alastor's presence offered a sense of comfort, and Y/N found herself enjoying the unexpected turn of events.

As they strolled through the dimly lit streets, Alastor engaged Y/N in conversation, the night air carrying their voices in a gentle exchange. Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the whims of fate that had brought Alastor into her evening.

"Excuse my curiosity, but are you working at the jazz club?" she inquired, her tone gentle.

Alastor's eyes flickered with amusement, and he chuckled softly. "Ah, no, my dear. I'm just a patron who appreciates good music and the art of dance. Although, I must say, the idea of working at such a place is intriguing."

Y/N smiled, finding a shared appreciation for the enchanting atmosphere of the jazz club. "You seem like you'd fit right in.”

Alastor tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "Perhaps. I work at a radio station. Mostly a podcast focused on dramas and comedy ," he confessed.

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise. "A radio podcast? That's unexpected," she admitted, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I would have never guessed."

Alastor nodded, his enigmatic smile never fading “I reckon you heard of ‘Ephemeral Voices’ from WWL.”

N's eyes widened with recognition. "Wait, 'Ephemeral Voices’? I've heard of that! I never connected the dots until now."

Alastor's smile widened as he took out a small card from his pocket, handing it to Y/N. "Well, now you have a face to put to the voice. Feel free to tune in whenever you like."

Y/N took the card, a mix of disbelief and excitement on her face. "I can't believe I've been listening to your podcast without realizing it was you." Alastor shrugged playfully at that.

As they arrived at Y/N's house, the night air took on a hushed quality, the city lights casting a soft glow around them. Y/N turned to Alastor with a grateful smile. "Thank you. You didn't have to come with me, you know," she expressed, the sincerity in her voice echoed in her eyes.

Alastor's gaze met hers, and he replied with a casual shrug. "I beg to differ. A gentleman wouldn't leave a lady to navigate the night alone. It was my pleasure."

Y/N chuckled, appreciating the chivalry that seemed to be second nature to him. "Well, I appreciate the company, truly. It's been quite an unexpected night."

Alastor's enigmatic smile lingered. "The best nights often are."

Y/N fumbled with her keys, her gaze lifting to meet Alastor's. "I suppose this is where we part ways," she said, a hint of reluctance in her voice.

Alastor nodded, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "I trust you'll rest easy knowing you're home safe and sound.”

She extended her hand, which Alastor took with a gentle smile. "Thank you, Alastor.”

Alastor bowed slightly, a gesture that seemed to belong to another era. "The pleasure was mine, Miss Y/N. Until next time."

As Alastor bid her farewell, Y/N watched him disappear into the night and she entered her home, the door closing behind her.

She couldn't shake the smile that lingered on her lips.

#alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hartfelt #hazbin hotel #human alastor #human mimzy #alastor the radio demon #human reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x female reader

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shirefantasies · 8 months ago

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Hey, babes!

Honestly I have brain rot for the idea of the ‘woman of the group does sexy dance to help mission’ trope and like LOTR boys. I also have brain rot for them hearing her sing ‘I Wanna Make Love To You’ by Etta James.

Anyway can I request the elves reactions to reader do a sexy burlesque/strip style dance? Like they in the audience and how they’d react.

By elves I mean: Elrond, Lindir, Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir and Arwen

OK I’M YELLING (I went ahead n threw our girl Galadriel in there cuz gotta catch em all right? 😁) there’s not really a mission lol but hope this does it justice! My latest D&D session the other night ended with burlesque performance so this feels like the perfect time to post this hehe

The Elves Reacting to F!Reader’s Burlesque Performance

Warnings: suggestive obviously 😆

Thranduil

Sure, he knew you’d all but been dared to set foot upon the stage, but something in your resolute expression and the long robe you wore had Thranduil’s eyebrows raising. Nary did he expect the way your hand shot out, grabbing the pole the moment the lights dimmed, or the way your robe dropped, revealing the lowest-cut, highest-slit dress he’d ever seen you in. Breath hitching, he watched as a long wave of fabric draped between your gorgeous legs, which wrapped around the pole as you climbed it. Eyes darkening as you spun, he could hardly help imagining what, or whom, else they could wind around so, and if he would ever be so blessed to see the confident air overtaking you again…

Legolas

Frowning, Legolas disappeared further into the gathering crowd. Gimli was the one who’d dared him to attend the show, telling him he was sure no pointy-ear could handle it. How could it be so, simply a performance? The crowd looked far too eager for you to be putting them into any sort of- oh. You emerged onto the stage, forearms and down covered with feathers like the wings of a great bird. Your legs were almost entirely bare, skirt minimal and bodice little more than a corset. Twirling and pirouetting into poses the woodland prince could only describe as suggestive, you beamed innocently at the crowd and hid behind your feathers, lashes fluttering. Another performer emerged behind you, hands on your waist and fingers deftly loosening your corset… Gripping the arms of his seat tighter, Legolas leaned in, a yearning in his own fingers readily accepting his friend’s latest challenge.

Haldir

A dancer you were. That was a known fact whispered among those familiar with you, often calling you something of a knife-dancer. Curiosity got the better of Haldir when scandal colored whispers of your performance right outside the woods. Was it dangerous, perhaps? Pride flowed into the little smile of anticipation he wore as fast-paced music filled the room and flames were snuffed, leading you to slide gracefully into the dim. Crouching, you crawled to the edge of the stage with a bloodthirsty grin that sent shivers down Haldir’s spine. Flicks of your wrists revealed your famed blades, which you twirled, tossed, and dragged gently along the length of your tongue. Brows raising, he found himself leaning forward with new interest. What sort of dance was- Coherent thought ceased immediately when you tossed your blades, caught them, and began slicing away at purposefully shoddy seams upon your outfit, revealing more and more until the elf was on the edge of his seat…

Galadriel

Hearing of a new form of entertainment served only to pique Galadriel’s curiosity and draw her from her frequent solitude. After all, if it was making her people happy… She did not expect to see a lone performer upon a platform, elaborately feathered fans covering most of her figure, but there you were. Clad all in white, at least from what she could see near your feet, you slowly closed the fans. The long swaths of fabric that hung near the ground begun only at your hips, the expanse of your legs utterly bare as you extended them, moving gracefully across the stage as your fans accentuated every curve and undulation of your body. Jerking, you rotated, hips swiveling as you happened to face the Lady of Lórien, and watching you through her lashes Galadriel felt a devilish smile rise to her lips. She saw exactly why there had been such a buzz…

Lindir

There had been talk of you giving a performance of some kind, but all Lindir had been able to retrieve on the subject was that he should quite like to be in the audience, so with a light heart he shuffled into the crowd, pleased to be quite close to the stage set up for you. Perhaps you’d learned a new instrument under his nose and wishes to surprise him with a performance! Perhaps- You slunk to the center clad in, oh dear, quite a sheer skirt. Feeling a rush of heat to his face, he tried to focus upon the swell of music, largely successful until you ripped your top off, hips swinging lower as your layers thinned and thinned… You froze momentarily, wearing little more than your corset, and made direct eye contact with Lindir, whose eyes widened and body felt quite faint. Slowly, deliberately, you took up your dance once more, grinning at him as you began unlacing the back of your garment. His hands shot up, half-covering his face, but he couldn’t help himself peeking again and again.

Elrond

Housing a troupe of performers was certainly an unusual set of circumstances, but not in the slightest beyond the reach of the great homely house. Indeed, at encouragement from Lindir to let music fill his halls, Elrond acquiesced to a performance, unknowing of the so-called ‘dancers’ who would emerge after the exuberant wind section. In fact, it wasn’t until they called you out that Elrond’s eyes widened, brows expressive as ever as they flexed in great shock. You were lowered down on ropes, sitting with your legs largely bared and swinging. Garments- quite the loose term- of drapery covered the rest of your form, but as you leaned back in your swing, you began twisting, swiveling, removing one veil after another… Elrond found himself looking this way and that, but his eyes could never leave you for long. Feeling his gaze darken and his hands flex, he wondered what he had gotten himself into…

Arwen

How scandalous could it be? Many a friend or even a family member or two had rolled eyes and whispered harshly about your performances, but Arwen was not afraid. No matter what it was said to be, she would experience it for it to be so in her mind. Thus she found herself in the audience of the very subject of contempt, the somewhat smaller ratio of maids to men not lost upon her. A great fount was all Arwen could see at the center of it all, at least until one bare leg slowly arched from its edge. Blinking, Arwen watched as it was followed by another, each of them kicking some water onto the crowd before your hands gripped the other side, flipping over to render most of your body visible. Hanging from the sides, you swiveled your hips, head innocently rested upon your folded arms as if your…ahem…rear end were not moving so. Sitting up, you let go, dropping back into the water with a splash before emerging again and grinningly tossing water on more patrons. Arwen found herself mirroring your expression, following your every motion with interest and a strange sense of elation.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @kilibaggins @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin | Reply/Ask/Message to join 🥰

#lord of the rings #the hobbit #lotr imagines #the hobbit imagines #lotr x reader #the hobbit x reader #thranduil #legolas #haldir #galadriel #lindir #elrond #arwen #female reader #ask #fly-on-my-sweet-angel #requested #suggestive #this was a fun one thank you 😌

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stardancerluv · 23 days ago

Text

What the Emperor Wants

Part Eight

Summary: Justice is served, feelings are realized.

Warnings/Notes: 18+ & over! P in V consensual sex, implied violence…death in the coliseum, drinking, old time thoughts about the gods & life.

Sol Invictus: Roman god of the Sun, Pluto: Roman god of Death, & Ursa: Bear

❤️s, comments, feedback & reblogs are always welcome! Thank you for reading! (A bit long!)

Sitting in the royal box of the coliseum made you nervous. You had only stood and served prior to this day. As you settled in your seat you felt like all the eyes were on you. You knew that wasn’t the truth of the matter but it didn’t help. Your heart kept a steady beat.

“Don’t worry. The eyes will be on me soon enough.”

Startled, you glanced at Geta. A slow smile spread across his face.

You glanced around the intensity of his gaze made you shift where you sat. Taking a breath before looking back at him. “Sire?”

“Justice is going to be served.”

“Good.”

*******

This was going on to send ripples in the water. He looked forward to seeing if it would bring about a storm. Regardless, the earth will be free of one enemy. Perhaps, others will scurry out of the shadows and reveal themselves.

The herald, called for the attention of the vast audience. Trumpets sounded. He felt as if the gods, were on his side as he walked to edge of the royal box.

“People of Rome!”

