#Timber bedside table

[christiancolefurniture]

Timber bedside tables are more than just functional furniture; they bring warmth, character, and a touch of nature into your bedroom. Each piece crafted by Christian Cole Furniture showcases the unique grains and textures of high-quality timber, ensuring that no two tables are exactly alike.  

[fantasticgothicpeachsludge]

Bernard: i lied. i don’t like sex. put your clothes back on babe and watch my power point presentation about What The Fuck Is Going On Between Batman And Twoface

Tim: …

[whatsjohnbeensmoking]

Bedroom - Bedroom Inspiration for a large master carpeted, gray floor and shiplap wall bedroom remodel with beige walls

[written-in-wonder]

Contemporary Bedroom in Sydney Example of a mid-sized trendy guest carpeted, beige floor and wall paneling bedroom design with white walls

[sexlapis]

☁︎ sleepy head 💤

── .✦ nanami x gn!reader

one shot. sfw. fluff. bedtime stories. the gruffalo <3 (my favourite childhood book), cg/l kind of but it doesn’t have to be read that way. stuffies. petnames.

⤷ you ask nanami to read you a bedtime story. he complies of course.

a/n: i’m sleepy and i want nanami to put me to bed. also you don’t have to imagine it as cg/l if you don’t want to ofc <3

masterlists

*

You’re on your knees browsing through the bookshelf that stands in you and Nanami’s shared room. You scan through then, searching through your favourite childhood books.

“Have you found it yet?” Nanami asks, buttoning up his night shirt.

“Uh-hm.” You hum a negative. “Ugh, where’d did I put it…?”

“What did I tell you about putting things back where—“”

“Oh! Here it is!”

You find the book, ‘The Gruffalo’ tucked at the very back of the bookshelf, almost completely hidden from view if you didn’t look hard enough.

“Alright then.” Nanami said, swallowing down a yawn. “Come here, angel.”

You dash over to the king-sized bed, book in hand, tumbling onto the bed and promptly bouncing worryingly high.

Nanami fumbles around briefly. He lets out an amused huff. “One day you’re going to twist your ankle doing that.”

“Don’t put that in the air.” You scold.

Smiling softly, he takes the book from your hand and lifts his arm, prompting you to snuggle up close to him. You rest your head on his chest, feeling a rush of affection go through you. You felt so safe and protected in his embrace. Such feelings almost overwhelmed you sometimes.

When you are both in a comfortable position, he opens the book. He rests it in between the both of you.

Before he speaks, you ask, “Oh! Can you do the voices too? Please?”

He sighs, looking down at you with fake exasperation. “Well, it wouldn’t be the same without them, would it?”

You shake your head and he shakes his head back at you, pecking you on the nose causing you to giggle.

“Read it, Kenny!”

Nanami gets to reading.

You can’t help but smile. Nanami reads so well. The low, soft timber of his voice is pleasant, like hot coco running down your throat, the smell of coffee being brewed in the morning, the rich, strong wood of a mahogany table in an antique store. It rumbles within your body like the gentlest earthquake there ever was.

And yes, his voices are perfect. He elongates his vowels and his voice takes on a sinister edge when speaking as the fox; uses a meek, high-pitched tone when he is the little mouse; an overly sophisticated one, using unnecessarily long words with his imitation the owl; puts emphasis on the letter ‘s’ when he voices the snake, making you laugh loudly into the relative quietness of the room.

“SsWhereSs AreSs Ssyou goingSs Ssto, littleSs brown Ssmouse?” He reads.

Nanami puts on a scary, deep grumble of a voice when he imitates the gruffalo, and you’re almost embarrassed to be a little bit scared of the gruffalo, just like you were when you were a kid. You nuzzle your face into Nanami’s chest.

“Too scary? He whispers.

You smile, suddenly shy. “Only a little.”

“I’m sorry.” He apologises with a kiss to your temple. “I’ll make it better.”

Nanami proceeds with a lighter tone, going above and beyond to make you cackle, adding his own comments just to see the way your eyes crinkle and sparkle with delight.

You eyes begin to falter towards the end of the book. It wasn’t even that long - you suppose you didn’t realise how tired you really were.

“All was quiet in the deep dark wood. The mouse found a nut and the nut was good.”

As Nanami finishes, he realises you are near fast asleep, eyes lidded and droopy.

He closes the book and puts it down on the bedside table. “It’s past someone’s bedtime, huh?”

“Hmm.” You hum. “Say goodnight to teddy.”

“Oh, right. How could I forget.”

Nanami leans over your body and kisses the top of the plushies head. “Goodnight, Mr Teddy.”

You smile, pleased and your heart warms with immense affection.

Nanami kisses your head, too. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“G’night, Kenny…” You slur.

Before you notice, you’re drifting off into a mindless, heavy sleep, curled up in the arms of your lover, with the largest grin plastered across your face.

*

a/n: if you haven’t read the gruffalo then you should <3

[saphiccarma]

hello if someone needs to request, that someone is me 

Witch! Agatha Harkness x reader

Reader is sick - maybe the flu - and Agatha takes care of her, but Agatha panics since she is not used to it. Reader remains calm even though she is the one who is sick

- Just a Little Sick

Relationships - Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary - You're sick, just a little flu, nothing much, but Agatha is stressing out.

Warnings: Sick Reader

You rolled over in bed with a cough, ragged breathes leaving you as you curl into a small ball. Everything is too hot and too cold, blankets tangled around your legs as you wear a thin tank top and sweatpants.

Sounds of Agatha's bustling around makes you wince. She was trying to be helpful, but Agatha wasn't exactly used to caring for people. Agatha had an elegant grace about her most of the time, yet when she was unsure, she could be a fumbling mess.

It was endearing, at least when you weren't sick it was. Although with a pounding headache that left you groaning, from every little sound. Her footsteps echo through the hallway as you hear her coming and you glance at the doorway.

"I made you tea," she says softly, trying to keep her voice low. It still has that husky timber per usual but there was a gentle tone to it, "And brought a wet rag, I wasn't sure if you were hot or cold, so I went with both."

You offer her a tired smile, "I don't know myself."

Agatha sets the tea on the bedside table and a bowl with a wet rag as well. She helps you sit up, pushing pillows up behind you to keep you supported, and passes you the tea. The mug is warm in your hands and you hiss slightly.

"Too hot?" She fusses over you, taking the cup again and placing it back down.

Shrugging you make grabby hands for it again. Your throat is burning and eyes stinging, so the hot tea should help with at least once of those. A concerned look is thrown your way before you get the warm drink is passed back to you.

You take a sip of it gratefully, letting it soothe your aching throat. She presses her hand to your forehead, pursing her lips as she notices how warm you are.

"You're warm, are you sure you should be drinking this?" There's an odd note to Agatha's voice that you haven't heard before, a weird sort of panic mixed with concern.

"Agatha it's fine," You attempt to laugh, but it comes out more as a ragged cough, as she sits on the edge of the bed, "Helps my throat."

She furrows her brow slightly, hardly noticeable, but nods.

"Is there anything I can get you? Anything at all? Food? Water? I have a wet rag?"

"Careful," you tease, taking another sip of the drink, "I might start to think you care."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, "I don't. I just don't want my pet to get sick."

Your cheeks flush and it's not from the fever which makes Agatha smirk. She swipes a thumb over your cheek, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. Leaning into her touch, you hum in contentment and curl your fingers around the mug.

All of your body parts are sore, but Agatha's touch helps to ease that ache.

"I'm fine Agatha, really, just a little sick." You offer a shaky smile and lean back on the headboard. Her eyebrow raises skeptically and her eyes narrow slightly, but she gives you another soft caress of her lips.

"I don't believe you," she mutters and watches as you take another sip of the drink. It's warm and smooth and just about the only thing you've been able to keep down all day. You shiver despite the heat of the drink and the blankets wrapped around your legs, "Do you want me to turn the A.C on?"

She doesn't even wait for a response to bustle to do it. Her hovering, worried, state has you smiling softly. Agatha wasn't used to caring for someone, you knew that, but you appreciated that she was trying her best.

"Alright, you have tea, the A.C is on, what else do you need?" She sits back on the edge of the bed, eyes roaming over you.

You hum, despite your throat screaming in protest as you open your mouth, "Cuddles?"

Her lips twitch into a smile and she nods, slipping into bed next to you, but not before grabbing the mug from you and placing it on the table. She nudges you until you lay down and you sniffle back the snot in your nose.

Agatha wraps her arms around you, pressing a kiss to your temple. Her lips are cool against your hot skin, and you sigh.

"Thanks," you mumble, curling into her. Exhaling shakily, you let her hands run through your hair and massaging your scalp.

"I got you sweet girl," she murmurs, kissing all over your flushed face, "Just rest and let me know if you need anything. I'm right here."

She pauses in her kisses for a moment, fingers kneading your skin. Her forehead rests on yours and her breath tickles your skin.

"Agatha I'm okay," you grin slightly, "Promise."

Humming softly, she kisses your hairline and holds you close. Your head pounds, body aches, and eyes are sore. So, you let them close and lean into Agatha as she lulls you to sleep.

[aliciasays]

Safe - Joel Miller x OFC - Chapter 7

*Chapter Warnings: SMUT*

Word Count: 2.1K

Status: Ongoing

I suck at writing smut, so be gentle with me— I TRIED, haha.

Chapter 7: I’m Yours

Penelope woke up with a start. She couldn’t remember falling asleep.

She sat up quickly in bed, and then immediately regretted it as a sharp tug came from her right side. She groaned, squinting in the darkness around her room— or what she thought was her room. Something was wrong though. Her bed was on the opposite side of the wall, the bedsheets were gray and not green, and the smell that was coming from her pillow: woody, musky, pine needles—

This isn’t my room, she panicked.

As her eyes adjusted in the dark, she realized that this was in fact, not her room. It was too gray, too neutral, bare and only housing the essentials. The bed only had two pillows, there was a pair of work boots on the floor by the door, and on the far corner, near a window, was what she could make out as a guitar leaning against the wall.

She was in Joel’s room, she had to be— it smelled like him.

But where was Joel?

Penelope didn’t give herself enough time to think as she threw the bedsheets away from body. The clock on the bedside table read 2:45 AM in angry red letters, making her curse as she quietly made her way out of the bedroom and downstairs.

The TV was on in the living room, the volume down to the lowest setting, and Penelope could make out a lump on the sofa covered up by a thin blanket. Slowly, she approached the back of the sofa, looking over and down to see Joel, fast asleep with one arm on his stomach, the other hanging off the sofa. She smiled softly at him, not wanting to disturb him, but of course Joel chose that moment to wake up, as if he had felt someone staring down at him.

”Hey,” Penelope said softly, almost shyly.

It took a moment for Joel to realize what was going on, but once the fuzziness of sleep cleared from his mind, he smiled up at Penelope.

”Hey,” he replied back, his voice a lower timber and thick with sleep, “what time is it?”

”Almost 3AM,” Penelope informed him, walking around the couch to stand in front of him.

”Shit,” Joel cursed, sitting up quickly and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Your dad’s gonna kill me.”

To that, Penelope laughed softly, taking a seat beside him.

”He hasn’t kicked your door down yet, so I think we’ll be alright.”

“I guess you’re right,” Joel sighed, “don’t wanna take my chances though— I’ll walk you home, let me go get your dress outta the dryer.”

Penelope frowned as she watched Joel get up from the sofa and go off to the laundry room to retrieve her now fully clean dress. She didn’t want to leave yet, but she tried to rationalize with herself that this was the smart thing to do. She didn’t want to seem too eager, too desperate… She didn’t want Joel to have that impression of her.

It was only their first time going out together anyways. There would be other dates…. She hoped.

Joel quickly came back with her dress, wordlessly handing her the soft bundle of white fabric. She looked up at him for a moment, her throat going dry. His hair was messy, his eyes dark, and the way his gray sweatpants hung low on his hips—

Fuck it.

She wasn’t sure what suddenly possessed her, but Penelope found herself standing up and reaching for the hem of the oversized t-shirt she was wearing. She kept her eyes on Joel as she slowly brought the shirt up her thighs, over her hips, and finally over her head. She stood before him in nothing but a pair of lacy white underwear, her hand going up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

He’d already seen her in nothing but a bra earlier, what would it hurt to just show him the whole package? He hadn’t shown much of a reaction earlier when he was patching her up, but right now, she could see his eyes trailing over her body almost hungrily.

Penelope smirked, turning away from him to reach down and grab her dress off the sofa. Before she could even grab her dress though, she saw Joel take a step toward her out of the corner of her eye. His hand reached out and took hold of her upper arm gently, turning her towards him and bringing her up against his chest. Penelope sucked in a breath as she stared up at him, her hands resting on his chest as Joel brought his hands to rest on her hips.

”I’m not… wrong about this, am I?” Joel almost whispered, looking down at her with soft brown eyes. “You feel the same way I do… right?”

Penelope felt herself melting into him, fisting the fabric of his shirt in one of her hands as she said, “I do.”

His lips were on her before Penelope could even blink.

The kiss was soft at first, almost as if Joel was scared he was going to push her away, but as Penelope fisted a hand into his hair, he went into a frenzy. His hands were suddenly all over her, Penelope clinging to him as if her life depended on it.

The kiss grew hurried, almost needy, his hands settling on her ass and pushing her up against him. She could feel just how hard he was underneath his gray sweatpants, the thought alone making her weak in the knees.

”I need you,” Joel mumbled against her lips, pulling away but only to kiss down her throat.

”I’m yours,” Penelope found herself panting.

Joel moaned into her neck, bringing his lips up to kiss right underneath her ear. He pulled her up against him, his hands cupping her ass and lifting her up so that she could wrap her legs around his waist. A flash of pain crossed Penelope’s features just then, the spot underneath her ribs starting to throb, but she just crashed her lips back down on Joel’s before he could notice.

She wasn’t about to let anything stop this.

Wordlessly he carried her up the stairs, Penelope hanging onto him and leaving feather light kisses on the side of his face.

Joel entered his room, closing the door behind him with his foot, and then carried Penelope over to his bed. He set her down gently on the center of his bed, climbing on top of her and being mindful of her injured side.

”Are you sure,” he asked softly, leaving a trail of kisses down her chest, stopping at her stomach.

Penelope craned her neck to look down at him, smiling as she brought her hand up to run through his hair.

”I’m sure.”

Joel smiled at her; it was soft, and tender, and Penelope could feel her heart beating wildly in her chest, her skin pebbling over with goosebumps. He left butterfly kisses on her stomach, his hands roaming down her thighs. Slowly he made his way up to her chest, kissing over the fabric of her bra, right where her nipples should be.

“Can I…” he trailed off, his voice heady with want and need.

Penelope couldn't trust herself to speak. She simply nodded her head, unsure of what he was even asking her.

When his hands wandered to her back, reaching for the clasp of her bra, Penelope understood what he had been trying to ask her. She arched her back slightly, giving him room to move his hand behind her. The clasp was undone quickly, and she helped him slip the bra away.

It ended up across the room.

She laughed softly at the eagerness, her hands going to bury themself in his curls and guiding his face back down onto hers. Joel smiled into the kiss, letting one of his hands trail down her side until he got to her panties. He toyed with the fabric for a moment, almost hesitating, before deciding that it was time to move things along a bit faster.  He had been trying his best to control himself, going as slow as he could, trying to memorize every inch of her body, but having her withering underneath him, her smell, the taste of her lips, the little sighs and moans she made— it was too much.

He needed her. Now.

Penelope gasped loudly, partly in surprise, and partly in pleasure, as she felt Joel’s fingers nestle themselves between her folds. Their kisses grew more intense, the moans that left her lips grew breathless, and she felt herself almost coming undone as Joel rubbed circles around her clit. She arched into him, her hands coming up to his sides to fist at the fabric of the shirt he still wore. She couldn’t believe that this was actually happening, that he was here, in bed with her, touching her in a way that was about to make her scream in ecstasy.

Suddenly his hands were off her, and Penelope took a moment to catch her breath. She looked up at him through half lidded eyes, propping herself up on her elbows. Joel sat back between her legs, looking down at her with intense eyes. He studied her for a moment, his eyes roaming her body, before he lifted his shirt over his head, throwing it across the room to join her bra.

”We can stop,” he said quietly, moving forward to hover over her.

”I don’t want you to stop,” Penelope whispered almost hesitantly, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

Joel nodded, burying his face in the crook of her neck, sucking on the skin behind her ear. He used one hand to hold himself up, the other to tug down on his sweatpants. Penelope shyly reached down, helping him out of his sweatpants, letting her hands trail up his sides and rest on his chest.

“Lift your hips up for me, sweetheart,” Joel asked her softly, kissing down her neck and nestling his face between her breasts.

Penelope did as she was told, and Joel helped her slip her panties off, those too, being thrown somewhere across the room.

She grew nervous then, now fully exposed to him, and he to her. She looked into his deep brown eyes, a sense of calm washing over her.

Joel Miller was safe. He wouldn’t hurt her, she was sure of that— physically, emotionally, he wouldn’t hurt her.

She felt him then, his hard length resting just on the outside of her entrance, almost teasing her. She kissed him, soft at first, and then almost needy, hungrily— sucking on his lip, her hands raking up and down his back.

Wordlessly he began pushing into her, making her breath catch in her throat. He was deliciously thick, long, warm— he stretched her out slowly, pushing into her inch by inch as if almost afraid he’d split her in two.

Penelope was on cloud 9.

His hands went to hold her hips, almost pinning her down as he moved inside her. She was so warm, so tight, so wet— Joel was about to cum right then and there, but he held out, moving slowly in and out of her.

”Go… faster,” Penelope managed to gasp out, eyes closed and absorbed in the feeling of him inside of her.

Joel didn’t have to be told twice.

He pounded deep inside of her, eliciting a loud gasp from Penelope as her eyes shot open to stare up at him. Hands gripping her hips, Joel picked up his pace, slamming into her, his eyes focusing on her face.

What I do to deserve this, he thought as he slowed down for a moment, looking down at Penelope with a soft look in his eyes.

Penelope looked up at him, a small smile on her slightly parted lips.

It drove Joel insane.

Still moving in and out of her, he reached down between their bodies, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing circles around the soft mountain of flesh. Penelope began panting then, moaning and arching her back as he rubbed and applied just the right amount of pressure to bring her over the edge.

She came hard, her moans trapped between Joel’s lips as he began to feel his own release build up.

”Joel,” she moaned, tilting her head back to look into his eyes.

Hearing her moan his name, that was enough for him.

Joel came as he looked into her eyes, resting his forehead against hers and moving frantically in and out of her. He rode out his orgasm until he had nothing left, holding onto Penelope tightly and bringing her into his side as he laid there beside her, totally spent.

They laid there in silence, both trying to catch their breaths, and both trying to comprehend what had just happened.

I’m totally fucked, they both thought simultaneously, turning to look at eachother.

Two seconds later, they both started laughing.

[daydreams-after-dark]

Blindfolds | Chan x Reader x mystery man (Minho)

chan x fem reader x minho.

Chan helps you fulfil your fantasy of having a "stranger" sleep with you

Word count: I think about 3k?

MDNI . Content warning below.

————- WARNINGS: unsafe sex, threesome, oral sex, vaginal sex, anal fingering, blowjob, orgasm, slight choking, cum eating, mystery sex, blindfold—————-

You walk down the dimly lit hallway towards one of the unused bedrooms in the holiday house you and your friends were staying at. You and your best friend, Chan decided the scenario will take place in a space that no one is using, to really maximize the mysteriousness of it the whole thing.

Butterflies are going crazy in your stomach, and you tug your satin robe tighter around your waist to try to settle them down. You feel rather sexy and feminine in the robe, the cream floral print against a gold background makes you feel like a queen.

You approach the designated door and knock.

“Come in.” Chan's voice calls from the inside. You swallow hard and push open the door.

You're immediately taken aback. The room is stunning. The decor is dark and moody, with the walls painted a dark grey blue, and the furniture looks as though it’s antique. Paintings of abstract naked women have been hung around the room.

There are various stained-glass lamps, emanating a seductive glow, and there is music playing low in the background. It sounds like French music. A woman’s voice seductively fills the room.

Then there’s the bed. Huge, King sized, so plush and high set. Chan is laying propped up against the dark timber headboard, he almost looks lost leaning amongst the generous number of over sized plush pillows. He’s wearing black tracksuit pants and a muscle tee. It looks out of place in such a sensually styled room.

“What do you think?” Chan gestures around the room.

“Th- this,” you stammer. “It’s amazing Chan.” You move towards the bed, stretching out your hand to touch the dark green quilt. It’s luxurious on your fingertips as you run your hand along the fabric and move closer to the head of the bed. The only thought going through your head is: Someone’s going to fuck you on this.

You perch on the side of the bed facing away from Chan, your feet barely reaching the floor. That's when you notice the black blindfold laid out neatly on the bedside table. Next to it is a bottle of coconut oil.

“How are you feeling? Are you okay?” Chan reaches out to touch your hand that’s resting beside you on the bed.

You inhale deeply and then slowly release the breath. How are you feeling?  It’s a mixture of feelings really. You're so very nervous. That you already know. But, you're also… excited. The idea of what’s about to happen is truly thrilling to you.

You can't believe your best friend Chan agreed to help you fulfil this fantasy. Of being blindfolded and fucked by a mystery person.