He shouted. A thick silence fell over the arena, it ceased what remaining words flew from people’s lips.

“People of Rome!” He repeated, he looked over the seats.

“When dawn broke this morning, before Sol Invictus flew across the sky to bring us the sun; a man snuck into my dwelling. He wished for me to meet, Pluto.”

The crowd erupted. He allowed them to scream their disgust, their unpleasantness.

Easily, the herald brought the coliseum once more the order.

“My trusted guards, have questioned him.”

He let his lips curl into a wide smile.

“And it is here I will let you all witness justice. You will see what happens to anyone who tries to end my life.”

The clanging of metal filled the colosseum as the gates rose up, the man beaten and bruised was brought out. Seeing his condition pleased him greatly.

“Now, I will allow you and the gods to choose his final fight.”

A snarl followed by a loud, guttural roar filled the arena. A lion, pounced and rocked his iron cage. He circled in the small space eager to be released.

“Shall we allow a lion have its way?” He called out.

The man now standing by himself could be seen trembling at the place the guards had walked him too.

The creaking of a much larger cage came into the arena. Just as some of the loose sand was kicked up in a breeze and blew when a roar from the depths of its belly was heard. A bear, far taller than serval men stood on its hind legs and banged against his cage. Spit, fangs were bared as it roared once more.

“Who shall this assassin be brought to justice by?”

The crowd went wild. Their screams, their cheers were far louder than both of the beasts that were in the arena.

He watched from his perch, the man fell to his knees. His eyes, which had once been filled with hatred and malice now were watery and full of pleading, remaining on his knees. He completely forgot the sword the guards had dropped near him as he appeared to cry out with pleas for mercy. The man who had wanted him dead not that long ago.

A laugh erupted from his throat and he threw back his head in amusement. His crown of golden leaves remained where it rested atop his head.

Power, surged through him. He spread out his arms. He got his answer. It was as if the words had been whispered in his ear.

“The gods have spoken!” He hollered.

The crowd, once again silenced.

“Today, a bear is what deliver the sentence!”

The men who drew out the lion, returned it to the shadowy tunnels where they fed and kept it ready for any match or punishment.

The men who brought in the bear, bowed to him before turning to the locks that held the bear secure.

The man jumped to his feet, barely able to grab the sword left for him. He bowed quickly. That irked Geta, but he would be dead soon enough, he mused.

The bear, shook himself off ignoring the men who retreated back to passageway from which they came. He appeared to look around.

“Be the hands of the gods, great Ursa!” Geta called out.

The bear rose at his words, letting out a roar. He had been trained well. Geta smiled. The bear finally saw the man. He lowered himself onto all fours.

“Now for justice.” He said softly and caught the eyes of you, his brother who actually looked pleased for the first time in a while and the general. Who looked actually ill at ease. he shrugged it off. He knew he liked the freedom of a battle. The landscape of the earth beneath his feet as he fought along side his legion with a sword in hand.

Sitting down, he saw as the bear and the man clashed. A scream and roar mingled and became one. The man did manage to graze the bear’s shoulder with the blade before he was knocked into the air from the full force of the bear. A fight ensued.

Geta, glanced away to see you. There was a flush in your cheeks and your eyes looked as if a storm had rolled in, reminding him of how you spoke of things to him. But your emotions, he couldn’t be certain of. He watched as you turned towards him, surely you felt his gaze up you. Your eyes met his.

“He is getting what he deserves for what he attempted to do. In the underworld, he will never forget.” You said, with a great strength behind it.

It pleased him.

“Yes. And he will know that a girl, who is as delicate as a spring’s bloom saw him and foiled his dark, devious deeds.”

“Anything to keep you and Rome, safe and at peace, Sire.”

********

“I had thought, you told the others we would be joining them for the festivities being held. Food, dancers would be brought out for your pleasure.”

Your stomach was still in knots, after watching the man torn apart by the bear and fights that had been held after to further celebrate the justice that had been severed. The gladiators had fought with great pride that afternoon.

Wine, the fruit did nothing to calm you. A shadow of what could have been, fell over your heart. If you had not returned for his crest that held your clothing, it would have been a completely different day. You were certain of it.

Your place, would be different. You would mostly would have been in that arena. You knew in your heart that Caracalla despised you. Though, with this glorious delivering of justice and Geta’s kind words, you would continue to live, to breath.

“That is true. They will be. Wine, will be poured. Toasts will be made. Words, will fly in my praise. Though as a man, an emperor I wish to take a moment.”

“If that is your will, Geta. I can give you some solitude if it is what you wish?”

A light chuckle came from him. You glanced at him, his eyes that met yours were bright as if the sun itself was blessing the fresh earth it chose to shine upon.

“No, that is not what I wish.”

The warmth of his hand on your lower back could be felt through the soft fabrics you wore. He easily guided you to his quarters. Once the door, closed behind the two of you.

“I need to be one with you.”

“Geta?”

“Yes?”

You watched as he carefully took his crown off and laid it on a table near where the two of you stood. Your heart quickened in your chest. With quick pace, he was in front of you.

“This is a pleasure, the great Venus has given us. I wish to feel it once again.”

His fingers grazed the curve of your jaw.

You closed your eyes and nodded. “I wish to feel it as well. But then shall I retire for the evening?”

He shook his head. “No, we shall go and enjoy the banquet, watch the dancers. I want one of my favorite possessions at my side.” He smiled.

Something about his words, that smile made a fluttering in your stomach. It was the very emperor, that wished for you and no one else. In all the stars and prayers you made, would have been something you ever thought would be bestowed upon you.

“This will be our own display of gratitude to the gods for the justice served today.”

His thumb grazed your lips, your heart began to thud like the night before. If not harder since now you knew what you would be feeling.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

********

“Wait?”

“Yes?”

He let his eyes move over you. A softening of his words, that came to his tongue urged him to speak. You had been the to save his life. Not the guards that stood outside his door.

“You are far lovelier than any fresco, in my domus. I will have to fetch in artist in the coming seasons.”

“Truly Geta?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

His hand glided down your soft side, the fabrics made you only more pleasing. He brought his hands to your hips and squeezed. You winced, parting those flower petal pink lips.

“Just as your breasts, shall be good for a baby to eventually suckle these hips,” He smiled. “These hips,” He repeated will help carry that baby. A real gift from the gods.”

“You think so, Geta?”

Your breathless, made him pull you against him. He loved how you felt against him. Made his desire in his lions for you tighten.

“Certainly. Now go and lay down.”

“What of my clothes? Will they not be amiss?”

“No one will take sight.”

He watched as you went and laid down and pulled aside where the fabrics met and parted ways.

“Remove the scrap of modesty fabric, I want nothing to hinder me.”

Stepping closer, he finally he freed himself. The coolness of his room gave him a gentle relief from the heat of his passion. He came to kneel beside you, open and ready to receive him.

“Do you want to see more of me, Geta?”

“Yes, that would be very pleasing.”

His heart squeezed as he watched you pull the folds of fabric away from your full breasts. You were truly his own living piece of art. The gods, truly pleased him with giving you to him.

The soft sound from your lips as he entered you and the one that came from him became one. It felt so good.

“You were made for me.” He managed to say before he began moving in and out of you.

Your body tightened as your moans grew louder. He had braced himself on the bed underneath the two of you. Easily, he lost himself in his passion as it took ahold of him.

“Yes, yes let me hear you.”

“Yes, Geta. My emperor.” Your moans and breathlessness grew louder, stronger.

His body tightened as he felt his pleasure growing. That’s when he remembered the soft bud at the apex of your legs, the ones that caused you flutter around his length. He needed to feel that again. Reached down, his thumb gently grazing it. Your body matched and moved with him.

“Give yourself to the pleasure. Let it fill you.” He urged you.

He let his thumb graze your soft bud once more. Your moans filled his room with more beauty than a lyre and seeing that he was the cause, made him move even deeper into you. Causing, his pleasure to finally come over him, and soon he was filling you with the seed only he possessed. The strength he felt earlier came over him. He felt as everything had the soft glow a sunset would give all within its reach.

*******

“These are the dancers from the new providence brother, are they not divine?” Caracalla, leaned in smiling as he nodded to one who swished near. Hints of jasmine, lingered in her wake.

“Yes. I knew that alliance would reap several good tidings.” Geta, smile and sipped at his wine.

At the moment, he was still settling into the comfort from the pleasure you and him shared. Everyone, there was in good spirits even his brother. Turmoil between them could come back another day but tonight there could be peace.

He knew of the history of Romulus and Remus, he truly wished that history would not befall him and Caracalla. Though, he would never push away the lingering of his trust he had for his brother in his heart.

As you sat near Geta and watched the dancers while nibbling on some fruit. Something blossomed in you. After, his pleasure had taken him over, he had for moment pulled you closer to him while his breathing finally calmed. He glanced back at you from over his glass, as if he had known your thoughts and gave a fleeting smile, it stirred a warmth in you.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @heartsforjosephquinn @helsa3942

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cillianmesoftlyyy · 2 months ago

Text

Take It on the Run Pt. 2 | Thomas Shelby x Fem!OC

summary: Tommy keeps coming back to the cabaret but you never know why. Sometimes he stays but usually he doesn't, leaving his cigarette still smoking on the table. His flighty behavior and emotional unavailability starts to rub you the wrong way, but you can't bring yourself to hate him... but maybe you should.

warnings: outdated language concerning sex-workers; smut

word count: 4142k

Do I Move You?- Nina Simone 🎵

Daylight- David Kushner 🎶

Tommy Shelby told you that the cabaret “wasn’t his… thing” just a week ago and yet, when you begin your solo routine in a cream and sheer bodysuit, guess who’s sitting at that familiar table? You’re singing your song when you notice him, leaning back in his chair and holding a lit cigarette between his knuckles. His cheekbones are cast in an aggressive shadow but you can still make out his icy blue eyes looking back at you.

You meet his gaze and match his neutral expression. You hadn’t expected to see him again after that night, maybe once or twice in passing but not here. You curse silently in your head and continue singing, feeling more self-conscious than usual beneath the hot stage lights. You can see his eyes pass over you though he makes no show of his thoughts when he takes another drag of his cigarette.

Your song finally comes to an end and the crowd cheers with wolf whistles. Tommy doesn’t even clap, he stares at you for another moment and then stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray. He downs the rest of his whiskey and stands, and leaves. You watch his back as he walks through the doors of the cabaret and doesn’t look back. Suddenly, you feel like a little girl, standing alone on the stage in a room full of strangers.