Chan smiles “We gotta get you ready!” He practically jumps off the bed and moves around to the side of the bed, taking your hand and helping you slide off the bed.

You've already discussed the details of how you're going to do this, covering safe words and safe gestures, what positions we are going to be in. These had been relayed to the mystery person who was going to be participating. The man coming to fuck you wouldn't be a stranger though. It was one of seven other men, that Chan knows extremely well. You've met them all too, and to be fair, you'd be thrilled to have any of them fuck you.

You stand in front of Chan facing away from him. There is tension in the air and your breath feels wobbly. He steps closer to you, and you can feel his breath on your neck and a pang in your chest. You'd really wish he'd kiss you. Chan doesn't know how much you actually want him. But he's never shown any signs of wanting you as more than a friend. He slowly reaches around, careful not to touch you too much, you wish he would, and pulls at your robe’s rope-tie.

It comes loose easily allowing your robe to fall open. Chan delicately pulls your robe off your shoulders letting it drop to the floor. You hadn’t put any underwear on, and now you're standing completely naked in front of Chan. And only Chan.

It feels extremely intimate and you're feeling self conscious. He hasn’t been this close to your naked body before. Goosebumps form on your skin. It isn’t cold in the room. Chan had thought of that too and had made the room a comfortable temperature. He’s so fucking considerate. You smile to myself.

You close your eyes and compose yourself. Fuck. You're really doing this.

Chan takes your hand again and grabs the blindfold in the other. He steadies you as you climb onto the bed where he resumes the position of laying down and propped up against a pillow and headboard. He directs you to sit between his legs facing away from him, and carefully he places the blindfold over your eyes and securing it at the back of your head. Your senses immediately heighten. This feels so erotic.

“Lean back on me.” He whispers as he guides you to lean back onto his fully clothed body. You can feel his hard, toned muscles flexing underneath you and his breathing is strained. Is he nervous? You can feel an erection beginning to dig into your back. Is this turning him on?

You imagine what this must look like, your exposed, naked body with Chan’s strong legs on either side of yours. You don’t know what to do with your hands so you rest them on your stomach. You don’t know where Chan’s arms and hands are, only that they aren’t touching you. You wish he’d wraps his arms around you. You wish he’d caress your body.

For a moment you try to imagine what it would be like if he did touch you. The sensation of him cupping your breasts, pinching a nipple, sliding his hands over your body. Then you remember why you're here, for a mystery fuck. A small moan escapes you. Did he hear you?

Chan nuzzles his face into your neck, resting his chin on your left shoulder. He's so close. “You already imagining a stranger inside you, hmm?” he whispers. You whimper. His voice turns you on beyond belief.

You don’t have chance to answer because there is a knock on the door. You suck in a breath. This is actually happening.

“Come in.” Chan calls out. You hear the door creak open and then close.

“Are you ready to begin?” whispers Chan in your ear.

“Mmm hmm, yes.” you reply.

“Good, because I think you are going to really enjoy this.”

He takes hold of your hands and places them on the bed either side of your body, using his hands to hold them down out of the way so you can’t go ahead and touch your anonymous lover. You had requested this. It makes you feel like you're being forcefully held in place, although you know you can change things if you want.

You feel the mattress dip slightly. Someone is climbing onto the bed near your feet. Who can it be? Is it Changbin? Or could it be Minho? Felix? Could it be Jisung?

A hand touches your ankle. You shudder, then very slowly and delicately it makes it way up to the side of your knee. Their touch is light and feathery. You swallow.

Then you feel a mouth, a moist, plush mouth just above your knee. You think he is about to take the kisses up your leg, but instead takes his kisses back down, making his way down to your ankle. It feels so sensual. Who do these lips belong to?

Chan releases your arms for just a moment so he can lift your legs over each of his legs, which are spread out wide on the bed. Then he goes back to gently pinning your hands to the mattress.

You sense the other man moving closer and a mouth reappears on your skin. This time it’s your inner right thigh. He drags his tongue from inside your leg near your knee all the way up your inner thigh, sending tingles through your body, but he stops before he gets anywhere near your pussy. He does this again, and then mirrors the action with your other leg.

His hands try to push your legs a little wider and Chan assists by moving his own legs wider again, forcing your legs to part just a little more. You're ready, wide open for whatever you're about to receive.

The touching stops, but you can feel him kneeling in front of you. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly in anticipation.

You're pleasantly startled when you feel a warm liquid landing on your breasts. The oil. Chan must have warmed it up somehow in preparation. You moan at the sensation of the oil dripping down around and between your breasts. You suck your breath between your teeth when you feel a pair of hands cupping your breasts, then squeezing and massaging the flesh in slow, but firm circles.

His hands slide easily over your oiled skin, and you squeal slightly when he squeezes your nipples. As the pinches and flicks become more aggressive you can’t help but arch your back and rock your hips at the sensation.

Chan shushes you. “We need to stay still and take it, remember what we agreed to?” That’s right, part of this was you needed to stay as still as possible, it was all part of being restrained. You compose yourself and stop moving. It’s so difficult but you're determined to play the part properly.

“Good girl.” Chan growls low. Good girl? You love those words.

More warm oil is applied to your stomach. There is so much that it coats your entire abdomen and runs down towards your core, and trickles down where your pussy lips meet. You feel bad for the bedding, it’s probably going to be a mess.

It feels so fucking sexy with your body being this slick and slippery. You feel like a goddess being worshipped and adored, yet at the same time you feel like a dirty whore who doesn’t care who fucks her.

You wait for the hands to return to your body, anticipating them all over your stomach and you moan and pant with the need to be touched now. You're desperate and on the verge of begging.

“Pl-please… please touch me.” you say.

“He wants you to call him ‘Sir’”, Chan whispers.

“Please touch me again… Sir.” you pant.

You let out a long, low moan as he pours the oil at the top of your pussy. It runs down through your lips and onto your asshole. You can’t help but try to wriggle with pleasure and frustration. Chan squeezes your hand, a reminder that you need to stay still. You don’t know where his hands will land next and the anticipation is pure agony.

The stranger lifts your legs up bending them so your knees are up near your chest. Chan removes one of his hands from yours to grip under your knee to help pin it against your chest, whilst the other man pins your right leg.

You feel the heel of a hand press firmly against your clit and begin to move in circular motions, much like they did with your breasts. It provides a grinding sensation that shoots pleasure deep inside of your abdomen.

“Fuck that feels so good… Sir.” you whimper as his hand swirls and presses on you for what feel like and eternity.

He then drags two fingers beginning at your clit all the way down to your asshole, dragging the oil and your slickness all the way down. Your cunt clenches as his fingers pass by the entrance, not stopping to explore. He presses a finger to your rim.

“Aaaah!!” you gasp at the sensation of the pressure.

He massages his finger against you, and you know you're going to open up easily for him. You are so aroused and so slick from yourself and the oil that it doesn’t take much for the tip of his finger to breech the entrance. You grip the sheets with your hands and pant shallow breaths as his finger slips in deeper, deeper, all the way in.

“You’re being so good for him.” Chan’s words of praise in your ear make you melt around the stranger’s finger and you're ready for more.

“Sir… please.. I need… can you put in another finger?”

He slowly removes his finger and you feel two fingers at your rim now. He pushes them in, going ever so slowly. It’s a stretch but he’s moving slowly enough that you're adjusting along the way, making the stretch feel achingly good. He must be experienced at this sort of thing. He knows exactly what to do.

You bring your left arm up and wrap it around Chan’s neck, as whispers words of encouragement in your ear.

The volume of your moans and whimpers grow so loud now that it’s drowning out the sound of the French woman’s singing. The man moves his fingers in and and out of your ass maintaining a relentlessly slow pace. The burning sensation with every drag of his fingers makes you cry out.

“Faster… harder… Sir I need… more.”

He quickly builds up the pace. Chan releases your hand to bring his hand to your neck, wrapping it around your throat and squeezing slightly but not enough to cut off air. Then he brings his thumb up to your lips. You open your mouth allowing him to slip his thumb inside. You pull at the hair on the back of his head and he pushes his thumb further into your mouth. The other man continues to fuck your ass with his fingers.

A mouth lands on your pussy. His tongue swirls around and through your lips. The tip of his tongue slides inside of you. Chan starts to fuck your mouth with his thumb, pushing it deep into your mouth roughly. You want him to ruin you.

You're practically screaming from the glorious agony, your senses are on overload.

Chan removes his thumb. “Is this okay?” he checks in with you.

“Yes… But… I want his cock now.”

“Ahhh yes, I bet you do. Let’s sort you out, yeah?”

The fingers inside your ass are removed and you feel the man shift his position.

His thighs press against the underside of yours. Then… you feel the tip of a cock. He pushes it against your opening, making you let out a pathetic whine. Your body is begging for him to push his cock in.

But he doesn't push it in. Moments pass and still nothing happens. What is happening? A sense of panic makes it’s way into your body. Has he changed his mind?

“He wants to know if we can take the blindfold off?” Chan asks.

You pause. He hasn’t changed his mind. You quickly decide what you want to do. Whoever it is wants you to be right there with him, making this moment together. Not him fucking you, but you fucking each other.

You bite your bottom lip. “Okay.” you say shakily. Your breath quickens at the thought of coming face to face with the man who has been pleasuring you so amazingly.

Chan takes over holding your right leg up and two hands come to rest on the sides of your blindfold, the tip of his cock slips into you slightly as he leans in towards you, giving you a tease of what’s to come. You can’t wait until he is all the way inside.

Your blindfold slides off but your vision is slightly blurry. You blink to adjust your eyes and the man before you becomes clear.

Minho.

He is looking at you expectantly, nervously, like you might run away at the sight of him.

You reach up and cup his face. His cheeks are flushed and lips pink and swollen. He isn’t even being the one fucked right now but he looks like he is.

“Hey.” you say with a dazed smile.

“Hey.” He replies. “Is this okay…do you want to keep…”

You wrap an arm around his waist and pull him down on top of you. His hands reach around to your ass and he lifts your hips up and pushes himself all the way inside of you.

Minho is finally free to make noises now and he makes long low moans as he rocks his hips into you. He looks down to where you're joined to watch his cock glide in and out.

You still have one arm wrapped around Chan’s neck, your other explores Minho’s body. His toned body undulates like some sort of exotic python. He’s even more skilled with his cock than with those magic fingers. He brings his mouth down onto yours mirroring his tongue with his thrusts. A skilled, diligent lover.

You melt together as his long, languid thrusts become deeper and you’re being pressed into Chan’s hard cock.

Without warning, Minho pulls out and flips you over in one fluid move so that you’re on all fours.