…

After the cabaret closes, you go back onstage to grab your jar of tips. The house lights are dimmed, practically off. The rudimentary electricity flickers every few seconds, stimulating a migraine the longer you look. Your bare feet make no noise as you walk across the sticky stage. The sound of a lighter flicking open sounds from somewhere in the audience, revealing a cut-angular face and a peaky cap. The lighter snaps shut and a cigarette ends burns red in the dark.

“Sorry I didn’t stay- had important business to attend to,” Tommy stands from his seat and drops his lighter into his breast pocket. He looks you up and down, smirking slightly at what you look like after the show.

“Were you waiting for me?” You ask, not sure whether to be flattered or afraid.

“I thought I’d congratulate you on a good performance,” Tommy shrugs and weaves between the tables with the chairs upturned on their tops.

“You didn’t look like you enjoyed it,” you banter back and move closer to the lip of the stage. Tommy waves his hand in a dismissive fashion, scoffing.

“I told you, cabaret’s not really my thing.”

“Right,” you nod and come to the edge of the stage. Tommy stands just below you, his face coming up to your hips from his position on the floor. He looks up at you, tilting his head to the side as he looks you over. Your bodysuit is revealing, barely covering your tits and cunt. He twists his mouth slightly in an expression that almost looks like anger- jealousy.

“Nice costume,” Tommy mutters and takes a long drag from his cigarette. You don’t respond so you both fall into a tense silence until he speaks again. “So you said you live here. Is that right?”

You nod and point backstage. “Back there. Just me and the other girls. We all have rooms back there.”

“Is that where you take all the men?” Tommy asks, gesturing with his cigarette.

“Jealous are we?” You tease. Tommy looks away and shakes his head once.

“Don’t.” His voice is stern and sharp. You know you’ve touched a nerve and you smile softly, biting your lip and looking down at your feet.

“It’s affordable and safe here with the other girls… that’s why I live here.” You answer finally and Tommy looks back at your face, studying you.

“Safe?” He asks softly, his judgmental brow raised.

“It’s safer than walking home alone every night after the cabaret closes.” You elaborate, gesturing loosely to the streets of Birmingham right outside the cabaret walls. “Anyway, I’ve been here for five years now- I started sometime after the war. You get used to it pretty quickly.”

Tommy clenches his jaw, silently counting the number of male clients you might have entertained in your time here. He takes off his cap and runs a hand through his hair, exhaling tightly.

“Sounds like a lonely life,” he says at last and you shrug.

“So does yours.”

Tommy looks back up at you with cold, annoyed eyes. He sets his cap back on his head and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah? And what do you know about my life?”

“Nothing, I can just tell.” You tilt your head to the side, looking at him intently. Tommy falters beneath your direct eye contact and bristles.

“Really?” He asks, his tone hard, “how?”

You crouch down on the lip of the stage so that you’re face to face with Tommy. You take his left hand and hold it with his palm facing you.

“No wedding ring, so you’re not married. You’re a criminal, so you struggle to trust others which is why you usually work alone. And… you came here. What were you looking for if not for a distraction?” Your eyes look between his. He scowls, pissed that you can see through him- or at least that you’re saying it aloud.

“Very observant,” Tommy says coldly.

“It’s part of the job, you have to know what the men need from you…”

Tommy keeps his face neutral but his eyes leave your face, flicking to the side before going back to your face. His jaw is tight.

“And what is it that I need?” He asks slowly, dangerously. You look at him for a little while longer and then shake your head.

“I don’t know…” you admit. You look down at his hand and turn it around in your hands. Tommy looks down at you, his brow furrows and he scoffs sarcastically.

“Why are you holding my hand like that?”

You look up at him and roll your eyes. “You’re mean, you know that?”

“I’m aware,” he scoffs again and pulls his hand away. He clenches his fist and relaxes it. You laugh softly at his attitude and lean closer.

“Why are you so mean?”

Tommy looks you up and down, his eyes stopping briefly on your chest. Slowly, he raises his hand to your cheek and slides his thumb across your bottom lip.

“Why do you try to get so close?” Tommy asks, his lip curled.

“Does it scare you?” You ask softly against his thumb.

“No, it doesn’t scare me.” His words brush against your lips like a slap. He smells richly like tobacco, and it almost makes your knees weak. You sigh and stand, stepping away from the lip of the stage. Tommy’s hand falls to his side again and he watches after you with a tilt to his head.

“Goodnight, Mr. Shelby.” You whisper and grab your jar of tips. You can’t help but almost storm off the stage. Whenever you try to get closer to him, he has a way of ridiculing your feelings and affections. You don’t look back as you leave him standing in the dark cabaret.

…

Then a few nights later, you see him again. And then again a few nights later. Those two nights he didn’t stay after or try in any way to speak to you. He’d started to just become another patron, another man that liked to watch you- fuck you, but nothing more. You couldn’t tell what he wanted or what he was thinking anymore and it started to really bother you. It’s not like you really had feelings for Thomas Shelby but you couldn’t deny how beautiful he was. As much as you hated the way he showed up and said nothing, you still loved seeing him in the audience surrounded by smoke like a veil. You knew he was there to watch you so you always tried to put on a good show in the hope that he would wait for you after. But he never did.

Tommy was trying to avoid the Cabaret. He didn’t even have any feelings for you, not really. He was still grieving his true love and first wife, and didn’t have the ability to feel anything for anyone else. It wasn’t love that he felt for you- it was something else that he couldn’t quite put into words. He felt that you were really similar to him, that you could deeply understand one another and maybe even benefit from helping one another. But at the end of the day, you were just a cabaret dancer and Tommy didn’t need another cabaret dancer. But each time he forced himself to forget about you, he thought about your situation and the way you had spoken to him the first time he’d met you. You’d said that you wanted to be a “normal woman,” and while Tommy certainly wasn’t a normal man- maybe he could provide you with a more “normal” life. He knew he was capable of doing that, of giving you an escape from the cabaret into a life of safety, stability, and normalcy but wasn’t the idea too ridiculous to pursue? He didn’t even know you but he kept going back to the cabaret and seeing you. It made him angry to see you onstage, maybe it was jealousy but it was also knowing how much you hated the work. He knew he wasn’t a good man, but the boy he used to be was. He could do something right, something good but could he bring himself to do it?

So Tommy finds himself at the Cabaret again, sitting at his usual table, a cigarette dangling between his lips. This time when you see him sitting in the dim light of the bar, you stare him down. Tommy swallows tightly and taps his cigarette over his ashtray, watching you still. He knows what you’re trying to do. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from yours, his expression one of subtle challenge. You trail your fingers over your body starting from your pelvis up to your breasts. The whistles of the audience are lost on you, only capturing Tommy’s attention matters at that moment. His eyes follow your hands as they curve over your body and his jaw tightens. When your routine ends, he doesn’t leave, just blows out a cloud of smoke slowly. You bow and disappear backstage, a twitch of annoyance on your lip.

Tommy flags down a waiter, one of his fists clenched at his side.

“I need you to pass a message to Diana, tell her to meet me backstage after the show tonight. Understand?” He mutters darkly and takes another drag. The young waiter, realizing who the patron is, swallows tightly and stutters.

“Y-yes, Mr. Shelby. Anything else?”

“No, that’ll be all.” Tommy exhales and returns his attention back to the stage. More dancers come on stage and perform but you aren’t among them this time. He downs another glass of whisky and checks his watch, the time is nearing midnight and the cabaret will be closing soon. Tommy watches from beneath his cap as patrons start to leave and waiters start busing the filthy tables. As the cabaret closes down around him, Tommy puts his cigarette between his lips and stands, sliding on his jacket. The waiter hurries over and ducks his head.

“She’s ready for you backstage, Mr. Shelby.”

“Alright, thank you.” He says around his cigarette and follows the man backstage through a greasy side door.

“She’s in ‘er dressing room through there.” The waiter points to one of the doors along the thin, dim hallway. Tommy nods once again and waits for the man to leave before opening the door.

When the door to your dressing room opens, you can’t help but jump a little. You turn around quickly, already ready for a fight.

“Tommy-” You start but he waves his hand through the hair, silencing you.

“Don’t.” He says calmly and slams the door behind him. “Sit.” He points to the chair behind you. You look back at the chair, your brow furrowed. Slowly, you do as you’re told, looking up at Tommy with a hint of resentment in your eyes.

“Why the hell are you looking at me like that?” Tommy steps closer and rubs his hands over his face, stretching the skin.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, ignoring his question. Tommy steps closer, his brow raised. He can’t exactly explain why he’s so pissed off at you and because he can’t, it makes him angrier.

“You know damn well why I’m here,” his voice is strained and tired.

“You keep showing up, just watch me perform and leave without speaking to me. What am I supposed to think?” You protest, your voice steady in its frustration.

Tommy smiles and laughs, shaking his head like he’s laughing at his own joke. He sniffs and clears his throat.

“You’re a smart woman, you can figure it out.”

You narrow your eyes at him. The truth is, you don’t know why he came back this time. You assume it’s for sex and that makes you even angrier.

“Fuck you,” you snap and Tommy chuckles, his lips curving into a smirk. He closes the distance and leans his hands on the armrests of the chair, boxing you in. His face is just above yours, his eyes more vibrant in their emotion.

“What that mouth of yours,” he says lowly, evenly.

“Or what?” You start, “we fucked once and then you practically disappeared. You don’t have the right to tell me what to do.” You growl.

Tommy’s grip on the armrests tightens as he tries to swallow down the mixture of anger and lust rising in his chest. Exhaling, he grabs your chin and holds it roughly in place.

“I said watch your mouth. I’m not some random man you can just push around.” His voice is low and dark, like a threat.

“No,” you mock unapologetically, “your’re Thomas fucking Shelby.” As if his name even means much to you. It certainly carried some weight in and around the cabaret but you’d told him before, you don’t concern yourself with business outside of the cabaret.

Something snaps in Tommy’s eyes and he grits his teeth. “Listen to me. I won’t tell you again. Watch your fucking mouth,” he nearly spits.

And before you can think it through, you respond.

“Make me.”

With a quick movement, Tommy suddenly pulls you to your feet by your arms and pins you against the wall, your face just beneath his. He doesn’t worry about being gentle with you, in fact he hopes it hurts you a little when he does this. You gasp out a breath of air when he shoves you against the wall and holds you by your shoulders. Your eyes widen and your lips fall open in surprise.

“Is this what you wanted?” Tommy pants, his hand coming up to hold your throat. He stares directly into your eyes as you take a breath and struggle against him, your palms beating his chest.

“Let me go, Tommy.” You ignore his question again, pissed.

He grabs your wrists to keep you from hitting him and pushes his weight against you. He looks down into your eyes, his gaze changing from anger into one of passion.

“You don’t really want me to do that, do you?”

You stop thrashing and take a breath, your eyes looking between his. As much as you hate him right now, god damn his eyes are beautiful. Remembering your frustration, however, you try to speak.

“Tommy-”

Tommy interrupts you, seeing the look of defiance in your eyes. He leans in, his lips close enough to brush against your neck.

“Say my name again,” he orders softly.

You take a deep breath, your heart racing. You can feel his breath against your neck and it sends shivers down your body into your cunt. Taking a second deep breath, you exhale.

“Tommy…”

He smiles against your neck and starts to nip the sensitive skin beneath your ear. Then he moves his lips to rest against your ear.

“I want you, Diana.”

You close your eyes, sighing, your body starting to give in. But in the next moment you remember yourself and push him away. You move across the room, your legs weak and shaky. When you turn around, you’re both breathing heavily. Tommy removes his heavy coat and tosses it over a clothing rack.

“For God’s sake, woman,” he grits out and runs his hand over his mouth. You exhale tightly, trying to hold yourself together and ignore the throbbing in your cunt. Instead of responding, you start to pull off your shoes and accessories, dropping them aggressively on the floor and makeup counter. You can’t even look at him without wanting to go back to him and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Tommy scoffs as he watches you discard parts of your costume and ignore him.

“Are you gonna keep acting like a child?” Tommy grumbles and leans against the wall with his arms across over his chest. You spin around, your arms gesturing wildly and your eyes flaming.

“Jesus, Tommy! What do you want from me? Why do you keep coming back here just to never speak to me?” You rip off your feathered headband and toss it to the side angrily. Tommy watches you discard parts of your sheer costume. His eyes roam over your body, his lust once again starting to rule over his frustration. He sighs and passes a hand through his dark hair. He takes a breath, looking away from you, then finally turns back, his eyes jumping from your body to your eyes.

“I can’t get you out of my mind,” he says softly, as if he’s exhausted.

You freeze, never expecting him to say something like that. Tommy shakes his head, frustrated at himself now for giving you and your situation so much power over him. Though he won’t say it, he might be obsessed with you. He suddenly feels ashamed and his eyes go cold again.

“Is that not what you wanted to hear?” He asks, his eyes turning away from you. In the harsh dressing room light, his cheekbones cast dark shadows on his face in profile. You wet your lips and shake your head, not able to believe him.

“I’m not a whore, Tommy. You can’t just come back whenever you want to fuck me,” you mutter, suddenly exhausted too. Tommy looks back, his brow immediately furrows. He jumps off from the wall and closes the distance once again between you. He places his hands on your shoulders, holding you still.

“That’s not what this is,” his voice is low but clear- direct. He’s becoming more impatient by the minute. It’s like you’re refusing to see sense, to understand what he’s trying to tell you. He doesn’t understand why you’re the only thing he can think about and why he wants more of you, in all senses, now. His hands travel up your shoulders to the sides of your neck before they come to rest on either side of your face. His pointer fingers rest behind your ears, tucked beneath your flapper’s bob.

You finally look up into his eyes, your heart falling into your stomach at what you see. You start to believe him, god-damn it. You do. Tommy lets out a gruff sigh and caresses your cheek with his thumb, his eyes traveling over your face as if he has all the time in the world to do so.

“Don’t act like you don’t want me just as bad,” he mutters, his voice quieter than before. And when he says it, it doesn’t sound like he just means sex anymore. But what more do you want from Tommy Shelby than just sex?

Your hands move to his lapels, gripping the button holes. You close your eyes for a moment as Tommy’s thumb passes over your bottom lip. He sighs when you close your eyes, his head immediately tilting down to get closer to your lips.

“You drive me fucking mad, you know?” Tommy mutters so close to your lips that you can feel the sound of his words. His mouth dodges your lips and finds your neck, kissing below your jaw.

“I hate you sometimes,” you whisper back, your breath jumping when you feel his hand slip down to your waist. He nods against your skin and moves his mouth slowly up to yours.

“I know.”

As he says this, you break and pull your chemise over your hips so you can undo your garters. Tommy groans softly against your mouth as he feels your garters snap as they fall away. Tommy runs his hands up your thigh as you unbutton his trousers, both panting softly between kisses. Tommy unbuttons his shirt and lets it hang open as he picks you up and sits back in the chair. He sets you down on his lap where you’re straddling him. His hands roam over your thighs as you take his face in your hands. The straps of your chemise roll off your shoulders but the fabric still covers your chest.

“I want to see you, Diana.” Tommy slides his hands up your sides. You look down at him, your eyes meeting and holding contact.

“Not yet,” you whisper.

Tommy’s hands slide back down your sides to rest on your hips. One of his hands starts to rub circles on the small of your back over your chemise. He smirks softly and tilts his head to the side.

“Why not?”

You smile back and lean down, brushing your nose against his. “You have to earn it,” you whisper. You kiss Tommy gently and he sighs against your lips, pulling you closer by your hips.

“Earn it,” he asks, his eyes still closed, “how the hell do I earn it then?” He smiles and looks back up at you. You kiss him briefly, adding to his sexual frustration.

“You have to be good to me.”

“Good to you?” He repeats, groaning when you start to taunt him with short kisses.

“Be good to me,” you whisper again and begin to kiss him harder.

He slips his arms around your waist and pulls you flush against his chest. He kisses you passionately and deeply. You moan softly against his lips and Tommy moves one hand to slide up and down your thigh, holding you securely on his lap.

“Is this good?” Tommy mutters, smiling. You giggle and shake your head, breaking the kiss.

“You can touch me… but you can’t look- not yet.”

Tommy leans his head back against the chair and closes his eyes, trying to contain himself. He sighs tightly and opens his eyes, his head still leaning back. His hands roam up your body to your waist and up to your chest. His hands are open and flat as he passes his palms over your breasts, still veiled in silky fabric. He watches your reaction as you gasp softly, your nipples hardening beneath his light touch.

Your hands trail down his bare stomach to his unbuttoned trousers. You reach into his pants and pull out his erection. Tommy groans, his eyes not leaving yours as he continues to feel you up over your chemise. You rise up on your knees and align his cock between your thighs. You sit down slowly and sigh tightly as you feel him fill you up. You move slowly, rocking your hips back and forth. Tommy holds onto your hips, guiding you and matching your rhythm. He watches you in admiration as you take the lead, grinding harder and faster as you please.

“Fuck.” Tommy pulls you down harder on his cock, causing you both to groan and gasp against each other. His hand slides up your back to rest against your spine, supporting you as you lean away from his chest. You’re whimpering as Tommy breathes heavily against your sternum, sweat glistening beneath your collarbones and between your breasts. You’re moving your hips as quickly as you can as Tommy guides you up and down. When you kiss him, he lets you slot your tongue between his lips. He groans when you suck on his wide bottom lip and his hips sputter up into yours.

“Slow down, girl,” Tommy warns you between kisses, his hands slowing your hips down. “Stop for a second, look at me,” Tommy speaks softly though his words are broken up by heavy breaths. You stop and look down at him, your neck flushed with blood.

“W-what is it?”

Tommy looks up at you, his hands rubbing up and down your sides. Why he chooses this moment- he doesn’t know. He wets his lips.

“Marry me.”

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 6 months ago

Note

Z 🐉🥵🍎

Excellent choice. this was very fun to write! 🐉❤️

A welcome distraction

Rated: E

Words: 980

Tags: Fantasy AU; dragon!Eddie; king!Steve; established relationship; mates; soul bond; cock warming; edging; anal sex; monsterfucking; that's right, that monster gets fucked

Notes: Set in the same universe as Hic sunt dracones

Sometimes, Steve hates being king. He loves his people, but some days, he'd rather fight a hundred more usurpers than suffer through another day of audiences and paperwork.

Stifling a yawn, he grasps for the bowl of fruit Joyce brought. It's almost empty, but the pile of documents awaiting his signature is still as large as it was hours ago. He sighs, popping a berry into his mouth and pulling the next page from the stack. He squints in the flickering candlelight, trying to concentrate, but reading feels like trying to move through sludge. Steve groans and reaches for the bowl again.

He comes up empty.

He keeps groping around for a moment, but finds only the surface of the desk.

“What the-?” he mutters, looking up.

The bowl is gone.

While Steve is still staring at the spot of thin air that has taken its place, something at the back of his mind starts to tickle. The mental equivalent of a poorly restrained cackle.

“Really?” Steve rolls his eyes. “You'll do anything for attention, won't you?”

A blueberry flies from the shadows, hitting his chest.

“Oh dear,” says the darkness, unfurling leathery wings, and the sound is home. “My king is grouchy.”

“My dragon is annoying,” Steve retaliates, but his mouth tugs into a grin as Eddie peels himself from the shadows, crowding him into his chair. “Anything you wanted? Apart from throwing food at- Get your ass off the desk, I'm reading that!”

Eddie obeys gladly, nudging Steve's knees apart so that he can settle on the ground by his feet.

“Want what's mine,” he purrs against Steve’s lips. “Want you.”

“Eddie, c’mon,” Steve says. The words come out around a gasp as Eddie nips at the bite mark on his shoulder. “Let me finish first.”

“Don't worry, beloved,” Eddie's hands find the bindings of his pants. “I'll let you finish alright, but first we’ll-”

“Oh no, we won't,” Steve snaps, pushing him off with one hand and gesturing at the pile of documents with the other. “Nobody is finishing before I'm done here. Is that clear?”

A heartbeat passes in silence. Then, Eddie’s offended scowl morphs into a devious grin. The bond thrums with mischief and desire, and Steve knows he did this to himself.

Steve scrawls his signature onto another document. It comes out wobbly and almost misses the line, little drops of ink splattering all over the parchment. He doesn’t even wait for it to dry, just slams it on the pile with the finished ones. A quick glance reveals that there’s two more left. He groans in frustration, trying to shift in his seat, trying to gain more leverage, more friction, more of that delicious, wet warmth. It’s no use. There’s two strong hands on his hips, holding him firmly in place.

“Eddie,” he whimpers. “Please, c’mon, you’ve made your point.”

His dragon hums at the sound of his name, the vibration sending little sparks up Steve’s spine, then pulls off his cock with an obscene, wet sound.