You look to the head of the bed and see Chan’s hard erection inside his sweat pants. You’re about to reach for it when you’re dragged down the bed by Minho. You look into Chan’s eyes longingly as you’re being pulled out of reach and he just stares back at you. You want to please him so badly.

Minho pushes his cock back inside of you making you cry out. Pleasure washes over you, mixing with the angst of yearning for Chan. He slides his thumb over your asshole and presses it inside. “Ahhh.. Yes, Minho.” You cry, squeezing your eyes tight.

He pushes it in all the way and rests his palm and fingers on your tail bone. His grip is perfect to rock you on and off his cock. You love feeling so filled up. You’re so close now.

Chan looks fucked out, like he’s on another planet. His engorged, swollen red cock is now out of his pants and in his hand, but he’s not doing anything with it. He’s just holding it absentmindedly. His eyes glazed over as he stares at you.

Minho must notice him too. “Kitten?” he pants. “Do you want to help Chan out? Make him come?”

You look at Chan eagerly. You’re practically salivating.

“Come over here Chan. It’s okay.” Minho encourages Chan over but he doesn’t move. “Before I cum.” He adds, hoping that will spur him on.

Chan, as if possessed, gets up onto his knees and crawls his way towards you. Once he is close enough he offers you the head of his cock and you take hold of it with one hand and guide him into your mouth. Chan whimpers at the touch. You lick your tongue along his shaft and over the tip before taking him deep into your mouth.

“Oh fuck!” Chan whines high pitched.

“Don’t use your hands. Make him work for it.” Minho growls.

You do as you’re told and release your grip but keeping him in your mouth.

Something in Chan snaps. He grabs the back of your head and starts plunging his cock into your mouth relentlessly. He tangles his fingers in your hair as he fucks your face without restraint. It makes you gag. It’s hard to take him and your eyes water.

You look up at him, he’s staring at you while his cock thrusts into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, making you almost choke. Seeing Chan using you like this while Minho pounds into you from behind, is all too much.

You cry out around Chan’s cock as your legs shake and your cunt clenches around Minho. Your arms and legs buckle underneath you but Minho is there to hold you steady. He wraps an arm underneath you, keeping you in position.

Minho suddenly pulls out, painting your back in his cum with a long moan.

Chan growls and moans and pulls his cock out to massage his release into your waiting mouth and tongue. There is so much, coating your tongue and dribbling down your chin. He leans back onto his heels, shaking as he watches you swallow everything in your mouth, and then use your fingers to scoop the remaining cum on your chin and licking your fingers clean. He looks horrified and startled. Oh shit, have you done something wrong?

Chan quickly gets off the bed and pulls up his trackpants. “Fuck. I am so sorry.” He is so flustered.

“I’ll get the towels.” Minho announces and hops off the bed.

“Chan?” You whimper. He doesn’t seem to hear you. He’s is freaking out. “Chan!” You repeat, “I need you to hold me.”

Chan looks down at you, as though he is scared. What is going through his mind? Cautiously, he edges closer to the bed and sits beside you. You’re still in an all fours position waiting to have your back wiped clean, but you kneel up to let Chan wrap his arms around you. You nuzzle into his chest. Why is he so upset with you?

You feel him relax against you and he strokes your hair. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.” He whispers over and over. You don’t understand. You fucking loved that he did that to you. You’ve wanted it for so long.

“Oh Channie!” You cry. “I fucking want you, you idiot!”

Chan looks at you warily. “Really?”

You reach up and cup his cheek. “Yes.” You whisper, your eyes dropping to his lips. He closes the gap capturing you in a heated kiss. “Stay with me tonight, Chan.”

“Of course, baby girl. Of course."

Minho returned, cleaned you up and helped you and Chan hop into bed.

"I'm glad you two have finally got your act together." he said laughing as he said goodnight and left you and Chan to snuggle together.

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itshannjisung @kangnina @weareapackofstrays

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧.

✦ info: this is a piece for @soleillunne's event, saudade. the first half was written by @llovelessly and i picked it up from there.

✦ featuring: kamisato ayato.

✦ warnings: some angst (?), not proofread.

✦ notes: hi hello my apologies for the lateness life has been life-ing real hard </3 i've done my best, but i still think it could've been better lmao

it’s strange, you think.

you sit in the comforts of expensive silk and lustrous linen, being doused into the arms of sleep and the soft sheets bit by bit—yet your eyes are laden with everything anxiousness has to offer. with a stifled sigh, your hand moves to lift you off the bed, and your feet start its nightly spiel. wooden floorboards creak beneath your step, and you do your best to focus on the crevices of your timber footing rather than the unease that begins the prelude of many, many endless and sleepless nights.

the hands of the clock by your bedside dance between the hour of midnight and eleven thirty, with a sharp yet almost inaudible tick when each second passes by.

it’s driving deeper into your anxious spiral.

why is your lover, ayato―not home yet? oh, but he promised he’d be here some time after dinner, saying in-between a quiet laugh that by the time he greets you with a sarcastic bow the food is still warm and you’d have plenty of time to ramble on about what happened in the midst of your day—however he’s nowhere to be seen. your ears are accustomed to the sound of his grimy soles, always noticing the close sound even in a crowded room—so he couldn’t be inside the house (and the chances of him toying with you were low since he loves you like the sun).

but—of course, finally—the impeccable timing of the clicking of key and lock never fail to snap you out of your strung-out haze, a welcomed arm pulling you by the waist into a quick hug before your lover places his muddy shoes under your shared bed and asks,

“how was your day, darling?” with that familiar, august tone you know dearly. you pull him into a sweet yet short, kiss—and glance at his soiled shoes.

you note they’re less dirtier than usual, and when you check upon the doormat by the entrance, it’s smeared with less sod and ground than the night after you washed it.

“. . . it was nice.”

a smooth, somnolent voice drawls between your worry and gut; reminding you that the carpet doesn’t matter more than the hours of slow dawn with your lover—so you prompt yourself to bed and forget anything but him the next morning. . . . . . it’s strange, you draw out on the patterned cloth, leg bouncing up and down from both stress and strain.

ayato has yet to arrive at the restaurant you sat in—with your hair done the way he likes it and clothed expensively in his gifts from various other nations. you bit your bottom lip each time the rusted bell that hung atop the door jingled, only to signal someone else entering and not him.

you straightened your posture, feeling your spine protest while you shift in your seat; moving your hands to either fidget below the table on your lap or on the table, where the knitted red material creases because of your awaiting and nervous actions.

just when will he arrive and kiss you like the sun?

it was as if time had grown languid with a single flutter of your lashes, watching painfully as each shift and hail had amounted to mere seconds when even just one breath had begun to feel like it weighed an hour of misspent moments on your shoulders. the quick veers from an edginess bordered by humiliation to a forced politeness (that you try to keep as light as possible to make it more believable), become more and more habitual with the minor bow of your head at the waitress checking in on your table, asking if you’d like to order something or be served more water—to which you answer that you’re good,

you’re fine,

you’re just waiting for someone—and she asks who it is—but your vocals thin to prevent you from saying anything other than,

“oh, just someone i know.”

then she nods and goes back to the mazes of the dirty kitchen, leaving you to count how many minutes it’ll take for her to come back again and ask the same questions again.

—

and so the ticks continue to sound in your head, a clock of your mind’s own making reminding you of the passage of time far better than the sounds that chime through the restaurant. and your presence feels like a statue made of stone, weighing heavily into the fabric of your surroundings. the eyes of people who entered long after you linger on the empty seat in front of yours, pity and curiosity dancing together in their gaze. 

 it’s strange, you think. he promised to be here before eight.

you’re intimately acquainted with waiting for him, the sounds of time passing by a bosom friend, the silent agony of anticipating his presence a slowly compressive pressure on your being. but he’s never made you wait this long.

not without a message, a lick of correspondence, an apology via one of his assistants, something, anything. 

where is he? 

anticipation twirls and swirls until it turns to anxiety, a glossy spill of viscous worry atop clear thought.  

where are you, ayato?

the grandfather clock made of gilded oak chimes nine, and you rise. you cannot bear the waitressess’ pitying looks anymore. to wait alone is easy enough, but under eyes that glow with condolence?

there is lighter torture in hell.

tears prick the back of your own eyes, and you cannot tell if they’re of frustration, worry or a combination of both. nevertheless, you hold your head high. the screech of the chair as you move it back rattles your skull.

the wait makes the journey home feel as if it merely flew by, as fast as lightning, the briefest flash of white in stormy skies. yet the ticks of the clock you cannot see haunt you all the same. 

hours later, long after you reach home, the hurried footsteps beyond the door, the click of the keys in the lock and the turn of the handle alerts you to his arrival.

“kamisato ayato.” you say, without bothering to turn. “where were you?” a waver betrays your emotions, your concern, your worry.

he rushes to grasp your hands in his, rare sincerity in his eyes. the raw emotion etched across his face, a clay tablet engraved by a stylus, is uncharacteristic.  “look at me, please.” his voice breaks.

slowly, you raise your gaze to meet his own.

“darling, i—” he pauses to swallow at the sight of sadness lining the rims of your eyes. “i’m so sorry.” 

“you said you’d be there before eight.” your words sit heavily in the air, laden with emotion you can’t quite verbalize. “i waited.” like i always do, you think, bitterness sharpening the edges of your thought.

“i know.” he hangs his head, moving to look at the silken lavender sheets. “i…i fell asleep. on my desk, after a meeting.”

the admission takes you by surprise. 

you glance at the shoes by the fireplace. though the luster of shoe-polish is no longer as distinct, you cannot see any evidence of dirt or sod or sand marring the sleek blackness. he really was in the office, you think. 

he loves you like the sun. you know he does. but not all of us have the luxury of basking in it when we want to. life binds our hands and our feet together in the dark.

and just like that, your heart softens against the resolution of your mind. the bags under his eyes are heavier than you’ve last seen them. “you look tired,” you murmur.

“i’m never tired for you,” he replies.

“i was worried.” you say, holding his hand tighter. i was worried about you not sending a message. i was worried that you forgot about me. i was worried that i’m not as important to you as the things that occupied your mind. 

he pulls you closer. i’m sorry for making you feel that way, he says wordlessly, with the way he draws circles on your skin.

and at last, his lips are upon yours, desperate, wanting, rushed despite exhaustion, so unlike the thorough, careful, controlled man he is. 

 “i’m sorry,” he whispers fervently, over and over, as his hands worship your skin with reverence. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispers against your shoulder when you lay fast asleep. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispers to your hair, in hopes you hear his apologies in your dreams.

this time, he makes another promise. to never promise you time out of his schedule that he cannot give. to never make you wait longer than you should. to learn to put his burdens into the hands of those willing to help, so he can swear to devote days to you, and only you. he knows both his happiness and his love revolve around you, and they will for as long as the heart in his chest beats.

after all, he is but the earth to your sun. 