“No can do, beloved,” he laments, glancing up at Steve from below dark lashes. His eyes are pure gold in the candlelight. “You said no finishing before-”

“Fuck,” Steve swears. His hips twitch feebly in Eddie’s hold. “There’s only two left, I can do these tomorrow, please, I-”

Eddie licks a long, hot stripe all the way from his base to his leaking tip, and the words trail off into an incoherent moan.

“Wouldn’t want to keep my king from his duties,” Eddie rumbles, breath cool and ticklish against the sheen of his own spit. “Now come on. You’ve lasted so long, you can do two more.”

And then, without waiting for a reply, he swallows Steve’s cock again. Steve feels that throat constricting, feels that wicked tongue teasing at his balls. Feels Eddie’s cock pressing into his leg as his dragon adjusts his position, and knows that he’s just as desperate for it.

“Oh Gods, I hate you!” he groans.

Eddie laughs, wrecked and muffled around the weight on his tongue, and lust coils in Steve’s abdomen like a spring, wound tight and waiting to snap.

He yanks the two remaining documents towards himself, scribbling something vaguely resembling a signature somewhere near the bottom of both in one jerky movement before he slams the quill down on the desk. It snaps. Ink splatters on wood, and he knows the stains will never come out. He doesn’t care.

“Done,” he rasps. “C'mon, c’mon, please!”

His hands land on a horn and a fistful of hair, yanking so hard it must be painful, but Eddie doesn't complain. Instead, he scrambles into Steve’s lap and impales himself on his cock, all in one, fluid blur of movement. Their lips meet, and the taste of himself on Eddie’s tongue, the feeling of his mate clenching around him, is all it takes. Steve shatters apart with a hoarse moan, and Eddie greedily licks it out of his mouth while he spills inside of him.

“You're a menace,” Steve tells him between sloppy kisses, once he's found his voice again. “Distracting me from work like that.”

“Oh?” Eddie grins. “If anything, I think I made you work faster.”

“Except I have no idea what I just signed,” Steve replies, snorting when his dragon nuzzles his throat playfully. “Peace treaty? War declaration? Who knows?”

“Who cares?” Eddie quips, standing from the chair and stretching languidly. “Sounds like a tomorrow problem to me.”

“Wait, woah!” Steve yelps as he is picked up and carried out of the study. “Where are we going?”

Eddie laughs as he kicks open the door to their bed chamber.

“What do you think, my love? You may be done, but I’m not. I plan on changing that. And maybe after …,” he grins down at Steve, all fangs and hungry golden eyes, “I'll let you finish some more.”

"Yeah, sorry your treaty is all crumpled up. My dragon sat on it."

More celebration ficlets

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #hic sunt dracones #hype's 1k follower ficlets

88 notes · View notes

pinksilvace · 5 months ago

Text

! PAC NYC CATS SPOILERS !

What I remember from the show, feat. some official photos

This is all going off of my note-less memories so there may be some minor inaccuracies to these recollections.

Welcoming Remarks/Overture

The crowd was welcomed by the voice of Junior LaBeija, who encouraged us to google him before shutting our phones down.

We were encouraged to make noise at any and all parts of the performance

Filming, even during bows, was strictly prohibited

This show is LOUD. I wore ear plugs the entire time, and I don't consider myself to be particularly sensitive to noise. It makes sense, considering that the audience is meant to yell and the music has to be heard over them.

The theater space itself was relatively small. All seats were good seats.

Mr. Mistoffelees (Robert "Silk" Mason) could be seen dancing through the window set pieces above the back of the stage.

Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats

(clip)

The cast began all around the theater, with spotlights illuminating them as they began to sing. They did not mount the stage until the "Mystical Divinity" portion of the song.

The crowd went WILD at the part that has had its choreography revealed already.

The Naming of Cats

The "Man over there" bit was done by Antwayn Hopper (Macavity). In general, he seemed to be having an absolute blast throughout the show.

During the parts where cats sharing the names in the poem were mentioned, spotlights illuminated them.

Munkustrap led this number and was the only one onstage for the duration of it.

The White Cat Solo

(clip)

Compared to how this is presented in replica productions, the dance moves were very fast.

I am uncertain as to whether this part was meant to characterize Victoria, or if it was just a great chance for BABY (Victoria) to show off her incredible dancing skills.

The Old Gumbie Cat

Jennyanydots (Xavier Reyes) began the number by pulling out a trophy, showing she'd won at balls in the past

During the day, it was implied (I think?) that Jennyanydots has lots of sex. Whether it's sex work, a sugar daddy situation, etc. was unclear. What I can say is that she did lots of bouncing - on other actors, on the edge of the stage, and on a chair.

At night, Jennyanydots is a very harried single Latina mother trying to keep her kids out of trouble.

Instead of Jenny competing in a category herself, Cassandra (Emma Sofia)(implied to be one of Jenny's children, either literally or metaphorically) competed while Jenny directed her choreography from the sidelines.

The Rum Tum Tugger

VERY laid back. This is definitely Jason Derulo's version of Tugger, but done so incredibly right. He was honestly a bit too effortless for how easily he won categories.

It's not shown in this photo, but he wore a gold and black striped fur coat throughout most of the show, sort of like Munkustrap's grey and black one (shown above, with Jenny)

There wasn't very much choreography in this number, save for a bit at the very end where he was facing off "Pretty Boy vs. Thug"

Grizabella the Glamour Cat

Grizabella ("Temptress" Chastity Moore) approached the side of the stage and killed the mood. Everyone kind of just avoided her. Munkustrap tried to talk her into going away, but she refused. He then tried to pay her actual cash to leave, but she stood her ground.

Sillabub (Teddy Wilson Jr.) approached her curiously and backed off at a very subtle warning from Demeter (Bebe Nicole Simpson). (I have to add on that Sillabub wore an orange t-shirt, short pink overalls, and orange converse shoes with a crown of sunflowers on their head. They were easily my favorite character.)

Grizabella showed off a trophy she had won in a previous ball and implored the interim judges to let her compete. They refused.

This Grizabella was almost frighteningly determined.

Bustopher Jones

For the performance I saw, Garnet Williams filled in for Nora Schell, with Tara Lashan Clinkscales filling in for Bombalurina.

Bustopher was referred to with they/them pronouns.

A large portion of this number was spent with Bustopher walking around the theater. When they mounted the stage, they pulled open their shirt to reveal a bustier emblazoned with the English flag.

Bustopher competed and won in the "Body" category. They continued to remain present throughout the rest of the show.

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer

(clip)

It is specified both in the program and during the number that these two are from Victoria Grove, New Jersey

Those New Jersey accents were aggressive

"one of the goyles suddenly misses her woolworth poyles"

Honestly, I wouldn't expect anything less from them

During the Macavity scare preceding this number, Macavity dropped off some trash bags filled with clothes for Bombalurina and Demeter. Mungojerrie (Jonathan Burke) and Rumpleteazer (Dava Huesca) attempted to steal these.

During the second verse, both changed costumes behind some costume racks on either side of the stage.

They competed in the "Tag Team" category against Victoria and Tumblebrutus (Primo) and lost. They then stole the trophy, which Victoria and Tumblebrutus stole back.

Anyway I just desperately need other US productions to give them New Jersey accents

Old Deuteronomy

Munkustrap (Dudney Joseph Jr.) was the only one onstage for the first part of this

Tugger (Sydney James Harcourt) approached the side of the stage and grasped Munkustrap's arm at the "numerous progeny" line

The stage was left empty for Old Deuteronomy (André De Shields) to walk out on

Before he walked out, Sillabub threw flower petals all over it

Mr. Mistoffelees (Robert "Silk" Mason) pulled out Old Deuteronomy's chair for him

There was a VERY long pause for applause when Old Deuteronomy reached his throne at the far end of the catwalk. He turned in a very slow circle. We made eye contact.

Song of the Jellicles/The Jellicle Ball

(clip)

During the Macavity scare, Macavity strides up to Old Deuteronomy. Old Deuteronomy waves him back out of the room in a way that honestly looked like magic. (It's worth noting at this point that the Macavity in this production is a goofy role.)

Because of how the stage is set up, most parts of the dance number were done with only 2-5 actors onstage at a time. When there was a larger group, the dancing remained mostly sedentary.

No mating dance

Grizabella appeared on one of the high balconies. Sillabub waved enthusiastically at her. Everybody else just stared at her.

Many categories were competed in during this part. One of them was sort of an "anything goes" (I forget the exact name) category, in which Munkustrap came out in a golden ensemble with giant wings. Old Deuteronomy didn't like it. Munkustrap gave him sass.

Memory (part 1)

Old Deuteronomy walked out of the room along with everybody else (I THINK.) Grizabella approached the side of the stage, took off the scarf covering her hair, and draped it over one of the railings.

Grizabella caressed the stage as she sang.

Sillabub approached the other side of the stage, watched her for a bit, and departed. They returned near the end of the number with a glittery dress, which they offered to her. Grizabella ran away.

At the end of the number, Sillabub climbs onstage to grab the scarf and look out at the audience. Cut to black.

Moments of Happiness/Moonlight

This part took place entirely between Old Deuteronomy and Sillabub. Sillabub was still onstage, almost got scared away when Old Deuteronomy returned, and knelt in front of him.

As Old Deuteronomy sang about happiness through many generations, he tied the scarf around Sillabub's neck.

While all of this happened, old photos and reports about old balls were being projected on a large screen at the back of the stage. There was then a listing of old house mothers. Most of these were real. The final name listed was Grizabella's.

The rest of the cast joins in for Moonlight, stationed all around the theater. Bombalurina and Demeter were right next to me on the lower balcony. Bombalurina smiled at me.

Gus the Theater Cat

Shereen Pimentel (Jellylorum) was AMAZING.

Gus (Junior LaBeija) was only present for this number and the bows. Most of his lines were performed like spoken word poetry rather than through song.

There was no show-within-a-show piece after this number, but Gus did say the "I once played Rumpus Cat" line. At the very end was Tumblebrutus (I THINK) re-enacting a young Gus a la Grizabella in Tecklenburg 2015.

Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat

(clip)

AGGRESSIVELY a New Yorker in the same way Mungo and Rumple were from New Jersey. Queen of the subways.

Skimbleshanks' (Emma Sofia's) hair had tiger stripes!!!

Lyrics were both English and Spanish (?), especially during the "it was very pleasant" part

She lost her category against Rumpleteazer. They embraced and continued to dance together for the rest of the song.

Macavity the Mystery Cat/"The Fight"

Macavity (with a comically evil cackle and some Hanna-Barbera-style running around) dropped off some more trash bags through one of the windows in the back, which Demeter unpacked. As it turned out, those bags were filled with designer products.

"Macavity wasn't there" was a line used to refer to the fact that Macavity was supposed to be competing but didn't show up on time

Oh yeah, Demeter and Bombalurina were members of the House of Macavity

After Macavity proved to Old Deuteronomy that all of the products were genuine, they all got dressed up and competed in "Labels". The House of Macavity won.

Members of the losing team found attached tags on the products, indicating that the items were shoplifted.

As police sirens blared and blue and white lights flew around the room, Old Deuteronomy ushered Macavity to leave the venue. The police officers entered, looked around the audience, and then looked on the stage, where Old Deuteronomy stood in front of the bags of stolen goods and gave himself up as the perpetrator of the crime.

Macavity returns looking downright distraught.

Magical Mr. Mistoffelees

(clip)

It was much more believable to see everybody turning their backs on Tugger in this production than any other I've seen

Mr. Mistoffelees was referred to with he/him pronouns, so that's what I'm using here

Mr. Mistoffelees is introduced as a ballroom dancer who meets success, in part, by magic-ing his opponents into having wardrobe and performance malfunctions.

He also steals their stuff but I'm unsure whether that has to do with saving Old Deut or if it's just enriching for him

Old Deuteronomy was magicked into a box and stood very still when the curtain was pulled off. When Macavity approached, Old Deuteronomy jumpscared him.

After the song was done, Tugger and Mistoffelees kissed. They were not, as I have seen others say, eating each other's faces; it was very chaste and tender and lasted for just a handful of seconds. The audience went wild, of course.

Memory (part 2)

Grizabella came out in the dress Sillabub had offered earlier

Maybe I was reading too much into it but it looked to me like Old Deuteronomy and Sillabub conspired together to make her reappearance happen

This song was sung in a lower key than usual to better suit Temptress' voice

She looked so uncertain the whole time

Journey to the Heaviside Layer

A big staircase hinged down to the stage, just like in replica productions

Grizabella left through a door at the top of the stairs. Through it, the sounds of New York City could be heard.

The Ad-dressing of Cats

This song makes WAY MORE SENSE in this production in OG Cats, in my opinion. There, it sometimes feels like a bit of a slog. Here, it reinforced the core message of the show about accepting people as they are. To me, the context made it much more powerful.

These last few numbers were loud even through my ear plugs and I don't know why.

The ensemble (Frank Viveros and Shelby Griswold) brought the cast flutes of champagne

Bows

Munkustrap announced each member of the cast as they did individual dances down the stage. This was one of the only songs unrelated to Cats music.

Tugger did a striptease.

After all of the actors, the conductor came out vogueing down the stage.

Afterward, the cast began singing the "practical cats, dramatical cats" portion of Jellicle Songs. I sang enthusiastically along, catching Bustopher's eye. They blew me a kiss.

Other thoughts

Electra (Kendall Grayson Stroud) EASILY had my favorite costume: a holographic top and little black skirt with a huge ruffled rainbow coat over it

Victoria's costume changes made her much less noticeable than usual, especially as she mostly served as a member of the ensemble (I don't think anything in particular about this choice; I just found it interesting)

Despite all of the changes, this very much felt like a production of cats. Even though the actors were staged to be humans, they did nothing else to emphasize it. All of the lyrics were true to replica cats productions.

Where ballroom beats were implemented, they never distracted from the songs they were placed into. They actually enhanced the songs very nicely.

Almost all of the changes made to the original story make sense in the context of this production. I.e., Alonzo's absence makes sense because his role is no longer necessitated. Same with Coricopat and Tantomile.

I am in LOVE with this Sillabub. I really cannot emphasize that enough. They had so much youthful whimsy and KILLED those high notes. They should have been frolicking but instead they were at the club smh

Understated Tugger was an interesting look, and I think it worked well, considering that this Mistoffelees was definitely the most eye-catching member of the cast.

It was actually really cool to see a production where Macavity is accepted as one of the tribe. I fully believe that Mungojerrie learned a few pointers from this one. Again, I have to emphasize that it looked like Antwayn Hopper had the time of his life in this role.

Speaking of, there may have been some Deut bros (Tugger+Munkustrap+Macavity) staging, but I don't remember clearly enough to say for sure.

Most of the transfer of the story made sense... except for the stuff surrounding Grizabella. I've seen the directors talk about ageism in the ballroom community, but with how much emphasis this production put on respect for elders via Old Deuteronomy and Gus and the lack of general contempt from the cast, I honestly don't know why she would have been outcast to begin with. I also have no idea why she ran away from Sillabub.

I kind of wish there had been more extreme makeup, but most of the cast switched between their characters and ensemble roles frequently, so it makes sense. It didn't make the show any worse.

Overall, this was an incredible production that deserves the praise it is given. Yes, I think a number of Cats fans are casting too much judgement on the creative decisions. Yes, I think too many reporters have dunked on the original Cats staging more than is warranted in order to prop this production up. Regardless of those two factors, it was clear that the cast and creative team had a real love for both Cats and ballroom, and I think they married the two concepts beautifully.

#fern muses #cats the musical #pac nyc cats #spoilers

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obsessedwhyyes · 8 days ago

Text

A Tale of Fools and Tricksters (2)

Chapter 2: Looking Glass

Summary: The lingering tendrils of Astarion's enchantment take Elysia firmly in their hold. His glances, his gestures - they must surely be signs laid out just for her. Determined, Elysia sets off to find the elusive ringmaster, but confrontation, mystery, and reflection await her instead.

Rating: M Chapter Word Count: 5134 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC Content: Alternative Universe (Circus), Ringmaster Astarion, mild horror elements, eventual smut, eventual romance, basically a big whimsical (slightly dark, slightly trippy) fairytale of an AU. Chapter 1 can be found here.

A/N: This is what I like to affectionately call, ‘The Delulu Chapter.’ She will only be insufferable for a little while, I promise. She’s just having her Alice in Wonderland phase - she’ll grow out of it.

A thousand breaths caught in perfect unison.

A thousand hearts skipped the same beat.

Gasp. Cheer.

Sigh. Swoon.

The sounds rippled through the crowd in perfect synchronicity, rising and falling like the tide.

Elysia couldn’t recall sitting down, nor how she’d come to be in this seat, surrounded once more by the plush velvet and soft murmur of the audience.

Thoughts of the past felt, simply, weightless, drifting beyond her reach.

She was here now. And that was all that mattered.

The Ringmaster spoke, with sweeping gestures befitting a man of such grandiose.

"Now, while I'm captivating enough on my own..."

Elysia's lips curved upward. She hadn't chosen to smile.

"... I suppose I should share the stage with our other little wonders. Our family has prepared something special for you tonight.”

With a flourish, his cane conjured a shimmering curtain of starlight. The glowing veil parted to reveal the first performer.

“May I present… Aurelia, mistress of flames.”

A woman stepped forward, her crimson and gold costume gleaming like embers as hoops of fire encircled her body. The flames licked and coiled around her, alive, feral, yet completely under her control.

Elysia’s heart fluttered. Aurelia was extraordinary.

But she wasn't Astarion.

“... Leon, who gives weight to dreams.”

The strongman emerged next, the stage dimming as his large frame became the focal point. His arms, broad and powerful, lifted a shimmering, gilded ring that seemed impossibly heavy, its edges glimmering as it reflected the light of Aurelia’s fire.

Elysia’s pulse quickened. Leon was a marvel.

But he didn't wear the crowd’s adoration like Astarion wore his charm.

“... And Violet, who dances between stars.”

A silver hoop descended from above, and Violet with it. Suspended high in the air and wrapped with silks, she moved with an ethereal grace, her body twisting and arching as though weightless.

Elysia couldn't help but gasp. Violet was breathtaking.

But she didn't enchant like Astarion did.

He stood apart, just behind the performers, his cane in hand, mask gleaming faintly in the ethereal glow. He wasn't the one leaping or spinning or commanding the elements. Yet, he was the axis on which everything turned; the force that made the whole performance possible.

His eyes found hers in the crowd as she watched him.

Or did she imagine that?

Surely he saw her.

Surely he felt it too.

Elysia had often wondered if love at first sight truly existed.

Often, she told herself it was simply the fancy of poets and dreamers, a comforting illusion woven to make life feel fuller. No - to Elysia, love was something that grew slowly, like tending a garden through the seasons. Something that needed patience and time to truly take root.

Yet here, now, she had never been so certain of its existence.

Was it not love to hold a person the way Astarion held her? To pull her close, until her world narrowed to his smile, his lips, his gaze? He was like a vision from a dream half-remembered, and he held her there, suspended, bound by starlight and shadow, captivated.

Yes. Yes, this was surely love.

If it wasn't love, what else could it be?

The performers took their positions. At Astarion's signal, they began.

They moved as one, their acts weaving seamlessly together like threads in an intricate tapestry. Violet soared through the air on her silver hoop, her silks trailing in elegant arcs as Aurelia’s flaming rings spiralled around her, fire and starlight intertwining. Below, Leon’s gilded ring spun like a celestial anchor, catching and refracting the light as Violet leapt from her perch, her movements mirrored by the rise and fall of the flames. A dance of fire, silk, and shadow. Three acts became one impossible dance.

The stage was like a living dream. It compelled her to...

Rise.

The audience stood.

Lean forward.

Their bodies tilted as one.

Hold your breath.

Elysia's lungs burned with the others'.

A thousand faces turned at once, a thousand smiles stretched in unison.

The finale built higher as a crescendo of daring and grace. Violet dove through a ring of flames, her silks igniting in a burst of golden light as Leon caught her descent.

Colours blurred. Sounds merged.

Fire and shadow. Music and motion.

How long had it been since Elysia felt this light? This free? The weight that normally pressed against her shoulders - responsibility, duty, the relentless presence of death - had dissolved like morning mist in the summer sun. Here, she felt as though nothing could touch her. Not grief, nor guilt.

Looking at the audience, she saw faces slack with wonder, eyes glazed with absolute adoration. They were gleeful in their rapture, yet none of them had danced with him as she had. None had felt his magic against their skin, the intimate press of starlight binding them together.

None of them had what Elysia had with Astarion. Of that much, she was certain.

Fire and starlight spiralled together as the performers created their final masterpiece of the night.

Then everything stopped.

Light itself seemed to hold its breath. Violet hung suspended between earth and sky, caught in Leon's impossible hold. Aurelia's flames froze mid-flicker, crystallising into fractals of burning light. For one eternal moment, reality balanced on a knife's edge.