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

On Top

Pairings: James Potter x disabled!reader (Part of my poly!marauders x disabled!reader universe) Summary: You wake up with James one morning. Tags: fem!reader, disabled!reader, no use of y/n, depictions of chronic pain, established relationship, morning sex, vaginal sex, reader on top, use of lube, handjobs, clothed grinding, nipple play, oral fixation adjacent, emotional intimacy through sex, teasing, dirty talk lite, james being an absolute menace in the best way, comfort through physical touch, soft smut, some fluff in between the filth Word count: 2.9k words. Series Masterlist

Consciousness returns slowly, like a timid creature venturing out from its burrow. Your body is blanketed in warmth, an inviting contrast to the chill that lingers beyond the windowpane. The familiar scents of your shared life—aged timber, the faint trace of last night's fire, the subtle hint of James's shampoo—seep into your senses, grounding you in the here and now.

There's a weight across your hips, a gentle pressure that tethers you to the bed. Your eyelids flutter open, revealing slivers of dawn light filtering through the curtains. It's early yet, the world outside still caught between the embrace of night and the promise of day.

James is awake beside you, his arm draped over your waist, hand resting just above the curve of your hip. He's propped on one elbow, dark hair tousled and falling across his forehead in a way that's endearingly dishevelled. His eyes watch you with an intensity tempered by the softness of his smile.

"Morning, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice gravelly from sleep and something richer, something that echoes in the quiet space between heartbeats.

You move to sit up, testing the limits of your body's cooperation. The familiar ache in your joints answers with a dull protest, and you pause, reaching instead for the small collection of meds on your bedside table. But as your fingers brush against them, James's hand settles over yours, gently guiding it back down. For now, at least, he seems intent on keeping the world and its worries at bay.

"Did you sleep okay?" His question is softly spoken, more a whisper than a word, but it carries the weight of genuine concern. Leaning closer, he presses a tender kiss to your temple, letting his lips linger there for a moment longer than necessary. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, a faint echo of the heat that always seems to radiate from him. It sends a shiver down your spine, not from cold, but from the thrill of having James so close, his presence a constant reminder of the connection you share.

"As well as I usually do," you answer, your voice still rough with sleep. Your limbs feel heavy, not yet ready to shake off the remnants of slumber. James shifts, moving closer until his hand comes to rest on your stomach, a silent promise echoing through the contact. The heat from his body seeps into yours, a comforting presence against the ache spreading within.

"Need anything?" He tilts his head, concern dancing in the depths of his hazel eyes. But there's a different energy between you this morning, something lighter, more playful. His fingers—warm and teasing—trace idle patterns along the hem of your pyjama top, barely skimming your skin yet enough to set your pulse fluttering just a bit faster.

"I'm fine," you assure him, unable to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. You recognise that glint in his eye—it's the same one he gets when he's about to rope you into one of his grand schemes. Mischievous. Excited.

A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest, vibrating against your back as he leans in closer, his lips brushing the curve of your neck. "Are you sure? Because I was thinking..."

His voice trails off, replaced by the gentle pressure of his lips against your collarbone, leaving a warm imprint that lingers even after he pulls away. The hand resting on your waist tightens slightly, his thumb rubbing slow, deliberate circles that promise both comfort and something more.

A shiver travels down your spine, pooling warmth in your belly. "James," you murmur, the word a blend of warning and invitation.

"Hmm?" His hum against your skin sends another tremor through you, his mouth tracing a path along the underside of your jaw. Innocence laces his tone, but the slow graze of his teeth speaks volumes more. "I'm just making sure my favourite girl knows how much she's loved."

A soft laugh escapes your lips, mingling with the sigh that follows his trail of kisses. "You're trouble, you know that?"

"So I've been told," he grins, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are alight with mischief, reflecting the smile tugging at your own lips. "But you seem to love it."

Before you can answer, his hand slides down to your hip, and a familiar heat seeps into your skin. You're acutely aware of his proximity—his thigh pressing against yours, the hard length of him nudging your side.

"James..."

His name is a murmur on your lips, a soft plea laced with a hint of warning. But the boyish grin that spreads across his face only widens, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. There's a devilish glint in his eyes, one that promises sweet sin and hidden pleasures.

"All yours, darling," he whispers, leaning in until his lips brush against yours. The kiss is slow, languid—a stark contrast to the urgency building within you. It leaves you breathless, your senses reeling as he deepens the connection, exploring the contours of your mouth with an intimacy that sends shivers down your spine.

The world beyond this moment seems to fade, leaving only the sensation of his lips moving with yours, exploring each contour with a familiarity that sends a shiver down your spine. His tongue teases at your lower lip, seeking entrance, and you part your lips in response. The taste of him—sweet and heady—fills your senses, making your head spin.

His hand remains on your thigh, fingers tracing small circles that inch ever closer to the edge of your underwear. The slight shift in pressure is enough to draw a soft gasp from your lips, the sound swallowed by James's unwavering kiss. Warmth spreads through your veins, pooling low in your belly as desire coils tighter within you.

Desire pools in your belly, spreading its heat to every corner of your body. A moan slips past your lips, muffled by the kiss, as you arch your hips towards him. He smirks against your mouth, shifting to hover above you, the planes of his body pressing down onto yours. His mouth finds yours again, swallowing your sharp intake of breath as his hard length rubs against your clit through the layers of fabric separating you. The friction sends jolts of pleasure coursing through you, drawing another moan from your throat, which he greedily claims with his own.

A low groan rumbles in James's chest, the sound vibrating through you, igniting something primal deep within. His hand ventures beneath the edge of your shirt, his touch like an electric current against your skin, sparking a trail of desire that pools low in your belly. His fingers trace the contour of your stomach before moving upward to cup your breast, his thumb teasing over sensitive flesh. Your breath hitches, a gasp escaping your lips only to be swallowed by his insistent mouth.

He breaks from your lips but doesn't retreat, instead trailing a path of heated kisses down your jawline, along the column of your throat, and settling at the juncture where neck meets shoulder—a spot so sensitive, it has you arching into him, pressing your breasts more firmly into his hand, silently pleading for more of his intoxicating touch.

James responds as if attuned to your every thought, a smirk curving his lips as he pinches your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The jolt of pleasure is sharp, intense, causing you to squirm beneath him, your fingers digging into his back.

"I want to be on top," you manage to say, your voice thick with desire.

A low chuckle rumbles in James's chest, his teeth grazing your neck one last time before he pulls back to look at you. "Anything you want, sweetheart."

With a firm grasp, you seize his shoulders, pushing against his chest. He acquiesces to your wordless command, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him, your body sprawled atop his. A mischievous smile plays on your lips as you grind down slowly, feeling the hard length of him pressing against you.

"Fuck," he groans, hands reaching up to cup your breasts once more. His thumbs rub over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You respond by rolling your hips, pressing yourself against his erection, drawing a soft growl from his throat.

His cock strains against the confines of his boxers, the outline of him barely concealed by the thin fabric. With an eagerness that surprises even you, you hook your fingers into his waistband, tugging it downward until his hardness springs free. A gasp escapes his lips as you wrap your hand around him, stroking from base to tip. His eyes squeeze shut, a low moan rumbling in his chest as his head tilts back.

His eyelids flutter shut, and a low moan escapes his lips, his head tilting back against the pillow. "Don't tease," he murmurs, the plea barely audible. But there's no mistaking the urgency in his voice, the tension coiling tighter within him. It's a sight to behold—James Potter, usually so composed and self-assured, now at your mercy.

You discard your underwear with a swift movement, feeling a thrill of anticipation. Your hand reaches for the nightstand, fingers closing around the familiar shape of a lube bottle that definitely wasn't there when you went to sleep. You can't help but chuckle, glancing back at James.

"You've thought of everything," you murmur, a tease in your tone as you flick the bottle towards him. "Almost as if you planned this."

His grin is devilish, his fingers closing around the bottle with practised ease. "I find that surprise makes for the best kind of adventure."

He flips the cap open with a sharp click, squeezing a generous amount onto his palm. His hand wraps around his length, spreading the lube with slow, deliberate strokes. His gaze never leaves yours, the intensity of it sending a thrill through your veins. Your heart pounds in your chest, the anticipation building as you position yourself above him, your thighs trembling ever so slightly.

You guide him to your entrance, rubbing the tip of his length against your clit. A sharp intake of breath escapes him, the sensation making him shudder beneath you.

"Ah... fuck," he whispers, his grip on your hips tightening. With that, you sink down onto him, taking in every inch slowly, relishing in the stretch and fullness. James groans from deep within his chest, his head falling back against the pillows as he fills you completely. His hands tighten around your waist, fingers digging into your skin as if trying to anchor himself to reality.

Your movements are slow at first, allowing for the delicious tension between you two to build. Each roll of your hips draws out a low growl from James, the sound vibrating through your body and fuelling the fire in your belly. The pleasure builds with every thrust, each one more powerful than the last until you feel as if you might burst from the intensity of it all.

The sensation of him filling you is almost too much—his length hot and hard, pressing into you, stretching you. With each movement, the sensation sharpens, a delicious edge of almost-pain that only heightens your pleasure. It's a fine line between discomfort and ecstasy, but you revel in it, pushing down onto him, welcoming the burn as he enters you fully.

His hands grip your hips, guiding you as you move together. "You feel... incredible," he murmurs, his voice strained with effort and desire.

Your breath comes out in shaky gasps, hot against his skin as you lean forward, your chest brushing against his with every thrust. The feeling of him inside you is unlike anything else—waves of pleasure radiating from your core, spreading through your limbs until you're trembling with it.

His thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow circles that match the rhythm of your hips. The dual sensations drive you to the edge, sparks dancing behind your eyelids while James's other hand tightens on your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh with each thrust.

"You're amazing," James murmurs, his voice roughened by desire. He pulls you into a heated kiss, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth with an urgency that matches the pace of your bodies. You can taste the salt of your sweat on his lips as they part, tongues duelling, the sensual dance mirrored between your legs. He nips at your lower lip, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

James presses his forehead against yours, the heat of his breath fanning across your skin. His hips move in rhythm with yours, slow and deliberate, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His hands are everywhere at once—on the curve of your waist, tracing the line of your spine, tangling in your hair. Then they're sliding along your thighs, holding you close, bringing you impossibly closer to him.

"James," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. His name is a prayer on your lips, a plea for more.

He responds by pushing deeper inside you, hitting just the right spot that makes you see stars behind your closed eyes. A gasp escapes your lips, the sensation almost too much to bear. The world outside this room ceases to exist; there's only you and James, bodies intertwined in a dance as old as time itself.

You rock your hips back and forth, meeting him thrust for thrust. He groans against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine. Pleasure builds within you, threatening to consume you whole.

James answers with fervour, his hips rising to meet yours in a rhythm that speaks of raw need. Each thrust is a potent declaration of desire, bringing him closer to the precipice he so longs to tumble over. The tension coils tighter inside him with every sensation, every connection.

"Fuck," James hisses through clenched teeth, his grip on your waist tightening to the point where his knuckles turn white. His fingers dig into your flesh, anchoring him to the reality of this moment — to you. His breaths come in ragged gasps, each one punctuated by a low groan that reverberates through the confines of the room. You tighten around him, drawing forth a strangled cry as the friction sends heat spiralling through his veins.

The pressure continues to build, a relentless tide that threatens to sweep him away. Every thrust, every gasp for air, is another brick in the wall that confines him, driving him closer and closer to the edge. And then, with a final, guttural curse, James surrenders to the pleasure that has been stalking him like a predator. His release comes in waves, each one more powerful than the last, leaving him spent and trembling.

Your legs quiver around him as you feel his climax, the pulsing warmth of his release filling you to the brim. It's a testament to your connection, an affirmation of the primal bond that links you together as surely as any chain could.

As the aftershocks ripple through him, James eases his grip on your thighs, allowing you to slide down onto the bed beside him. He pulls you close, pressing your damp body against his, the heat of your skin a balm to his own. One arm snakes around your waist, anchoring you to him, even as his other hand moves to trace idle patterns along the curve of your hip. 

"I didn't even get to make you cum, I—" James starts to say, but you stop him with a single finger pressed lightly against his lips.

"Shhh," you whisper. "Let's... let's just enjoy this moment, alright?" Your words are barely audible, but they hang in the air between you, a soft plea for respite from the storm of emotions that has swept over both of you.

James nods, pulling your hand away from his mouth. His fingers trace the outline of your face—so gentle, so careful—as if he's afraid you might shatter at his touch. He brushes a stray lock of hair back from your forehead, his thumb resting for a moment on your temple, tilting your head ever so slightly toward him.

His eyes seek yours, searching for understanding, for permission, for desire, for love—all of which he finds reflected back at him from the depths of your gaze.

"Alright," he murmurs, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Just us, then. For now."

His fingers trace an unhurried path across your skin, each touch sending shivers down your spine despite the warmth they promise. His gaze is soft, tender and in this moment, there's only James and the gentle cadence of his breathing, a soothing rhythm that lulls the rest of the world away.

[cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut]

Belated WIP Wednesday! Yesterday killed me but I came back to life after a big sleep so here are some words from First Time After. We’re deep in emotions here. Thanks to @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @heartstringsduet @strandnreyes @carlos-in-glasses @paperstorm @carlos-tk @whatsintheboxmh @theghostofashton @bonheur-cafe @inkweedandlizards @sanjuwrites and @jesuisici33 for the tags! Your snippets are gonna be tonight’s bedtime reading!

“How are you doing,” TK starts, and at Carlos’s gentle frown, he adds, “with everything?”

“Fine,” Carlos says, knee-jerk, quicker to comfort than to admit the truth. It splinters something in TK, the plainness of it. He feels it right in his chest, lowers his hand to the table, skin frayed but not bleeding.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” TK tells him. It’s supposed to be a promise, something strong and immovable, something on which Carlos can lean. But his voice cracks. His voice cracks, and at the barest hairline fracture in his vehemence, TK’s eyes begin to sting. He drops his gaze, eyes fixed on the sleek wooden edge of their table, glossy, deliberately imperfect in the rustic pattern settled into the grain. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sorry.”

“Hey,” Carlos says, his voice soothing even before he crosses the room. There’s a part of TK’s heart that belongs to Carlos’s voice, the part that makes the timber of it feel less like a person and more like a place – like home. Carlos’s voice was the first thing he heard when he woke up from his coma. Sometimes, he thinks he remembers snatches of it permeating the depth of his subconscious while he was under, Carlos talking to him, alone at his bedside. Carlos’s voice was the first thing he heard then, and the first thing to reach him after the news that his mother was gone. ‘Tell her I say hi,’ he’d said, followed moments later with gentle devastation. ‘Oh my god,’ he’d said. ‘Oh, TK.’

Carlos returns to their dining table – TK’s side of it, this time – and lowers himself down into a crouch.

“Look at me, baby,” he says. He anchors himself to TK with a hand on his leg, palm atop his thigh, fingers curling softly towards the inner seam of his jeans. TK keeps his gaze here for a moment, Carlos’s hand large and strong and sure, the gentlest squeeze to the flesh of his thigh to draw his gaze upwards. He looks, locks onto Carlos’s waiting gaze, his eyes big and deep and beautiful brown. He’s gorgeous, TK’s heart fit to burst at the beauty of his boyfriend alone. “Tell me what you’re thinking?”

“I wanna know how you’re feeling,” TK tells him, fighting against the barest whisper of strain in his voice. “How you’re really doing. You…you loved my mom. You lost her too.”

Open tag to my fellow latecomers! 💛

[my-favourite-zhent]

New Tricks - Chapter 14

Status: Work In Progress Version: 1.01 Pairing: Rugan x AFAB!OC Rating: NC-17 (This chapter R) Genre: Adventure/Romance Summary: Misadventures of Rugan and the original Zhentarim Gate's crew before and during the year of three sailing ships. Notes: Want to say thank you to @rolansrighthorn for beta-reading for me and providing some helpful suggestions, and of course to  @fistfuloftarenths who is of Sally Menke levels of importance when it comes to editing these chapters~ The characterization would not be as consistent without her help! Table of Contents

Read below the cut or on AO3

New Tricks - Chapter Fourteen

Consciousness, if it could be called that, came to Rugan in short bursts. Every memory retained that same watery feel, the edges bleeding into each other. Rolling in and out like waves on the shore.

He felt aware of Olly at his bedside, though all he saw was the lamp light behind his eyelids. 

‘Chin up, Olly.’ He tried to say but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

Muffled voices, arguing amongst the lads. Bellar grumbling, Sal scolding, Olly pleading. He couldn't make out the words.

The next ebb seemed sharper, clearer. 

“You were just going to leave him here alone like this?” A woman's voice this time, familiar, though he couldn't yet place it.

“...I'll stay with him.” He tried to remember, there was a thread there that tugged at him and he felt he was so close to knowing.

A hand squeezing his own, it was soft and cool to the touch and then just as quickly it was gone. He wanted to reach out for it but the tide was going out again.

It seemed brighter now and there was a cool breeze against his cheek.

“Rugan, do you know what a lucky bastard you are?” 

He didn't feel lucky, he felt like he was being jostled about like a sack of flour. Everything smelled of ox shit.

The memories were mostly dark and silent after that, but there were other sensations. The feel of a metal spoon pressed against his lips, warm broth on his tongue, richer than any he remembered tasting before. A cool cloth pressed to his forehead, slick fingertips smoothing over his chest and throat mingling with the scent of cedarwood and peppermint oils. 

There was a bitter broth the next time, but a gentle voice bade him drink and he relented without any hesitation.

This time when he slipped under there was not that familiar inky blackness but instead a staccato of noise. Was that Brem’s laughter? Bellar?

“It's your hand Rugan.” Tamlyn was seated across from him at a round wooden table. They were a quartet, the other two players were at his sides and yet somehow obscured from his vision. He looked down at his cards, four through nine of hearts.

“Flush of hearts, lucky me.” He laid them down on the table.

“Not so lucky as me. Royal flush of blades.” She laid down her cards and the swords seemed to shine under the lamp light. 

When Rugan looked down at his cards he saw that the hearts were more articulated than before. They seemed to pulse and beat, blood dripping down them.

His eyes darted back and Tamlyn’s blades now each had blood running down from tip to hilt. He looked up and there was a hot red line across her throat from which blood began to seep.

Rugan jumped back from the table, knocking it to the ground. 

The right player turned to him, suddenly clear and illuminated, Izzy.

“You killed her with kindness.” Izzy's voice had a strange timber to it, it was polite but not kind.

“Will I kill you with kindness?” It was Olly on the left, drenched by the rain, lips purple from the cold.

He stumbled back and fell, when he rose to his feet he was in water, a river perhaps? But he could see neither shore in all the blinding fog. It came up to his knees and he was shivering from the cold, his back was slick. 

A small skiff approached and Sal stood at its prow, hand extended.

“I can take you to the other side, do it for say fifty tarenths.”

“The other side?”

“You know, the one we don't come back from.”

“I'm fine, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” Sal had already put his pole into the water and began pushing off. “but you'll have to wait a while for the next one, watch out for the sirens.”

“Sirens?” But Sal had already disappeared into that blinding mist.

“He's exaggerating.” It was Izzy at his side, but he hadn't heard her approach.

“How did you get here Iz?”

“I came with the rain.” She pointed up.

He looked but saw nothing but blinding white, when he looked back again she was gone. In fact the entire river was gone, replaced with rolling grasslands, yet it was still too damned bright.

“We can give you a ride to the next town.” It was Zarys astride a horse.

“Cost you an arm and a leg though.” Bellar was grinning wickedly, having pulled up beside her on his own steed. In one hand he did have the bloodied arm of some poor sap, and he wiggled it for emphasis.

“Same old story.” He muttered in response.

“Rugan?”

Izzy again in that green flowing dress. She was smearing something on his forehead, charcoal? Where had she come from? The walls of the tower office felt so claustrophobic, hadn't he remembered this place as being large? 

His own hand wrapped around her wrist in an instant.

“Didn't I tell you before this place was off limits?” He asked, growing frustrated with her constant intrusions.

“Did you?”

“Why are you haunting me, Iz?” He demanded.

+++++

“Why are you haunting me, Iz?” It came out as little more than a whisper, his voice straining from disuse.

“I'm not haunting you, Zhent. You're ill.” Izzy moved from her chair to sit on the bed beside him, reaching out with her free hand to brush back the hair from his temples. She felt such relief at the sound of his voice, even hoarse as it was.

“I’m dreaming.” He murmured.

“You probably were, you’ve been asleep for a few days now.” But he was already slipping back under.

+++++

When next he woke there was sunlight streaming in past the thin white curtains. This seemed less chaotic, more grounded than the memories that came before, yet the place was so unfamiliar to him he wasn’t sure if he truly was awake. 

The room was bright and clean, the ceilings were high and the windows narrow. He tried to sit up and it felt as if his body was weighted down. He groaned, muscles straining, he was able to get himself upright but already felt exhausted from the effort.

He heard the rustling of fabric to his left and looked over the edge of the bed. There on the floor was a small woman in a bedroll.

He watched her stir and look up at him bleary eyed. Her hair was a tangled mess, dark circles hung under her eyes and it looked as if she had slept in her clothes. In short, she was gorgeous.

“Iz.” His voice little more than a hoarse whisper. 