At Astarion's gesture, the frozen tableau shattered into pure starlight. The performers emerged from the glittering cascade, moving in perfect synchronisation as they took their final bow. Above them, the last fragments of their magic rained down like falling stars.

The audience erupted in applause.

Elysia’s hands moved to clap with them before she realised.

She couldn’t resist. She would never want to resist.

“Thank you, thank you, dear souls.” Astarion held his hand to his chest, dipping his head once more in a theatrical bow that made the light catch in his silvery hair. “May your dreams find you, even as you find yourselves.”

His gaze swept the audience one last time.

Elysia could have sworn his eyes rested on her for just a moment longer than the others.

The slight tilt of his head, the way his fingers traced the handle of his cane - they can't have been mere gestures.

They must have been a silent invitation. A promise.

Elysia could never miss such glaring signs, clearly made just for her.

The need to understand, to unravel the mystery surrounding him, pulled at her, stronger than the remnants of the spellbinding performance.

It wasn’t just curiosity - it was a hunger. To know him - to be near him - felt as necessary as breathing.

Astarion was leading. Elysia must follow.

As the lights dimmed, the audience, still humming with awe, began to drift toward the exit, their faces glazed with dreamlike adoration. But Elysia hung back for just a moment before beginning her descent towards the stage on subtle steps, her gaze fixed on the velvet curtain where Astarion and the performers had disappeared. Her breath caught as she saw them slip through, leaving a ripple in the fabric.

But what caught her attention was the faint, rhythmic chime that followed each figure as they passed through the curtain.

Her eyes narrowed. Bells. A line of small, silver bells was strung along the top of the curtain, barely visible unless you were looking for them. They swayed gently with each movement, their delicate chimes swallowed by the crowd’s applause. The purpose was clear: the faintest disturbance would alert those beyond.

Clever, she thought. But it was not enough to deter her.

Elysia’s heart could never be deterred.

She studied the curtain for a moment longer. The performers moved with such grace that the bells just barely sang as they passed. The key was clearly precision, not speed.

She waited until the crowd’s murmurs swelled, the noise rising like a tide. Then, as carefully as a surgeon threading a needle, she slipped forward. Her steps were deliberate, her movements measured. She placed her hands on the edge of the curtain, just below the bells, and pushed it aside with the lightest touch, letting the fabric shift naturally around her.

The bells quivered. Elysia froze, holding her breath.

But no sound came.

She sighed in relief.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she eased herself through the opening, the dim light of the backstage area welcoming her into its shadows. She let the curtain fall back into place, the bells swaying gently above her head.

No one had noticed. Yet.

The backstage air was a stark contrast from the grand theatrics of the stage area - muted, cooler, dimly lit by flickering lanterns. The faint scent of smoke and incense tickled her nose as she pressed herself against the nearest wall. For a moment, she allowed herself a quiet breath, her heart still racing.

She made it in.

Now, she just had to find him.

Elysia moved deeper into the warren of corridors, each step careful and measured. This place felt like another world entirely - a place where magic shed its glamour and revealed its seams. Props leaned against walls like sleeping creatures. Costumes hung from hooks like shed skins, still holding the shape of their wearers.

Gaps in curtains revealed brief glimpses of the performers as she explored. There was something oddly intimate about seeing them outside the allure of their performance - like seeing a bird folding its wings after flight.

But then a familiar voice caught Elysia’s attention.

Following the sound, she found herself near an ornate door left slightly ajar, golden light spilling through the gap. She pressed herself against the wall beside it, drawn forward by the familiar cadence of his voice.

Astarion. She had found him.

Though, his voice was accompanied by another.

“... and there you go again.” This other voice - it too was familiar, though dripping with barely contained contempt. “Such pride from someone who–”

“Who actually holds their attention?” Astarion cut in. “Yes, how terribly proud of me. Tell me, Petras - how does it feel to be forgotten the moment I take the stage?”

Petras. The name stirred something within Elysia, but she couldn’t work out what. Had they met before?

"At least I know my place," Petras spat. "I don't delude myself with dreams of–"

"Delude myself?" Astarion's laugh held no humour. "How amusing, coming from someone who spends his nights rehearsing my routine. Tell me - has my shadow filed a complaint yet? Though I suppose it must be used to you chasing it by now.”

Elysia risked a glance through the gap and had to stifle a gasp.

The dressing room was filled with mirrors. They were everywhere: lining the walls, standing on ornate frames, creating an illusion of infinite space. Each reflection caught and multiplied the candlelight, creating a kaleidoscope effect that was both beautiful and disorienting. She caught a glimpse of the two men, and the contrast in them was uncanny. Petras’s simple gold mask seemed plain, almost crude, compared to the intricate filigree of Astarion's.

"You forget yourself," Petras said. "The master has schedules for a reason. And when you deviate–"

"The master," Astarion's voice took on a strange tone, "has more pressing concerns than your petty jealousies over a few minutes' delay, don’t you think? Or have you forgotten last month’s little incident?"

Silence as Petras’s words seemed to fail him momentarily.

This was it. This was Elysia’s chance.

"I’m sorry to intrude." she stepped forward tentatively as she spoke, her voice hopeful. "I hoped I might find you..."

Both men turned sharply in her direction.

Astarion’s fingers brushed the silver filigree at his throat before smoothing out the coif of his hair in one fluid motion. "My, my… aren't you the determined one?"

Petras appeared rather vindicated. "The master needs to hear about this.”

"Must he? And I suppose you'll explain how she got past your... what was it you called it? Your 'enhanced security measures'?"

The blond man stiffened. "I hardly think–"

“No, you so rarely do.” Astarion's smile didn't waver, but his eyes kept darting to the shadows behind Elysia. "Perhaps we should discuss your recent performance evaluations while we're at it?"

Something in the threat landed. Petras's eager reporting instinct warred visibly with self-preservation. After a moment of tense silence, he backed towards the door, pausing only to give Elysia a look that might even have been pity if it hadn’t looked so much like bitter indignation.

Elysia found herself quickly irked by him.

“This isn't over, Astarion,” Petras said as he slipped out the room, punctuated by the sound of the door latch clicking into place as he closed it.

Being alone with Astarion felt different than she'd imagined - more real somehow. Her heart fluttered against her chest like a trapped bird.

But she was nothing if not determined. She knew she was right where she needed to be.

His smile brightened, though there was a tightness to it that Elysia couldn't quite place. “Forgive the uncouth display, darling. Some people simply can't help but be tiresome.”

"I came as quickly as I could," Elysia said quickly, watching as his fingers drifted again to his collar, then to adjust his already-perfect hair. “I know I should’ve waited for a proper introduction, but sometimes…” She felt heat rise to her cheeks at her own boldness. “Sometimes the heart knows when something is important.”

"You know," he began, "most admirers content themselves with flowers. Or swooning. Swooning is traditional. But you had to make things interesting, didn't you?"

"I suppose I'm not very traditional." Elysia smiled, her heart fluttering as he approached. In the mirrors surrounding them, a thousand reflections of Astarion moved in perfect synchronisation. And Elysia’s reflection was there with him.

They were a study in contrasts - Elysia in her simple dress and blouse seemed grounded and unadorned, like earth; Astarion, in his intricate attire, was otherworldly in his theatrical splendour. Yet somehow the juxtaposition felt right - as though her very plainness made his ethereal beauty more striking, while his presence lent her simplicity a kind of grace.

Her lips parted as the thought flitted through her mind: We look good together.

“Our dance earlier - I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

“Few have. The magic of the festival is rather unique, wouldn’t you say?”

"And the way you commanded the stage..." Elysia began, but something in his posture made her pause. Even in the mirrors, she could see the slight tension in his shoulders.

"Command?" His laugh was almost musical. “Darling, I merely... suggest. Guide. Though speaking of guidance..." His eyes darted again to the shadows behind her, quick as a heartbeat. "You realise, of course, that I'm being remarkably generous about this whole affair. Most who find their way backstage discover a far less..." Another touch of his collar. "...accommodating reception."

Elysia’s pulse steadied, her smile turning faintly knowing. Of course, he had to maintain this necessary pretence - charm wrapped in formality, words dipped in grace. It wasn’t for her benefit, not truly. After all, what would the others think if they knew he'd invited someone backstage? No, these little warnings were just another performance, meant for any eyes that might be watching. Beneath it all she could feel it - something unspoken.

"I know this is a little unconventional…”

"Unconventional? What a delicate way to phrase it. You do have quite the gift for making impropriety sound almost charming."

Elysia’s smile faltered as she met his gaze. “I just thought…” Her voice softened, the words catching like a hesitant breath. “I thought you wanted me to find you. It– it felt like I had to.”

Why? The question rose sharp and sudden in her mind. The urgency that had drawn her here felt familiar somehow, like an old song played in a different key.

“And here I thought I was the one with a penchant for dramatics,” Astarion said. “You give me far too much credit, my dear.”

His words were laced with humour, yet, he hadn’t denied it. The pull she’d felt couldn’t have been imagined. It was too strong, too undeniable. Surely he had wanted her to find him. Surely he’d left some trace, some sign meant just for her.

Hadn’t he?

Her lips parted, but the words she wanted to say dissolved before they could take shape. She glanced away, her gaze catching on the mirrors around them. Her reflection stared back infinitely, as though mocking her uncertainty.

And Astarion… there was something tight in the way he held himself now, like a performer who'd spotted a crack in their stage.

"Come, darling. Let’s not tempt fate by lingering here any longer. You’ve already wandered somewhere terribly dangerous.”

He took a step closer, his presence commanding her attention as though he’d physically pulled her from her thoughts.

That silken voice.

That perfect presence.

He's so close.

Her thoughts - those pesky doubts - scattered like startled birds.

He offered her his arm, a gesture so effortlessly charming that it made her heart flutter.

He was right.

Of course, he was right.

There was nothing for her here.

Only him.

And so she followed.

She hesitated for only a moment before slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. His closeness brought with it a scent she hadn't noticed before - herbal and bright, with citrus and the faintest hint of something darker, richer; elegant as everything else about him. The kind of scent that made you want to lean closer, to search for its source. It took all her composure not to do exactly that.

"Consider this a gift. My generosity in exchange for your… discretion.”

He paused at the room’s threshold, glancing as though expecting something to appear from the shadows. “Shall we? The night market is particularly enchanting at this hour. All manner of delights to distract from more... dangerous pursuits."

"The night market?" Something about his insistence made her heart beat faster.

The dim lantern light flickered as he escorted her through winding corridors, throwing his silhouette into sharp relief against the shadows.

"Oh, the things you'll see there," he continued, speaking faster. "Delicacies that would make your finest confectioners weep. Treasures that would make merchants' hearts stop. All manner of pretty little diversions. Much more interesting than these tired old backrooms.”

His steps were swift. Hasty.

Elysia fought to keep pace.

“And of course,” he said suddenly, his voice carrying a cheerfulness that teetered on the edge of too bright, “there’s a spectacular display of silks at one of the stalls. Ah, you’d adore them - exquisite craftsmanship, really, though I must admit I’ve never been terribly partial to magenta myself.”

The sounds of laughter and music drew closer.

He glanced at her briefly, his eyes catching the light before darting back ahead. “Oh, and Dalyria with her card readings, the truths she reveals are quite– ah, but did I mention the night market?”

“You did.”

“Well, it bears repeating,” he replied too quickly. “Because it truly is a marvel. So much to see. So much to enjoy.”

The cane in his free hand tapped out a rhythm that didn't quite match his steps.

“Perfectly harmless, of course,” he added, his gaze darting briefly to the shadows behind them, before he turned back to her with another dazzling smile.

They emerged from behind the heavy curtains into the festival proper, where the eternal twilight cast everything in soft, dreamy hues. Something about the change in lighting made the shadows under his eyes more pronounced – had those been there during the performance?

"There now," Astarion said. His fingers found his collar one final time before dropping away. "Isn't this better? All the wonder, none of the... complications. Though do remember, darling - you now owe me quite the favour."

"Will I see you again?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Astarion stilled for the briefest moment, his smile frozen in place. Then he laughed.

"Oh, darling, the festival has a way of bringing people together, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t fret too much about when or how."

His answer wasn’t what she wanted, and something in her bristled. "That’s not what I meant," she said. "I think… I think I need to see you again."

That made him pause, his eyes catching hers. There was something almost imperceptible in his gaze - whether it was curiosity or resignation, Elysia couldn’t tell.

"Need is such a dangerous word," he murmured, tilting his head just slightly. "You sound so certain, yet you hardly know me."

"But I do..."

Did she? The thought disappeared as quickly as it came.

"... I feel like I do," she continued, looking to her feet.

"Do you, now?" he asked, his voice soft, almost indulgent. “What is it you think you see in me?”

“I…”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he closed the space between them in an instant. He reached out, his fingers brushing her chin, tilting her head so she was forced to meet his gaze. Her breath caught, the world narrowing until there was only him.

He leaned in, his gaze holding her captive. “Or perhaps you don’t see at all. Perhaps there’s something else you want.” His hold on her jaw firmed for a moment. “Ah. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me?”

The words hit her like a physical blow. Her chest tightened, heat rising to her cheeks as she struggled to find her voice, but it was useless.

He held her gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

But then he sighed.

"I thought so," he said quietly, almost to himself. "They always do."

He stepped back, his hand falling away.

"You’re bold, love," Astarion said at last. "It’s a charming trait, truly. But sometimes boldness gets people hurt."

"I’m not afraid.” Elysia held his gaze as steadily as she could muster.

"Of course you’re not," he replied, his smile broadening slightly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Fear rarely has a place here. It’s part of the magic, you see. But magic is just smoke and mirrors, isn’t it? It’s the truth underneath that tends to cut."

She felt the weight of his words but couldn’t fully grasp their meaning. His presence seemed to drown out everything else.

"The festival is a place for dreams, my dear," he said, taking a step back and sweeping into a graceful bow. "Don’t waste yours chasing shadows."

And then he was gone. The ripple of velvet curtains was the only trace of his departure as he returned to the shadows of the Big Top.

Elysia was alone.

The festival’s brilliance seemed to dim in his absence, its colours muted, its magic just a little less potent.

The crowd moved around her, their faces alight with joy and wonder, yet, with the Ringmaster gone, she felt curiously untethered. She glanced up at the sky, expecting some shift in its eternal dusk, but it remained unchanged. The colours of twilight bled together seamlessly, the horizon a perpetual liminal space between day and night.

Just how much time had passed?

A flicker of movement at the edge of Elysia’s vision caught her attention. She turned her head - an elderly woman brushed past her, a golden locket swinging from her neck.

Elysia blinked, confusion blooming in her chest. She looked strangely familiar.

The realisation came slowly. She had seen this woman before - on the journey to the festival. In the carriage. But the details of that memory felt slippery, like trying to grasp water in her hands. The more she reached for it, the more it eluded her.

Her movements were strange, almost mechanical, as though her body remembered how to walk but her mind had forgotten why. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, and her lips moved soundlessly.

Elysia’s heart stirred with unease. She didn’t know why, but the sight of the woman set her teeth on edge. She couldn’t name the feeling, only that it was urgent and wrong. Her instincts flared, urging her to follow, even as another part of her hesitated.

It doesn’t matter. She’s not your concern.

No, Elysia thought. That’s not right, is it?

Elysia’s steps moved before she could think, her feet carrying her toward the woman. She didn’t know what she hoped to accomplish. But the woman needed help. Elysia didn’t know how she knew that - she didn’t know much of anything anymore - but the certainty burned fiercely in her chest.

“Excuse me! Miss?” she called. “Wait, please!”

The woman didn’t respond.

Elysia pushed through the thinning crowd. The further she followed, the harder it became to focus. It was like wading through molasses, her thoughts sticky and sluggish, her body pulling toward retreat.

The woman turned down a dim, narrow path that branched away from the bright stalls. Elysia froze at its threshold. The glow of the festival barely reached this place, its light casting weak, flickering shadows that clung to the walls like cobwebs. Something about this place felt hidden. Forbidden.

But the woman was already disappearing into its depths.

“Wait!” Elysia called again, stepping onto the path despite the gnawing unease in her chest.

Go back. It’s not your ti–

No. She’s unwell.

Her legs kept moving. Her pulse raced. It thrummed in her ears as she quickened her pace.

The path twisted unpredictably, narrowing with every turn. The vibrant energy of the festival dimmed further with each step, the laughter and music fading into a distant hum. The air smelled stale, yet sickly-sweet.

A glint caught Elysia’s eye.

The locket around the woman’s neck caught the light as it tumbled to the ground. She didn’t seem to notice.

Elysia bent to retrieve the locket, its metal surprisingly cold against her palm. When she looked up again, the woman was already disappearing down a narrow corridor she hadn't noticed before - a space between tents that seemed to fold in on itself, as though reality had developed a crease.

"Wait!" She started forward, locket clutched tight. "Please, your–"

The passage seemed to narrow as she followed, the walls of fabric pressing in until she had to turn sideways to continue. Each step forward made her heart beat faster, a creeping anxiety that whispered she should turn back, return to the lights and music and…

The thought slipped away as she caught sight of something ahead - not the woman, but a glint of light where there shouldn't be any. A broken mirror propped against what might have been a wall, its surface reflecting impossibly deep shadows. Something about its angle seemed wrong, as though it were reflecting a space that didn't exist.

She reached out, meaning only to steady herself against its frame.

But then her hand went through.

And then, she was tumbling.

The fall lasted both forever and no time at all.

Darkness rushed past her like silk against her skin. Stars wheeled overhead, though there was no sky - only the endless sensation of tumbling through space. The air grew thick, sweet, then suddenly thin, as though she were passing through layers of different worlds.

But then she landed as though caught by unseen hands, placed in a world that was eerily still.

When she stood, she found herself in a sprawling room filled with broken reflections. Mirrors upon mirrors. But they were broken, fractured, warped, split into jagged shards.

She moved through the space carefully, each step stirring motes of dust.

Around her lay forgotten remnants of the festival - tattered banners drooping limply from hooks and, scattered like silent witnesses, old stuffed animals. Two of them caught her eye. Two foxes, one bound tightly in rusted shackles. It seemed so small, its fur faded to a dull grey. The second fox lay unshackled, its chains broken and discarded at its feet. But it was no better off. Its seams were split, its stuffing spilling in soft piles onto the floor.

Her gaze flicked back to the rippling mirror she had stepped through. Unlike the others, it was untouched by age or damage, its liquid-like surface shimmering faintly in the dim light.

The air felt… different here. Clearer. Like breaking the surface after being underwater for too long - that first gasp that makes you realise how thick the water had been. Like waking from a dream you can't quite remember.

Like… shattering an illusion.

She took a step back. The clarity struck her like ice water. She could think here. The enormity of it made her stomach twist. What had been clouding her mind before? And why did the thought of returning to that haze terrify her as much as it tempted her?

Elysia pressed a hand to her heart, desperately trying to will away that ache that lingered in her chest.

Looking up, she saw her reflection watching her, the fractured edges of the mirrors around it splintering her image into countless fragments. Some stared back with clarity, others with a dazed, almost blissful expression. She reached out toward the nearest shard, then stopped herself, her hand trembling.

‘Lose yourself’…? She recalled Astarion’s words.

The foxes seemed to watch her in silence.

Astarion looked at his reflection in the mirror.

The Ringmaster stared back.

Isn't it funny how, with all these reflections, you can never truly see yourself?

He tilted his head slightly, studying the masked man before him. The sweep of his silver hair, the gleam of his skin, the curve of his lips - all perfect.

As they should be.

He sighed and allowed his gaze to drop, breaking the spell of his own stare.

He was alone.

As he should be.

His eyes fell to his hands. They rested on the dressing table, pale fingers curling loosely around the carved wood. Such pretty lies they weaved tonight.

The silence of the room pressed against his ears, but he welcomed it.

It was better this way.

No expectations. No deceptions.

His hands tightened on the table.

The sound came softly at first. A faint jingling. Like the rattling of bones.

His stomach twisted.

No.

It wasn't his turn.

The sound grew louder, steady and deliberate. The delicate chime of something unnatural.

It can't be my turn.

Mist began to coil at his feet, swirling around his boots. The sickly-sweet scent of it clung to the air.

He'd done the right thing. He'd kept his smile, he’d played his part.

As he always should.

The jingling stopped.

He willed his face into stillness, smooth and unreadable.

A new sound emerged, sharp and distinct.

Tap.

Pause.

Tap.

Pause.

Claws against wood. They tapped slowly against the wooden door frame behind him.

Astarion raised his head slowly, forcing himself to meet his reflection once more.

The Ringmaster. Perfectly composed. Perfectly in control.

A thousand masks, a thousand lies, and somewhere beneath them all, a scream that never ended.

But, in his periphery, he saw him.

Standing in the doorway, motionless, bathed in shadow.

Watching him.

Smiling.

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