“Hey, you're awake.” Izzy smiled at him, she looked relieved.

“Where–?” His question was cut off by a cluster of coughs that racked his body. Izzy scrambled to his side and smoothed her hand over his back until the fit subsided. She handed him a glass of water from the bedside table and he drank greedily. 

“We’re in Crimmor, the boys said you fell ill on the mountain pass.”

When he was done she took the cup and pressed her hand to his forehead, frowning slightly.

“Your fever’s returning. I’ll brew you some more tea.” She propped up the pillows behind him and helped him to lean back against them. “I’ll just be a moment.”

He wanted to ask her to stay but found he didn't have the strength for it, already his eyelids felt like lead. Rugan rested them for what seemed like only an instant but when he opened them next Izzy had already returned, pressing a hot mug to his lips.

It was bitter and he made a face when she pulled the empty mug away. “Lass, that is not a proper brew.”

He heard her tinkling laughter and smiled as he closed his eyes once more.

+++++

Over the course of the next day Rugan's condition began to improve, and with that came longer bouts of lucidity. 

While his newfound clarity boded well for his health it did not help at all with how he physically felt. 

Now he was aware of every ache the fever provided, his whole body felt sore and misused. The coughs were equally bad. They racked the whole of him when they came on and often were accompanied with the expulsion of sickly green bile. Izzy was always there with a cup of water and handkerchief, a gentle hand on his back. But her pitying looks grated on him, they reminded him of Olly in Daggerford. After the tenth or so time he found himself snapping at her. 

“Gods’ sake woman stop mothering me.”

She had flinched at this, but he had pretended not to see.

And that was another thing. What in the hells was she doing here of all places? Hadn't he worked to banish her twice already. First her memories then her damned letter. Now here she was, in the flesh, still her sweet self. Doting on him as if she had nothing better to do. When she sat next to him he would catch a whiff of her hair. She smelled like soap and hazelnuts and cherries. Rugan found himself alternating between wanting to pull her into a tight embrace or sending her back to whatever hell she came from.

“Where are the lads then? Haven't seen them yet.” He asked between mouthfuls of dinner that night.

“They went on ahead to Athkatla.”

“Happy to leave me for dead were they? Suppose it's only sensible.”

“That's not so, they were going to wait two days then pool their coin to put you up at an inn. I volunteered to look after you instead.”

“Don’t have anything better to do Iz?” He scoffed.

“Not when the ground’s frozen over, no.” She teased.

“Needn’t have bothered.”

“Would you rather some tavern wench ran off with your coin purse?”

“Surprised Bellar didn’t do that himself.”

“He took my ring as collateral so there’s that.”

He had forgotten about the ring and felt a rush of guilt. If Izzy was upset by that, it didn't show.

Izzy looked at her hands pensively. “Olly was really worried about you, you know.”

“Lad's soft heartedness is the whole reason I'm in this mess.” He didn't bother to hide his frustration.

“He meant well.”

“With all due respect, lass, his little crisis of conscience nearly got the both of us killed.”

“Just don't be too hard on him when you see him next, please.”

“I don't need you telling me how to do my job.” Rugan snapped. The way she recoiled at that stung but he held firm, there had been more than enough weakness for one run already.

His point was somewhat undercut by a series of coughs that doubled him over. When he had gotten hold of himself he noticed Izzy fidgeting, trying to restrain herself from the coddling he so detested. At least he had told her that he detested it.

‘Just as bad as Olly she is.’

In an effort to maintain some of his dignity he rose from the bed and poured himself a cup of water from a pitcher set on the nightstand. His eyes met hers over the top of his glass, as if daring her to chide him for getting out of bed. She didn’t take the bait, though she looked at him appraisingly.

“If you’re well enough to stand, then here, hold out your arms, and straighten your shoulders.”

“What for?” He looked at her curiously but obeyed.

Izzy took out a loose bit of string from her pocket and pinned it between his shoulder blades with one hand while pulling it taught to his wrist with the other. She repeated this strange gesture with his back and shoulders before scratching something down in a notebook.

“What was that about Iz?” He asked again.

“Not telling, you'll just give me a hard time about it.” She blew the loose dust off the charcoal before clapping the book shut and tucking it into her pocket.

He snorted. She had been the one fussing over every little thing, but fine he wouldn’t push the matter.

+++++

Another repercussion of his prolonged bouts of consciousness was that he had begun to take better note of his surroundings.

The walls were clean and plastered, with raised wooden side panels topped with smooth chair rails. There were also brass wall sconces and an impressive looking fireplace against the far wall. Next to the fireplace were a pair of plush looking chairs and a small tea table. It wasn’t extravagant and gaudy like the homes of patriars he had seen, but it was more that he could have ever hoped to afford in a lifetime.

The following day he made a mental note to ask Izzy about it when she next appeared and did so. She had come again with a cup of the bitter tea. Sitting down on the bed beside him she held it out.

“Here.”

He accepted it with both hands and drank it down quickly to get it over with. Still his face winced with distaste and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Iz, be honest.”

“Hmm?”

“You are a bleeding noble aren't you?”

“What?” She looked utterly baffled.

“There’s no way you can afford to stay at this inn on just digging up dead people’s trinkets.”

“Oh, gods the house.” She laughed.

House? For some reason that struck him as worse than an expensive inn.

“No this isn't mine Rugan, my friend from school is putting us up.”

“School? You didn’t make out like you’d properly attended.”

“Only for the first year, couldn’t afford to after that.” She looked away sheepishly and busied herself with the hem of her shirt.

“Ah, I'm much the same, only did a couple of years at the temple school before I was put to work. Your writings rather nice though for only the one year, can barely do more than chicken scratch m’self.”

“You got my letter.” She was smiling at him now and he tried to push down the warmth he felt at that.

“Aye, was a kindness for you to bother, my thanks.”

“I didn't learn writing from school though, my dad taught me. You’ve him to thank.”

“Suppose that saved a coin or two.”

“Well I didn't go to temple school at all. We were moving around too much, my parents and I that is. So they just taught me reading and writing and what have you on the road. I just did the one year of university well after they’d died.”

“University?! That’s a sight better than you let on Iz.”

“Oh, they don’t really teach dead languages anywhere else. Not unless you're high up in some clergy or another. Thought it might be nice to have classmates for once too. What about you? What was temple school like?”

“You don't need to humour me Iz, sophisticated lady like yourself.” He huffed.

“I'm not! I didn't have anyone my own age to play with growing up, always thought it must be nice to have peers you see every day.”

“Doubt the lil bastards I used to knock about with would've met your standards.”

“Wish my standards were as high as you seem to think.” She snapped.

They both sat stewing till a rap came at the door.

Izzy let out a sigh of frustration. “That'll be your bath.”

“Don't need a bath.” He wasn't sure he had the strength to climb into a tub.

“Oh didn't realize we'd been housing an ox in here with you, that would explain the smell.”

“Well I certainly don't need your help with it.”

She was getting to her feet now. “Did you think it was Bellar sponging your bits while you were busy being unconscious?!”

His face felt hot with embarrassment but he couldn't back down. “And just how exactly would you manage to get me in the tub, lass?”

“Unlike you, I haven't suddenly developed an aversion to accepting help when needed.” She had stomped over to the door and now threw it open.

A frightened servant stood on the other side, he couldn't have been much older than Olly.

“Gregor if you're still willing to help me with this surly bastard I would very much appreciate it.”

“Yes saer.” Came the timid response and Rugan wished that the fever had just killed him outright.

+++++

Rugan had traded stewing in the bed for stewing in the tub. He sat arms crossed, piping hot water up to his shoulders.

Like the bedroom, the bathing room was luxurious without ostentation. The floor was composed of simple stone tiles, these continued halfway up the wall and were topped with a black stone trim. The floor slightly sloped to the center where a drain was ready to accept any spills. There was a faucet fixture on the wall nearest the tub with runes on either side that allowed for the adjustment of the water temperature. Everything was practical without a hint of excess and that aggravated him all the more. At least he could make fun of the frivolity of patriars.

Izzy was sitting on a stool behind the tub, her fingers slowly working the shampoo into his scalp. This should've been nice, after all when had he last enjoyed a hot bath? This would've been nice if he hadn't felt like some aging invalid that needed a wet behind the ears pup to help him into a damned tub. He had at least been able to scrub himself clean. He could've done the hair himself too, but Izzy had asked so nicely and he did feel some small bit of remorse for how he had treated her. 

Obliquely he watched her reflection in the mirror, gauging her expression, Izzy seemed to be enjoying herself at least. She dragged her nails lightly over his undercut, eliciting a sigh of approval. He could see the corners of her mouth quirk up in a smile.

“We could take the boat down to Athkatla when you're feeling well enough,” She suggested as her fingers trailed down his neck to his shoulders. “it's much faster than a caravan. Might even be able to make that job.”

“Cost half my coin too I'll bet. Bane knows how much of my wages Zarys will cut when she finds out I've been out near a tenday.”

“Zarys?”

“My boss back in the Gate, black-hearted vixen, that one.”

“I can pay for the boat.”

“Just flush with it aren't you lass?” And despite his best efforts he couldn't hide the bitterness in his voice.

“Work’s better in the summer but since Corra lets me winter here with her I can save on room and board, that's all.”

“Don't know why you bothered slumming with us Zhents in Waterdeep if you could come home to this.”

“It's not my home.” She said, soft but firm. “And I don't recall you ever bringing me to a slum.”

“Usually save that for the fourth date.”

Instantly her hands were gone from him and she was stalking over to the other side of the tub, filling a bucket from the faucet.

When she returned she dumped it over his head without warning. Rugan shouted and spluttered as the ice cold water crashed down about his face. 

“There,” She said, glowering at him. “you’re all rinsed.”

“What the hells woman?!”

But she was already throwing open the door to speak to the servant from earlier.

“Gregor, he's ready to be taken back to his room now. If you can manage on your own.”

When the boy answered in the affirmative she stalked off on her own.

[shopicaau]

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[buchelitrim25]

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🍽️ Kitchen & Dining: Enhancing Functionality and Style Custom Cabinetry: Tailor your kitchen storage with pull-out shelves, spice racks, or utensil organizers, optimizing space and accessibility. Live-Edge Dining Tables: Create a statement piece with a live-edge table, showcasing the natural beauty of wood grains and edges. In-Counter Knife Storage: Integrate knife slots directly into countertops for a sleek and practical solution.

🛏️ Bedroom: Personalizing Your Sanctuary Custom Headboards: Design headboards with built-in lighting or storage niches, blending comfort with functionality. Under-Bed Storage: Maximize space with drawers or rolling bins beneath the bed, ideal for linens or seasonal items. Nightstands with Charging Stations: Incorporate USB ports and cable management into bedside tables for modern convenience.

🛁 Bathroom: Combining Elegance with Efficiency Floating Vanities: Install wall-mounted vanities to create a sense of space and modernity, while facilitating easy cleaning. Cedar Bath Mats: Craft water-resistant mats that add a spa-like feel and prevent mold growth. Recessed Shelving: Build niches into walls for storing toiletries, maintaining a clutter-free environment.

🧸 Children's Room: Encouraging Creativity and Organization Modular Storage Units: Design adaptable shelves and bins that evolve with your child's needs, promoting organization and independence. Themed Beds: Construct beds shaped like castles, cars, or treehouses to spark imagination and make bedtime exciting. Interactive Play Tables: Build tables with compartments for art supplies, puzzles, or building blocks, fostering creativity.

🏢 Home Office: Merging Productivity with Comfort Custom Desks: Tailor desks to your workflow, incorporating features like adjustable heights, built-in organizers, or cable management systems. Floating Shelves: Maximize vertical space with sleek shelves for books, decor, or office supplies. Acoustic Panels: Install wood slat panels to enhance sound quality and add a sophisticated aesthetic.

🌿 Outdoor Spaces: Extending Living Areas Pergolas and Gazebos: Construct outdoor structures that provide shade and define spaces for relaxation or entertaining. Planter Boxes: Build raised garden beds or decorative planters to enhance your landscape and encourage gardening. Deck Seating: Integrate benches with storage into your deck design for functional outdoor seating. Embracing custom woodworking allows you to tailor every corner of your home to your preferences and needs. By integrating thoughtful design and craftsmanship, you can create spaces that are not only beautiful but also uniquely yours.

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Unveiling Furma's Designer Ottoman Benches for the Bedroom

In the symphony of a beautifully designed bedroom, every element plays a crucial role, contributing to the overall harmony and luxurious feel. While the grand presence of the bed undeniably commands attention, it's often the versatile, nuanced pieces that complete the picture, adding layers of comfort, functionality, and undeniable style. Among these, the Designer ottoman benches for bedroom stand out as quiet heroes – discreetly charming, surprisingly practical, and profoundly elegant. At Furma, we understand that these benches are more than just seating; they are a sophisticated touch that transforms your private sanctuary into a space of complete indulgence and thoughtful design.

Designer ottoman benches for bedroom

When we talk about crafting an exceptional home, it’s about a seamless flow of sophisticated design that permeates every space. Just as we meticulously curate Modern living room furniture sets with plush luxury sofas and lounge chairs and elegant Contemporary center and end tables, and ensure a cohesive aesthetic in our Contemporary dining room sets, the bedroom deserves the same meticulous consideration. It's about achieving an aesthetic harmony that resonates throughout your living spaces, reflecting your personal taste for luxury and intelligent design, culminating in a deeply personal haven where every detail contributes to a sense of calm and opulence.

The undisputed centerpiece of any Modern Luxury bedroom furniture sets is, of course, the bed itself. Our Luxury bed designs for master bedroom are crafted to be the ultimate statement of comfort, style, and serene elegance, inviting you to unwind and immerse yourself in unparalleled rest. Complementing these magnificent beds are their essential companions: the luxury bedside tables online, offering both functionality and sophisticated design right at your fingertips. But to truly elevate the space, to add that extra layer of comfort, versatility, and visual appeal, enter the designer ottoman bench.

At Furma, our collection of Designer ottoman benches for bedroom is a testament to our commitment to blending exquisite design with multi-faceted practicality. We understand that these benches are not just pieces to perch on; they are essential design elements that enhance the visual appeal, utility, and overall luxurious feel of your bedroom. Imagine a sleek, upholstered bench placed gracefully at the foot of your bed, its plush surface inviting you to sit and ponder, or providing a convenient spot to lay out your clothes for the next day. This isn't merely a bench; it's a statement piece that adds architectural interest and a touch of bespoke charm.

Our Designer ottoman benches for bedroom are meticulously crafted from premium materials, ensuring not just stunning aesthetics but also lasting durability. We select fine timbers for their internal frames, ensuring robust stability and longevity. Our upholstery fabrics are chosen for their luxurious feel, resilience, and ability to enhance the visual splendor of the bench. You'll find options in sumptuously soft velvets that shimmer under ambient light, rich, supple leathers that exude timeless sophistication and age beautifully, or durable, textured weaves that offer both practicality and an elegant tactile experience. The legs might be crafted from sleek, polished metals for a contemporary edge, or from warm, solid wood for a more classic yet modern appeal. This meticulous attention to material selection and craftsmanship ensures that every ottoman bench is a true investment, designed to stand the test of time both in style and resilience.

Beyond their undeniable aesthetic appeal, the functionality of our Designer ottoman benches for bedroom is thoughtfully integrated. Many of our designs feature clever hidden storage compartments beneath the upholstered top. This ingenious feature provides a discreet home for extra blankets, seasonal linens, throw pillows, or even cherished personal items, helping to maintain a clutter-free and serene bedroom environment. This blend of elegance and intelligent storage makes these benches incredibly versatile – they can serve as extra seating when needed, a convenient surface to lay out clothes, or simply a stylish accent piece that adds visual interest and softens the room's edges. The practicality is subtly woven into the luxurious design, proving that utility can be profoundly elegant.

The convenience of acquiring these exceptional pieces is paramount in today's digital age. That’s why Furma offers Luxury living room furniture online, extending that same seamless, high-end shopping experience to your bedroom needs. Our digital showroom is meticulously curated, providing a comprehensive view of our entire collection of Designer ottoman benches for bedroom with high-resolution imagery, detailed specifications, and rich descriptions. This allows you to explore each piece from the comfort of your home, visualizing how it will fit into and transform your personal sanctuary. You can compare different styles, fabrics, and sizes, ensuring that your chosen ottoman bench perfectly complements your existing decor and your specific functional requirements. We believe that the process of furnishing your dream home should be as refined and enjoyable as the furniture itself, offering a truly intuitive and inspiring online journey to your ideal bedroom.

And as the heart of your home extends beyond the private sanctuary, Furma's commitment to luxurious, contemporary design flows effortlessly throughout your entire home. We understand that every space, from the grandest entryway to the most intimate nook, deserves the same meticulous attention to detail and unwavering dedication to quality.

In the living room, our complete Modern living room furniture sets offer a cohesive vision of contemporary elegance. The centerpiece, our exquisite luxury sofas and lounge chairs, invite you to unwind in unparalleled comfort and style. Complementing these are our Contemporary center and end tables, which serve as vital aesthetic anchors and functional surfaces. To maintain the pristine look, our Stylish storage units for living room are designed to be as beautiful as they are practical, discreetly housing essentials while adding to the room's sophisticated appeal. This ensures that every part of your living space reflects the same high standards of design and functionality.

In the dining room, our Dining room furniture is designed to transform every meal into an event. From the grandeur of a thoughtfully designed Dining table set to the inviting comfort of our Modern dining chairs, every piece is crafted for both aesthetic appeal and lasting durability. Our Wooden dining tables offer a timeless appeal, bringing warmth and natural beauty to your dining space, while our full Contemporary dining room sets ensure a harmonious and inviting culinary environment that elevates every gathering.

Finally, to truly personalize your private sanctuary and complete the ambiance of your Modern Luxury bedroom furniture sets, our Contemporary bedroom accessories store offers a curated selection of lighting, decor, and other accents that tie the entire space together with effortless elegance and individual flair. From luxurious throws and designer cushions that add layers of texture, to exquisite lamps and decorative objects that reflect your unique personality, these accessories add the finishing touches that elevate your bedroom into a truly luxurious and inspiring retreat, a testament to your discerning taste.

In essence, at Furma, we understand that Designer ottoman benches for bedroom are about much more than just providing extra seating. They are about crafting an environment that embodies versatility, discreet functionality, and profound elegance. They contribute to the overall serenity and aesthetic appeal of your most personal space, reflecting a deep appreciation for enduring design and exceptional quality. Our curated ottoman benches are built to enhance your daily routines, providing comfort, style, and clever storage solutions, enriching your bedroom into an experience of refined living. Discover the art of sophisticated repose and multi-functional elegance with Furma, and transform your bedroom into your ultimate private sanctuary, where every detail matters.

also see-

Contemporary dining room sets

Modern bedroom furniture sets

Luxury bed designs for master bedroom

Furma Jaipur

Affordable bedside tables online

Designer ottoman benches for bedroom

Contemporary bedroom accessories store

[homeandsouldubai]

Designed to Glow: How Hanging Lights Define Every Space, From Kitchen to Garden

Lighting is the quiet hero of home design — functional, beautiful, and transformative. At Home and Soul Dubai, our hanging lights are more than just practical fixtures. They’re statement pieces crafted from natural materials like rattan, raffia, and timber, designed to warm up your space with effortless charm.

Whether you’re styling a soft-lit dining area or upgrading your outdoor setup, the right lighting makes all the difference.

Hanging Lights for Dining Rooms with Soul

The dining room is where moments are shared — and the light above your table sets the tone. Hanging lights for dining room setups should be inviting, layered, and full of character. At Home and Soul, our sculptural pendants bring focus and flow to dining spaces without overpowering the rest of your decor. Choose from natural or black finishes to match your style and table shape.

Find Sculptural Calm with Hanging Lights in Dubai

For homes in the UAE, lighting must blend functionality with warmth. Our collection of hanging lights in Dubai is curated to complement airy, sunlit interiors — whether you're styling a modern villa or a cozy apartment. These handmade lights bring a grounded, organic feel to both minimalist and boho-inspired homes.

Illuminate Daily Rituals with Pendant Lights for Kitchen Use

Your kitchen deserves lighting that’s both practical and beautiful. Our pendant lights for kitchen are perfect above islands or breakfast bars — casting a soft glow while adding a layer of texture and design. Natural materials like raffia and woven cane give each pendant warmth, while the shapes add balance to your layout.

Make a Statement with a Black Pendant Light

Looking for something modern yet earthy? A black pendant light brings a touch of contrast and sophistication while staying true to natural style. It pairs beautifully with neutral interiors and adds visual weight to open spaces. Ideal for living rooms, entryways, or even above bedside tables for a bold, grounded touch.

Take It Outside with Outdoor Pendant Lighting

Lighting doesn’t stop at the door. Our collection of outdoor pendant lighting helps create beautiful, layered atmospheres on patios, terraces, and balconies. Crafted for durability and style, these pieces add resort-style charm to any outdoor setup — perfect for sunset dinners or quiet evening lounges.

From soft-glowing pendant lights for kitchen use to sculptural hanging lights in Dubai, and even resort-inspired outdoor pendant lighting, our lighting collection helps define your space — softly and beautifully. Whether it’s a bold black pendant light or cozy hanging lights for dining room, every design brings texture, glow, and natural charm to your home